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Born to be wild
By Jeremiah | September 17, 2008 | 18 comments / Join the conversation!
A film still from the shooting of "Where the Wild Things Are," a Spike Jonze film based on the book by Maurice Sendak.
I came into parenting pretty sick of Where the Wild Things Are - overexposed, I guess. It was so heavily pushed in doll, decor, and Reading-Is-Fun-poster form in my childhood that after passing through that golden stage I couldn't really read, look at, or hear it without seeing the gold-seal-embossed symbol it had become for the 1960s and the wild and woolly childhood it invoked.
But I had never read In the Night Kitchen, and when I checked it out from the library during Z's second year, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else, I was amazed by what I found. It was poetry. I was allowed to read real poetry to my child, which she would listen to, and (at least partially) understand. I noticed that the rhythm of the language was what she was after then, plus the images, that the story came last of all. And I noticed that In the Night Kitchen was written in precisely that way, with an oddly fluctuating meter that poses more challenges to the adult reader than a toddler listener.
My four-year-old daughter Z and I have many favorite children's authors, and even more favorite children's illustrators, and when it comes to children's books, it's very difficult to state which is the more important feature of a good book. I didn't always see children's books that way, but reading to children is a process of both discovery and rediscovery - we find new life in favorites from our own childhood through our children's rapt, engaged attention to books new and old. And no author helped shape my growing awareness of the relationship between a child, a book, and its read-alouder than the works of Maurice Sendak.
Z and I memorized In the Night Kitchen. She could recite it as I read it. I could read it to her with the book facing her, turning the pages as I recited. It became one of my favorite books, as well as one of hers. And the love of particular books is one of the first things we have found that we can truly share on equal footing. I can't love Polly Pockets the way she does. I can't even love ice cream in quite the same way as she does, although I do love it. Certainly, the love we have for our other family members - her mother, my wife - is very different. But a book like that is something that we can both love in pretty much the same way. And that's a special kind of connection.
With that we turned to Where the Wild Things Are, and I discovered it as though reading it for the first time. Despite Max's celebrated orneriness, the book is far less a meditation on how independent, cranky, or downright wild children can be - there are much better books for that - as a fantasy about what it means to be trapped in your own bad feelings, with no one to understand them and no real desire to be understood so much as OBEYED. It is, in short, a fantasy about the control children see embodied in their parents, which, from their narrow perspective as the oppressed party, is as fickle, self-absorbed, and steely as the role Max plays in the place where the wild things are.
We memorized Where the Wild Things Are too, cover to cover, and I can jump in at any point ("and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes at once..." See? Scary). I fell in love with its language and the unique way it described childhood frustration and desire. "We'll eat you up, we love you so" - both parents and their children can relate to the sentiments of the Wild Things as much as to Max, in the love and tension they feel between their roles.
We're seeing this with Z especially these days; it's almost as though a hidden switch was flipped when she turned four, and she's now frequently yelling - literally yelling - at us about how FRUSTRATED WE ARE MAKING HER because we won't bend to whim X, Y, or, in most cases, simply Z. These exchanges usually end with her telling us she is NEVER COMING BACK to the room we are in; sometimes pouting ensues that requires some diplomacy, but generally she is back 30 seconds later, a new girl. Like Max, she has learned nothing in the encounter; she has just released the tension that had built up inside of her, and we, like Max's mother, may tut-tut or parry with consequences, but in the end, she's our kid, and we still have to feed her supper.
Soon, unless Warner Brothers kills it, we'll have a Spike Jonze film version of the book to ponder, although I'm suspicious it will be years before Z is ready for it. I used to worry about whether such adaptations would somehow commit cultural patricide, but either I don't get out enough anymore to worry about that or the book is just too good to need protecting. I do find it amusing that one of the reported problems with the film is that Max comes off as unlikeable. I don't really think Sendak wrote any likeability into Max, except what we infer from our general appreciation for children. Max's only redemption is that he actually misses his home, rather than being dragged back to reality against his will.
