My weekly storytime at Big Hill Books in Minneapolis is back to just the very small children after a summer in which some big kids visited and we could read longer picture books on occasion while the littles ran around the bookstore. These little ones are so amazing — they’re getting gobs of vocab each week. They greet each other. They’re learning to say their own names and show us their one or two-year-old fingers. It continues to be one of my favorite hours of the week.
Sometimes I look over their small heads (they sometimes congregate right up next to me, hand on my knee, eyes scanning the book … before they decide to lie down in the story circle and roll across the floor … ) and I see the fatigue on their caregivers’ faces. It’s 10:30 in the morning and they’ve already had a pretty full day with these bundles of energy. I can see the mind numb, the grocery list running in their brain’s background, the gratitude for being able to sit in a grown-up chair for a few minutes … And I think: The adults should get something from storytime, too. So I read a book that’s maybe more for them than the kids — the humor, the historical topic, the kind of book that makes you take a fortifying breath. It’s extra special when there’s a book like this that is fascinating for these wee ones and their adults. And A Mischief of Mice by Christie Matheson (author and illustrator) is just such a book.
A mischief of mice used to play in these woods.
Then one dusk they just … disappeared.
We count the mice — there are five. And then … they’re gone. The adults smile a less weary smile at the collective noun “mischief of mice.” Who doesn’t love collective nouns? And we are just getting going, because all the animals of the forest join in looking for this mischief of mice that has so suddenly disappeared. There’s the scurry of squirrels who fear they could be next. There’s a skulk of foxes and a gaze of racoons. Even a clutter of spiders is featured. The slightly spooky unkindness of ravens must be counted, and we hoot like the parliament of owls. On and on it goes, with these wonderful words, these caring animals — a prickle of porcupines, a sleuth of bears, a cauldron of bats (we count them, too.)
The adults are sitting up straighter. There is delight on their faces. A giggle of children (my collective noun!) press into me, huddled around the book to figure out where the mischief of mice has gone. I won’t spoil the ending, but it is cozy and allays the fear of the scurry of squirrels. A storytime success!
Check it out — a delight of a book!
Sounds like a lot of fun!