Richard Scarry is my co-pilot, What does that mean? I have family in Cincinnati and when my children were very young, we would fly to Ohio a few times a year (we now drive). I realized early on that I didn't need to pack tons of board books and picture books for the two and a half hour flight; all I needed to occupy the attention of my three children was one of Scarry's Busy Books. Richard Scarry, the genius that he was, knew how to appeal to preschoolers and young children IN THE SAME BOOK! While my toddler would point out recognizable images and say their names like fire truck and apple (also noted in the corresponding word identifications), my five year old would giggle at the silly stories about Huckle, Bananas Gorilla, and, Mr. Fix-It. And at the same time, my seven year old would try to find all the hidden Lowly Worms and Gold Bugs on a given spread (Scarry started this hide-and-seek game long before Where's Waldo!). My seven year old would also carefully study the intricate diagrams that Scarry was known for (pre-dating David Macauley's The Way Things Work, of course). The fact that one book could appeal to the very different developmental stages of my three children continues to fascinate me.

Scarry was the Fred Astaire of the children's book world. He made what he did look easy but in reality he was greatly disciplined in regimen and worked tirelessly at his craft. I had the pleasure of meeting Scarry's agent a few years ago who let me in on a secret -- he told me that an Italian Figurative Dictionary (Duden Italiano Dizionario Figurato, Redatto dal Bibliographisches Institut di Mannheim e dall'Istituto Geografico De Agostini di Novara) was Scarry's reference bible, and that it proved a source of great inspiration in his detailing the many awesome mechanical and architercutrally-oriented illustrations of houses being built, the inner-structure of windmills, a rope and pulley plumbing system, and so on.

Although Scarry never won a Caldecott Medal, he will always rank among the highest children's book creators in my book. If you are a fan and want to know more about his genius, I recommend the biography: The Busy, Busy World of Richard Scarry by Walter Retan and Ole Risom. Coincidentally, one of my most beloved pieces of original artwork is a vignette of the letter I (a mouse with a dish of ice cream) from Scarry's Alphabet Book. Richard Scarry, my co-pilot, my hero.

Alice Provensen (born August 14, 1918) and her husband, Martin Provensen, were collaborators, illustrating more than 40 books over the course of their 43-year marriage. They also co-wrote 19 of their picture books, their styles so interwoven that no one could say with any certainty who had contributed what to the projects. “Martin and I really were one artist,” Ms. Provensen once told Publishers Weekly. In 1987, Martin Provensen passed away. Although Alice was unsure she would continue to work, she has gone on to publish six other titles including The Buck Stops Here: the Presidents of the United States. With Martin, some of her best known books are The Color Kittens by Margaret Wise Brown, A Visit To William Blake's Inn (Caldecott Honor) and The Glorious Flight (winner of the Caldecott Medal). Many may not know this but the Provensens' created illustrations for The Fireside Cookbook originally published in the 1940s. This book is worth checking out -- the stylized illustrations are gorgeous.

Over the weekend I picked up a terrific find at a library book sale — One, Two, Where's My Shoe by Tomi Ungerer. Originally published by Harper & Row in 1964, this picture book is a playful game of "find-the-shoe" hidden within each illustration; it's very clever.

A little about the author: Tomi Ungerer is an award winning illustrator and has published over 140 books ranging from his much loved children’s books such as Crictor, The Three Robbers, and Moon Man to his controversial adult work. He is famous for his sharp social satire and his witty aphorisms. His career has also encompassed Architectural design (he created a preschool in the shape of a cat!), Invention, Advertising, and Sculpture. In 2003 the Council of Europe chose Tomi as their first Ambassador for Childhood and Education, and in 2007 the Tomi Ungerer Museum in Strasbourg opened its doors to the public and has since been voted one of the 10 best museums in Europe by the Council of Europe.

Giant John by Arnold Lobel was a favorite book of mine as a child. It’s a heartwarming tale of friendship between a giant and the royal family he meets on his journey to find a job. The illustrations are some of Lobel’s best -- intricate cross-hatching details coupled with exquisite line work, not to mention the charming character depictions. The book was originally published in 1964, early in Lobel’s career, six years before Frog and Toad. I saved my well-loved copy and, over the years, have shared it with each of my children. Giant John is one of those special books -- timeless in appeal -- that became a favorite among all three of my kids (no easy feat given their tastes vary). About five years ago when I tried to buy a copy of the book for a friend, I learned that it was no longer in print. Adam Lobel, Arnold’s son, had always loved Giant John and was tremendously helpful in getting me the rights to reissue this charmer. Here is the 1964 version alongside our reissue. Since the mustard brown background is no longer the popular color choice that it was in the 1960s, we freshened up the jacket, but everything else is just as it was in the original edition. I’m so glad that Giant John is back in print for a new generation of readers to enjoy.

Here's a terrific opening page from THE MAN WHO LOST HIS HEAD, written by Claire Huchet Bishop in 1942 and illustrated by none other than "MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS" Robert McCloskey. The exquisite graphic pen and ink work gives the celebrated artist away. I have an edition dating back to 1955 but just learned that it was recently reissued in 2009. It's a fun if not totally bizarre story, and haven't we all felt a little like the guy in this illustration!

