Reading a Lullabye to My Bird

Books can mend your spirit, even if you're a six year old who needs his mommy to read a lullabye to shush away scary dreams.

Read more at Deep South Moms...

5:00 Fridays: Tipping My Glass to Laura Bennett

I recently got a copy of a fine read Didn't I Feed You Yesterday? A Mother's Guide to Sanity in Stilettos from the author herself. I've even exchanged emails with the author herself. I feel like it's a brush with fame. Well, if said brush were but one hair thick. A brush nonetheless. And nevermind that I have never owned a pair of stilettos in my life.

Gasp!

The author of Didn't I Feed You Yesterday? A Mother's Guide to Sanity in Stilettos, Laura Bennett, is someone I'd like to have a weekly cocktail with. We'd have our 5:00 Fridays inked in our calendar books, and it would be a weekly standing date while our boys would tear up the joint. We'd kick off our shoes, hers, 4-inch fabulous Manolos, mine, more modest cowboy boots or handmade leather sandals my aunt brought me back from India. I'd drool over her shoes and bags while she'd secretly be thankful I'm not her size. Then Bird would deck someone or Deal's whining would reach epic levels and she'd ask us to leave.

Laura and I would make quite a pair. She towering at close to six feet, while I stand at a solid five feet if I throw my chest out, yank my shoulders back, and hold my head up. She, a redheaded red lipsticked beauty. Me, a brown skinned and eyed, dark eye-circled, 40-something with a swoosh of black eyeliner and lip balm. I think I'd mostly like to hang out with Laura in hopes of her cool factor, sense of style (Did I mention she was on Project Runway and made it excrutiatingly close to the end?), confidence, and ability to shake it off.

You see, Laura (We're totally on a first name basis. I mean, we did exchange emails and all.), lives in Manhattan in a two bedroom loft. With FIVE boys (her daughter is lucky enough to be away at college...incidentally, her daughter and I went to the same boarding school...but let's just say I didn't graduate from the same school). And of course Laura has a husband, who's really like boy #6. And here I thought a lousy two boys and a husband (boy #3) was bad. Even my dog is a male. Being outnumbered isn't the issue as much as the sheer dirt and noise. You did know the meaning behind my blog's name, right? If two boys can run amok and wreak havoc, I can only have nightmares about what five boys can do.

Laura's life is pretty much a gassy cloud of burps, farts, shrills, guffaws, spills, and well, Chaos.

Yet she thrives in it. What I learned from reading this laugh-aloud funny book was that I could use a lesson in taking it easy. I'm clearly wound too tightly, and it ain't from my Spanx (which, thanks to Laura, I must run out and buy because it's apparently the miracle non-surgical surgery fix). My version of letting loose is to declare Sunday as no-making-the-bed day. In fact, on a recent vacation Bird cleared Deal's stuffed animals off the hotel bed and started to make it. I stopped him, but part of me was damn proud. In an admittedly sick way.

I'm a stickler for rules, manners, healthy food, home cooking, blah blah blah. After reading about Laura's philosophy on mothering, take care of yourself first (akin to putting on your oxygen mask first as Laura recounts), I realize I am piling on loads of couch fodder for my sons' future therapy. But can I really exchange my rigid cookin' ways for a more fabulous MO? I mean, it doesn't seem that Laura's sons are any worse for the wear. Actually, they appear quite smart, gracious, and downright funny.

And yes, she has help. Dear God, she must. But let me be the first to say that having help doesn't make Laura less of a mother. There are no blue ribbons in motherhood, so get off your soapbox and make room for us all to share a piece of the winner's circle.

I might not be as relaxed, charming, talented, and funny as Laura Bennett but I could at least don some red lipstick and stop yelling for a spell. Luckily for me it's 5:00 Friday so I can put up my kicky-shoed feet and relax with a cocktail.

This one's for Laura. Her candor. Her humor. Her style.

Now go buy her book. If you don't laugh aloud I'll buy you a drink. Make that three. Because if you don't laugh out loud, it clearly indicates that you are a fool with no sense of humor and a corncob stuck up your ass.


