MotherReader

I like lists. Not to-do lists: They terrify me to the very core of my being. I like have-done lists. My favorite have-done list is my list of children’s and young adult fiction. Every time I read a book, I look forward to adding it to my growing yearly list. So, when I find a book in verse, I do a little end-zone dance, because I can zip through that puppy in twenty minutes and slap it on the list.

And that, I am embarrassed to say, was my first reaction to The Geography of Girlhood.

I took it outside to read on a sunny afternoon, and flew through the first section. Then I stopped, and realized how very, very good this book was, and I went back and read the first section again more slowly. I forced myself to take my time and really take in the powerful verse in this book. It is an incredible reflection of what is like to be in a girl entering high school and unsure of yourself, of your friends, and of your future. I was really moved.

I went to the website, but it was not working yet. So, I added another first to my list of firsts (yet another list of have-dones) and emailed the author, Kirsten Smith, to tell her that I thought the book was brilliant and ask her permission to include a couple of poems. Since she agreed, and is looking forward to which poems I choose, here are two that spoke to me.

Fourteen
Fourteen is like rotten candy,
fourteen is a joke that no one gets.
When you’re fourteen,
you look good only once a week
and it’s never on the day of the dance.
When you’re fourteen,
you have a mouthful of metal
that no one wants to taste.
Fourteen is going to bed at night
and wishing you could wake up with a new face
or a new dad or better yet,
a new life
that doesn’t look anything
like this one

Erosion
Denise and Elaine don’t talk at all anymore.
They are like that cliff in town,
the one that’s sliding into the sea.

Geologists say the erosion was inevitable.
Nothing could stop it,
not with the rain and the wind the way it is.

Whether it’s soil or best friends,
things can’t help but slip away and disappear.
I guess nothing on the map ever stays fixed.
All you can do is make sure you’re not standing on it
when it goes.

There are some edgy, sexual references that lean the book as more appropriate for high-schoolers. Maybe fourteen-year-olds should read it, but the mothers of fourteen-year-olds definitely should so they can remember what their daughters are going through with perspective and sympathy.

I got so distracted writing my letter of love to friends, fellow bloggers, and sunshiny days that I forgot to include the book that I promised to read over the weekend. Uh, oops.

I have a special place in my heart — and shelf on my bookcase — for books with fun titles. It’s a good hint that the dog isn’t going to die in the story. Or if it does, it will be in an amusing way. I dole these books out to myself, like the good chocolate, so that I can stretch out my supply of funny title books.

Okay, the suspense has been killing you. Which book did I go with from my list? It was Loser Goes First: My Thirty-Something Years of Dumb Luck and Minor Humiliation, by Dan Kennedy.

Loser Goes First is a funny, slacker memoir of a guy who is sure he is a rocker from the age of ten to nineteen, even though he has never picked up a guitar. He becomes a man, sort of, who manages to miss the grunge movement by leaving Seattle to go to Austin at the very time grunge is picking up speed. And leaves a well paying job to bomb as a dot-com millionaire. It’s about being in the wrong place as the right time passes you by. The style is informal, almost conversational, with excerpts from his notebooks, like “Fantasy Interview With My High-School Guidance Counselor.” As he sets a scene for the reader, he goes off on tangents about fantasies or other episodes in his life. You know, it reminds me of how, as a kid, entire lifetimes would happen in the time it took for someone to kick the ball in kickball and the ball to hit me squarely in the face, destroying my image of being kickball champion of the world. Overall, if you like my style of writing, you will probably like his. And if you don’t like mine, what are you still doing here? There are like forty million blogs out there. Go!

What was a bit eerie for me (cue Twilight Zone music), was that the last page of the book coordinated so perfectly with what I posted yesterday. I wrote yesterday’s post about how a kid asked what I wanted to do for the rest of my life and I responded that maybe I’d like to focus more on writing. After writing that post, I finished the book.

On the last page, Dan Kennedy talks about walking past a kid who is staring at him. Dan imagines that the kid has been put in path for a reason.

Maybe he’ll say something so accurate it’s chilling, like some kind of fortune-teller, since kids can see the truth and ghosts and UFO’s. Maybe he will say, “Start writing. On the train. Tonight. In that gay little journal you carry around with you. It’s what you naturally do, ever since the sixth grade, except this time it will be notes for the book. You’ll be like a huge, thirty-three-year-old goony sixth grader with a book deal writing on some lame-ass commuter train. Now go! Go on!” Whatever he says, he will deliver the message that all of us have lost the ability to say in our jaded adult lives. Maybe about how our lives finally change but only when it is right for our lives to change. That we are not in control of this thing. I look back at him just before making my right turn onto the highway for the last part of my walk to the train. It feel like slow motion as he sizes me up that one last time. He opens his mouth and the words come out:

“Hey, mister. Why don’t you have a car?”

Oh, man.

Can’t say it better myself.

When I was younger, having a great weekend meant going to an awesome party (with alcohol, natch), hooking up with a cute guy (hooking up being that ambiguous word meaning anything and nothing), and not being hungover the next day (so that I could do it all again).

Oh, how things have changed.

First of all when I had a great night of going out recently, I had a fight with a close friend in front of a new friend — who now thinks I am crazy — and sprained my ankle falling on my way to the car. The next day, I was hungover, angry, embarrassed, and in pain.

And that’s when I gave up drinking.

Now a good weekend is so much calmer. It’s about long talks with good friends. It’s about beautiful sunny days stretched out in front of you. It’s a book in your hand and a Diet Coke on the table.

It’s about love from my fellow bloggers.

Over one glorious weekend, I received links from Big A, little a; Chicken Spaghetti (with a nice intro), and FuseNumber8 (see how I did this). What a rush. Also, FuseNumber8 is going to help my cool coworker with her job search in NYC, meaning that I finally understand networking.

My other blog firsts this week were an author comment, an email to an author (see tomorrow’s entry), and my first comment spam. The last means I will need to add the second level of protection to my comment box, but I can live with that.

And here’s the kicker. I talked to a Girl Scout troop about my career for their book badge. When I took questions, one third grader asked, “Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” Pretty heavy stuff. I told her that if I wanted to move forward in my career, then I would have to go back to school and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to do that. In fact (I said), I guess if I wanted to do more of anything it would be writing. I told them how I started a blog to share my books and thoughts and to make myself get in the habit of writing.

So, what if it turns out that this Girl Scout presentation is what makes me sit down and write my book (or books)?

Now that’s what I call a great weekend.

Today’s post will be more serious. I’ll return you to your regularly scheduled humor tomorrow.

April is Child Abuse Prevention Month, and having worked in public health in the interest of mothers and children, I had struggled with what this month meant to me. Other than not hitting my kids, what could I do in the interest of protecting children? With five years of child public health and five years of children’s librarianship and ten years of motherhood, I came to a couple of things that work for me that I would like to share. So that it doesn’t get to be too much at once, I’ll share one point each Sunday this month. Consider it my sermon and pass it on to anyone you’d like.