The other day my daughter asked me if I knew how much the heaviest man in the world weighed. I instantly pulled out of my head 1069 pounds. She looked at me with total surprise and asked how I could possibly know this as I was RIGHT. Well, the copy of the 1976 Guinness Book of World's Records that she has become obsessed with once belonged to dear old mom. As a kid I was riveted with the "human" records section of the book -- the lady with the tiniest waist, the man with the longest fingernails, the family where all four children were born on the same month and day (April 15th). There is something fascinating yet surreal about these records. I pored over the details to the point of memorization and many, as you can see, have stayed with me all these years (if only that were the case with my memory of French, a subject I minored in). It must be in the DNA given my daughter, too, has taken such an interest in these human achievements. But who can resist? Like Ripley's Believe It or Not, these books that often celebrate the bizarre are intriguing in their own right. I imagine the heaviest man in the world's record has been beat in the last 37 years, among many other records. It doesn't really matter -- what I love is that my copy of the 1976 World's Records is still finding new readers and happily being passed around the 2nd grade in 2013. The power of print books.

The other night my daughter let me choose what book to read with her before bed time. Her only request — "pick a funny one." I reached for The Stupids Take Off by Harry Allard, illustrated by the great James Marshall. Later that night, after we giggled our way through the story, I recounted to my boys some funny lines from the book, which, of course, led to a second reading with them. Here are a few of our favorites: "At 10,000 feet the Stupids happened to pass Louise Fifi Stupid. "Can't stop to talk," said Louise Fifi. "I'm off to Grandfather Stupid's graduation from kindergarten. Au revoir!"

“Isn't Spanish a beautiful language?" said Mrs. Stupid.

And another: "On the spur of the moment the Stupids decided to attend little Patty Stupid's sixth birthday party. "Why are there eight candles on the cake? said Buster. "Because I didn't have six" said Patty. "That makes sense," said Buster.

It's no surprise that Dav Pilkey adored The Stupids. These books, I read, served as inspiration for his Dumb Bunnies series and, I would bet, equally inspired his very funny Captain Underpants series. I think the Stupids books are a perfect marriage of text and art. Clearly, the Allard/Marshall team was anything BUT stupid. Genius all the way.

Last weekend I went to a local library book sale and found a Gus the Ghost book to add to my collection. I absolutely loved these books as a child and have found them to be equally loved by my kids. Gus, a very benevolent ghost, is always looking for a playmate and some adventure. And adventures he has! The books were written by Jane Thayer and illustrated by Seymour Fleishman. Gus Was a Friendly Ghost was the first of many Gus books — the series ran from 1962 to 1989. Any fans of these books on the page?

For a good number of years, I was an aspiring gymnast and obsessed with Nadia Comaneci who had scored several perfect tens in the 1976 Montreal Olympics. When I was in grade school I knew, just by looking at my fellow gymnasts, that I probably wasn't ideal for the sport given that I was so much taller than they were, but I loved gymnastics and, for the time being, was dead-set on sticking my back-handspring on beam. As a birthday gift that year, I received Jill Krementz's A Very Young Gymnast and was completely taken with it. I loved that it was so long—a hundred and twenty-eight pages to be exact, and laden with photos of the book's intriguing subject. It chronicled a year in the life of Torrance York -- a pretty, petite gymnast who was an incredible athlete and likely to compete in the Olympics. The story covered every aspect of her life from the glamorous (a trip to Europe to compete against a team in West Germany) to the mundane (doing homework). I must have read the book a dozen times that year —soaking in all aspects of her life, especially her dedication to the sport. I went on to seek out all of the books in The Very Young series by Krementz but none spoke to me in quite the same way as A Very Young Gymnast.

I competed in gymnastics through middle school but my high school didn't have a team so I turned my attention to field hockey and tennis. I loved those sports but never in the way that I loved gymnastics. Over the years, I kept my copy of A Very Young Gymnast and often wondered what happened to Torrance York. During the 1980s, I always expected to see her name on the USA Gymnastic's team but that never happened.

Here's where it gets interesting. About five years ago, I was looking through the paper and saw a gallery opening for a photographer's exhibit. The photographer's name was Torrance York. Could this be the same person? I had to find out. I went to the opening and sure enough, there was Torrance York. She was still pretty and petite but now an accomplished photographer. I thought her chosen career was especially interesting considering Jill Krementz photographed her extensively. Some influence there? Maybe. After the opening, I got up my nerve and mentioned to her that I was a gymnast as a kid and loved her book. She said she still kept the fan letters she received from readers all those years ago. I smiled, but felt too embarrassed to admit that one of those letters was from me. I asked her what happened with gymnastics—did she stop competing? She told me that soon after the book came out, she had to make a serious decision about her career -- leave her family and move away to train full time in the hope of making the Olympic team, or remain home and basically give up that dream. She chose the latter. Although she competed all through high school and college, her decision not to seriously train away from home, I'm sure, affected who she has become.