DIFYY

3 ounces of Hendrick's gin
1 ounce of Stirrings Bitter Lemon Soda
1 cucumber slice

Drop a few ice cubes into a highball glass. Pour in the gin. Top off with Bitter Lemon Soda. Float a cucumber slice in there to make it look fancy and spa-like. Put on some of that long lasting lipstick that doesn't wear off, you know, the kind flight attendants and Mary Hart must wear, and sip away. You'll tune out that chaos in no time.

Read Read, It's Good for Your Heart

I remember when Bird was born some people from the church we had joined threw a baby shower for us. Being the most clueless of mothers, I asked the pastor at what point we should start reading to our son. She emphatically charged, "NOW! It's never to early. Read now. Read often. Rejoice." And so from that point on we have cuddled our son in the crook of our laps and read to him. All the classics and treasures and gems from Indian folklore to add a bit of culture to our repertoire. Thank you, Pastor Julie, for your sage advice.

Fast forward several months. Norman, ranking among the kindest, most generous guys I know, gave me and Mac Daddy one of our most favorite gifts to welcome baby Deal into our family: Honey for a Child's Heart.

We loved flipping through this book pointing out our childhood favorites. Sadly, one my favorites isn't listed, and it's not available at my local library. I'll give you my firstborn* if you can get your hands on Andrew Henry's Meadow. I can still picture the tattered lime green cover and ink illustrations. I remember never tiring of that book and daydreaming about escaping to my own meadow. Honey for a Child's Heart speaks to the value in reading aloud to your children and really creating a reading culture in your family. Setting an example is key. Read here about the example I set for Bird. I have about three books on my nightstand at any given time. I carry a book with me practically everywhere (Note: I need an eReader to lighten the load.). My kids see me reading All. The. Time. Reading trumps TV in this house (because we have DVR to watch stuff later).

When I was a child, life at home was rather tumultuous. I craved an escape but had nowhere to go. Books were my light, my savior, my sanity. My most happy times were when my nose was pressed into a book. Then, and now, I was careful not to bend the spine, maintaining the primness of the books I held so sacred. I've lately been reliving my childhood through books that moved me way back when. So far I've read the likes of A Wrinkle in Time, The Borrowers, Sounder, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Bridge to Terabithia, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. It is remarkable to see these tomes through my 41-year old eyes. Most remarkable is that I still love those stories. I cried at the end of Sounder even though I knew the ending and had been anxiously anticipating it through the whole book. Bird just finished a couple Roald Dahl books -- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Danny Champion of the World. Tonight he embarked on the ambitious journey of the first in the Harry Potter series. I applaud him!

You have no idea how proud I am to see my Bird read. His first experience of "the book was better than the movie" was with The Indian in the Cupboard. Throughout the movie he kept remarking how it had taken liberties with the book. Well, he didn't phrase it that way, but you get my drift. I swell with pride at the very sight of Bird curled up in what we call the comfy chair with a book. He stays up late with his nightstand lamp illuminating the words that beckon him to dreamland. He recounts tales to us at the dinner table and on a good day, he reads to his little brother. The beauty of those two little boys nestled shoulder to shoulder in the comfy chair makes my heart pitter patter and my pride gleam.

Deal, while only four, loves books too. He can sit quietly for ages with his face pressed to a book. At a glance he'd fool you into thinking he's actually reading. He could spend everyday at the library, and they know us by name there. Once, when given the choice of the library or the park, both boys screamed "Library!" in unison. You have no idea how proud I was. Deal and Bird both love when we read aloud to them. Even though Bird can read on his own now, he still relishes that lap time when he gets to hear the words leap from the pages in our character voices. Our laps are getting smaller, but our love for books is growing deeper.
Read on.



*You shall get my firstborn when he is in the throes of disobedience and defiance, not to be returned until he is docile and ducky in demeanor.

5:00 Fridays - Farewell, JD Salinger

“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.”

I have this line, among many others, underlined in my tattered paperback copy of Catcher in the Rye from roundabout 1984. I related to Holden Caulfield, so much so that we very nearly named our youngest son Holden. I was skeptical of the phonies, eschewed the bores, and intimidated by those whose suitcases were nicer than mine. And to this day, money makes me feel blue as hell.