For Everyone: Distract a Child, Help a Mom (or Dad)

Having had one preschool tantrum-thrower and one preschool crybaby, I sympathize with moms who get stuck at the store or library with a child having an episode. I think I am a pretty good mom, but I couldn’t stop these episodes from happening to me (though the tantrum-thrower didn’t go back to the mall for a year after I had to carry her out under my arms, wrapped around my body while pushing her baby sister in the stroller). But what I learned is that one person’s reaction could be the difference between me laughing it off in the car or leaving the store crying (also the tantrum-thrower and a very grumpy cashier).

Now when I see a child freaking out, I have a couple of things in my bag of tricks. If the child has an older sibling, I will tell the older child what a good job he is doing being calm while his little brother is crying. At the library I will give him a sticker or bookmark for doing such a good job. Often the crying little brother will calm down to see what is going on, and then I offer him a sticker or bookmark too. If not, I give the sticker or bookmark to the older brother to hold for his little brother. Usually the mom offers some input by now, and I just sympathize. I say, “I have two myself,” or, “Some days are just hard,” or even, “Good luck.” I’ve done three things here. I’ve rewarded the older child for behaving, I’ve distracted the younger child from his fit, and I’ve let the mother know that someone isn’t looking down on her. She can return to our library without worrying.

My second technique, if it is just the child and the mother, is to offer the child a sticker or bookmark, “’cause some days we need a sticker.” Then I sympathize with the mom. If I see a mom yelling at a child, I don’t scold the mom, but I ask if there is anything I can do to help. If she says no, which she usually does, I sympathize again with the mom, that some days are hard. The interaction breaks the struggle between the parent and child, and distracts the child. But I have done something else by engaging the mom. She knows someone is paying attention, so if she has begun to “lose it,” she will probably get herself under control. And if she actually is an abusive mom, then I have given the child the message that adults do care.

My third technique is very low-key. Without really interacting, distract the child. Smile. Maybe do something a little silly, like a sleight-of-hand magic trick. I’ve blown up a balloon, put a book on my head, sung a song, played peek-a-boo, and made a stuffed animal dance. I am shameless. But it is often just enough to work.

And sometimes it doesn’t work, but I tried. Sometimes I’m not in the mood, and I have to let that one go. But I’ve realized that everyone has bad days. Moms, kids... you. It’s easy to judge the bad mom, the bad kid, but it really isn’t that much harder to be part of the solution.

It’s going to be warm and lovely here, so the perfect time to sit outside with a book.

In fact it is warm and lovely here now, so what am I doing on the computer? So that I can quickly get outside and celebrate the true arrival of spring, I am going to keep this short and sweet. The following are the books I have picked to read based soley on the titles. I know nothing about them, except that at first glance they seem like they would be good reading for guys and gals.

• Loser Goes First, by Dan Kennedy
• My Family and Other Animals, by Gerald Durrell
• The Life and Times of the Last Kid Picked, by David Benjamin
• The Book of the Film of the Story of My Life, by William Brandt
• Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, by Chuck Klosterman
• iPod, Therefore I Am, by Dylan Jones.

One of these will be the lucky book I read this weekend. Oh, the tension builds...

For those of you who don’t know, a blogger can identify which searches have led to her/his blog. This can be helpful in shaping the content of the blog and in directing your keyword choices. The first time I saw that this particular search led to my blog, I was confused, but stranger things have happened. But it keeps happening, so I went to check it out.

If you search the phrase “what wine goes with spaghetti” in Google, you get my blog entry “What Wine Goes With Spaghetti-O’s and Strawberry Taffy?”

Go ahead, try it. I’ll wait.

Ya see? Unbelievable. Try “gay penguin love.” I thought that was a unique title. Nowhere on the first page. Try “ProcrasDenial.” Nowhere at all — and I made that word up.

Now I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t understand this “Internet” of which you speak. Deep in my heart, I sort of believe that tiny wizards make computers work. So how people are coming up with my little, off-topic blog for “what wine goes with spaghetti” blows my mind.

If you people of the Google search are still with me, you might try Chiff.com’s wine-pairing guide. Oh, and hey, I may not know wine, but I’ve got some great book selections for the weekend...

It’s funny.

Have you ever been thinking about something, when someone comes up with the same idea? Like you’re at the office, thinking, “I should get pizza for lunch,” and a coworker invites you to get pizza. Or you make a movie about the zoo in Central Park, including a lion and a giraffe — neither of which reside in the Central Park Zoo, incidentally — and you call this movie Madagascar, and along comes a new movie featuring the non-residential lion and giraffe of the Central Park Zoo. Happens all the time.

So, I hadn’t done a picture book post in a while, but I’d had one in mind, when FuseNumber8 posted number seven in her series of hot men of children’s lit. Who is it but Rob Scotton, author of one of my favorite new books, Russell the Sheep. And I was just thinking about a post on sheep. How about that?

Russell the Sheep, besides having a hot author, also has a wonderful illustrator. Every expression on Russell’s face is just perfect, and the scenes offer much to look at (Where is the frog this time?). Russell is trying hard to get to sleep, but he just can’t do it. He tries everything, and finally gets to sleep by — ready? — counting sheep. No deep message, but a very cute book.

New this year is Jackie French’s Pete the Sheep Sheep, and it’s a funny one. While all of the other sheep shearers have sheep dogs, Shaun has a sheep... sheep. Pete talks very nicely to the sheep he’s herding, so all the sheep want to go to Shaun. The other sheep herders get mad and send Shaun and his sheep away. In his sadness, Shaun shears Pete — his only sheep left — and gives him a funky hairdo. When the other sheep see it, they want new hairdos also, and they seek out Shaun. The other shearers have no choice to to join Shaun and his sheep sheep, and they resolve all of their differences in an amusing way.

Delilah, by John Bemelmans Marciano, is one of my favorite books ever as far as planting a message to kids in a book. The farmer Red gets a lamb, Delilah, and she follows him everywhere. They become good friends working side by side on the farm. Red makes so much money from her wool that he decides to buy a bunch of sheep so Delilah will have friends. But the new sheep don’t like that Delilah associates with humans and doesn’t behave like a real sheep should. They leave her out until she agrees to take off the special bell that Red gave her and blend in with all of them. She tries this for quite a while, but is very sad, and watches Red being very sad. Then one day in the spring, as Red is shearing her, she can stand it no longer and licks him. They are overjoyed to find each other again, and Delilah doesn’t worry about what all the other sheep want. What a great message about being yourself and not following the crowd.

I bring this next book out every year at this time. Farmer Brown Shears His Sheep, by Teri Sloat, is a masterpiece of rhythm and rhyme and just plain fun. While kids are laughing at the story, they are learning about the process of turning wool into yarn. Farmer Brown shears his sheep in the spring, but they are too cold, so they follow him around as the wool is cleaned, dyed, and turned into yarn. He finally notices his shivering sheep and knits them all wool sweaters to wear after shearing each year. It’s fun to read and educational too.

Go ahead FuseNumber8, what am I thinking about... now?

