Tag: family

Perishable, but Lasting

My Best Friend Is a Butternut Squash – written by Heather Smith, illustrated by Kass Reich
Tundra Books, 2026

It’s hard to see how the title of Heather Smith and Kass Reich’s new picture book could not be intriguing.  Is it literal, or a metaphor?  Children sometimes develop attachments to unusual toys, or, in psychological parlance, “transitional objects.”  In My Best Friend is a Butternut Squash, a boy named Alex adopts the vegetable of the title, and grants it personhood with crayons and imagination. Soon he is taking it out for walks in a stroller and identifying him, when asked, as a two-month-old baby.

Like a purely imaginary friend, the butternut squash can be a different age on different days. One day Alex cradles it in his arms; the next day they are twins, dressing alike and anticipating one another’s thoughts and words. Alex’s mom is really good-natured, even bestowing a kiss on this beloved companion. There is no limit to the possibilities for dramatic entertainment, including a “spectacular sword fight” that is completely harmless. Reich’s gouache and colored pencil drawings capture a child’s point of view, but they are also sophisticated, matching the expression on Alex’s face with that of his endlessly flexible friend, who can be a fairy, a pirate, or even a doctor. The doctor scenario has a bit of heartbreak.  Like all children, Alex experiences anxiety, answering the squash-doctor’s question about his symptoms with the troubling answer, “It’s my heart…Sometimes I think it’s shrinking.”  The squash wisely advises Alex not to worry, reassuring him that he has “a very big heart,” a quality the reader has already suspected about this sensitive boy.

The butternut squash has a backstory. His original home was Alex’s grandfather’s garden.  Maybe uprooting him has created problems that Alex had not suspected, like being excluded from games in the schoolyard. Other children don’t necessarily share Alex’s “big heart,” in accepting the inevitable square peg who won’t fit the round hole, especially if he is an item of produce in a human world.  When Alex meets Trudy, he learns that her special object is an old alarm clock, with the disturbingly personified accident of broken hands.  Then the other shoe drops, with Alex admitting that the butternut squash’s eventual fate is to be compost.  Uh oh.

Just when adults reading this charmingly idiosyncratic book with children might become concerned, the kids work it out.  Alex and Trudy find a solution to the transient nature of squashes, clocks, and maybe everything.  They defy convention and create their own universe of play, where art supplies and affection are more important than fitting in. 

Dad, Grandma, and Fixing Cars

Sarabeth’s Garage – written by Melanie Florence, illustrated by Nadia Alam
Tundra Books, 2026

Books about grandparents and grandchildren fill a special role.  Children’s books that emphasize the right for girls to push boundaries and find their place in the world, without regard to restrictive gender norms, are also promising. Of course, literary and artistic excellence are never superseded by ideology. In Melanie Florence and Nadia Alam’s picture book, Sarabeth’s Garage, a lively text and expressive pictures show a believable child pushing back against the expectations of her beloved grandmother.  By the end of the story, love and loyalty strengthen their relationship.

There are picture books that create an entire world peopled by the main characters as well as secondary ones, and all the essential items that make them seem real. This is one of those books.  Sarabeth’s family is bicultural; her father and grandmother are of South Asian ancestry.  Their background is not directly addressed, but it is implicit in some of the values that her grandmother holds, although it is never claimed that her ideas are exclusive attributable to her age or ethnicity. (“In my day, little girls played with dolls, not cars and trucks.”) This is not one of those books. It’s a book about individuals and context, woven together.

The book opens with an essential fact: “Sarabeth loved cars.” The richness of Alam’s illustrations draws the reader’s attention to so many elements. Sarabeth’s bright red apron has a brush and pencil sitting in its pockets. She is wearing beaded bracelets, and has a band aid on her arms. Gripping a pliers, Sarabeth works on a contraption, maybe a design for a vehicle. All the objects on her worktable are carefully composed against their white background. A tape measure is partly extended. Cookies on a plate have bites taken out of them; pencils and tools seem to be pointing towards one another. The scene captures the process of creation.

