You know it’s summer when…


… you’re back in the Great Hall for baby storytime.

That’s right, it’s definitely summer in the East, and because we’re going to get some crazy crazy numbers of babies and toddlers as we always do, we’ve moved our Thursday 10 a.m. baby lapsit and 11 a.m. baby and toddler storytimes back into the library’s main lobby.

Aside from having to sing a little louder (there was a microphone, but that would have been overkill, I think), it went just the same as any storytime normally would.


I read my books – using A Good Day by the fabulous Kevin Henkes for the first time, and One Hungry Baby again – and sang my songs and there you have it: baby lapsit storytime.

Today’s preschool storytime was SUPERFUN. It was a storytime full of first-time books, and I had a 100% success score with all of them.


If you don’t know Kate Beaton, author of Hark, A Vagrant! – and you should, because otherwise, where TF have you been? – you can start off with The Princess and the Pony, which is a great story, first off, but also has pony farts in it, which guaranteed that the preschoolers would love it.

Hooray for Hat! went off really well too. The kids even chanted parts of it with me each time (can’t say which parts – spoilers!) and it had a nice lesson about giving of yourself to cheer up your friends.

Ghost in the House is a bit Halloweeny, but hey, ghosts are always fun.

In What’s Annabelle Reading, I finished the sequel to Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library, Mr. Lemoncello’s Library Olympics, which was just as fun as the first one, and should also be marked “not just for kids,” too.

Then I went camping and reread Gone Girl (not linking to it, because of course you’ve heard of it), because it had been a while, and it’s just so clever, I keep forgetting how good it is. There are so many books that have been touted as “the new Gone Girl,” and they’re just really not.

After that, I read Emma, because it’s her 200th anniversary. Another book in which the comedy, pacing, and plot is unparalleled, but of course I’m not even comparing Gillian Flynn to Jane Austen.


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