I’m drinking my coffee trying to wake up for another day when this article in the Washington Post Health section catches my eye. Rosalind Wiseman, who wrote Queen Bees and Wannabes, is taking on the moms with her new book Queen Bee Moms and Kingpin Dads. I am already hooked on three levels: psychology (my college major), moms (my chosen profession), and bees (because they make honey, and I looove honey).

The author explores the hidden world of moms, which isn’t as different from middle school as you might think. There are cliques and competition. There is gossip and shunning. There is the dreaded PTA, which should be an avenue for bringing parents together in the interest of the needs of the school and the children, but all too often is taken over by control freaks with their own pet projects in mind.

Brring. Brrring. The telephone rings. And lo and behold, it is one of my friends who needs to let off steam about this very thing. One of the moms on the PTA board wants the PTA to pay for a pizza party. But the PTA won’t pay for a party when it is usually this mom and four other families who come. Plus this mom doesn’t mingle with the other parents anyway, so why should the PTA pay for what is essentially her party? Another mom wants the PTA to contribute to her pet project, a charity walk. Well, it happens to be illegal for one nonprofit to pay out to another nonprofit (unless it is in that first nonprofit’s mission to do so). So, uh, no. We won’t be contributing. Another PTA parent gave money to her volunteers for helping her with a fund-raiser, obviously stretching the definition of volunteer.

My oldest used to go to a co-op preschool. Now the idea of the co-op preschool is to reduce costs and increase parental involvement by having parents running things overall and assisting in the classroom, but with a paid director and teachers. I loved the concept, but what I found was a tight clique of moms running things and putting other moms down. They were mostly women who had stopped working when they had kids, and now had to make work for themselves. We couldn’t have two fundraisers, we had to have twelve. We couldn’t do one thing for teacher appreciation week, we had to do five. I just wanted to send my daughter to preschool and help out in the classroom sometimes. How did it get so complicated?

Too many moms with too much time on their hands.

Please, take up knitting, quilting, tae bo, but stop mucking around in our schools and our PTAs.

I am heading out to buy this book, probably the first book I have bought new in a year, because I can’t wait for my library to get it. Beware — this isn’t the last you have heard from me on this topic.

When librarians (or teachers) talk about specific books to children to get them interested in reading them, we call that Booktalking (yes, counterintuitive, I know). When librarians talk about specific books to other librarians so that they can talk about the specific books to children to get them interested in reading them, we call that Extreme Booktalking (actually, “we” probably don’t call it that, but I am hoping to start a trend — like procrasdenial).

Extreme Booktalking is what I did today, my friends.

I only had four books to present, which was very manageable. I didn’t have to present a topic, like “preparing your booktalks.” Which is fortunate, because I wouldn’t have been much help to anyone. I do pretty much the opposite of everything I am supposed to do. I read the book (that part is pretty standard), and I wait for inspiration. Sometimes I know immediately how I am going to introduce this book in an exciting way. Otherwise, I just wait for it to hit me — washing dishes, driving the car, taking a shower, taking a nap — the idea will come. When the beginning hits me, the rest of the booktalk just flows. Or sometimes, I know how to describe the story, but I don’t have a hook. Then I ask my oldest daughter, who just shoots these things out like nobody’s business.

When I know mostly what I want to say, I don’t write it down. I rarely rehearse it out loud. I just run it through in my head. Sometimes I’ll be driving to the school and think of a booktalk that day. Or I’ll change to a different intro, just to mix things up. I would love nothing better than if I was asked on the morning of the booktalk to somehow include a chicken and a bowling ball in the mix. This is my own little improv show, and I like it.

Here are the four books and my hooks.

Sweet Tooth, by Margie Palatini
I just read the first few pages of this book with a suitably annoying voice for the obnoxious sweet tooth.

Fashion Kitty, by Charise Mericle Harper
Hi! I’m Kiki Kitty and I want to tell you three interesting things about my family. The first interesting thing about my family is that we have a mouse for a pet. Since we are cats, us having a mouse for a pet is like you having a chocolate cake for a pet. “I love you, but I’d like to eat you.” But we are vegetarians, so we don’t eat mice...

Lowji Discovers America, by Candace Fleming
Raise your hand if you came here from another school or town. Raise your hand if you came here from another state. Maybe you found different accents here, or new stores, or new trends. Now raise your hand if you came from another country. A lot was different for you, wasn’t it? Kids didn’t do things the same way, maybe you didn’t understand everything people were saying. Well, that is what happened to Lowji when he and his family came to America...

The Liberation of Gabriel King, by K.L. Going
What are you afraid of? Spiders? Ghosts? Robbers? Maybe it’s getting lost or missing your bus? Maybe even loose cows or sticking your hand in the blender? All of these and more are on Gabriel King’s list of fears...

I had you eating out of the palm of my hand with just those, didn’t I?

For many years now, my husband and I have been eating off of the good china. Actually, it isn’t our good china, but it was somebody’s good china until we acquired it from a secondhand store and ran it through the dishwasher 14,000 times. The failing of this china, besides its oh-so-slightly delicate pattern, is that it only has seven dinner plates. This was fine for a couple, and then even fine for a couple plus one, but when our youngest graduated from plastic Sesame Street plates (find a card at Hallmark for that), we were always scrounging for dinnerware.

This past October I stumbled across an incredible deal at Ross (which is a lower-class Marshall’s), a huge set of plates, bowls, mugs, serving plates for twenty bucks, just because the box was open, crunched, and two bowls were broken. Quite the bargain. The plates were simple white with a dark blue band around the edge. I took them home, washed them, and placed them in our cabinets. And immediately regretted my purchase.

The plates were huge. The bread and butter plates were the size of our old china dinner plates. The “cafe-style” dinner plates were large enough to serve a whole roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn-on-the-cob on the side. They didn’t fit well in our dishwasher, and in the next few days as I used them I felt like I was either skimping on the meal (from Chez le Fancy, here is your chicken nugget on a bed of corn) or fattening my kids up to make wrestling weight. (“Come on kids! We need to gain fourteen pounds by Friday! Eat your pound of s’getti!”)

Two months ago at Ross (I like lower-class Marshall’s) I found a set of dinner plates that were less imposing, and cheap. I loaded two boxes into the trunk of my car and took them home.

And there they sit, still in the trunk of my car.

Oh, I visit them. Every time I get groceries, I see them as I load the car. And as I take the groceries into the house, I think that I should really carry those plates in. But I am sick of carrying things after carrying all the groceries. And later, well...

Here’s the thing — it has gone past procrastination. I need to admit that I made a mistake, either in buying the old plates or the new ones. But something was a mistake. And I need to remedy that mistake, either by replacing the old plates or returning/donating the new ones. And either is going to involve work at this point. Packing up the old plates, washing and putting away the new plates. Arranging for donation. I don’t want to deal with it. That is why this is more than procrastination, it is also denial. Hence my new word, ProcrasDenial. (Hey, if Colbert can do it with “truthiness,” so can I.)