For today's entry in our Where the Wild Things Are giveaway and the chance to win a copy of the animated DVD featuring that story plus In the Night Kitchen and the Nutshell Library stories, tell us about your little wild thing. What have they done lately that made you think they should own a wolf suit?
But I had never read In the Night Kitchen, and when I checked it out from the library during Z's second year, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else, I was amazed by what I found. It was poetry. I was allowed to read real poetry to my child, which she would listen to, and (at least partially) understand. I noticed that the rhythm of the language was what she was after then, plus the images, that the story came last of all. And I noticed that In the Night Kitchen was written in precisely that way, with an oddly fluctuating meter that poses more challenges to the adult reader than a toddler listener.
My four-year-old daughter Z and I have many favorite children's authors, and even more favorite children's illustrators, and when it comes to children's books, it's very difficult to state which is the more important feature of a good book. I didn't always see children's books that way, but reading to children is a process of both discovery and rediscovery - we find new life in favorites from our own childhood through our children's rapt, engaged attention to books new and old. And no author helped shape my growing awareness of the relationship between a child, a book, and its read-alouder than the works of Maurice Sendak.
Z and I memorized In the Night Kitchen. She could recite it as I read it. I could read it to her with the book facing her, turning the pages as I recited. It became one of my favorite books, as well as one of hers. And the love of particular books is one of the first things we have found that we can truly share on equal footing. I can't love Polly Pockets the way she does. I can't even love ice cream in quite the same way as she does, although I do love it. Certainly, the love we have for our other family members - her mother, my wife - is very different. But a book like that is something that we can both love in pretty much the same way. And that's a special kind of connection.
With that we turned to Where the Wild Things Are, and I discovered it as though reading it for the first time. Despite Max's celebrated orneriness, the book is far less a meditation on how independent, cranky, or downright wild children can be - there are much better books for that - as a fantasy about what it means to be trapped in your own bad feelings, with no one to understand them and no real desire to be understood so much as OBEYED. It is, in short, a fantasy about the control children see embodied in their parents, which, from their narrow perspective as the oppressed party, is as fickle, self-absorbed, and steely as the role Max plays in the place where the wild things are.
We memorized Where the Wild Things Are too, cover to cover, and I can jump in at any point ("and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes at once..." See? Scary). I fell in love with its language and the unique way it described childhood frustration and desire. "We'll eat you up, we love you so" - both parents and their children can relate to the sentiments of the Wild Things as much as to Max, in the love and tension they feel between their roles.
We're seeing this with Z especially these days; it's almost as though a hidden switch was flipped when she turned four, and she's now frequently yelling - literally yelling - at us about how FRUSTRATED WE ARE MAKING HER because we won't bend to whim X, Y, or, in most cases, simply Z. These exchanges usually end with her telling us she is NEVER COMING BACK to the room we are in; sometimes pouting ensues that requires some diplomacy, but generally she is back 30 seconds later, a new girl. Like Max, she has learned nothing in the encounter; she has just released the tension that had built up inside of her, and we, like Max's mother, may tut-tut or parry with consequences, but in the end, she's our kid, and we still have to feed her supper.
Soon, unless Warner Brothers kills it, we'll have a Spike Jonze film version of the book to ponder, although I'm suspicious it will be years before Z is ready for it. I used to worry about whether such adaptations would somehow commit cultural patricide, but either I don't get out enough anymore to worry about that or the book is just too good to need protecting. I do find it amusing that one of the reported problems with the film is that Max comes off as unlikeable. I don't really think Sendak wrote any likeability into Max, except what we infer from our general appreciation for children. Max's only redemption is that he actually misses his home, rather than being dragged back to reality against his will.
For today's entry in our Where the Wild Things Are giveaway and the chance to win a copy of the animated DVD featuring that story plus In the Night Kitchen and the Nutshell Library stories, tell us about your little wild thing. What have they done lately that made you think they should own a wolf suit?
