MOTHER, MAY I?

Despite all the pop and fizz, this story of a mother getting the full Mother’s Day treatment from her young daughter suffers from the relentlessly pained expression on the mother’s face. “Mother, may I, on your special day, be the mom to you today?” The little sprite, her demeanor speaking volumes, has the devil in her. Mother already looks wary and exhausted, and this is the first page, the start of the day. There follows the predictable debacle: messes here, mayhem there, all—credit where credit is due—rendered in great plashes of watercolor by Wummer. Mother spends most of the day with an ice bag on her head, darkening circles under her eyes, while her daughter engages in a jet-propelled ballet of destruction. Then—no surprise—the grim, overcast skies clear when the young tyke tootles out an “I love you” at day’s end. There and then, the mother might have murmured something for all the literal trouble the girl went to. But, churlishly, nary a word of appreciation is peeped. (Picture book. 3-5)