So, here I am today, Friday as it were, and looking to a weekend visiting my mother. That would leave little time, wouldn’t you say, for the rather important book-talking presentation I have to give on Monday, whereby I will stand up in front of seventy of my colleagues and demonstrate how they should present a select number of books to the schoolchildren across our large county. I will present four books. I have known about this presentation for five months. I have read the books, five months ago. My preparation for this presentation since then...

Zippo.

ProcrasDenial.

I have officially read all of the Newbery Honor Winners for 2006 and they are... good.

Every year the Newbery awards disappoint me. I generally think that the books are good, but I am very rarely wowed. And when I am wowed, it is always by a book on the honor list and not by the winner — as it is this year. It hit me yesterday why the Newbery books are usually just all right: because they are selected by committee.

An individual will pick a book that rocks because it taps into something unique in its concept, plot, expression, etc. In a committee, someone else will hate that book for the very same reason. So the committee picks a book that generally offends no one and rarely makes a statement more controversial then “reading is important.” (Hence a subtext theme about reading or banned books in 4/5 of this year’s winners). Sometimes an issue book will make it onto the list, but the issue has to be pretty well agreed upon. Show Way tells us that years of oppression for blacks was bad. Hitler Youth tells us that years of brainwashing of German youth led to the Holocaust, which was bad. Actually, I think both of these books are very good, and in fact the best things on the list this year. But certainly not controversial.

I talked about the Newbery books I had read before, so here are the three that I hadn’t read.

Whittington, by Alan Armstrong, is the story of a cat and his boy in history, as told by a different cat to a barn full of animals. Also woven into the story is a boy who comes to the barn with his sister to learn to read, and doesn’t seem the least surprised to have the animals talk to him. So I guess this is a fantasy. It’s a nice book for elementary school readers.

Princess Academy, by Shannon Hale, is the story of a society from long ago with a little bit of magic about it. It has been foretold that the new princess will come from this village of mountain miners, so the girls are sent to a school to learn how to be a proper princess and be selected by the prince. They also manage to learn to read in an incredibly short time. Must be the mountain air. Our library cataloged this book for teens, but it is certainly appropriate for older elementary school readers.

Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler’s Shadow, by Susan Campbell Bartoletti, is a nonfiction looking at the children of Germany in the years preceding the Holocaust. Children were all but forced into the Hitler Youth “clubs,” almost all academic schooling was suspended, books were banned, and that was just the beginning. I learned a lot reading this book, things I never knew about the kids under the Hitler regime and their role in bringing about World War II. And I have read a few things about the Holocaust. This is an extraordinary book and I wish that every adult would read it, along with the teens for whom it is intended.

Next year I am advocating a Newbery dictatorship. Five people are selected at random from the committee, they each submit their favorite book, rock/paper/scissors to decide the winner. And please, no more books about how great reading is. We get it.

Shout out to my improv friends. Improv is so, so hot right now.

I am, admittedly, an improv wanna-be. With the suburban mom/working gig I can’t find the time, but man I love the idea of improvisational acting. I got a little taste when I worked on Tohubohu Productions’ first short film. We outlined the scenes, but improvised all of the script. The film was a bit rough around the edges, since it was the first one, but the improv gave it such a fresh feel.

But if I can’t do improv, I can read about it. Improv Wisdom: Don’t Prepare, Just Show Up, by Patricia Ryan Madson, is a new book taking the maxims of improv and applying them to life. She asks us to “say yes” and to “start anywhere.” It is another way of looking at the world in a creative way, and the author even gives the reader exercises from improv to make her points. Sometimes her ideas seemed like a bit of a stretch, other times they seemed quite valid. It didn’t all resonate with me, but I think it would mean a lot to the people who do improv acting and follow the principles she outlines.

For me, interesting, but not life-altering. Any comments, improv buffs?

I just want it known that I have officially had it. I am done with winter. Done, I tell you. I had sworn to many people that I was boycotting the whole winter thing by putting away my sweaters and heavy coat, and I didn’t care how cold I got in my three-quarter-sleeve button-up shirts from Old Navy.

Hah, winter — your move.

Freaking snow.

Nicely played, winter. Nicely played.

My move? Weak, and yet at the same time decisive. A little book spring cleaning took place last week. (Did you hear me winter? Last week!) In my book spring cleaning I returned:

• An Idiot Girl’s Christmas by Laurie Notaro
  Would have been funnier at Xmas.


• Easier Than You Think, by Richard Carlson
  Yeah, that’s what you say.


• Clutter’s Last Stand, by Don Aslett
  Clutter is bad. Repeat concept 413 times.


• Leon and the Champion Chip, by Kurzweil
  Kids’ book. Failed to engage.


• Girl in a Cage, by Yolen
  Not what you think. Couldn’t get into it. (The book, not the cage.)


• Sex with Kings, by Eleanor Herman
  Exactly what you think, but not as interesting as you would think.


• The Bush Dyslexicon, by Mark Crispin Miller
  Bush says things funny and we elected him. Too ticked to read this book.


• Time Management, by Marshall Cook
  I wanted to keep this, but couldn’t resist the irony of returning it unread.

There you have it. My book spring cleaning is done and now I am going to wash all the drapes or wax the tabletops or whatever else I have to do to prove that spring has begun. And no snow is going to change my mind.

Obviously, I need something serious in my life — something that challenges me, something that fulfills me. But... I also like to have fun, to laugh, to lighten up. And then, sometimes, I want to reach out of my comfort zone and try something different, explore a new culture, race even.

So I’m taking on all three, and I refuse to feel guilty about it.

With The Children of Henry VIII, by Alison Weir, it is definitely serious and challenging. I am fascinated by Henry VIII, his wives, and his children and have read some great fiction about them (to be covered another day). This book, though, is nonfiction and truly dense. I want to learn more, but I can’t read too much at one time or my head spins. (Now, if I was loose with the word literally, like some people are, I would have said that “it literally makes my head spin,” which I would have thought meant “it really makes my head spin,” but would actually have meant “it propels my head off the stablizing force of my neck and twirls it around like a ballerina at a Swan Lake audition.”) So I read a chapter in this book and then switch to...

Diana Lively Is Falling Down, by Sheila Curran, which is a chick lit book, and a British chick lit book to boot. I mean “Mackintosh” for “raincoat” in the second sentence kind of British. Being that I love all things British, especially the accents, I may love this book. It is light, and funny. Starting off a little rough, but I am willing to give it a go. It is the sorbet in my reading meal so I can get back to...

Dreams From My Father, by Barack Obama, which I have wanted to read ever since he gave his speech for the Democratic Convention. Son of a goat herder, self-named “skinny kid with a funny name.” Love this guy. The book is going well, and I could probably just whiz through it, but I want to savor it. Really get to know Barack. (Do you think he minds if I call him that? I feel so close to him.)

What can I say? One book at a time may be enough for some people, but it isn’t enough for me.

Bad, bad, bad, bad books.

I like Kate DiCamillo. Her book Because of Winn Dixie was a masterpiece in character development and pacing. The Tale of Despereaux won the Newbery Medal. What ever would make her write this new, depressing book, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane?