Metaphors are part of Sarabeth’s imagination, as in a scene where she compares cars and their engines to animals in motion. But one person, ironically, slowing her down, is the family matriarch, Grandma. Sarabeth’s parents are fully supportive of her dreams. Her mother, curled up on the sofa with a book, one hand on her beautifully pregnant belly, is proud of her daughter’s skills. Sarabeth’s father, a mechanic, is her role model.  They even wear matching blue coveralls while working in his shop. Grandma is important to Sarabeth; she cannot simply ignore the older woman’s stern statements.  The assumption that these prejudices are based on a lack of understanding is reasonable, but Grandma believes that Sarabeth is the one who does not understand.

The two-page spread of their complete family shows both togetherness and independence.  Dad and Grandma sit close together. Mom, curled up on the sofa with a book, one hand on her beautifully pregnant belly, is absorbed in her reading.  Sarabeth’s brother is completing his math homework, and she herself is constructing a cardboard mock-up of an invention.  Their dog is asleep at her side, and other accessories; a cup of tea, a set of paints; reflect the fact that conflict over Sarabeth’s passion for cars exists alongside other aspects of their home life. A poignant picture of Sarabeth trying to scrub the industrial dirt off herself indicates that she is trying to accommodate herself, to some degree, to her grandmother’s expectations. Pink and blue bubbles float above the tiles. She is standing on tiptoe, wearing one white sock. But her face is still marked by the grease spots of her future profession.

One difference between this book and some others about grandchildren and grandparents is its honesty about friction.  A family dinner indicates visually that generational differences are not easily bridged. (image) A vase of flowers sits in the center of the table, but Sarabeth and her grandmother are both frowning intently.  Mom tries to diffuse the situation by minimizing the importance of “a little grease stain.” But Grandma is not inflexible. When a problem with her car, which she avidly still drives, leads her to need help, she knows where to find it. This outcome is not improbable.  Grandma’s apparent stubbornness is part of her strength. When Sarabeth gently reminds her that “in my day, girls can do anything they want, Grandma,” there is no sense of disrespect, or even triumph. Her car is up and running again, “and she revved the engine softly to make it purr like a kitten.”  Now the two of them share a metaphor.

Supremely Adorable and True to Life

Bean Supreme (Tiny Bean’s Big Adventures, Book #2) – written and illustrated by Stephanie Graegin
Tundra Books, 2026

While the relationship between a grandparent and grandchild is certainly a promising subject for a children’s book, not every book is this category achieves both realism and imaginative innovation at the same level.  Bean Supreme is the second volume in Stephanie Graegin’s series about a very small hedgehog and her wise and loving grandmother.  The illustrations emphasize the miniaturized scale of their adventures, but also capture the essence of the characters’ bond.  Graegin narrates the episodic events in Tiny Bean’s life, accompanied by the unobtrusive guidance of Grandma.

The introductory chapter, “Tiny Bean, Tiny Neighbor,” introduces Bean to anyone who is not familiar with the first book.  The essential qualities of her identity are that she is a hedgehog and she is very small. She has a favorite stuffed animal, a pig named Clem.  Arrows point to these important people, and toys, in Bean’s life, including her grandmother, who waves at readers from her position underneath a strawberry hanging from a stem.  On the ground is a basket of “giant strawberries.”  Writing and images about smallness need to avoid exaggerated cuteness, and Graegin accomplishes this with great subtlety.

“Ice Cream Bean” begins with Bean drawing on the walls and wood floor of Grandma’s house. She’s not much mischievous as artistic, and Grandma’s explanation for Bean’s rule breaking is that they both had eaten too much ice cream, leading to wild dancing and exhaustion, as well as the episode of “redecorating.” Grandmother and granddaughter are similar visually, and in their thinking.  Soon they are using a roller and a paintbrush, at two different height levels, to clean up.The array of portraits on Grandma’s walls shows that she empathizes with a creative act, even one that Bean herself concedes was “a bit much.”When Bean and her friend, Gus, fly kites, Grandma helps her learn about the need for practice, but Grandma also experiences the anxiety of watching Bean elevated way too high. In this case, Grandma decides that the kites need to be put away in her attic until Bean is a bit bigger.