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Well my little guy is still to young to really have much of a tantrum yet, but he is definitely at the stage where he is beginning to become frustrated when a toy he wants is out of reach. I’m sure that once he is able to crawl in some fashion that he will soon find something else to be frustrated about and then we will really be in for it. He does have one monster tendency though, a very good monster growl. We just thought it was cute until he incorporated it into one of his frustrated crying fits when it took on a whole new dimension. Thanks for the giveaway.
As soon as we were ushered back to the treatment room at the pediatrician’s office the most awful, trilling wails began pouring out of my previously pleasant, then 19 month old daughter. Impossible as it seemed, the crying kept building in intensity, even with no doctor or nurse present and within 3 minutes flat, the vomitting began. The wails continued, accompanied by dry heaves. Thrashing insued. I have never seen a toddler so fair turn to such a beet red color in all my life. Nothing would comfort her. No hugs, no kisses, no breast, nothing.
When the doctor did arrive in the room, I could not hear a word she said, due to B’s screeching. Everyone in the entire building could hear her. We were just there for a normal well-baby check, but it was traumatizing for all of us. The wailing, thrashing, dry heaving lasted for 30 minutes solid. As soon as we exited the building, it came to a complete stop.
“Milkies, please,” she said.
That is my wild child. She goes from one extreme to the other, with no middle ground.
My 4 year old was a Max yesterday. He got so upset--we never did figure out at what--and just cried and yelled. All he told us was that he was sad, “just very sad.” After a little alone time (his choice) he came bouncing down the steps ready to play.
My 10 mo old recently started resisting bedtime. She throws herself backwards over and over again, not caring where her head will end up in the process. This continues till she is exhausted and falls asleep crying. She doesn’t want the stories or the lullabies either. I’m dreading the terrible-two stage already.
Tonight was bath night here for V, who is 14 months old. She’s going to be one of those preschoolers of whom the teacher will say “She doesn’t deal well with transitions”. She hates getting into the car or into the stroller, but is perfectly fine once she’s settled. Usually this is the case for the tub. Can’t wait to get in while it’s running, then freaks out when we put her in and try to get her to sit down. Once she’s seated, it’s usually all fine. Tonight, though, she wanted to stand, so we ended tubby time early; and then she hollered all through PJ changing time, skipped story time (her preference, as she threw the book across the room when I tried) and went straight to boob, then to bed. I hope she’ll be cheerful in the morning!
My daughter is a little young to be acting like Max (she’s only 4 months), but I’m sure there will come a time when I can see the resemblance. I can’t wait to read both Where the Wild Things Are and In the Night Kitchen to her.
My 15 yr. old son and 12 yr. old daughter loved WTWTA when they were little and since hitting the teens, have turned into a bit of Wild Things themselves. Now they have a little sister (15 mos.) and I can’t wait to start reading these great books to her.
While at her big brother’s FB game this week, she definitely showed her “wild side”. When sitting in her stroller got boring, and pushing the stroller was too difficult, she shrieked at the top of her lungs to let me (and all the other parents, fans, players and coaches around) know that she was NOT HAPPY! I was a little afraid that the players on the field would think it was the whistle and stop playing—thankfully, some snacks and her ‘nukkie’ calmed her down enough for us to finish watching the game. Look out hockey season.....
My daughter learned the word “no” the morning our first ever family vacation started.
hhmmm… L should probably own a monkey suit as he has taken to hanging onto me as I try to leave for work in the morning (heartbreaking!)
He puts on his wolf suit at storytime, fittingly, when he shakes his finger at Daddy and proclaims,"ONLY MOMMY!” Of course, he uses this phrase constantly, and Daddy is waiting patiently for the time when the tables will turn… and we know they will.
The “wolf” emerges when her music gets turned off. She flops to the floor and cries. Right now she most likes the music from her music classes but will love Really Rosie someday, I know. Thanks to ZRecs recommendation, she has her own sansa shaker which she carries around. If the battery runs out, I can’t get the new one in soon enough.
