"Today" by Julie Morstad

Until maybe a month ago, my oldest daughter (4.5 years old, and don’t you dare say she’s only 4), wanted me to make her mundane decisions for her. 

Which way should we walk to school? “What do you want, dada?” 

What do you want for dinner? “What do you think, dada?” 

What should we wear today? “The dress. No, the sweatshirt. Uch, whatever you want, dada.”

So, I’d choose. Because she asked me to. And because I would like to leave the house less than ten minutes after we first tried to leave the house. But more times than not I’d choose wrong. Because she had the right answer in her mind, even though she told me it was whatever was in mine. She knew all along she wanted to walk by the dog park, and to eat the chicken nuggets, and to wear the dress. But she didn’t want to make the decision before I weighed in.

I spent months trying to figure out why. I still don’t quite know. But “Today,” a gorgeous and slender children’s book by Julie Morstad, has given me a nibble at a possible answer.

The book’s conceit is simple: Here’s a day in a kid’s life, and they have to make choices about what they want to do at every juncture. But it’s not just any kid, it’s you, the kid who’s reading it. The book uses the direct address of something like “Blues Clues” or “Gabby’s Dollhouse,” but without cloyingly simple-minded questions like, “Do you see the triangle that’s glowing and bigger than all the other shapes and directly in the center of the screen?” Instead, it asks the reader what they want, and then shows them a huge, but not endless, list of options.

It starts like this: “What should I do today? Where should I go? Should I stay close to home or go far away? But first, what’ll I wear?”

And then continues on to this:

The whole book is that straightforward, and that evocative. You get off-ramps for conversation with your kid, encouraging both of you to dream up a dream day, then Morstad grounds the exercise with specifics. And those specifics manage to be universal and particular. Nearly any kid will own something they recognize on that page of clothing options, whether it be an itchy sweater or a bathing suit. But when’s the last time your kid wanted to put on a grass skirt and a viking hat? (My daughter always chooses to put on the grass skirt …  and the flower crown … and the beekeeper’s hat … and the stripy tights … and the crown … and the party dress.)

This blend of banality and whimsy lets kids see themselves in the book, while also giggling at the prospect of something far outside their norm. Later on, after kids choose where they want to go, Morstad writes, “There are so many ways to get there. How would YOU get there?” She offers a bus, a bike, a car … and a helicopter?? A canoe?? A camel?? By offering some extremes, kids are given permission to come up with their own. A rocket ship isn’t on the page, but it might as well be. The finite assembly of options can unlock the possibility of infinite choices.

As the book moves along from attire to destination to transport, it encourages detours. “How about getting lost in the flowers and stopping to pick a few?” one page says. And splashed across a two-page spread are sketches of dozens of flowers, each with their own name and color scheme. Choose one (or, as my daughter prefers, all) and Morstad doubles down: “Who will you give them to?” Hold your breath as you hope your kid says your name.

Part of what makes “Today” so resonant for kids and parents alike is that the day is the central narrative in a kid’s life, a story conceit as primal as good vs. evil or man vs. nature. It’s pure chronology, an unspooling of events and detail that, for too many of us, grows rote over time. But for young kids, days might as well be sandboxes, full of surprises and discoveries.

“How was your day?” was the first story I ever asked my kid to tell me. Morstad’s book works because it understands it’s also the first story kids want to create for themselves.

Depending on your corner of parenting Instagram, giving your kid choices is en vogue these days. It’s good to give them agency, the thinking goes. Empower kids now so they’re empowered later. Make them think they have control over the little things so your despotic rule over the big stuff goes down more smoothly. By this framing, my and my kid’s daily tussle over the smallest of choices was a power struggle. The moment that I exerted influence over her decision -- at her request! -- she took back the power and told me what she really wanted.

But “Today” made that framing feel awfully reductive. What if instead of trying to dominate me, she was trying to let all her possibilities live just a breath longer. By deflecting the decision-making back to me, she could remain in the infinite. Because until she said she wanted the chicken nuggets, she could have anything. And everything. 

And who wouldn’t choose to have that be part of their day?

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We loaned “Today” from our local library, but if you already know you want to own it, here’s a way to buy it. I get a little kickback if you buy it using that link, so careful where you spend your money.

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