The book is not an ode to free-range parenting, but rather to common sense protectiveness.  In “Clean Bean” the little hedgehog learns about helping with chores and the need for a bath, and in “The Tall Tale of Bean Supreme” Graegin combines the wild imagination of a child with the child’s specific need to feel big and important.  Whether giving piggyback rides to creatures much smaller than herself, standing like a colossus next to an apartment building, she builds a sense of power. When Bean returns to reality and recognizes her own smallness, Grandma affirms her reasoning. 

Every story is accompanied by detailed images of domestic and outdoor scenes, gradations of color and shading, and composition that conveys both activity and stillness.  Bean Supreme is a visual and emotional treasure for multigenerational sharing.

The Show Must Go On

Sparkles, No Sparkles – written and illustrated by Shannon McNeill
Tundra Books, 2024

Sparkles, No Sparkles has the same underlying premise as Shannon McNeill’s earlier picture book, Wheels, No Wheels. Children categorize objects and experiences somewhat differently than adults do.  While wheels are functional, sparkles are decorative. But you may need them to put on a show.  When some sparkle-free species decide they would like to enhance their appearance with sparkles, they appropriate them from a theater. An usher becomes involved, even though stopping animals from stealing props had not been part of his job.

Young readers will share the usher’s confusion, and frustration. After all, he’s right. “For real, animals. Don’t steal!” The animals claim to be only borrowing the sparkles. A frog wearing a cape, a dog bearing a crown, and a pigeon striding in boots, are all excited to be part of a show. The usher would like to break out of his role and participate, too, but, as is often the case, his boss would never allow this sign of freedom.

McNeill’s pictures are filled with subdued colors and jewel tones. The presence of sparkles is actually rather understated.  When the usher eventually gets his sparkles, he is reminiscent of a little boy in a Maurice Sendak book, making a gracious gesture as he breaks free of adult constraints.  The curtain rises, and the usher is part of a proud cast. A zebra, flamingo, and dog dance in line while the purple-caped frog croons into a microphone. “Look, and LOOK and LOOK at us! they demand, as children will.There is a moment of tension when the actual professionals realize that their props, sparkles included, are missing.  These items are still making the rounds, but eventually they return, in a blaze of sparkly fireworks.  Sparkles are an unlimited quantity in this ode to unbridled creativity.

Sort of Good Very Bad Day

Just Another Perfect Day – written by Jillian Harris and Justin Pasutto, illustrated by Morgan Goble
Tundra Books, 2025

The family in Just Another Perfect Day, by Jillian Harris and Justin Pasutto, illustrated by Morgan Goble, is appealing in its imperfection. No one in the book seems quite as frustrated or depressed as Alexander in Judith Viorst and Ray Cruz’s classic, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (1972), although one child, Leo, does actually spit out a sandwich when it disappoints him. The sarcasm of the title is also refreshing. Basically, this not atypical family has some typical problems, which push everyone to the breaking point, but not over it. The text rhymes, the pictures are bright and colorful, and the message is reassuring without being preachy.

The family’s home is comfortable, if not generic. It is set on spacious grounds and appears welcoming.  But problems begin to crop up as soon as the reader enters the interior space. Annie and Leo have overslept and are not nearly ready for school. Any parent knows the chain reaction that will cause. Mom wakes up, looking at her phone with surprise; three different clocks have malfunctioned, and one is analog. Dad, who hasn’t shaved yet, tries to walk two difficult dogs, holding things up further.  Multitasking won’t work, because everyone is too far behind to catch up.

Once the kids are at school, Mom tries to salvage the day at work in a particularly evocative scene. In a cinematic sequence of images, she is seen “checking off lists and meeting each goal,” a phrase filled with irony. Her computer, which is covered with sticky note reminders, isn’t actually working. Her coffee has spilled, and the bagel with one bite out of it shows that she doesn’t even have time to eat properly.  Even a lovely pink phone dial phone and matching vase of roses, evoking a simpler (maybe) era, can’t make up for the chaos.