My high school penciled notations in the opening of the book indicate that the same words would be appropriate in my memoir one day. See, even at a young age I wanted to write. This was after math and science kicked my ass to Nova Scotia and I realized that the closest I'd get to medicine was as a doctor's wife (which didn't happen): “If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

Holden, though he was an angst ridden, complicated, yet wise, youth of 17, spoke my language. I, a 15 year old in an all girls boarding school surrounded by phonies, wannabes, and American duchesses, could never navigate my way through the social kinks and curves. I was lost and often alone. I felt like I was the only sane person in a loony bin because no one shared my story, or admitted to it anyway. Holden must have become real to me then. My 15 year old self.

I'm almost 42 now. I won't re-read Catcher in the Rye, for I don't want the lines to lose their glow. I want to remember Holden as the boy whose ear flapped hunting hat wasn't out of place in my world, the world more sodden with fancy labels and Bergdorf buys. We even bought a hat like Holden's hunting hat for Bird when he was a baby. He was a doll in that thing, puffed out chunker cheeks pooching out beneath the corduroy and faux fur. Holden would be 75 today. I have a hunch he'd have much to say about the phonies and bores in these, our modern times. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Today I tip my hat to the venerable JD Salinger who died yesterday. He was 91.

Writer. Recluse. Crackpot. Enigma.

Let's inhale a healthy dose of peace, wrap up in a stole of silence, and sip some rye.

Catcher in the Rye

3 ounces Templeton Rye
Splash of ginger ale
Teaspoon or so of maple syrup (It is imperative you use the real deal here; Mrs. Butterworth isn't worth it!)

Pour rye over ice in a lowball glass. Add ginger ale. Slowly stir in maple syrup. No garnish today. Holden, and JD Salinger, would find garnish to be a grand gesture stinking of superfluousness.


Some parting words from Holden Caulfield: "What really knocks me out is a book, when you're all done reading it, you wished the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it."

A Wonderful Way to Celebrate Earth Day!

I could devour books and never be satiated. Even though they are not made of chocolate or covered in marshmallows and caramel, they are fodder for my soul, escape from my reality, Red Bull for my brain. Books feed me in ways that sugar never can. And you know how much I love me some sugar.

Ever since I discovered Barefoot Books I have coveted most everything in the catalog. Lucky for me my dad has showered the boys with amazing titles from the collection. You can read more about my love affair with these marvelous books here. The latest book I have been reading to Bird and Deal is called The Barefoot Book of Earth Tales. The book is chock full of stories, snippets about the countries from which the stories hail, eco tips, and activities to accompany each tale. A story, geography lesson, and craft project or recipe in each chapter! You know that is totally my cup of tea.

The book takes us a fantastic trip around the world with a focus on different cultures' perspective on how to achieve harmony with the earth. We have read folk tales from Australia, India, Wales, Nigeria, Kazakhstan, and Bali. Bird is so keen on this trip around the globe because he attends an international studies school, where everything in the curriculum centers on global insights. He and Deal cannot wait to get their passports stamped with the seals of the many countries we read about (however, it is highly unlikely that they'll be heading to Kazakhstan or Nigeria...Wales and Australia are shoe-ins...one day).

So here's the scoop. You too can get your hands on this book just in time for Earth Day on April 22! What's even better is that Barefoot Books has partnered with Eco-Libris to plant a tree for each copy of Earth Tales sold. Is there a better way to help the planet and a young mind at the same time? And I assure you, you will learn a thing or two and have a rejuvenated awe for our planet along the way. Here's the link to order this fine anthology of earth tales.

You might think reading Dirt & Noise gets you nothing, but I'm here to squash that right this minute. You can get 10% off your online purchase through April 30, 2009 when you simply enter the code SCETALES at check out. Now don't say I never gave you anything (weekly hangover excluded).

And fret not, my friends. I also have one book to give away to a lucky reader on April 10!

Here are the deets:
Leave me a comment answering the following questions. You get an extra entry for tweeting this giveaway and yet another one for posting about it. Just leave me a link to the tweet and the post.

Go here and tell me what Barefoot Book(s) you would like to add to your book shelf.

