title: Annie's Potty
author:  Judith Caseley 
description: PreS --Annie says "No" to her new potty, and does not want to trade her diapers for underpants with bunnies on them. Interested in spite of herself, she watches her mother and a friend use the toilet. At last she begins to sit on her potty, and all goes well until she wets herself. "I'm not a big girl anymore," she worries, but her mother assures her that accidents happen. The next day Annie gets a present--a new pair of grown-up underpants decorated with her favorite giraffes. Charming watercolor and colored-pencil illustrations accompany this story. Caseley covers all the big issues of this coming-of-age event, from getting the new potty through eventual success. The events have the ring of authenticity, and the tone is warm and comforting. Joanna Cole's Your New Potty (Morrow, 1989) and Fred Rogers' Going to the Potty (Putnam, 1986) are excellent titles as well. Their full-color photographs and introductions for parents give them a purposeful feeling, while Annie's Potty is more understated. All three titles deserve shelf room in any collection serving the very young. --Lucy Young Clem, Evansville Vanderburgh County Public Library, IN<BR>Copyright 1990 Reed Business Information, Inc.
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  Annie Murray
  
  
  
  
  
  Miss Purdy’s Class
  
  PAN BOOKS
  
  
  
  
  
  Boxing Day, 1935
  
  The bottle smashed through the window and shattered on the blue bricks of the
  yard.
  
  ‘You filthy stinking whore!’
  
  His father flung the door open so that the children’s screams echoed round the
  yard. He lurched outside. Joey stood dry-eyed, paralysed in the one downstairs
  room.
  
  There had been plenty of fights. He knew it was different this time.
  
  ‘I’m not stopping ’ere one bleeding minute more!’ Wally Phillips stood out in
  the yard, yelling back at the house. He was a thin, stooped man. ‘I’ve had all
  a man can take. Four bleedin’ whelps to feed and clothe, and that brat in your
  belly ain’t even mine! I’ve put up with your boozing and your carrying on . .
  . I ain’t slaving myself to the bone for you no more . . .’ He stumbled
  backwards and cursed, just managing to regain his balance. ‘You’re in here
  with your legs spread for any tomcat who calls at the door . . . You’re filth,
  Dora – there’s no hel