Letter a stories

Meet the Letter A

Kindergarten

Find short stories with pictures that are great for kindergarten reading level. Your child can learn about all the letters in the alphabet in the Meet The Letter series and learn to count in Monster Birthday Surprise.

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Meet the Letter A

Meet the Letter B

Meet the Letter C

Meet the Letter D

Meet the Letter E

Meet the Letter F

Meet the Letter G

Meet the Letter H

Meet the Letter I

Meet the Letter J

Meet the Letter K

Meet the Letter L

Meet the Letter M

Meet the Letter N

Meet the Letter O

Meet the Letter P

Meet the Letter Q

Meet the Letter R

Meet the Letter S

Meet the Letter T

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Now we’re gonna hear a story with words which start with A. A line here, a line here, and then across. That is the uppercase A. A circle and then a line down like this. That is lowercase a. It is the start of the A, B, C. Some words start with the letter A are . . . apple, astronaut, Allosaurus. We are gonna hear a story. Once upon a time, the astronaut had this Allosaurus dinosaur, and the Allosaurus turned into a spaceship. Apple A was sitting in the spaceship. Then the astronaut went in the spaceship with still Apple A in it. Then Apple A made the picture of outer space. Apple A went on the backseat. They went to Atlanta! The end. A. What A words did you find in the story?

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Books for Letter A - The Measured Mom

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Books to teach Letter A – another Measured Mom book list!

I hope you enjoy this collection of books for letter A!

Are You an Ant? by Judy Allen and Tudor Humphries

I seriously love this book. Like the others in the Backyard Books series, it takes such a creative approach to teaching nonfiction to kids in preschool through grade three – in language that makes sense to them.   The authors talk directly to the reader – as if he were an ant.  “Go out and hunt for food.  Seeds are nice. So are bugs and wood lice.  Springtails are delicious, but hard to catch because they jump…Actually, you’re not a very good hunter.  Look for bugs that have been stepped on.  They’re easy.”  Informative, funny+ great illustrations = a big win!

There’s an Alligator under My Bed, by Mercer Mayer

My kids often request this silly story about a boy whose parents don’t believe he has an alligator under his bed.  He solves the problem himself by creating a trail of food which leads the alligator out of the house.  I think that, for most children, this book will help allay nighttime fears… but if you have a particularly fearful child you may not want to give him or her any new ideas!

The Icky Sticky Anteater, by Dawn Bentley

It’s tough to be an anteater when you don’t like ants.  In this rhyming tale an anteater tries to do as his friends do, but learns that it’s best to be himself.

Hooray for Amanda and Her Alligator, by Mo Willems

Here’s a fabulous book by the author of the popular Pigeon books (as well as the Elephant and Piggie series).  Willems has created another simple and funny book that both kids and adults will enjoy reading over and over.  This is a collection of stories about Amanda and her stuffed alligator – like the day the alligator finds a price tag on his tale and is devastated to learn he was only seven cents!

An Anteater Named Arthur, by Bernard Waber

I can’t believe it took me this long to discover this vintage book!  Published almost fifty years ago, it’s still a great story.  Nope, it’s not related to the popular Arthur books and TV series created by Marc Brown.  Instead, it’s a book told by a mother anteater about her son Arthur, who is sometimes (“not all the time, mind you”) a problem. Like the time he refuses to eat his red ants – because he only likes brown ones. I can’t do justice to this book in a review. I hope you’ll go find it for yourself!

Apple Farmer Annie, by Monica Wellington

There are so many children’s books out there about apples, but not many as simple and sweet as this one.  This is perfect for young preschoolers to learn how apples make it from the tree to their kitchen.

Baby Alligator, by Ginjer L. Clarke

This book – and others in the All Aboard Reading series – are great for older preschoolers who love to learn about the world.  If you have a child who’s always asking questions, you know just what I mean.  Your preschooler will learn many interesting facts about alligators – like the fact that that they can have up to 6,000 teeth in a lifetime and grow as long as a pick-up truck!

Zack’s Alligator, by Shirley Mozelle

This is a book we own, and I’ve read it more times than I can count.  Zack gets an alligator key chain in the mail from his uncle.  When he waters it, it turns into a spunky, full grown alligator named Bridget.  My kids love to hear about Zack’s and Bridget’s adventures… again and again and again.