The story is of a china rabbit who is cold and needs to learn to love, which apparently involves the roughest treatment a china rabbit has ever known. In the story, the rabbit is lost, thrown in the ocean, lives in a garbage dump, watches a little girl die, and gets nailed to a post. Have I ruined the plot for you? Good. Now, there is one more person in the world who won’t be subjected to this book.

I admit, I am a softy. I don’t own The Veleteen Rabbit or read it to my kids. I didn’t even want my nine year old to read Charlotte’s Web because I thought it was too sad (of course, she found it on her own and loved it). But I am not the only one with this opinion on this book. Check out this article in Book World, “When Bad Things Happen to Bad Bunnies.”

And a personal note to Kate DiCamillo. Kate, please check with your doctor about upping your Prozac. Or start taking Prozac. Or even take a vacation. But please, until you get yourself together, don’t write again.

I think I have a fever and my hand hurts from pulling dead plants out of the garden for six hours yesterday and I don’t know what was I thinking doing that nonsense for six hours but I guess I just wanted to be outside because it was so lovely and I felt guilty for not going home to help my mom out so I had to do something productive even though it was not my fault that we didn’t go home because my youngest had a low fever and we were worried about traveling three hours with her, because what if she got sicker or we gave the illness to my mom or one of the adults got sick and couldn’t make the drive back which is apparently what happened so maybe staying here was the right choice, though perhaps six hours of gardening wasn’t the right choice given that there is so much undone laundry in the house that I am down to granny pants and thongs in my underwear drawer, emergency underwear as it were for those times when I haven’t been able to get anything done which we might call now after I have literally leaped over the pile of clothes falling out of my closet onto the floor and encroaching on the bed area necessitating the leap over them and believe me, when I use the word “literally” I mean it, not like some people use “literally” to mean “a lot” but I mean it in that both feet left the floor as I made my way around this pile thinking as I jumped that it was just one more thing I needed to take care off like the clutter of blog entries I am ready to make with titles like “A Confession,” “Crushed,” “Another Three-Way,” and other clever things but I can’t get my head around writing them even though the books are lining up in my mind like airplanes ready for takeoff and perhaps I should let one of these ideas fly, but I just want to go back to bed or stare at the TV and watch mentally uninspiring shows because I don’t want to have to work my brain for a moment more because I think I have a fever.

How edgy am I? Just so on the cusp of what is hot, that I selected and suggested the book And Tango Makes Three mere weeks before it appears on The Colbert Report.

Apparently, a couple of parents in Missouri objected to this book being in their public library, and somehow the news feeds picked up the story. The library did not remove the book from its collection, but did move it to the nonfiction section, so it would be less likely to “blindside” somebody.

Ah, so many layers to this story. Where to even begin?

There is the sociological implication of our worries about gay penguins taking over the world. For an angry take on that, perhaps, you might go to another site, maybe Prometheus Unleashed. Though I would looooooove to go into it, that’s not what I’m about here at MotherReader.

There is the response of the library to consider, which was not wrong, but was pretty meek. I mean, two parents complain, and you move the book? What if I object that I don’t want my preschooler to inadvertently pick up a book about Noah’s Ark? Should all of those books go into the religion section? There are picture books that deal with the death of a parent or of a pet. Maybe they should all go in the section on grief? Where do you want to draw the line on what is unobjectionable? To the library’s credit, at least they didn’t get rid of the book. So that is something.

There is the mindset of the parents to explore. It is a public libary holding books for all the public. If you don’t like a book, if it offends you in some way... don’t check it out. It is really that simple. You can exercise your parental control to say, “I do not wish to read this book to my child.” So. Don’t. Read. It. To. Them.

There is the worry of introducing delicate subjects to children. Remember, parents, children will ask you questions based on what they are capable of processing, and you, as a parent, can answer accordingly. A child may listen to this book and ask why it was that two boy penguins wanted to stay together. We as parents can say, “Sometimes a man may love a man or a woman may love a woman, and they want to be together.” We do not have to go into the whole gay culture or what a man and a man do together in bed, any more then we would explain the whole bar scene or what a man and a woman do together in bed. When sex comes up with children, I would go with the “when a man and woman love each other very much...” talk, not the “when a man and a woman get drunk and they feel this special itch...” talk.

Then there is the book itself, which I stand by as a lovely, gentle story about adoption and love. You could use it as a springboard to talk about the diversity of the world, but you don’t have to do so. I would be willing to bet that four out of five preschoolers wouldn’t ask a single question about the two boy penguins. So it doesn’t need to be that worrisome. The authors told the story, they didn't put thoughts in the penguins heads. We are making the interpretation ourselves. There is no gay penguin love agenda.

What is most important here — what we can’t forget — is how incrediblly cutting edge I am to have suggested the book in the first place.

Sometimes you just know that it isn’t working out. Sure, there was an initial attraction, but then... nothing. You’re just bored. Little irritations become big issues. “Who uses the word paradigm anyway?” You fight to stay invested. It may get better. It may be worth all the struggles in the end. But maybe you’re just not in that place now, for something light or something serious or something different. You know you need to make room in your life for something new, but it feels so wrong.

It’s okay to say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” when you’re dumping a book.

I dumped a book just this week, and do feel some regret. It was The Courtesan, by Susan Carroll, and as I was reading it I had the sneaking suspician that I was missing something, after the first one hundred pages seemed to be all back story. Maybe the first book in the series would be good, but I am just not willing to invest that kind of time in a book I was only marginally interested in in the first place. So, one hundred pages into it, I stopped reading and returned the book.

You can dump a decent book if it just doesn’t fit you, doesn’t engage you, doesn’t interest you, doesn’t make you want to keep reading. There are too many fish in the sea — or books on the shelves, as it were — to waste time on the wrong one. Even if it’s just the wrong book for you, for now.

I was not always this harsh, this cold. I would read the worst book to the very end, but I would be resentful. I wasn’t enjoying myself, or worse, wasn’t reading at all, stifled with guilt over the book I was avoiding. I had to change. I still find it difficult to let go, but it is getting easier.

I helped a friend get out of a bad book relationship recently. With a young child, she has limited time to read and was strugging with a book of short stories. We talked about it, and I told her it was time to move on — especially with A Million Little Pieces waiting in the wings. She took my advice and later confessed what a pleasure it was to finally remove the bookmark from the pages. You go, girl! Movin’ on.

Today I discovered that we had no honey for me to make my favorite sandwich, peanut butter and honey. And we didn’t have milk, so I wouldn’t want peanut butter anyway, ’cause what is a peanut butter sandwich without milk? Just wrong, I tell you. With a moment’s reflection, I decided upon tuna fish, and the sigh that inadvertently escaped my body at that moment of decision reflected my extreme irritation at having to take the time to make a tuna fish sandwich. You would think I had to catch, scale, and fillet the tuna for the internal reaction it caused. Changing the paradigm, I decided to time my tuna fish sandwich making process. Four minutes. And that included toasting the bread and putting some Fritos on the plate. Maybe I have that kind of time. Other things I tend to put off that I have timed:

Unloading the dishwasher: Four minutes with my kids helping, three minutes with them not helping.