The photographs on the gallery wall were absolutely stunning. No question there —she became a gifted artist. Before our conversation ended, she pointed to a photograph and asked me what I saw. The image was a close-up of a road with a dotted yellow dividing line. I quickly responded— "a beam." "I see a balance beam." She looked at me and smiled and said something like: "I ask everyone that question and only gymnasts see the beam." It was a terrific moment; one I won't forget. I've always thought that Krementz should have done a magazine article or blog post informing grown readers what became of her "Very Young" subjects. I know so many of us would love to know If A Very Young Skater or a Very Young Rider pursued their childhood dreams, or did those dreams lead them somewhere equally, if not more exciting, as in the case of The Very Young Gymnast.

I keep a lot of memorabilia, and old LPs are among the mix. A few weeks ago I was looking through my album collection with my seven year old daughter when she came across my Shaun Cassidy "white album," as I like to call it. "Who's this guy?," she asked. It only took me a moment to queue up the vinyl, and before long, she was completely hooked on the pure pop musicality of "Hey Deanie." A few days later her dad, much to his chagrin, was putting thirty year old Shaun Cassidy songs on her ipod right next to her contemporary favorites like Call Me Maybe and Dynamite. I guess this goes to show that there's nothing like a good pop song.

What could this post possibly have to do with books? That's simple, really -- The Hardy Boys! Back in the late 1970s, I would tune into ABC every Sunday night to catch an hour episode of The Hardy Boys TV show. I had a massive crush on both Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson (who didn't?). They had absolutely perfect hair, and they were such good sleuths, weren't they? The show inspired me to seek out The Hardy Boys books and from there I found Nancy Drew. (The Nancy Drew books warrant their own post so that's to come.) After reading widely in both series, I became hooked on mysteries and am still to this day. So there you have it -- inspiration sometimes stems from the unlikeliest sources.

I grew up on a healthy dose of Golden Books. As the third of four children, I inherited at least 200 Golden Books from my sister and brother— it would seem my mother bought a Golden Book to occupy the attention of my older siblings on each supermarket visit. I loved my Golden Book collection and remember organizing the books according to my favorite illustrators—Tibor Gergely, Gustaf Tenggren, Mary Blair, JP Miller, Garth Williams, Richard Scarry—but my absolute favorite illustrators were Eloise Wilkin and Sharon Kane. As a lover of dolls, reading their books as a kid was like watching my daughter pore over today’s American Girl Doll catalogs. Their books exuded warmth and created a fantasy of sorts; I wanted to live inside the cozy dollhouse worlds they rendered, with the rosy-cheeked, sweater-clad children in bucolic 1940s and 50s suburban homes, complete with hooked rugs and built in china cupboards. The book I treasured most was Sharon Kane’s Little Mommy. I kept my copy all these years and when my children were around four and five years old, I shared the book with them. They loved it too—even my boys.

About four years ago, I thought it was high time to try to purchase a piece of art from this beloved book that was now love-worn after two generations of readers. An internet search turned up Sharon Kane’s website and I was excited to get in touch with her. Much to my dismay, I learned that most of the art from Little Mommy was never returned from Golden Books—that was a different era in publishing and practices were not as they are today. While this news was disappointing, I was delighted to discover that Sharon was still working; most recently she has been creating portraits of children. I jumped at the chance to have her paint my daughter’s portrait. It was a wonderful experience to be in touch with an author/artist whose work had inspired me as a child and most likely had something to do with my pursuing a career in publishing books for children. I told Sharon to let me know if she wanted to write and illustrate her own books again. Soon after our exchange over the portrait of my daughter (which is beautiful) I received a book dummy for Kitty & Me. This was a special full-circle moment for me—to have the opportunity to work with an artist who was one of my earliest influences. The really wonderful news is that the artwork for Kitty & Me just delivered and the book is slated for our fall 14 list. The image here alongside Little Mommy is from Kitty & Me. As you can see, Sharon’s art is still as charming as it was when Little Mommy was published back in the 1960s. It’s so great to have Sharon back making books for kids.

Every morning, there is a mad rush in my household as two adults attempt to get three children dressed, fed, and out the door before doing the same. The five minutes of calm I look forward to comes when brushing my seven year old daughter's hair, which is very long these days. While I comb her hair, she reads to me, usually a picture book that we can finish in the time it takes me to make a wishbone, or a French braid, or one of her multiple braid designs. Today, my daughter chose to read Veronica by the wonderful Roger Duvoisin (originally published in 1961). Upon opening to the first spread, she burst out laughing at the terrific illustration of Veronica looking very conspicuous from the back-side. Sadly, all this hippopotamus wants in life is for once to be inconspicuous! Swedish born Duvoisin received the Caldecott Medal for White Snow, Bright Snow in 1948, and is also the creator of the classics, Petunia and The Happy Lion. His work is timeless and captures the essence of wonderful bookmaking for children. Seek him out if you don't already know his work.

Among the many love-worn books we took home from the Pequot Library Book Fair, the gem of the day was uncovering The Sky Was Blue by Charlotte Zolotow, illustrated by Garth Williams and published in 1963 by Harper. Absolutely charming.