International readers are welcome to join in. I am mailing this book to the winner myself and I can mail anywhere.

Alright, here’s the thing.  Hello, Tilly, written and illustrated by Polly Dunbar, is unbelievably adorable.  It is fun to read and is perfect for a young child because it is easy to act out, but more than anything?  It is cute.

The story starts out with Tilly, a little girl with blonde curls, reading a book.  (I.  Love.  That.)  Then, one by one, her friends are introduced.  Together, they all have fun doing what children love to do.  They make noise, dance, eat a feast, prance, and make more noise.  There is not much of a plot, but I think the simplicity of the tale is part of the appeal.  As well, kids will quickly pick up on the fact that each animal makes an appearance before their introduction.  For example, Hector peers through a door in the corner on one page and then is brought into the story on the next.

And the illustrations.  Oh, the illustrations!  Polly Dunbar has truly captured the essence of childhood delight on paper, which is no easy feat.  I keep pulling the book from the shelf just to look at the pictures.  There is something whimsical, playful, and light-hearted about them, and I think that makes them perfect.

That said, my favorite part of Hello Tilly is this: the yellow book.  Not only does the tale begin with Tilly reading a book alone, it ends with her reading the same book to her friends, and the book can be spotted on every page.  It is such a small, wonderful tribute to reading.

Pros: Young children will delight in helping you tell the story.  Each page is filled with sounds and actions (wiggling, whumping, slurping) that are fun and easy to act out.  The illustrations are also ridiculously darling.

Cons: None.

Borrow or Buy: If you want a fun, simple story that your children will have a good time with?  Buy.

See what I mean about the illustrations?  And the yellow book?

Reading tip of the week: ACT IT OUT!  Make faces and sounds and gesture wildly with your hands.  Children of all ages will get a kick out of your behavior.

About the publisher: Candlewick is entirely owned and operated by its employees.  As a result, it is one of the largest independent publishers in the world.  Moreover, it means that the people at Candlewick truly care about publishing wonderful children’s books.  And it shows.

What to do: You can enter this giveaway by leaving a comment below telling me something you do or your family does to have fun.  All you need is an e-mail address.  The giveaway ends Thursday evening at 9 P.M. Pacific Time and the winner will be announced Friday morning.  You can leave one entry every day, for a total of up to three entries.

For extra entries: Subscribe to Candlewick’s Twitter stream by clicking here for an extra two entries in this and any other 2010 giveaways for Candlewick Press books.  (Even if you forget to enter those giveaways via comment.)

Disclosure: I initiated contact with Candlewick and I received a review copy of Hello, Tilly.

To purchase this book: You can buy Hello, Tilly through Amazon.com (that link uses my affiliate code) or locate a local retailer through Indie Bound.org.

Odin the Owl says: If you have an Odin the Owl button on your website, Etsy shop, Facebook, blog, or anywhere else, please contact me.  I am building a page of links (this was Tracy’s idea, GENIUS TRACY!) and I do not want to miss anyone!

Seeing the two pink lines on the pregnancy test did not do it.  Feeling the first subtle kicks of a thriving life within my body did not do it.  Watching my belly expand for months did not do it.  Hearing the strong whoosh whoosh of a baby’s heartbeat did not do it.

Bending over when the contractions hit did not do it.  Crawling around a hospital floor in the most unfathomable pain did not do it.  Bearing down with all my might did not do it.  Tearing and bleeding and pushing and delivering a baby did not do it.

Latching a child to my breast did not do it.  Smiling while my husband held our greatest joy in his arms did not do it.  Photographing our family for the very first time did not do it.  Responding with my entire body to the bleats of an infant did not do it.

Changing diaper after diaper did not do it.  Cheering after the appearance of an early smile did not do it.  Waking in the wee hours of the morning did not do it.  Rocking my child to and fro did not do it.  Kissing her and having her kiss me back did not do it.

Strapping the baby into the car-seat did not do it.  Mentioning milestones at play-dates did not do it.  Reading the same story a dozen times over did not do it.  Worrying over a runaway fever did not do it.  Whispering with my husband about our gratitude did not do it.

But yesterday morning, after breakfast and before naptime, my parents stood on their porch and waved good-bye.  My husband walked beside me and our dog ran ahead of us.  My baby was on my hip, one of her hands gripping my hair and the other my shirt, and I turned around while my parents looked on.

And in the smallest moment of walking away, I felt like a mother.

*** World?  Meet Megan.

Congratulations, Carrie!  I hope you enjoy it!  And an enormous thank-you to Annick Press for working with me to make this review and giveaway a possibility in the first place!

Everybody else?  Please try again next week!  Also, please keep spreading the word and letting me know if you have any ideas to make the whole project run more smoothly.  I appreciate all of it, I really do!

To purchase this book: You can buy Leo’s Tree through Amazon.com (that link uses my affiliate code) or locate a local retailer through Indie Bound.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something very important to attend to today.  And that something is called “airplaning the baby around the house until my arms are so thoroughly exhausted that they fall off.“

Charlotte makes the most adorable airplane that I have ever seen.