Opening two days of mail: Six minutes. While eating a tuna fish sandwich, seven minutes.

Reading my email today: Two minutes.

Thinking about why no one sends me emails: Two minutes.

Going to my site to reread my “Ode to Seuss”: One minute.

Calling a friend to ask why he hasn’t read my “Ode to Seuss” yet, or does he even really like me at all, ’cause I know he is my husband’s friend, but really, I listen to all of his crap and overuse of profanity, so can’t he like spend ONE minute to check out my site after I have only told him about it four times: Fourteen minutes.

So, remember today, we have the time. Don’t make me call you.

The sun did not shine
It was too wet to play.
So I sat by the computer
All that cold, cold, wet day.

I sat with my blog.
We sat there, just deuce.
And I said, “How I wish
I could rip off Dr. Seuss.”

Then I looked up,
And saw him step in on the mat!
I looked up. I saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!

(Or it could have all been
in my head, not a fact.
I’d taken two Advil
And at least four Prozac.)

The Cat said,“Now why
Do you sit there so gloomy?
Your house looks quite clean
Your playroom quite roomy.”

I said, “It’s my blog,
I need something to write.
I can find no inspiration
At least not by tonight.”

“Inspiration, you want.”
(sounding kind of like Yoda)
“Open your eyes,” he said,
“And get me a soda.”

“All that you’re looking for
Is here on this shelf.
You don’t need any more,
You can get it yourself.”

And then all the titles
Popped right out at me
With a surreal neon glimmer.
(Note: Avoid LSD.)

Oh, Say Can You Say?
The Foot Book, ABC,
Hop on Pop, Mr. Brown,
The Shape of Me.

Horton, and Yertle
The Lorax and Grinch
The King’s Stilts, Mulberry Street
Oh, this was a cinch!

I turned then to thank him,
That Cat in the Hat.
I turned then to thank him
But he’d have none of that.

Then putting a finger
Aside of his nose,
He gave me a wink
And up the chimney he rose!

(Sorry about that —
A little Xmas got in.
Guess I shouldn’t have taken
That third Vicodin.)

Let me say to you all
Dr. Seuss broke the mold,
Giving us the best books
For all of time told.

From America to Uruguay
Readers, thinkers, let loose.
Take a moment to say,
Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss.

You hear about the occupational hazards of firefighters and police officers, but do you hear about the librarians? No, you don’t. But our hazards are just as real, if less serious than say, being burned or shot.

I am talking about book binges. Yes, I said it. Confronted with thousands of books every working day, we can’t help but bring a few home — and then a few more, and a few more, until it is far too much for any one person to read.

For me, today, it’s time to purge. And here’s what’s going back to the library — with no links, because they didn’t make the cut.

• The World’s Easiest Guide to Understanding the Bible
  Skim-read parts of this; can’t remember why I checked it out.


• Fun With the Family in Virginia
  Checked out when we had a free weekend, only to realize that if I had a free weekend I had a lot to do at home.


• Fun With the Family in Maryland
  Ditto.


• Trash to Treasure
  Only two good ideas in the book for me. Do I really need a use for crushed soda cans?


• Altered Art: Techniques for Creating Altered Books, Boxes, Cards and More
  Love the concept, but the art examples they use are soooo surreal that it turned me off.


• The Ten Things You Can’t Say in America
  Hold it, is this guy a Republican?


• Loving Lefties
  Read parts of this, skipped parts of this. Actually an interesting book, but I’ve finished it.


• Birth of Venus
  Had this forever; couldn’t get into it.


• Shroud of the Thwacker
  Didn’t finish it, need to move on.


• Technique in Singing
  More intense than I thought it would be.

I still have fifteen books at home, so look soon for Book Purge II.

I am attracted to teen angst books. You might say that all books about teens must be about angst, it being their overriding M.O. But some books are really about angst, and I just love ’em. It must say something about my need to process my own teenage years over and over again by reading these books, but we’ll not go there.

What I Call Life, by Jill Wolfson, drew me in with its title, which reminded me of the long-gone but excellent series My So-Called Life. And the book was... okay. The girl’s mother has an mental episode in a library (always in a library) and the girl is send to a group home until her mother can take her again. There’s an interesting cast of characters, lots of self-discovery and knitting. ’Cause knitting is the new thing, y’know.

Spitting Image, by Shutta Crum, jumped off the shelf at me. Not literally, or this would be an entirely different entry. It is an interesting book about a girl growing up in poor, rural Kentucky in the early sixties. I enjoyed it and felt invested in the character. Good job, Shutta, on a nice transition from writing picture books.

I could have written Flashcards of My Life, but Charise Mericle Harper got there first. This book was so funny, and so true to my own experience of preteen years. It is all girls and friendships and liking boys and first kisses and embarrassing parents and all the things that go with growing up. Perfect for a middle-school girl, or for my peers wanting to relive those horrifying years with some... let’s say, perspective.

If you read my intro, you may remember that I am thrilled when I find a truly funny book. ’Cause I love to laugh. In deference to Patton Oswalt’s bit on this topic, it would be quite disturbing to see someone laughing who didn’t love to laugh, but I do love a book that makes me Laugh Out Loud.

Having given up —again — on The Areas of My Expertise to make me outwardly chuckle, fate smiled on me by dropping this new book in my lap. Actually, the book was dropped in the return bin at the library and the cover caught my attention, but you get my drift. I started reading it Saturday night, coming out of my over-indulged, late-night, no-sleep, sucky-workday malaise to grin, then giggle, and finally LOL. I started calling bits across the room to my husband, barely able to read through my laughing. Ah, I’m With Stupid, where have you been all my life?

The full title of this book, by Gene Weingarten and Gina Barreca, is I’m With Stupid: One Woman. One Man. 10,000 Years of Misunderstanding Between the Sexes Cleared Right Up. Gene Weingarten writes a humor column for the Washington Post Magazine, and sometimes pairs up with Gina Barreca for an exchange about men and women. This book includes those columns and more. It is incredibly funny, but there are some real truths in here about men and women that make it better than just a joke book. As well as being outrageously funny, Gina Barreca is a scholar of feminism, and her intellect adds to the quality of the book.

I have one complaint. I didn’t like the last chapter because it got a little serious for the tone of the book and left me on a down rather than an up. Here’s my suggestion: Read the intro chapter, then the last chapter, and then the rest of the book. Or read the the book in order, but then immediately turn back to Chapter 4, “Men and Women are Funny, Just Not to Each Other,” to end on a high note. Nothing like going out on a high note, like... now.

For those of you who want to stay for the touchy-feely part of the post, hang on. Everyone else may go back to the preceding paragraph and leave after the word “now.”