This day has to turn around or the book will end in disaster. Everyone is exhausted, but their energy kicks in enough for an impromptu dance in the kitchen as they eagerly anticipate take-out food. When the delivery driver gets lost, the work together to cook up some pasta. Maybe the meatballs were left over in the fridge. If the cheery dance seemed fun, but improbable, the dinner is a believable conclusion.  There is still a sticky note on Mom’s hair, and paint on Annie’s face from her ill-fated art project, but everyone seems to have accepted the inevitability of days like this, which are “less than great.”  Baths, reading time, and family togetherness are the recipe, they conclude that “makes it all work.”  This cheery and unpretentious story is close enough to perfect.

Instructional Jam

How Not to Make a Jelly Sandwich – written and illustrated by Ross Burach
Scholastic Press, 2026

There are an endless number of projects that demand instructions for adult readers. For children, some of these may seem quite pointless. Ross Burach’s How Not to Make a Jelly Sandwich gets right to the point, providing clear guidelines for the preparation of a culinary favorite. There is not even any peanut butter here, just jelly, apparently grape or maybe strawberry. There is a determined little girl, and some animals to help.

Starting from the beginning, she draws plans on an architect’s planning board. Nothing will be taken for granted. There are only “five simple steps,” cutting out grownup nonsense about specialized qualities of the ingredients. She begins with a trip to the supermarket, where she purchases scuba diving equipment and bread, distributing the latter to some ducks in a pond. The series of detours in making a sandwich are a kind of parody of self-important instructional literature. For kids, they are just funny.

The next step is bathing a dog (other children’s authors have also handled the pet-bathing conundrum), followed by directing a medieval pageant. It may seem like a digression, but the dog’s tail will become a jam knife. Here is where spectacle becomes part of the sandwich preparation, involving placing bread and jelly on the tips of the knights’ lances. Since cultivating the right attitude is often considered essential, the girl uses positive reinforcement with hamsters, who will employ their unicycles to cut the sandwich in half. Seemingly useless activities often have an ultimate goal, especially to children.

The reward for all of these focused series of actions is a jelly-sandwich eating event, including everyone who has helped, or temporarily hindered, the sandwich construction. Returning to the title, with its “Not” inserted between “How” and “to,” according to the author information on the back cover, the author is having ironic fun with a typical school assignment. How much room for creativity is available when listing instructions on demand? Backmatter offers some more unorthodox suggestions for sandwich prep, and children will undoubtedly come up with more.

Thinking Outside the Basket

Purim Baskets – written by Nancy Churnin, illustrated by Amy Schimler-Safford
PJ Publishing, 2026

The Jewish holiday of Purim, which this year is observed on March 3 (beginning at sundown on March 2), is a joyous event. Celebrating the heroism of Queen Esther in saving the Jews from annihilation at the hands of the evil Haman, it includes several mitzvot (obligations), and other traditions. One requirement is the sending of mishloach manot/shalach manos, to friends and neighbors. These “sending of portions” are small baskets or bags containing at least two different food items. (There is a separate mitzvah requiring tzedakah, charity, to those in need) But customs evolve, and more elaborate packages often now arrive on your doorstep on this holiday. In their lovely board book for your readers or listeners, Nancy Churnin (whom I have interviewed as well as reviewed) and Amy Schimler-Safford explore some possibilities, beyond hamantaschen. What might you offer to animal friends if they were part of your holiday?

The basket on the cover is a clue to what is inside. An apple, carrot, and leafy greens are joined by a bright yellow bone and a wiffle ball. As the book begins, Churnin poses the question, about what these baskets contain. Her answer is “That depends!” If your recipient is a golden-colored dog depicted, like the other animals, on a two- page spread, then a ball might be nice. For a cat, a basket of yarn in bright hues. Even a fish shouldn’t be excluded; its dedicated basket might offer some coral and aquarium accessories.

Schimler-Safford’s pictures are painterly, with rich colors that will appeal to children. The animals’ importance is signified by how much space they occupy in the pages, regardless of if they are big, like dogs, or smaller, like fish. To an adult sharing the book with kids there is an element of humor. Animals do not actually need their own mishloach manot. To a child, it might seem natural that they deserve one. Of course, human-oriented gifts would not be what these beloved creatures want or deserve.