Apples, Apples, Apples, by Nancy Elizabeth Wallace

We love the cut paper illustrations in this book about a rabbit family who visits an apple orchard.  Kids will learn about the parts of an apple, how an apple tree grows, and how to make applesauce.  There are even apple sayings (“An apple a day keeps the doctor away”) and an apple song at the end of the book.

How to Make an Apple Pie and See the World, by Marjorie Freeman

Read this book with a globe next to you!  Making an apple pie is easy – unless the market is closed, and you have to travel the world to find the ingredients!  Go to Italy for the wheat, Sri Lanka for cinnamon, Jamaica for salt – and many more exciting destinations.  Such a creative and fun story!

Hey, Little Ant, by Phillip and Hannah Hoose

My kids really love this book about a giant boy who is about to squish a tiny ant.  It’s sure to inspire conversation about whether or not we should make a game out of smashing bugs.

Ten Apples Up on Top, by Theo. LeSeig

Did you know Theo. LeSieg was a pen name for Dr. Seuss?  This is a favorite book about a lion, tiger, and dog who compete to see who can balance the most apples on top of their heads. It’s also a great beginning reader book for kids who are learning sight words. Dr. Seuss did an amazing job telling engaging stories with basic words.  “And now, see here.  Eight!  Eight on top!  Eight apples up!  Not one will drop.”  Don’t miss it!

The Apple Pie Tree, by Zoe Hall

Colorful collage art takes you through the seasons of an apple tree in the backyard — from a brown and bare winter to a ripe red fall… and a delicious apple pie you grew yourself.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst

This classic book (published over 40 years ago- I can hardly believe it!) was one of my very favorites growing up.  I could totally relate to all the things that ruined Alexander’s day – not the least of which would be having lima beans for supper.  Interestingly, the book doesn’t resolve itself except for his mom to tell him that “Some days are like that.”  But reading this with your child could begin a wonderful dialogue about how to handle everyday challenges.

The Lady with the Alligator Purse, illustrated by Nadine Bernard Westcott

We love singing books, so my boys are big fans of the silly song about a baby named Tiny Tim who tries to eat a bathtub.  Miss Lucy calls the doctor, the nurse… and the lady with the alligator purse!

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Isaac Babel - Letter: read the story, full text online

Here is a letter to my homeland, dictated to me by a boy of our expedition, Kurdyukov. It doesn't deserve to be forgotten. I rewrote it without embellishment, and I convey it verbatim, in accordance with the truth.

“Dear mother Evdokia Fedorovna. In the first lines of this letter, I hasten to notify you that, thanks to the Lord, I am alive and well, which I wish to hear the same from you. And I also bow down to you from the white face to the damp earth ... "

(A list of relatives, godparents, godfathers follows. Let's omit this. Let's move on to the second paragraph.)

“Dear mother Evdokia Fyodorovna Kurdyukova. I hasten to write to you that I am in the Red Cavalry Army of Comrade Budyonny, and also your godfather Nikon Vasilyich, who is currently a red hero, is here. They took me to their place, on the expedition of the Political Department, where we deliver literature and newspapers to the positions - Moskovsky Izvestia of the Central Executive Committee, Moskovsky Pravda and the native merciless newspaper Red Cavalryman, which every fighter on the front line wants to read, and after that, with a heroic spirit, he cuts the vile the gentry, and I live very splendidly under Nikon Vasilyevich. nine0003

Dear mother Evdokia Fyodorovna. Send what you can from your power-opportunity. I ask you to kill a pockmarked boar and send me a parcel to the Political Department of Comrade Budyonny, to receive Vasily Kurdyukov. Every day I go to bed without eating and without any clothes, so it is very cold. Write me a letter for my Styopa, whether he is alive or not, I ask you to inspect him and write to me for him - is he still detectable or has stopped, and also about scabies in his front legs, have he been shod or not? I ask you, dear mother Evdokia Fedorovna, to wash his front legs without fail with the soap that I left behind the icons, and if daddy has exterminated the soap, then buy it in Krasnodar, and God will not leave you. I can also describe to you that the country here is completely poor, the peasants with their horses are buried from our red eagles through the forests, wheat, you see, is scarce and it is terribly small, we laugh at it. The owners sow rye and the same oats. Hops grow on sticks here, so it comes out very neat; moonshine is made from it. nine0003

