《Five little monkeys jumping on the bed》

Description From Publishers Weekly In this zany cumulative verse, five silly simian siblings insist on bedtime mayhem, and--heedless of the doctor's admonition--each suffers the same injury. Ages 3-8. Copyright 1990 Reed Business Information, Inc. Product Description Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed (A Five Little Monkeys Story) From School Library Journal PreSchool-Grade 1-- In a brief prelude to the title rhyme, five little monkeys ready themselves for bed, and say goodnight to their mother. Then, really getting down to business, they launch into some serious bed-jumping. Young children familiar with this popular finger play will appreciate Christelow's incorrigible monkeys, jumping with abandon, oblivious to the repeated warning: "No more monkeys jumping on the bed!" Newcomers will find the rhyme a delightful discovery which begs to be repeated. With each successive casualty, mother monkey dutifully consults the doctor, and bandages the wounds. Finally, all five battle-weary monkey children are asleep, and mother can go to bed. Colored pencil drawings in soft pastels depict the totally silly but lovable monkey family and its doctor. This is a natural for younger story hours, and can also be used with beginning readers. Whether sublimely happy or ridiculously goofy, Christelow's expressive monkeys pack a lot of appeal. --Corinne Camarata, Port Washington Public Library, N.Y. Copyright 1989 Reed Business Information, Inc. Review Whether sublimely happy or ridiculously goofy, Christelow's expressive monkeys pack a lot of appeal." School Library Journal, Starred " About the Author Eileen Christelowhas written and illustrated numerous best-selling picture books including ten popular stories about the Five Little Monkeys,Letters from a Desperate Dog, andVote! She lives with her husband in Dummerston, Vermont, and you can learn more about her life and work on her website,www.christelow.com and onwww.fivelittlemonkeys.com " Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. ONE Captain’s Log. Stardate 6012.9. The Enterprise has concluded a successful week charting the Wyvern system, a region devoid of intelligent life but full of fascinating planets, moons, asteroid belts, and radiation fields, or so my first officer informs me. In the meantime, with no immediate crisis on the horizon, the crew is looking forward to some much-needed recreation . . . “Mister Spock,” Lieutenant Uhura said. “Do you have a minute?” The Vulcan science officer looked up from his scanner. “At our present cruising speed, we are not expected to arrive at Starbase 13 for another 72.03 hours. You have my attention for as many minutes as you require. How can I assist you?” It was a relatively quiet moment on the bridge. The U.S.S. Enterprise was cruising at warp 2 through the interstellar void, with the Wyvern system receding in the ship’s aft sensors. Captain James T. Kirk listened casually to the conversation behind him as he reviewed the latest maintenance reports from engineering. A yeoman offered him a fresh cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted. “Oh, I doubt this will take 72.03 hours,” Uhura quipped. She wandered away from the communications station to confer with Spock at his post. “I’m just organizing this year’s holiday party, and I wanted your input.” Spock arched an eyebrow. “I am not certain that I am the appropriate officer to consult on such a matter. Levity is hardly the Vulcan way.” That’s putting it lightly, Kirk thought. He wondered what Uhura was about. “Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” she said. “As usual, the holiday party embraces the varied cultures and traditions of the ship’s entire crew, celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Diwali, Ramadan, mololo zam, and the Saturnian Blessing of the Rings, but I admit that I’m not terribly familiar with the customs of your people, Mister Spock. Are there any Vulcan holidays or rituals you would like us to include in the festivities?” Kirk rotated the captain’s chair around to observe Spock’s science station. The general chatter on the bridge died down, the better to eavesdrop on this increasingly intriguing conversation. Kirk suspected that Chekov and Sulu and the rest of the bridge crew were listening in as well. Even though they had all been serving beside Spock for at least four years now, there was still much they didn’t know about Vulcan life and customs. Spock, like the rest of his people, tended to be rather close-lipped on the subject. “You need not trouble yourself on my behalf, Lieutenant,” he said, “although you are to be applauded for your efforts at inclusiveness, which are very much in keeping with the Vulcan philosophy of IDIC.” Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, Kirk translated mentally. He was quite familiar with the motto, which was one of the fundamental touchstones of Vulcan civilization. It had also been one of the guiding principles behind the formation of the Federation itself. No small surprise, considering that Vulcan, along with Earth, was a founding member of the UFP. “So you never celebrated any holidays at home?” Uhura pressed. “Not even when you were growing up?” “That is not entirely the case,” Spock admitted. “My father occasionally indulged my mother’s fondness for certain Terran holidays, most notably the human custom of St. Valentine’s Day.” Uhura reacted with delight to this unexpected revelation. “Why, Mister Spock, that’s positively romantic!” “On the contrary,” he stated, “it is simply logical. In a universe populated by myriad species and cultures, respecting and accommodating each other’s disparate traditions is the only rational response.” “Well said, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, joining the discussion. “I believe it was George Bernard Shaw who famously stated that a barbarian was someone who confused the customs of his own tribe with the laws of the universe. Or words to that effect.” Kirk half expected Spock to make some gibe about humans being well equipped to comment on the topic of barbarism, but the Vulcan refrained, possibly because Doctor McCoy was not in earshot. Bones was presently holding down the fort in sickbay, dealing with an outbreak of Therbian fever among the crew, which meant there was nobody on the bridge to provoke. “A most civilized sentiment,” Spock said instead, “particularly for an Earthman of his generation.” “What about you, Captain?” Uhura asked. “Can we expect you at the party?” “Er, we’ll see,” he hedged. After the Helen Noel incident a few years back, he was still a bit leery of holiday parties. Such celebrations were good for morale, but too much fraternization could lead to some awkward moments afterward. Thank goodness Helen eventually transferred over to the Reliant, he thought. “It depends on what my schedule is looking like.” Uhura wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “I’m sure the whole crew is hoping you’ll attend, sir. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” She had a point, he admitted. Maybe if he just made an appearance? “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint the crew—” An urgent chime from the communications station interrupted him. Uhura hurried back to her post and adjusted her earpiece. All talk of parties and holidays was instantly put aside as she resumed her duties with her usual brisk professionalism. “Captain,” she reported urgently, “we’re receiving an emergency distress signal from Ephrata IV.” “Ephrata?” he echoed. “The Institute?” It had to be. As far as he knew, there were no other colonies or settlements in the Ephrata system. Indeed, the Institute had chosen Ephrata IV because of its remote and isolated location, far from the hustle and bustle of more populated systems. Seclusion was considered more conducive to serious study and contemplation. “Put it on the screen,” he ordered. Uhura consulted her control panel and displays. “I’m trying, sir, but there’s interference with the visual component of the signal. I’m mostly getting audio only.” She turned toward the main viewer at the front of the bridge. “Coming through now.” On the screen, a burst of visual snow replaced a view of the starry vista they had been traversing. The head and shoulders of a humanoid figure could be only dimly glimpsed through the chaff. A feminine voice, punctuated by static, cried out in obvious distress: “Help us! This is the Ephrata Institute, requesting immediate assistance. . . .” Crackles and pops obscured the audio, so that only snippets could be heard. “ . . . disaster . . . casualties . . . gravity of the situation . . .” Kirk thought he recognized the voice. He leaned forward in his seat, trying in vain to make out the figure’s features. “Elena?” Doctor Collins was an old family friend from Iowa who had often played bridge with his parents when Kirk was growing up. Last he heard, she had accepted a position as president of the Ephrata Institute. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in person. Probably at Sam’s and Aurelan’s funeral. As he recalled, she’d come all the way from Alpha Centauri to attend his brother’s and sister-in-law’s memorial services on Deneva. Kirk had been touched by her thoughtfulness. “Elena!” he said. “What’s happening? What’s the nature of your emergency?” “It’s no use, Captain,” Uhura said. “This signal was sent days ago. We’re only just now receiving the signal.” She fiddled with her controls. “Unable to establish direct communication with Ephrata at this time.” “Keep trying.” Frustration gnawed at Kirk. Out here on the final frontier, remote settlements like the one on Ephrata were often cut off from relief or communication for days, weeks, or even months at a time. For all he knew, the disaster at the Institute had come and gone—and Elena and the other scholars were already dead or dying. “Emergency!” she repeated. “Gravity . . . the weight of worlds . . . help us. . . .” The transmission ended abruptly. Nothing but snow and static filled the screen. “Uhura?” “That’s all, Captain.” She hit a switch, and an endless sea of open space returned to the viewer. “The signal appears to have been cut off at the source.” “Understood.” Kirk would have liked more information, but his course was clear. Their routine call on Starbase 13 would have to wait. “Mister Sulu, set a course for Ephrata IV. Warp factor 6.” “Aye, aye, sir.” The helmsman consulted the astrogator located at the helm and navigation stations. “Estimated time to Ephrata system thirty-nine hours, seventeen minutes.” Damn it, Kirk thought. He found himself wishing that the Institute had chosen a location somewhat less off the beaten track. “Any chance that another vessel might have already responded to that distress signal?” “Unlikely, Captain,” Spock reported. “As you know, Ephrata IV is isolated by design. The Enterprise is the only Federation starship in this sector, and the odds that a private or commercial vessel would be in their vicinity are roughly seven hundred sixty to one.” “I was afraid of that,” Kirk said. Aside from the typically precise probability, Spock hadn&...