Churnin concludes with another question, “What’s in your Purim basket?” with the same contingent answer. As any child knows, humans like different gifts, too.

The Fruit of Your Labor

Hello Baby, It’s Me, Alfie – written by Maggie Hutchings, illustrated by Dawn Lo
Tundra Books, 2026

A long time ago, 1938, or 1931 if you lived in France, Babar the Elephant learned of his triplets’ birth with the sound of a cannon. Since them, many more children’s books have appeared with the purpose, more explicit than in the work of Jean de Brunhoff, of preparing older siblings for the birth of a new baby.  Hello Baby, It’s Me, Alfie belongs in the top rank of these works.  Narrated from the point of view of Alfie, the soon-to-be big brother, Maggie Hutchings’ and Dawn Lo’s picture book is totally believable. It is also artistically distinguished, illustrated with vibrant colors reminiscent of Fauvist painting, rendered with pencil crayons and gouache. Hello Baby is funny, tender, and thematically consistent. Each page is full of carefully composed images placed at varying angles, adding up to fully realized home life, both indoors and outside. When Alfie promises that “my heart is pretty big. So I’m sure I’ll find space for you,” your own heart will resonate with empathy.

The consistent motif that defines the book is Alfie’s curiosity and love, framed by the famous fruit comparisons used to measure a baby-on-the-way.  Someone, probably his devoted parents, have explained the baby’s growth to Alfie, and he is constantly adjusting his expectations. The endpapers prepare us with big, splashy examples of children’s artwork. Fruit is a great subject when you are learning to draw. We enter Alfie’s kitchen, where his bearded and apron-wearing dad is cooking, while his Mom patiently explains that a baby is growing inside her. Alfie’s wide-eyed expression registers surprise, perhaps disbelief.

You know Alfie’s parents, or at least you have met them or seen them in our neighborhood. They are real people, Mom in her green maternity overalls and Dad holding an ultrasound image to show Alfie who is soon to arrive.  Alfie is excited to follow the fruit comparison. He is even wearing a tee shirt covered with bright red cherries as he notes his own height, and learns that the unborn sibling, at 12 weeks, is “as big as a perfect plum” It helps to be concrete when providing children with explanations, especially for events with monumental consequences.

There is a fine line between emotion and sentimentality; Hutchings and Lo succeed in evoking a strong response without veering into patronizing territory. When Alife lies against his mother’s belly and feels the baby kick, he interprets this prenatal action as a sign of love, reminding the now mango-sized creature that his older brother is full of love, as well. Alfie communicates essential information to his sibling, including the fact that sometimes fear is part of life. When his dog is frightened of thunderstorms, Alfie hugs him..  This statement is not random; he intuits how vulnerable this future baby, now the size of a mere cauliflower, might feel when he joins their family.

At Alfie’s fourth birthday party, the pictures highlight a lovely bit of formality, with his mother now wearing a black and white polka-dotted dress accented by a pearl necklace. Dad takes a photo portrait of the scene. If you are a parent, I know you may be thinking that Alfie doesn’t actually know what to expect. The addition of a baby is not, at least at first, going to be unmitigated joy for him. It will be difficult. Again, there is an allusion to past and future feelings. Alfie has painted a rainbow for the baby, but he ran out of the yellow needed to complete his creation.  “That’s what the crying was about.” Maybe. He is upset enough to need a reassuring embrace from his father.  His mother is now really large, but still almost beatifically calm. 

The book ends, not with the typical picture of a newborn, but with Alfie looking into the crib that his father has carefully assembled.  The inside of the dustcover is a prenatal growth chart measured by pictures of produce. I will summarize by returning to Babar, because the stunning visual quality of this book elevates it way above the level of handy didactic works on the same theme: “Truly it is not easy to bring up a family…But how nice the babies are! I wouldn’t know how to get along without them any more.” Words to live by, for Alfie and his growing family.

