All Dahl’d Up

I ordered a box set of the Road Dahl books on CD, read by Roald Dahl himself, for our trip to the Grand Canyon.  Of course, once there we discovered our rental car had no CD player.  How very cute of me to just assume all cars have CD players, right next to the manual windshield wiper mechanism.

Not to worry, though, we have a bona fide ghetto blaster boombox dealie here at home for all our musical needs, and Leo listens to the CD’s over and over again throughout the day. 


Well, actually, he listens to one specific CD, James and the Giant Peach, over and over again, which means I listen to the James and the Giant Peach CD over and over again.  As soon as Leo wakes up, he stumbles out of his room, presses “play” on the CD and we hear again hear how James’ parents were eaten up by a rhinoceros, we hear his aunts calling him stupid little boy; we hear Roald Dahl and his British accent pronouncing “really” like “ruhlly” on every other page; we worry about how many more years this is going to add to our eight plus years speech therapy.  James and the Giant Peach plays in its entirety anywhere between three and five times a day in our house, and I ruhlly don’t think I can take much more of it.

I used to love this book.  It was one of my favorite read alouds when I was a teacher and then when I became a mom.  Unfortunately, listening to the same book 36 times in 9 days does not do any favors for one’s love of any book.  I have listened to these stories read by Roald Dahl so much that I’m no longer enchanted by the British accent.

Our other options from the CD set are the Magic Finger, where duck-humans and human-ducks shoot each other up; The Giant Crocodile where a crocodile spends the entire book trying to eat a child alive; Fantastic Mr. Fox, which left Leo running around the house yelling, “Dang and blast!” for a week; or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is not so bad if you can overlook the one-sidedness of the characters, the enslavement of the Oompa Loompas and the way it’s totally obvious that Willy Wonka not only knows that terrible fates are about to befall a group of children, but is actually looking forward to it.

I no longer enjoy the whimsy and wildness of Roald Dahl’s books, and it feels like my childhood is over.

If only there were some sort of wriggling magic beans that some odd little man could place in the palm of my hand and instruct me to swallow in order to bring the magic back…

Polenta with roasted kale and squash, browned butter, blue cheese, & fig balsamic
Breaded lemon shrimp
Chocolate cake pops

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