Ryan loves this book; it spawned his earliest instance of scripting: "Down, down, down, plop!" was his go-to phrase for "down" from the beginning. Our copy is a tiny board book, which seems far less menacing than the full-sized worn-out paper edition in Grandma's closet. To try to ease the anxiety that used to arise whenever I left the room, I always tacked on a final social-story line when I read him this book: "And Mommy always comes back."
Tonight at bedtime, Ryan read Are You My Mother? aloud for us. It was magical. It was full of paraphrasing instead of rote recital. It went something like this:
Are You Me My Mudder?Then he got stuck. The formula here is supposed to be, "'Are you my mother?' the baby bird asked a dog. 'I am not your mother, I am a dog,' said the dog." I pointed at the dog and prompted, "What did the dog say?"
A mudder bird sat on her egg. The egg jumped and jumped and jumped until out came a baby bird.
"Where's my mudder? I will go and find her." Down down down down PLOP!
He asked a kitten. "No, I'm a kitten!"
He asked a chicken. "No, I'm a chicken!"
"Woof!" he answered.
Then he saw a big thing. "You are my mudder!" The big thing said, "Snort!" "Oooh, you a scaaaary Snort." The Snort lifted the bird up up up and in da nest. The baby bird was home.
Then the mudder bird came back. "You [are not] a kitten, a chicken, a dog, a cow, a Snort. You're my mudder. And Mommy always comes back."
Yes, baby, Mommy always comes back.