My two year old is exploring his stubbornness lately. He was throwing a tantrum last night about getting juice in a sippy cup after the sippy cup was what he chose. While crying in his bed, he noticed his infant brother was also in the room crying. Between sobs he would console his brother, “Don’t cry, Baby. Don’t cry.”
Their wolfishness can be a funny thing. My 13 month old son completely adores bath time but HATES getting dried off and getting his PJ’s on. He goes from belly laughing to wailing in milliseconds and then once his PJ’s are on he is all smiles again. Kids are so wonderfully weird and I mean that in a good way!! I have always like Where the Wild Things are but hadn’t heard of his other book. I’m excited to add that to our collection one way or another.
Oh, where to start? She’s really been a little angel up until the last week. Since Sunday my little 2 1/2 year old has given up diapers and taken to being sassy and fit throwing.
I don’t like counting, warning, and time outs, but all is part of the power struggle we are currently going through. I’ve been through it before and know holding my ground can mean missery in the short term, but eventually pays off. :)
oh yeah, I also forgot to mention that she’s chosen to stay up until midnight most nights...at least she doesn’t climb out of her crib.
My daughter is two and a half and just became a big sister. For the most part she is protective and loving to Lucas, however, earlier today she “hugged” him until he spit up despite my telling her to stop(her reply was “stop telling Dale no!") then tried to pick him up unassisted(his reply was to cry in fear). When I reprimanded her she sat on the floor yelling and crying. After she picked herself up she wanted a hug, while I was hugging her the baby’s foot touched her. She moved back and said “Lucas touch Dale!” ready to have another fit. I started to laugh and pointed out why and she laughed to and all was right with her world again.
We got In the Night Kitchen from the library on Thursday morning and I’m having so much fun with it. It was one of my favorite books as a kid and my daughter asks to hear it over and over again. She just turned two and lately life is full of strange, beautiful and mysterious explosions of emotion. I could choose from many but this one sort of sums it all up:
Mrs. G: Come here please so I can wipe the jam off your hands and face.
Little G: I already have underwear! I ALREADY HAVE UNDERWEAR! (flailing on the bathroom floor naked) I ALREADY HAVE UNDERWEAR!
We are currently settling down after an evening of jumping off the couch, sitting waste deep in the swim ladder at the end of the dock (she was “swimming"), and alternately demanding to sleep in her frog towel and screaming for her “Target socks from Olivia.”
I woke up this morning to find out our fridge was broken and everything in the freezer was thawed out. This came on the heels of a rough night of sleep for mom and daughter #1. So M, (d#1) starts in early with the “particular-ness” of getting to help with breakfast and needing things “just so” and on and on. All the while d#2 is sitting in her high chair watching me throw food away from the broken fridge reapeating “UH OH...UH OH...” It was all I could do to not lose it.
My almost three year old has recently began thwarting all attempts at discipline. She refuses to be quiet and let herself fall asleep. If we try to force the issue by taking something away or closing her bedroom door she screams at the top of her lungs. I could handle a few minutes of this, even while trying to soothe her 5-month-old brother. However, our wild thing can scream for longer than we can sanely handle!
I actually considered permanently ‘borrowing’ the beautiful hard-bound copy of In the Night Kitchen from our library (and of course compensating them for it). We nearly paid for it in overdue fines anyway. But I’m happy that others will discover it and the paperback we’ve since purchased is still in one piece. We too have it memorized. I give it and the other family favorite, ‘Who Needs Donuts,’ to every new kid I meet.
Our almost 4 year-old boy would now like to be considered for both the role of Max (he has very selective hearing when being rambunctious) AND for the role of Max’s mother. It is not uncommon for me to hear something like, “I’m sorry mommy but you were bad so now I can’t play with you,” when suggesting it’s time to brush his teeth or go to bed.