2. What are you doing to conserve our resources?

The Birth of a Writer: On Why I Blog

I've been blogging at Dirt & Noise a little over a year now. I started just to have an outlet to write and get thoughts out of my head and onto paper. Well, proverbial paper. I missed my gig at the local newspaper and figured a blog was the next best thing. Soon I learned that blogging was even better. My readers are my editors. And my fans, my cheerleaders, my challengers.

Then blogging became a part of me. An addiction if you will. It also transformed me.

I think it's safe to say that all the crazies having a dance party in my head were causing a fair bit of anxiety in my overall being. I often felt overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time; a strange paradox of an existence. I was full of energy and ideas. And admittedly full of piss and vinegar. I was a veritable rolodex of zany ideas and blasphemous thoughts. I was all dressed up for the dance, but there was no high school gym decorated for the big event. And so there I sat alone with my thoughts, billowing tulle falling at my ankles, patent leather slingbacks slung through my manicured fingers.

And so I created my own dance party.

I blog for the obvious reasons. It's fun. It's an exercise in writing. It's a storytelling wonderland. It's a walk down Memory Lane. It's a way to share out of the ordinary anecdotes with friends and family. But it's so much more.

Blogging is therapy, but a whole lot cheaper. And thankfully for Mac Daddy, it's also way cheaper than retail therapy. Blogging forces me to dig deeper than I would otherwise let myself go. I come face to face with some buried emotions and experiences. I reflect on my own brand DNA, my shortcomings of motherhood, my worries, my celebrations, my fears. Some things I've seen crop up in my head are still too painful or controversial to manifest into words. But thanks to blogging, they're there, off the so called back burner and poised for capture and introspection.

Blogging also makes me think. I see life's events great and small through a different lens now. Rather I see them through various lenses. I can leverage my words to share ideas, heartaches, causes, or simply reflections. I can even use my words for good. Through my writing I vent, rant, judge, wail, and whine. I also use my cyberspace real estate to inspire, promote, tease, and tickle.

I have always aspired to be a writer. When my hopes were dashed to get into medical school, I turned my dreams to writing. Then the real world whacked me upside the head and forced me to get a job. A paying job. After years of building a retirement nest egg from the tender age of 22, funding an obscenely expensive graduate school run, and starting a family, I have decided that now is the time. The time is now to put my writing goals in overdrive. So my blog provides me with fodder for that book deal I covet. I won't see my name embroidered on a lab coat but I just might see my name on a book jacket. A girl can dream, right?

And so, my blog gives me a voice.

Free Stuff for Everyone

I have discovered a few things I'd like to share with you. I love a bargain and don't part easily with a buck under the best of circumstances, though Mac Daddy might beg to differ. These days a buck doesn't stretch too far unless you want a Golden Arches double cheeseburger or some Made in China lead laden toy trucks from the One Spot. I have some nifty little things that are worth that hard earned buck. And...

Drum roll, please...

This time my little ol' opinions come with free giveaways! I have a Build-A-Bear Workshop Bear and $10 gift certificate and a Spanish music CD for kids for one ever-so-lucky reader. That reader could be YOU. All you have to do is go to the Build-A-Bear Workshop website and tell me what outfit the child in your life would adore. Make sure you leave your email address so I can notify you if you win. I'll choose the winner at random and mail in time for the goodies to perch under your tree. And if you are so inclined, I can donate the bear in your name instead. So go ahead, what are you waiting for, folks?

Every Kid Deserves a Bear Hug
Build-A-Bear Workshop is Deal's Happy Place. We celebrated his third birthday there. He is a boy who digs his teddy bear after all. Wow. The staff was amazing. I wonder what they pump into the air there to be so perky and, well, happy. I mean, their job does entail working with little kids (and their parents) all day. The experience was postively fabulous for kids and adults alike. Granted, my boys did choose the ugliest outfits in the joint, despite my futile attempts to sway them towards something cute. They love playing with those little bears, regardless how fugly the outfits are. Deal loves that he even chose a heart for his bear and got to stuff it. Build-A-Bear Workshop is a fun outing, whether it's on your own or for a birthday. Sure beats getting a bunch of Oriental Trading plastic choking hazard crap in a goody bag.

