the thingamajig queen

When I was seven years old I wrote a fan letter to Beverly Cleary. I loved Ramona and Beezus and all her books so much I couldn't keep it in any longer; I had to extend my gratitude outwards and touch the source. I told her she was the best author in the whole world, and I meant it.

She wrote me back. She sent a short hand-written postcard addressed to Miss Meagan Howell, which made me feel very grown up. I still have it in a box somewhere.

Now I am thinking about writing another fan letter. (She's still alive; I checked!) Last night we read Janet's Thingamajigs, a book Ms. Cleary wrote when I was too old to read it, but thank goodness we found it at the library and I can partake now. We've discovered it is one in a series of small-scale charming stories about Jimmy and Janet, preschool-aged twins, with Mother and Daddy and Mr. Lemon, the mailman, in supporting roles. Another favorite from the series is The Growing Up Feet.

These are lovely, well-written, simple stories about daily life for children who are not yet in school and so reflect our experiences in a particularly satisfying way. Janet's Thingamajigs is about how Janet begins to hoard little items like paper clips and shells and bits of paper (already I am giggling, especially because within my field of vision right now is a plastic bag filled with a tin foil ball, a striped paper clip, and a push pin). She leaves them around the house, then becomes furious with her brother Jimmy for playing with them (Jimmy doesn't really understand their inherent value but gets that Janet thinks they are treasures, thus worth having). Then they fight, then Mother says, "I am at my wit's end."

Then my children ask in unison, What does at my wit's end mean?

Then I read the next line in which Jimmy asks, What does at my wit's end mean?

It is eerie how close to life this book is, at least for me.

Basically, Janet starts keeping her thingamajigs in little paper bags in her crib, which becomes a new problem. I won't give away the ending, but just so you understand why I laughed so hard I almost peed on our couch ... consider Exihibit A:

There is very little sleeping space left, unless you are a small stuffed animal. And now, Exhibit B, the view in Frances' play/sleeping tent:

You can see she is about to crowd herself out of the tent now too. And just so you have a complete picture of the thingamajig madness, Exihibits C and D:

Frances' room is filled with such tubs containing empty seltzer bottles, old collages, wrappers, and ribbons that she cannot bear to part with. She has been hoarding things since she was a tiny baby. Most nights I roam the house and gather up things to hide in the bottom of the recycling bin, but still she manages to save a LOT.

Of course, Mother solves the situation and nips the thingamajig problem in the bud by the end of the Beverly Cleary story. This Mama is not quite so adept. But yet again, I am reminded of how this second immersion in children's books that parenthood has brought opens stories in new and refreshing ways. I identify with the parents now, and oh, how I appreciate them! The good ones, anyway. Mother and Daddy in these stories are a fine pair. Ma and Pa Ingalls, Betsy Ray's mother in the Betsy-Tacy books, and of course Mother and Father Badger from the Frances the Badger books all provide me with regular inspiration, as much as any parenting book.

May all the children's books in your life be good ones, friends.