Chloe has been working on her memorizing reading skills this summer and we have been coming back to the classic, “That’s Not My Dolly” at least once a night while I wait for my wine to decant.
The book is simple. Each page starts with, “That’s not my dolly” and then an easy-to-explain reason why that wouldn’t be the picky narrator’s dolly. Things like, “Her shoes are too bumpy”along with a layer of textured paper over her feet to reinforce the fact that no one could ever love this doll based on her horrendous choice of footwear.
Last night, Chloe said, “That’s not my dolly” on the page that does the grand reveal when all previous pages started with “That’s not my dolly” this one, the final page, that ta-da moment we’ve all been waiting for reads, “That’s my dolly!”
I asked her to look at the words again and she repeated, “That’s not my dolly.”
“Chloe, are you sure that’s what it says? It looks like this one might be his/her dolly.”
She said, “That’s not my dolly. If my dolly ever had a mouse on her arm I would throw her outside.”