Singin' En Espanol
I don't even speak Spanish but the little Lango Adventure Con Cosmo CD will have you tapping your toes and singing along in words you don't understand (unless of course you do understand Spanish). The songs are lively and fun and don't sound like anything a certain purple dinosaur might belt out. Bird learns German and Japanese in kindergarten, yet he has no problem picking up the lyrics when he hears this CD. Nevermind that neither of us has any idea what we're saying.

Digital Storytime
Bird and Deal can eat up books. When we travel we heft around a mini library of books for the airport, the plane, the hotel, the restaurants. The books, along with the laptop and various other necessities one brings along when traveling with kids, are enough to made a chiropracter very rich. Digital stories enter stage left. MobiStories are virtual books that we can download right to our laptop. There are a variety of stories all organized by age group. I was pleasantly surprised by the range of international stories and folk tales. This is no run-of-the-mill video. This is a virtual book with flipping pages and all. Still motion with words, read along text, and music. This is not a video. It's convenient for travel, and there are no ripped pages to tape up when your kids fight over who gets to turn the page. I can't see MobiStories replacing real books in my house, but they certainly have a purpose considering all the traveling we do. But at bed time, nothing beats the sound of turning pages and the feel of a book to lull the little ones to sleep. Anywa, try it out yourself. You can download up to $10.00 for free. I said FREE. Just go to mobistories.com, select a book, and enter code BSM187A at check out. Leave me a comment telling me what you think.

So that does it for my little review and giveaway. Pass this on, unless you want to be greedy and keep your chance of winning pretty good. I'll use random.org to choose a winner on Friday, December 12. You have until midnight December 11 to respond.

Have a beary great day!

Streppers in the House

The boys are sick today. Double case of strep throat. It was mighty pleasant dealing with two throat swabs this morning. Yup, nothing better than pinning down your kid and prying his mouth open long enough to allow the nurse to get a reasonable swab without getting bitten. Took three tries, lots of tears, some screaming, gasping, kicking, pinching, and promises of ice cream. Mind you that I was the object of said kicking and pinching, not the inflictor.

Both kids are pumped up with drugs, tomato soup, and watered down mango juice now. Popsicles will be awaiting when they wake from their much needed slumber.

They are unusually somber today. I must admit, it's kind of a nice break. They are mellow and cuddly, not whiny and mopey. We have enjoyed the day snuggling with books and listening to tunes from my childhood, Free to Be You and Me. Bird is especially snuggly, which is something I see him outgrowing bit by bit each day, and it breaks my heart. Deal is a lap dog by nature while Bird has the constitution of a cat. We'll watch some TV cozied up under a down throw this afternoon. Maybe I'll go all June Cleaver on you and bake chocolate chip cookies.

In the mean time, it's a shame the boys are sick. But it is indeed nice to have some quiet time together. I have a sinking feeling that the rambunctious kids I know will be back in rare form all too soon. Quick, put away the lamps! (We've had a rash of broken lamps at our house. Add those to the Christmas list.)

PS
Be glad I posted the artful photo of the streptococcus bacteria. You might mistake it for abstract art even. If I had posted photos of the boys' throats you would have been left gagging. I spared you, dear readers. Then again, it could have been a great diet/appetite suppressant.

Barefoot Books: Reading With Your Kids Has Never Been More Delightful

I love books. I devour them. There are not enough hours in the day for me to get through my book list. Nothing makes me prouder than to see Bird take such interest in reading and really putting his heart into learning the beauty and magic of how letters form words and words form sentences that glide us into wonderful escapes, adventures, and daydreams. I can tell that he is already learning an appreciation for words. He might be the only kindergartener who excitedly remarks when he comes upon a homonym. He is now learning about palindromes too and is so tickled that a word can be spelled the same forward and backward. Through his eyes I recall feeling that same sense of wonder when I was five. I do hope his math skills don't suffer as mine did.

Bird now reads to Deal time to time. Let me be clear; reading involves sounding out words and sounds and making up the story as he goes along. Deal loves nothing more than sitting with his side pressed into his brother's hips as close as he can physically get as he listens to a story. From afar they look like Siamese twins. That Deal must have been a furry cuddly lap dog in another life. Through Bird's lessons Deal is also learning his letters and developing a curiosity for words and books. As you can imagine, this makes me beam.