Okay, in the last chapter the authors talk about when they are going to meet in person, which they never have done to this point. Gina is uncomfortable meeting Gene sooner then need be because she is worried how he will feel about her when he sees her and realizes that she is just average in looks and a little fat. He doesn’t care, but she doesn’t want to ruin the illusion they have of each other, the chemistry they have, with appearance. And this is the feminist scholar talking, so what hope is there for the rest of us women who worry about our appearance and our weight? Also, she talks about the nature of the man/woman friendship and how tenuous it is, which made me think about my own friendships with men and how each of those started, evolved and/or crashed and burned. So, I enjoyed this book very, very much, but it caught me off guard that it made me thoughtful about my own life and issues when I just wanted to Laugh Out Loud.

Plus, now I felt invested in these people. For the publicity of the book they did finally meet. What happened? I had to drag myself downstairs to look online, where I found Weingarten’s Post column on the topic. But at the time I was reading the book, I felt like they left me hanging, and I am a little bitter about it. Oh yes I am.

With my work and family, I don’t have much time all to myself, so I treasure it. I plan for it. I savor it. So, when thwarted in my attempt to have some time out on my own, I get a little moody.

The scene is set at the Einstein Bagel Bakery — who make a fine egg and spinach on panini bread — where I’m meeting a good friend. As I leave brunch on my way to a day of fun-filled bargin shopping, my purse begins to vibrate. Actually, it’s my phone that is vibrating with the intensity of the message to be conveyed — my daughter is sick and I need to pick her up from school.

She is sluggish when I bring her home, so I suggest we watch TV together, and the only thing appropriate on our TiVo-Lite (i.e., not real TiVo) is American Idol. I believe I’ve mentioned that I can only watch American Idol if I’m doing something productive; otherwise I feel kind of guilty. Not that I don’t love American Idol, and if they ever make an American Idol version for 35 and up, I’ll be standing in the rain at RFK Stadium, or the FedEx Field, or Viagra Stands or whatever they are calling it then. Anyway, after three episodes, I am in an American Idol-induced stupor and not sure how I am going to shake out of it. I want to stay close to my daughter in case she... well, hurls. Reading a book nearby her would be the obvious choice. But what to read when you’re bummed and your brain has been pummeled with the ups and downs of the singing careers of total strangers? Most people would take this approach with wine and the meal, and in that analogy, what wine goes with Spaghetti-O's and strawberry taffy?

Can’t be nonfiction, or even historical fiction. Too facty. No women overcoming hardships. No men overcoming women. It needs to be humor, definitely. And then I know: It’s time for The Areas of My Expertise.

I keep trying John Hodgman’s book, because I know it is funny. But it is so clever in its humor, that it is almost nonsensical. I have only been able to digest small amounts of this book so far, but this may be the the day. I am not sure I get the 409 — yes, 409 — individual hobo names he lists, but I admire the author’s perseverence. Most of us would have given up at 163, but not this guy. That alone merits my consideration. Though if I need more, there are articles on “Lobster-Claw v. Pigeon-Foot Deformities” and the “Nine Presidents Who Had Hooks For Hands.” I can’t wait to find out who. Can you?

Ever since the day I did nothing but read (“Why I Never Get Anything Done”), I’ve been making more of an effort to keep the house clean. It will never be Martha Stewart tidy, but I am going for... inoffensive. Since my house was clean, I was not alarmed by the drop-by visit of my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. I did want to make a decent impression on his girlfriend, who had not seen my house before, but I wasn’t worried about it.

As they called from the road about five minutes from my house, I collected the snow clothes that had piled up in the foyer. Well, actually, I made a path through the snow clothes... but I did carry some boots downstairs, and that is when I saw it.

There is no pleasant way to say this, so let’s just get it over with: It was cat vomit. Yes, I had cleaned it up days ago but had not taken care of the rather significant stain that was now glaring at me from its position by the bookshelf. I had probably passed it a dozen times in the last few days and each time I thought, “Oh, I need to get the carpet cleaner for that.” And each time I meant to go upstairs to get said carpet cleaner, and got distracted with something else and never got back to it. Now this stain was just so very there, and it couldn’t be anything else — like an experimental rug Rorschach test — and my guests were literally at the door.

At that moment, it all came clear. My focus was sharp. Time slowed down. And I placed on top of the stain... a book. Because when you read as much as I do, no one seems to question that there would be a book just lying around in the middle of your living room. “Why, yes, I was sprawled out there in the space between the bookshelves and the piano reading that book just before you arrived.”

I think that I’ve learned something from the experience, which I why I felt I should share this story. While the messy can get away with a lot, the readers can get away with more. And you should keep carpet cleaner on both levels of your house.

Oh, the book? The Shroud of the Thwacker, by Chris Elliott. Great title, funny read — just like this entry.

So now that I’ve inadvertently given you a book suggestion for your husband/wife/lover (see “The Pop-Up What?”), let’s turn instead to the kiddies. I find Valentine’s Day is the one time that I can say, “I’ve put up with your crap for nine years now, so you sit your butt down and listen to a story that expresses how much I love you, missy!” Feel free to paraphrase.

So, for a Valentine gift or reading-aloud time, here are my top “love” picture books, in order from youngest (lap babies) to oldest (I don’t know... 27).

FRIEND LOVE: Never Too Little To Love, by Jeanne Willis, is a sweet book about a mouse who wants to give a kiss to his (her) friend the giraffe. The book has sturdy pages for the littlest readers.

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: No Matter What, by Debi Gliori. Small presents many situations in which Large may not love her/him, but love always wins out. Larger print and simple sentences also make this book good for a beginning reader.

MOMMY LOVE: Te Amo Bebe, Little One, by Lisa Wheeler, incorporates a Latin American feel in a story of a baby growing into a toddler. The refrain will run through your head for days, not necessarily unpleasantly.

DADDY LOVE: Papa, Do You Love Me? by Barbara Joosse, follows a Masaai father and son in the incredible landscape of Africa. Additional information about the culture is included at the end of the story.

SWEETIE LOVE: Porcupining: A Prickly Love Story, by Lisa Wheeler, is a funny story of a porcupine who can’t find somebody to love. Make up your own tune to his recurring — and unintentionally insulting — songs.

GAY PENGUIN LOVE: And Tango Makes Three, by Justin Richardson, tells the story of two male penguins in the Central Park Zoo who find each other and raise an adopted egg. Based on a true story, and in my opinion, a great way to introduce children to the idea of different kinds of families.

Admit it — you were just waiting to find out what the title “Gay Penguin Love” was all about, weren’t you?

This post couldn’t wait, and I can only hope that someone out there is reading.

I’m killing time at work today and looking over the 100 bestselling children’s books, something I do from time to time. When what do I see at on the Barnes and Noble children’s — now I said children’s — bestseller list? There at number 84 is The Pop-Up Kama Sutra: Six Paper-Engineered Variations. I am not sure which amuses me more, that The Pop-up Kama Sutra appeared on the children’s bestseller list or that there is a Pop-up Kama Sutra book in the first place. Not to mention the variations of puns and jokes on the words “pop-up” connected with the kama sutra.