You know what would make a nice, benign blog post?  Telling you about how my boobs are possessed.  Because they are.  Every time Charlotte gets hungry, she starts squawking and I start unbuttoning and unsnapping.  She might even lick my shirt to help me out.

What can I say?  I need all the help I can get.

Then, as soon as she latches, she starts kicking.  KICK!  Kick kick kick!  KICK!! KICK KICK!!  And her arms start flailing in seventy directions at once, and all of those limbs are moving at roughly the speed of light.  So I’m getting pummeled in the ribs by all the KICK KICKING and my eyeballs are being poked out by little baby talons and THE ONLY EXPLANATION is that my boobs are possessed.

It’s like witch’s brew through a nipple.

But anyway, instead of writing about that, I have a story for you.  A real-time, you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up tale of breastfeeding motherhood.  It starts at a library.

Charlotte would like to clarify that this is not her fault.  I OWN THIS DUMBASSERY.

Yesterday, I met up with a few fellow mothers at a toddler story-time.  This particular library has a wonderful children’s section, but is also quite a distance from my home, so I only go once or twice a month.

After the story-time, a group of us mingle and walk around and generally talk about how our babies rock.  Which they do, all babies rock, but you know how it is.  You put a group of moms together and if the only thing tying them together is the fact that all of them have, at one point, allowed their uterus to be stretched beyond all comprehension to accommodate human life?  THEY ARE GOING TO BRAG ABOUT THAT HUMAN LIFE.  Also, about that miracle uterus of steel.

Which is right up my alley.  Because guess what?  My miracle uterus of steel has been stretched beyond all comprehension too.  What a coincidence!

At any rate, by the time that we finish mingling and walking and talking about how our babies are the cutest damned things this planet has ever seen, Charlotte is good and hungry.  So everybody else goes home, but I usually spend a bit of time sitting in the backseat of the car feeding her.

She spends that time trying to cause me grave bodily harm through kicking and clawing and (more recently) biting.  Speaking of which: HOLY GOODNESS, my daughter is turning into an alligator.  I have a sinking feeling that my nipples are going to be yet another casualty of motherhood.

But I digress.

So yesterday afternoon, I nursed Charlotte and then I tucked her into her car-seat.  I got out of the car, put the diaper bag in the trunk, and then got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.  Then I drove home.  Ten miles later, when I pulled into my driveway, I parked the car and turned off the engine.  I got out of the front seat, grabbed the diaper bag from the trunk, and then slid into the back-seat and started unbuckling Charlotte.

And THAT is when I noticed that my boob was still hanging out.  In the wind.  Unattended.  I was horrified.  Charlotte was like TWO LUNCHES?  I GET TWO LUNCHES?!  THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!

Just for the record?  This is much more humiliating than that one time I got my skirt stuck in my waistband and walked around with my underwear showing for an afternoon.

*** If you have a chance, wish today’s featured blogger, Sarah, a happy anniversary.

Sometimes, I stare at her while she sleeps.  I run my fingers along the edge of her face and tuck her blonde wisps of hair behind her ears.  The day starts and I hear the neighbors leaving for work and student carpools honking to announce their arrival and the keys in the lock after Donald kisses his girls good-bye.  And amidst the rush of the morning, there we are.

It’s just the two of us.  She slumbers.  I adore.

So many thoughts run through my brain in those moments.  I try to still them, but they squeeze in and race about regardless.  I try to breathe in and out and just soak up each minute, but instead I find my mind wandering.

I wonder at her beauty.  I imagine her as the infant who was first placed on my chest, a warm and squirming picture of perfection.  I ponder what she might look like later.

Then I think about, well, everything.

Her first steps and her first day of school.  What she will like to do and who she will become.  Will we shop for a wedding dress together?  Will her partner love her well?  Will she come to me one day, a smile on her lips, a baby in her belly?

I picture her graduations.  Then I think about watching her run into the ocean for the first time.  How it will be when she first tells me she loves me.  And, conversely, how I will survive when she first tells me she wishes she had a different mother.

The thousands of diaper changes flash through my brain, followed by the thousands of times I will buckle her car-seat and say ALRIGHT, LET’S ROLL.  The hundreds of lullabies sit aside the dozens of times I’ll roll my eyes and say FINE, ONE MORE STORY.  BUT JUST ONE.  And then read her two.

It all flies by in those moments and I find myself struggling to live in the moment and cherish her AS SHE IS, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.  Because I love remembering the past and I wonder so much about the future.  And as the morning marches on, as the birds chirp outside and the sun dangles higher in the sky, I lay kisses on her forehead and breathe in the sweet smell of the baby I so love and worry about this, about whether or not I am too immersed in the past and future to be the mother she needs in the present.

Then she stirs and snorts and flashes me a sleepy smile.  The same smile she had when she was born and the same smile she will have when I take my last breath.  And I thank the heavens above for that smile.  It’s telling me that I’m doing just fine.