In the second line of this letter, I hasten to describe to you for your father that they chopped up Fyodor Timofeyich Kurdyukov's brother about a year ago. Our Red Brigade of Comrade Pavlichenko was advancing on the city of Rostov when a betrayal occurred in our ranks. And dad was at that time with Denikin for the company commander. When people saw them, they said that they wore medals, as in the old regime. And on the occasion of that betrayal, we were all taken prisoner and brother Fyodor Timofeich caught my father's eye. And papa began to cut Fedya, saying - the skin, the red dog, the son of a bitch and various things, and they cut him until dark, until brother Fyodor Timofeyich ran out. I wrote a letter to you then, how your Fedya is lying without a cross. But papa poked me with a letter and said: you are your mother’s children, you are her root, you bastard, I have belly fatted your uterus and will be bellying it, my life is lost, I will exhaust my seed for the truth, and many other things. I accepted suffering from them as the savior Jesus Christ. Only soon did I run away from my father and nailed myself to my unit, Comrade Pavlichenko. And our brigade was ordered to go to the city of Voronezh to replenish, and we received reinforcements there, as well as horses, bags, revolvers, and everything that belonged to us. For Voronezh, I can describe to you, dear mother Evdokia Fyodorovna, that this is a very magnificent town, it will be bigger than Krasnodar, the people in it are very beautiful, the river is capable of swimming. They gave us two pounds of bread a day, half a pound of meat, and a suitable amount of sugar, so that when we got up we drank sweet tea, we ate the same thing and forgot about hunger, and at dinner I went to my brother Semyon Timofeich for pancakes or goose, and after that I went to bed to rest. At that time, Semyon Timofeich, for his desperation, the whole regiment wanted to have a commander and Comrade Budyonny issued such an order, and he received two horses, proper clothes, a cart for junk separately and the Order of the Red Banner, and I was considered a brother. Whatever neighbor starts to beat you up, then Semyon Timofeich can completely kill him. Then we started chasing General Denikin, slaughtered thousands of them and drove them into the Black Sea, but only dad was nowhere to be seen, and Semyon Timofeich was looking for them in all positions, because they really missed their brother Fedya. But only, dear mother, as you know for dad and for his stubborn character, he did what he did - impudently dyed his beard from red to black and was in the city of Maykop, in free clothes, so that none of the residents knew that he there is the most that neither is the guard under the old regime. But only the truth - she will do herself, your godfather Nikon Vasilyich happened to see him in the hut of a resident and wrote a letter to Semyon Timofeich. We sat on the horses and ran two hundred miles - me, brother Senka and willing guys from the village. nine0003

And what did we see in Maikop? We saw that the rear did not sympathize with the front in any way, and that there was treason everywhere and full of Jews, as under the old regime. And Semyon Timofeich in the city of Maykop had a great argument with the Jews, who did not let their dad out of their way and put him in prison under lock and key, saying - the order came not to cut the prisoners, we will judge him ourselves, do not be angry, he will get his own. But only Semyon Timofeich took his own and proved that he was the commander of the regiment and had all the Orders of the Red Banner from Comrade Budyonny, and threatened to chop up everyone who argued for dad's personality and did not give it away, and the guys from the village also threatened. But as soon as Semyon Timofeich received their father, they began to whip the father and lined up all the soldiers in the yard, as they belong to the military order. And then Senka splashed father Timofey Rodionich with water on his beard, and paint flowed from his beard. And Senka asked Timofey Rodionich:

— Do you feel good, father, in my arms?

"No," said papa, "it's bad for me."

Then Senka asked:

— And Fedya, when you cut him, was it good in your hands?

- No, - said dad, - it was bad for Fedya.

Then Senka asked:

— Did you think, father, that it would be bad for you too?

"No," said papa, "I didn't think it would be bad for me."

Then Senka turned to the people and said:

— But I think that if I get caught by yours, then there will be no mercy for me. And now, dad, we will finish you ...

And Timofey Rodionich began impudently scolding Senka after his mother and Mother of God and hitting Senka in the face, and Semyon Timofeyich sent me away from the yard, so I can’t, dear mother Evdokia Fyodorovna, describe to you how they ended up papa, so I was sent from the yard.

After that we got a parking lot in the city in Novorossiysk. For this city, you can tell that there is no more land behind it, but only water. The Black Sea, and we stayed there until May itself, when we went to the Polish front and beat the gentry for good reason ...

I remain your dear son Vasily Timofeevich Kurdyukov. Mom, keep an eye on Styopka, and God will not leave you. ”

Here is Kurdyukov's letter, not changed in a single word. When I had finished, he took the sheet of paper with writing on it and hid it in his bosom, over his naked body.

"Kurdyukov," I asked the boy, "did you have an evil father?"

