Audio Storytime: Holidays 2025

Hello friends! It's Miss Cathy from the Mary L. Cook Library. Won't you join me for a story? I'll read and you can use your imagination to see the pictures. Let's get started. Bear Stays Up for Christmas, written by Karma Wilson, illustrated by Jane Chapman. 

The day before Christmas, snuggled on his floor, Bear sleeps soundly with a great big snore. Dear Bear, get up, Mouse shouts in his ear. “We won't let you sleep through Christmas this year.” His friends are all there, gathered in his lair, and the Bear wakes up. He stands with a stretch and a great big sigh. I hope I can make it. I do want to try. “Don't worry,” squeaks Mouse. Hare says, “It's all right. We'll keep you busy all day and all night.” He tries to lie down, but his friends all frown. So the Bear stays up. 

“Come on,” says Badger. “Time to follow me. In Pine Grove Glen, there's a fine Christmas tree.” So they stomp through the woods and they tromp down the track. They hoist up the tree onto Bear's big back. He plods very slow as they trudge through the snow, but the Bear stays up.

Back at the cave, Gopher brews mint tea and Mole pops corn to string upon the tree. Raven and Wren bake a fresh fruitcake. The friends do their best to keep Bear awake. His shoulders start to stoop and his eyelids droop, but the Bear stays up. 

They hang up their stockings by warm firelight and hum Christmas songs like, Oh Holy Night. They cuddle and sing as they wait for the sun, but soon all the voices fade to just one. A bright star glows while his good friends doze, but the Bear stays up.

Bear giggles and grins. He works and he wraps. He bustles and bakes while everyone naps. He piles up presents under the tree, but who's at the doorway? Bear doesn't see. He toils all night until the sun rises, making his friends their Christmas surprises Just before dawn, he lets out a yawn, but he still stays up. 

When Christmas arrives so lovely and white, Bear's friends awake to a glorious sight. Presents and goodies are piled up tall. “I stayed up,” says Bear, “just to share with you all.” As his friends shout with glee, Bear lies by the tree, but he still stays up.

Wren flies to the stockings and tweets out a cheer. “Besides our Bear's presents, Santa was here.” When all gifts are open, there's one last surprise. Badger shows Bear a quilt. Just his size. Bear snuggles up tight and mutters, “Goodnight.” Then Bear falls asleep. 

His friends tidy up and slip from the lair. They whisper, “Sweet dreams. Merry Christmas, dear Bear.”

Hello friends! It's Miss Cathy from the Mary L. Cook Library. Won't you join me for a story? I'll read and you can use your imagination to see the pictures. Let's get started. The Mouse Before Christmas by Michael Garland. 

On the night before Christmas, there was a young mouse who was stirring and whirling all through the house. He longed to see Santa (that jolly old soul), so he'd stayed awake late and then crept from his hole. Out in the kitchen, Mouse stacked up a treat. Chocolate chip cookies for Santa to eat. He made not a sound as he hurried and scurried. But Puss was asleep, so he needn't have worried. Now onto the fireplace–Mouse gave a sigh; Though the cookies were heavy, he held the plate high. Next, where to hide? Mouse looked around quick; Snug in a pot, he could spy on St. Nick. Mouse waited and wondered and almost dozed off until hoofbeats and sleigh bells came from aloft. From out of the fireplace, bang, crash, and tumble popped merry old St. Nick in a heap and a jumble.

Mouse was delighted his wish had come true. But what now, he wondered. What more could he do? As Nick stuffed the stockings (which started to sag), Mouse tippy-toed near for a peek in his bag. Soon Santa was done. Time to hurry away. He snatched up his sack and sprang out to his sleigh. With a swoosh and a swish, Mouse was bundled inside. But down in the darkness was no place to ride. “It's stuffy. It's crowded!” Mouse started to shout. And he squeezed, wiggled, and scrambled to find a way out. 

He soon spied a place to poke his head free, then beheld all around him sights splendid to see. He was high above earth in the winter night sky, streaking past stars in a sleigh that could fly. Mouse loved this new feeling. And when he looked down, far distant below shone the lights of his town. 

Onto rooftops, down chimneys, old Santa did race. Mouse marveled the reindeer could keep up the pace. They soared past high mountains, skimmed low near a river, The twists, dips, and turns set his tummy a quiver. Over bridges and castles and towers they flew; The rooftops of London gave Mouse a great view. Thrilling sights waited in each foreign land. In Holland, the windmills by moonlight looked grand. Mouse had never imagined a world so wide. He lost count of the wonders he'd seen on this ride. Crossing cities and countries over desert and sea, past the sphinx and two towers and Miss Liberty. 

At the end of the night, at the very last house, Santa peeked in his sack. “Why, what's that? A young mouse?” Mouse was so startled. He feared he'd just squeak. But in Santa's kind gaze, he found he could speak. “Oh, Santa, I'm sorry for sneaking this ride, but your bag was so tempting. I climbed right inside.” Santa just chuckled. “Little friend, don't you worry. Hop on my hat. You'll be home in a hurry.” Mouse clung to the fringe–The wind chilled his face. The rocket like sleigh zoomed and hurtled through space. 

Back home, safe and sound, there were presents for all. The one mouse liked best, was a hat marked size “small”. Then Santa crouched down till his beard touched the floor. The friends waved goodbye through the little front door. It was so late at night. Mouse was ready for bed, but he wanted to try his new hat on his head. It was just the right size: not too big, not too small. A hat just like Santa's, Mouse felt proud and tall. 

Mouse snuggled down, letting dreams fill his eyes. Hearing words meant for him from a voice deep and wise. “If you do all the things that a good mouse should do, don't be surprised when your wishes come true. Merry Christmas, dear Mouse. Merry Christmas to you.”

 

Hello friends! It's Miss Cathy from the Mary L. Cook Library. Won't you join me for a story? I'll read and you can use your imagination to see the pictures. Let's get started. I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Pie written by Alison Jackson, illustrated by Judith Byron Schachner.

I know an old lady who swallowed a pie, a Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die. 

I know an old lady who swallowed some cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a roll, just swallowed it whole, the entire roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die. 

I know an old lady who swallowed a squash. Oh my gosh, a fat yellow squash. She swallowed the squash to go with the roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a salad. She was looking quite pallid from eating that salad. She swallowed the salad to go with the squash. She swallowed the squash to go with the roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die. 

I know an old lady who swallowed a turkey. Her future looked murky after that turkey. She swallowed the turkey to go with the salad. She swallowed the salad to go with the squash. She swallowed the squash to go with the roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a pot. I kid you not. She swallowed a pot. She swallowed the pot to go with the turkey. She swallowed the turkey to go with the salad. She swallowed the salad to go with the squash. She swallowed the squash to go with the roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a cake. For goodness sake, a 10 layer cake. She swallowed the cake to go with the pot. She swallowed the pot to go with the turkey. She swallowed the turkey to go with the salad. She swallowed the salad to go with the squash. She swallowed the squash to go with the roll. She swallowed the roll to go with the cider that rumbled and mumbled and grumbled inside her. She swallowed the cider to moisten the pie, the Thanksgiving pie, which was really too dry. Perhaps she'll die. I know an old lady who swallowed some bread. “I'm full,” she said. Happy Thanksgiving.