Chanukah 2025/5786

Hanukah Money – written by Sholem Aleichem, translated and adapted by Uri Shulevitz and Elizabeth Shub, illustrated by Uri Shulevitz
Greenwillow Books, 1978

This year’s celebration of Chanukah has been marked by a horrific tragedy. The slaughter of 15 people, with many more injured, is now inseparable from the religious and cultural festival this year, but it cannot destroy the meaning of the holiday.  The great Yiddish author Sholem Aleichem (1859-1916) often wrote about both suffering and resilience. In his short story “Hanukah Money,” translated and adapted, and illustrated by Uri Shulevitz (who died earlier this year), Sholem Aleichem relates the tale of two young brothers eager to receive the traditional gift of gelt while their family observes the holiday. (Everyone knows of Sholem Aleichem, and you can find more of my reviews of Shulevitz’s brilliant work here and here and here.)

The boys’ mother is busy cooking latkes (potato pancakes). Their father recites the blessing on the candles. He understands the boys’ impatience, and rewards them with their small gift. While they spin their dreidels, their father and Uncle Bennie play checkers, discussing strategies of the game as if it had grave importance: “‘What’s to be done, what’s to be done, what’s to be done?’ intones father.” More relatives arrive and bring coins. The boys’ innocence, within their clearly impoverished home, reflects both their unawareness of material deprivation, and their joy in this occasional opportunity to delight in relative plenty.  Even counting the coins becomes a ritual and a game framed by playful language: “One chetvertak and one chetvertak makes two chetvertaks, and another chetvertak makes three chetvertaks, and two grivenniks is three chetvertaks…”

Shulevitz’s pictures, resembling sepia engravings, feature exaggeratedly comic figures. The children seem like small adults and the adults themselves have child-like limitations.  Some of the objects surrounding them are Hebrew prayer books, a wall of Jerusalem’s Tower of David, and a chanukyiah (menorah) displayed in the window.  When one brother dreams that the cook, Breineh, flies into the room, she is carrying a platter, not of latkes, but of paper bills. “Motl swallows rubles like pancakes,” before going back to sleep. Money is abstract and fungible, but available food fills an immediate need. The boys’ needs are briefly fulfilled in the unique customs of the Festival of Lights.

Little New Year

Weiwei’s Winter Solstice – written and illustrated by Michelle Jing Chan
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

Even if you are familiar with traditions surrounding Chinese New Year, you may not know about an adjacent celebration, Dōngzhi; author and illustrator Michelle Jing Chan explains the origins and significance of this winter solstice festival.  Falling between December 21-23, it is sometimes known as “Little New Year,” and points towards longer days, coming warmth and light, and good fortune.  The book itself if full of bright colors and supportive family relationships, as Weiwei adjusts to life in a new home, where “there are no hummingbirds or chrysanthemums” and “it’s too cold for a screen on the door.”

Weiwei’s family is identifiably a real one. Her grandfather, Yeye, enthusiastically dresses her for the cold weather, but they also seem aware of her unhappiness. Once they are prepared, their outing in the icy outdoors becomes a delight.  Set against a backdrop of snow, Weiwei, in her bright blue parka and red boots, notes how the frozen river “sparkles like a mirror,” and each family member is engaged with nature. Still, when they return home, and begin to prepare the special treat associated with Dōngzhi, I couldn’t help finding their kitchen to be a welcome respite from the admittedly scenic outdoors. It’s both spacious and cozy and everyone seems absorbed in the task. (Chan includes a recipe for black sesame tāng yuán in the backmatter.) I particularly like the contrast between blue and white, from the floor tiles to items of clothing, as Weiwei drops balls of dough into broth.

Sadly, the grandmother has died, and one moving two-page spread depicts the family showing reverence to deceased ancestors (image), serving them tea and special foods. There is a smiling portrait of the grandmother on a shelf, accompanied by plants, fruits, and incense. Sense impressions rise from the page. Facial expressions connote, not sadness, but loving memories. Sensory metaphors also convey difficult feelings. Yeye explains to his granddaughter that tāng yuán itself mimics the sound of the word for togetherness. He confesses to having felt sadness when he first moved to America. Eventually, senses, and the emotions they corroborate, make sense to Weiwei, and she compares the delicious sensation of eating tang yuán with deep contentment: “I feel like a golden sun.” Weiwei’s Winter Solstice is a graceful homage to tradition and family, as well as to change.