I was thrilled when the kind folks at Barefoot Books gave me the opportunity to review a couple books. Barefoot Books is an independent book publisher that was started 15 years ago by two working moms with seven children between them. The many books in their collection focus on celebrating diversity, appreciating myriad cultural traditions, nurturing a sense of curiosity, and fostering a global perspective. The company is still a grassroots organization and lives by its mission and values cemented in the early days of its inception.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to read something with no corresponding licensed character merchandise, computer generated animation, formulaic plot, or television counterpart.

I read My Granny Went to Market and Shopping With Dad. Both books had lovely, colorful illustrations that were vibrant, engaging, and works of art.

My Granny Went to Market was the hands down favorite of my little bunch. The illustrations are charming enough to warrant a frame and some picture hooks. If I had another copy of the book I would tear out the pages and do just that. The story is a counting story but not one of those stupid ones about ducks swimming away or putting eggs back into a nest. The premise is about a grandmother who travels the world collecting various goodies from faraway lands. It all starts with a magical flying carpet found in Istanbul (which as we know from They Might Be Giants, was once Constantinople). Nesting dolls from Russia. Paper lanterns from China. Kites from Tokyo. Drums from Kenya. It is a delightful little book that is a great introduction to global understanding for small children. It's a pretty good reminder for us grownups too.

Shopping With Dad has fun illustrations (gee, I am a sucker for illustrations) and perfectly captures the chaos of grocery shopping with a toddler in tow, especially when the grocery list calls for things like Octopus Underpants, Extra-Clean Germs, and Strong Anti-Grump Pills! Deal even referred to this story when we were at Harris Teeter this afternoon. He assured me he would not sneeze (You'll get it once you read the book.).

What I love about both books is how the authors inject a global perspective without being preachy or obvious. It is simply a snapshot of the world that I was raised in; people of many cultures living, playing, working together. The town I live in does not share the same diverse culture I enjoyed as a child so these books are a wonderful tool to give my kids a broader perspective of the world. The pictures in these books are not merely black and white; the characters represents cultures, not colors. Such is Barefoots Books' distinction.

Bird attends an International Studies school so he eats up learning about other cultures and loves gazing at the globe to see where our various family members live. Barefoot Books will be a perfect accompaniment to the curriculum he follows at school. We are going to put up a map in the play room so we can mark the cities we have visited. And if we can't make it to the many corners of the planet, we will bring those corners to our little corner.

I am adding A Calendar of Festivals, The Barefoot Book of Blessings, The Faerie's Gift, The Story of Divaali, and The Tear Thief to the boys' Christmas lists. I think we're all going to enjoy the ride.

And as a way to deal with this sour economy, you can get 30% off through November 3 if you click here www.ReadingBarefootBooks.com !

Too Pissed to Write About Politics

I am spent.

Withered. Tired. Frustrated. Angry. Sad. Hunched over. Saggy. Clenched. Stunned. Weakened. Wilted. Drained. Weary. Stupefied.

But. I. Am. Not. Defeated.

I was going to write about my thoughts on the election tonight. Yeah, I know. That's really rich, right? Totally a topic from left field (literally). More specifically, I was going to write about the nonsense of the "Women for McCain" signs I've seen popping up. Oxymoron or just moron? I was also going to write about the touchy subject of being friends with McPain supporters, particularly those you might not have pegged to be Cainiacs. This has hit me square in the sternum like a burlap sack of stolen $100 bills.

Alas, I cannot muster up the gumption to take on such heady topics tonight. I'd like to sleep on this lovely 60 degree night (with the window open...nothing like a clean, cool breeze to soothe the soul, the added snuggle with Mac Daddy is a bonus), and a bushel full of McPain debauchery will prevent my body from a much needed restful slumber. But don't worry, my bitching will be back in full force and then some, especially after a good night's sleep.

Instead of my usual political tirade, I'd like to share some snippets about a few authors that make me gloriously happy. These guys are family favorites who are guaranteed a seat at our dinner table any time. Even on short notice. Consider this your invitation. We will surely require replacement books before Bird and Deal hit second grade. Oh, you better believe I'm gonna have double copies to pass on to my grandchildren one day in the far, far, far future.

