Sunday afternoon, during some rare time home alone by ourselves, 2-year-old F and I read a traditional telling of “The Gingerbread Man” from a book he’d randomly pulled off a library shelf the weekend before. Shortly into the story, he asked me to stop while he hopped off my lap and retrieved a gingerbread man ornament from our Christmas tree.
I had the impulse to — either right then, or immediately after we finished the story — find our copy of The Stinky Cheese Man and treat the boy to an impromptu lesson in parody. But I resisted. I figured, why not let F just enjoy the story for what it is?
Imagine my amusement when I got home from work yesterday to find on our coffee table not only The Stinky Cheese Man but also the Little Lit volume with its own telling of “The Gingerbread Man.”