"My father was a male," he replied sullenly.

— Is the mother better?

- Suitable mother. If you wish, here is our last name...

He handed me a broken photograph. It depicted Timofey Kurdyukov, a broad-shouldered guard in a uniform cap and with a combed beard, motionless, with high cheekbones, with a sparkling gaze of colorless and meaningless eyes. Next to him, in a bamboo armchair, sat a tiny peasant woman in a loose jacket, with stunted, bright and shy features. And against the wall, next to this miserable provincial photographic backdrop, with flowers and doves, towered two guys - monstrously huge, stupid, wide-faced, goggle-eyed, frozen as if on a study, the two Kurdyukov brothers - Fyodor and Semyon. nine0003

Anton Chekhov - Letter: read a story for children, text completely online in RuStikh

“Dear Maria Sergeevna! I am sending you the book I wrote about on Wednesday. Read. I draw your attention to pages 17-42, 92, 93 and 112, especially to those passages which I have underlined in pencil. What strength! The form, apparently, is clumsy, but what a wide freedom, what a terrible, immense artist is felt in this clumsiness! In one phrase three times “which” and twice “apparently”, the phrase is made badly, not with a brush, but as if with a washcloth, but what a fountain gushes from under these “which”, what flexible, slender, deep thought hides under them, what screaming truth! You read and see between the lines how an eagle soars in the sky and how little he cares about the beauty of his feathers at this time. Thought and beauty, like a hurricane and waves, should not know the usual, definite forms. Their form is freedom, not constrained by any considerations about "which" and "apparently". When I write to you, every time I am embarrassed and annoyed by my slightest errors in style, which means that I am not an artist, that in me the word prevails over images and mood. nine0003

Please read the book. I read it all day yesterday, it took my breath away, and I felt how new elements of life, which I did not know before, entered the being of my heart. With each new page I became richer, stronger, taller! I was amazed, wept with delight, I was proud, and at that time I deeply, mystically believed in the divine origin of true talent, and it seemed to me that each of these powerful, spontaneous pages was not created in vain, that by its origin and existence it should cause something in nature. something that corresponds to its strength, something like an underground rumble, a change in climate, a storm on the sea ... I don’t believe, I don’t believe a thousand times that nature, in which everything is expedient, is indifferent to what is the most beautiful and most reasonable, strong , an invincible part of her, precisely that part that is created against her will by the genius of man. I feel that I seem to be writing nonsense, laugh, but do not stop me from raving, dreaming, telling fairy tales. You cannot imagine how joyful and fun it is to write even empty nonsense when you know that your kind eyes will look at these lines. nine0003

Yesterday I was so carried away by the book that I was not even happy about the arrival of Travnikov, whom I love. He came to me with a headache and out of sorts. After major operations, he always has a headache - poisoned by carbolic acid vapors. He began to ask me about my leg, and in response I read to him those 20 lines that I underlined on page 92, and we started a literary dispute. Travnikov said:

- The time I spent reading philosophy, poetry and fiction, I consider wasted. They have many claims, but they did not explain or elucidate a single phenomenon for me, and for this I do not like them. Everything in them is subjective, and therefore half of them are lies, and half of them are neither this nor that, the middle between lies and truth. The opinion that they cannot be dispensed with is a prejudice; they, like the theater and the circus, serve only for entertainment, and I now read them only for entertainment. I give preference to those authors who have fewer claims, and in this respect the most convenient books are French novels. nine0003

— And who teaches us to think, let me ask you? - I said.

- One who tells the truth, but poetry and novels do not tell the truth.

And so on, things like that. Feel free to argue here! Stubborn, prejudiced person. We talked about beauty.

“Beauty is pleasant,” he said, “and serves only for pleasure, which is why it is difficult to do without it. Whoever seeks in her not pleasure, but truth or knowledge, she bribes, deceives and confuses, like a mirage. When I had the imprudence to learn from beauty to think, it made me drunk and blind. Thus, while reading Faust, I did not notice that Marguerite was the murderer of her child; in Byron's "Cain" for me both Cain himself and the devil were infinitely sympathetic ... But you never know? nine0003

He squeezed his aching head with his hands, leaned it against the table, and said languidly:

— Beauty, talent, lofty, fine, artistic — all this is very nice, but conditionally, defies logical definition, and you can’t extract anything from all this. one immutable law. As someone said before the flood, that the nightingale is the lover of the rose, that the oak is mighty, and the dodder is tender, well, we believe ... And why do we believe?

