Not every kid is attracted to bright colors and stories about cute animals. Young readers who prefer Chris Van Allsburg to Richard Scarry will light up when they see Peter McCarty's Moon Plane. McCarty's penciled illustrations and bare prose tell the story of a little boy who imagines himself to be a passenger on an airplane that reaches outer space. The Tim Burton-esque drawings are thrilling, and the muted color palette — while it may bore the youngest kids — is refreshing. The picture of the little boy floating alone on the surface of the moon in his pint-sized astronaut gear is a whole story in itself. — Annsley Chapman

I so wanted to love this book; after all, Jennifer was writing about a good deal of what my life was comprised of for 11 years.  And she did hit a lot of salient points, especially in the chapter that describes the ten myths of full-time motherhood.  But her dream life as a full-time mom is one that contains drive-thru coffee houses and an assortment of convenient places to drop off her children at every turn, which makes me wonder why she eschewed her job in the Corporate World to begin with, except to assuage the guilt that plagues all of us in the horrible riddle of motherhood.  In other words, how can we be good mothers if we work, but how can we be good people if we're "just" mothers? Jennifer explores this uncomfortable conundrum through pages of angry diatribes at her husband, the cable provider and society. In the end, she acknowledges that her children won't be little forever and vows to cherish the fleeting stage of life they're in — while taking comfort that she found a medium in which to express her frustrations along the way. Is it just me, or does that sound like a cop-out? — Karen Murphy

With echoes of Charlie Brown (Pinky is the new Snoopy), this tale about a friendship between a bald kid and a pig is delightfully humorous. Over the course of the book, Pinky and Max make their way through camping outings, Saturday adventures and marshmallow chow-downs, all of which are drawn in bold primary colors and full of clever asides. Even if the thought balloons go over younger kids' heads, the silly pictures are bound to make them laugh. (My five-year-old twins were especially keen on the part with the polar bear: “Mama, is that his butt?” Giggle giggle, snort. “It looks like a MARSHMALLOW!”) Few kids will be able to resist the inherent charm of Max and Pinky. My family looks forward to joining them on their next adventure. — Rachael Brownell

Cynthia von Buhler, a surrealist known for incorporating insects and live rats into her artwork, strikes me as an unlikely children's book author. Yet The Cat Who Wouldn't Come Inside is surprisingly full of old-fashioned sweetness. The book's human heroine tries in vain to bargain for the eponymous cat's affection, providing it with salmon steaks, catnip, and even, eventually, a fireplace, but the ungrateful creature refuses to be domesticated. The cat offers the cutest refutation of the Protestant work ethic ever published: we're so drawn in by the little beast that we don't even notice he's a freeloading slacker. Von Buhler's art — photographed dioramas of a Victorian home populated by clay figures — is exquisitely detailed, and may leave your kids obsessed with dollhouse miniatures. A bittersweet author's note tells the true story on which the book is based, and serves to round out the story's meditation on our fascination with the wildest of domesticated animals. — Gabriel Mckee

As a North Carolina native who grew up on Southern folktales, I was told stories about Paul Bunyan and Cherokees instead of Peter Pan and Cinderella. All of my respective heroes embarked on epic journeys to plant apple trees or build the American railroads. Sarah Martin Busse and Jacqueline Briggs Martin must have heard the same stories I did, as their new book is part high-lonesome lullaby, part tall tale, and entirely engrossing for young readers and bluegrass fans alike. Barry Root's sun-washed watercolors illustrate the rugged Southern terrain that a banjo-toting grandmother must cross on her quest to reach her dancing baby grandson. True to her folktale predecessors, Banjo Granny can soothe wild rivers and bend the Appalachians with foot-stomping bluegrass tunes. This gorgeous book about family ties comes with an easy musical score and a short history of bluegrass in the back of the book. It had me craving hush puppies and The Stanley Brothers for days. — Annsley Chapman

You may think you've heard every possible answer to the timeless question of the chicken and the road, but the fourteen artists who've illustrated their own punchlines to this ur-joke keep things as fresh as a newly laid egg. Marla Frazee's sarcastic chicken thinks, duh, as she abandons her rain-drenched tenement of a coop for the sun-bathed chicken McMansion on the other side of the street. Chris Sheban draws two baseball-playing chickens fleeing from their neighbor's newly smashed window. And Lynn Munsinger envisions a Manhattan populated entirely with chickens, who, having completed their shopping at Coopingdale's and Chicks Fifth Avenue, rush into the crosswalk the second the light changes. One or two of the punchlines fall flat — Jerry Pinkney's multi-species picnic and Mary GrandPre's reimagined Garden of Eden are beautifully rendered, if not funny — but there's enough here to keep every young comedian in stitches. It's perfect for Jon Scieszka fans, who will also love the pun-filled illustrator biographies. — Sophie Brookover

When I was pregnant, I hated pretty much every pregnancy book I read. They all had complicated agendas, huge miscarriage chapters and a "be afraid of life" sensibility. And really all I wanted was to know what size my baby was each week (an M&M, an apple, a football) and what amazing new things he was working on in there (fingernails, ears, the ability to suck his thumb). So I was thrilled to find Great Expectations. Sure, it's rather pushy on some subjects (like not circumcising) and has some requisite freak-you-out sections, but it also has a couple of charmingly written, breezily informative pages dedicated to each week, with a little image of what the baby looks like and a paragraph about how you're probably feeling and what the kid is up to. Sure, a lot of that you can get from the American Baby or BabyCenter weekly emails, but when it came to my timeline, Great Expectations was more on the money. Plus, you can't bring the computer into the tub.  — Ada Calhoun