In all good conscience, I alerted Barnes and Noble to the error before I thought about you, my dear readers, so if it is no longer there, I apologize. But it had to be done.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

Last night I went to a PTA meeting that lasted for TWO HOURS, and thus reminded me of WHY I DON’T GO TO PTA MEETINGS! I could have been reading! Even watching American Idol would have felt more productive. Not that I don’t love American Idol, but I do feel compelled to do something else while watching the show — folding laundry, paying bills, churning butter — so I don’t feel the hours of my life quietly slipping away.

Here then, with as little work as possible, is the second half of the annotations I refered to in the entry “I Didn’t Do My Homework.” This selection is for third grade on up to middle school, but even the last ones on the list would be appropriate for younger, but advanced readers.

1. Lowji Discovers America, by Candace Fleming
   Join Lowji as he leaves India, learns about his new home, and tries to get what he has always wanted — a pet!
2. Fashion Kitty, by Charise Mericle Harper
   Another blah outfit? This sounds like a job for Fashion Kitty. She is saving the world one pair of capris at a time.
3. Captain Fact: Dinosaur Adventure, by Knife
   Captain Fact can handle the dinosaurs, but you should step back when he has a FACT ATTACK. If you are not careful, you just might learn something.
4. Goha the Wise Fool, by Denys Johnson-Davis
   Is he really a fool, or is he wiser than them all? You’ll find out in these funny stories from the Middle East.
5. Clemency Pogue, Fairy Killer, by J.T. Petty
   Part fantasy, part dark comedy, and part Lemony Snicket, this book is sure to hold your interest. Just remember to clap if you believe in fairies.
6. The Tail of Emily Windsnap, by Liz Kessler
   As Emily discovers the secrets of the sea, she needs to keep her biggest secret from those on land. You’ll love this fishy tail/tale.
7. Malibu Carmie, by Leah Komaiko
   Carmie has her summer and her mom all figured out. But she finds out that there is more to her mom than she ever thought, and her summer is turning out very different than she expected.
8. Monsoon Summer, by Mitali Perkins
   Jazz is used to her mother’s pet projects, but this one is going to take the whole family to India for the summer. She wants to stay out of her mother’s mission, but is drawn in by all that she sees around her.
9. Sarah’s Ground, by Ann Rinaldi
   Did you know that Mount Vernon is only here for us to visit today because of the courage of an eighteen-year old girl? In this historical fiction book, Sarah stands up to generals and presidents to keep Mount Vernon safe for future generations.

Tomorrow, when the meeting hangover lifts (I also had three hours of work meetings yesterday), I’ll hit the books again. But don’t ask me to meet about them.

So, I’m still mulling over this “He’s just not that into you” concept, and it comes to me why, perhaps, women overanalyze men’s behavior. In our formative years, girls are more advanced in their relationship skills and have to... let’s say, help the boys along. In elementary school, a boy shows a girl that he likes her by pulling her hair. In middle school, he calls her house and hangs up when she answers. A teenage boy isn’t much better, driving by a girl’s house over and over instead of just asking her out. Girls get in the habit of analyzing boys’ behavior to figure out what they could possibly be thinking. And then — at some point — the boys become men, the paradigm changes... but the women don’t.

There you go, I’ve just solved the man/woman relationship. Discuss amongst yourselves. I’m going to tackle world peace.

I got this idea to read the book Sex and the City by Candace Bushnell. I had read it long ago before I started watching the HBO show Sex and the City, and now that I have seen and enjoyed the show, I thought it would be fun to go back to the book. The book is not the same as the show. The characters and situations are taken from the book, especially the earliest shows where they would have “man on the street” interview comments interpersed throughout the show. But the show changed characters around, changed their relationships to one another, and changed some of the scenarios. All and all though, an interesting companion for fans of the show.

But what I found most intriguing about this book was how it made me feel. I envied the fun, partying life of these New Yorkers while similtaneously feeling relieved that I didn’t have to participate in these dating rituals. On the personal side, I met my husband right after college, so I never had that time after school but all on my own. There are chances you can take and mistakes you can make that are impossible when another person is involved. And that is good and bad. But reading this book just made me realize how hard it is to be... out there. And led me to read the next book.

In one of the shows of Sex and the City, one of the female characters is talking with her girlfriends — and one guy — about a less than successful date. The women reassure her that she is wonderful and of course he will call her. The guy shocks everybody by saying, “It sounds like he’s just not that into you.” This statement changes the way she approaches her relationships. Imagine, not having to analyze every little thing a potential boyfriend does. If he really, really likes her, it will show.

The idea resonates so strongly, that the guy consultant on the show — from whom the episode was formulated — writes a book entitled He’s Just Not That Into You. Now, it has been a bestseller, so I’ve never seen it at my library, but now it has been out for a while, so I go to the shelf to look at it, and lo and behold, there it is. So I spend my boring, rainy Saturday at the library skim-reading this book. And I have to say it has changed how I look at interactions that I have had with men in the past. He doesn't call you back? He’s just not that into you. He doesn’t want to drive down to meet you for lunch? He’s just not that into you. He ignores you around his friends? He’s just not that into you. In fact, I have just given away the entire book. The only advice in the book is — now say it with me — he’s just not that into you. So, why don’t men just say so? Because apparently, a man would rather gnaw off his left arm than tell you this simple truth. Single women should read this book because after the tenth question and answer posed, it does start to sink in.

And men, if you would, let me hear from you. Is it true? Is it really that simple?

I’m on the committee to select books for the public libraries’ summer reading program, and as part of the committee I need to write annotations for 15 of the books. Well, I put it off ’til the last day, and now I’m not sure I’m putting out my best work. Today I give you the preschool to grade two books’ annotations. If you live in my county, all eleven of you, you get a head start on the summer reading books. If not, you can benefit from a few of the suggestions from one of the richest counties in the country.

1. Poems to Dream Together = Poemas Para Soñar Juntos, by Francisco X. Alarcón
   Enjoy these fun and simple poems in English and Spanish. Poemas simples y divertidos para que todos los gocen.
2. Love and Roast Chicken: A Trickster Tale from the Andes Mountains, by Barbara Knutson
   Among the wild guinea pigs of the Andes is one in particular who manages to fool the tricky fox, not once but twice!
3. Sea Surprise, by Leo Landry
   If you think this is just another undersea adventure, you’ll be shocked as you watch a little mermaid and her shark friend help the electric eel recover his ZAP.
4. An Undone Fairy Tale, by Ian Lendler
   Don’t turn the pages too quickly or the artist won’t have time to finish the next scene. The Princess rides on a snail and knights fight a giant pretzel in this funny, fairy tale.
5. Sir Small and the Sea Monster, by Jane O’Connor
   This is a traditional fairy tale where the knight saves the town, riding in on his... seahorse? It is a fairy tale, but much, much smaller.
6. Think Cool Thoughts, by Elizabeth Goodwin Perry
   It is so, so, hot in the apartment that Angel can barely stand it. But then her mother comes up with a wonderful idea that leads to a very special night.

If you have read these books and want to offer another annotation option, great. If you haven’t read these books and want to offer another annotation option, still great.