I hate that they sell toys at book fairs.
It drives me nuts. It makes me the bad guy because I won’t let my daughter get a book with a toy attached. (I’m so mean.) When I was kid, I loved the book fair because it meant I got to buy, *insert sarcastic gasp*, a book. The next adventure of Trixie Beldon or Island of the Blue Dolphins. Not some piece of crap silly cat book with a necklace of a cat attached. This was just after spending 6 dollars at a Jamba Juice fundraiser for two drinks. (Yes, I am crabby and cheap. I think this is well established.) After I made the “you need to pick a book that is your reading level or we’re going home” ultimatum, she still tried, asking if she could have something “cool”, too. *sigh* She picked up a wiggly pen thing to show me what “cool” was. I told her if she could tell me what it was, then she could have it. Quite a gamble, I know.
I won. 🙂
And now the girl is sitting on the couch completely absorbed into the world of Flat Stanley.
A *insert gasp again* chapter book. With very few pictures.