As usual, I began to get excited and say the wrong things.

- I don't understand why you're angry? he said, raising his head. “What is offensive in the fact that the arts are only for entertainment? My dear, I would even like to be a bad writer, just to be able to entertain the sick and prisoners with my books. Is it a small merit of the writer that you are cheerful all day today? However, my soul, my head hurts unbearably. Maybe you are right. I do not know anything. nine0003

Poetry and fiction did not explain a single phenomenon! Does lightning, when it shines, explain anything? She does not have to explain to us, but we have to explain her. We would be good if, instead of explaining electricity, we began to deny it only on the ground that it does not explain much to us. But poetry and all the so-called fine arts are the same terrible, wonderful natural phenomena that we must learn to explain, without waiting for them to explain anything to us. What a pity and shame that even smart, good people look at every phenomenon from a special, biased, too personal point of view. Travnikov, for example, is tormented by the special question of God and the purpose of life; the arts do not solve this question, they do not explain what will happen after the grave, and Travnikov considers them a prejudice for this, reduces them to the level of simple entertainment, without which it is not difficult to do, and once, even in the presence of your mother, he said, as if in jest, that they constitute one of the types of "hereditary sin". In this respect, doesn't he remind you of one of our mutual acquaintances, who denies medicine and science in general just because doctors dance the mazurka badly? Wine is sweet, tasty, and gladdens the heart, but this is not enough: there is probably a tailor who will deny it on the grounds that it does not remove stains and cannot serve as a substitute for turpentine. nine0003

But enough philosophizing. My leg is in the same position. Travnikov insists on the operation, but I do not agree. Nature itself strives for healing, and I strongly rely on this property of hers. Perhaps the case will do without surgery. The boredom is terrible, and if not for the books, I think I would cry for days on end from boredom. To live eight versts from you and not have the right to go to you - after all, this is the Inquisition!

Yesterday your mother visited the Zelenins and came to visit us. She scolded me along with my father for leaving the theological academy. Everyone unanimously assures me that I did not act smartly. Maybe it is. I myself do not know why I left the academy, but I also do not know why I would have continued to stay there. I am tormented by the thirst for life and I run from where it does not exist or where it is not tailored to my taste. My life is all of you, whom I love so infinitely. I can't help but see your beautiful, meek, radiant face of kindness and not to hear your voice at least once a month; I cannot but see your generous mother and all your cheerful, merciful, God-blessed family, which is as close to my soul as my brothers and father. Every day I need to see my old suffering father near me and hear every night how he does not sleep and thinks aloud about my brother the convict. I need my crazy brother-monk to come to us from the monastery once every two or three months only to, with sparkling eyes, curse civilization in my presence and go back. My life is not complete if I do not see Travnikov at least once a week, whom I love the more, the deeper he is sucked into the mud, where his greedy, inexorable, tormenting thought leads him. He wants faith no matter what. He wants and searches for God, searches day and night and finds only one abyss, into which the longer you look, the deeper and darker it seems. And what a high pleasure it is for me to walk around the village and go into people's huts and talk with them. What a variety of faces, voices, minds, tastes, beliefs! And what a charm our old deacon Pavel Denisovich, who has been dying every day for two years now and cannot possibly die, and himself laughs at his vitality: “I’m dying, I’m dying, and I won’t die at all!” Good life, Maria Sergeevna! True, it is heavy, transient, but on the other hand, how rich, smart, diverse, interesting, how amazing! Travnikov poisons himself with longing for immortality and eternal bliss; but I am not so greedy, and this short, small, but beautiful life is completely enough for me. nine0003

As soon as I start walking, I will immediately get down to business. I'll take care of the household and lay down my life for art. I will write. But what to write? The story doesn't work for me. I'm bad with technology, I lick too much. My head is crowded with images and pictures - I am rich in this goodness, but for some reason my heroes do not pour into characters and they all look alike, like drops of water. They move a little and talk a lot, but it should be the other way around. I now turn to criticism. I myself will study and, as best I can, explain to people what I love so much and in what I see the only true remedy against prejudices, ignorance and slavery. nine0003

Yesterday my father stumbled in the street and fell down. He explains this by fatigue: Holy Week, serves almost all day. Thank God it went well.

My heartfelt greetings to all of you. Bow to everyone, everyone! I hear that it is already real spring outside the window, but I do not see it. It would be nice to be with you now! I would like to go up the mountain with you just once, and I would not want anything else.

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