Todd Parr
Graeme Base
David Wiesner

What? You have not heard of these guys, the Triumvarite of Children's Authors? The guys who give Dr. Seuss and Maurice Sendak a run for their money? Well, now you have no excuse. Run, don't walk, or drive, as the case is in my town where one cannot walk anywhere, to the library. I'm betting you'll have to put your name on a waiting list, but it's so worth it.

Todd Parr's books have whimsical illustrations and cover topics such as making friends, adoption, fitting in, first day of school, feelings, and differences among people. He hits on these heavy topics with a genius stroke of simplicity and poignancy. His dog Otto is the star of the series, and his quirky antics are guaranteed to plaster a smile on your kids' faces. When Deal had trouble with separation issues at school this week, a Todd Parr book did just the trick to make him laugh. He's partial to The Feelings Book. Appropros for my sensitive little guy.

Graeme Base is a divine illustrator. When Mac Daddy and I got Animalia as a baby gift for Bird, we sat down on the couch and pored over every page. Nevermind that Bird was only hours old at the time. The clever gift giver clearly knew her shit and applied some foresight to the gift, shunning another noise making, squeaking, cloth book of clowns and hippos. Animalia is a superbly illustrated alphabet book that makes Where's Waldo look like, well, Where's Waldo. Bird now takes Animalia to bed with him and searches for the hidden pictures until his heavy lids get the best of him. The coolest part? Graeme, we should be on a first name basis by now, hides an illustration of himself as a young boy on every page.

David Wiesner somehow manages to write books with fantastic storylines, characters, and plots but no words. His books are fantasy to the Nth degree. Fabulous illustrations tell intriguing stories of wonderment. Page turners to the young and old sets indeed (not that there are any old people in this house!). His imagination stands alone, and he inspires others to see outside the proverbial box we let society cram us into. Tuesday has already lost its cover. Flotsam is dangling by threads. These are hardcover must-haves. Thanks to David Wiesner, we look for cameras on the shore instead of shells when we head to the beach.

So there you have it, a few of my favorites. Our love of reading must be contagious because Bird and Deal devour books. That PBS PSA about reading to your kids for 15 minutes a day is clearly not meant for us. Mac Daddy and I get cotton mouth and dry lips from all the reading we do. It's imperative to keep a tall glass of water at your side if you ever read to my boys.

What other imaginative authors who can spin a mean tale am I missing? Enlighten me, please.

Don't Trust the Internet 101

It's a good thing I'm not a reporter or I would have been fired for my gaffe. Snopes reports that the Sarah Palin book list is crap. Based on everything I've read, it was not so hard to buy right into it. Hook. Line. Sinker. Anyway, I was wrong. You can quote me on that. Wrong. I'm like the Fonz and don't readily admit that.

My source, admittedly not a bona fide one anyway, was wrong. However, Palin did inquire about banning books, which in principle, is horrid enough for me. Sure, the specifics are unknown, but the point is, she flirted with censorship. She went so far as to hike up her skirt, suck in her gut, and apply red lipstick to see how far she could get. The book list is apparently from a long, well known (well, not known to this writer) list of popular books to ban. The whole concept baffles me, saddens me, confuses me, angers me. I suppose Are You There God It's Me Margaret? is presumably safe since the big guy's name is in the title.

Things like this are why it's a good thing I simply opine instead of report.

I'm Booked.

Over Labor Day weekend Mac Daddy and I heard a thumpity-thump-bump-CRASH one night while we were busy vegging on the couch with a bottle of pinot grigio (a farewell to the lazy days of summer wine, none of that white stuff in the fall and winter months will do). We shrugged it off as a book falling off of Deal's bed, a common occurence considering he goes to bed with a veritable library cache of reading material. It was the CRASH that stirred us from our pre-kid-like vegging euphoria. We rushed upstairs to discover two snuggly sleeping boys. One freaked out 16-year old cat whose hair would have been standing up had we not gotten her shaved recently, and a bookshelf toppled in my office, books littering the floor.

Sigh. Labor Day was indeed a day of labor.

I just reorganized all the book shelves in my office. I purged (not in the Sarah Palin sense) and boxed up some goodies to share with my book club and put some in the Goodwill pile. It took me longer than the average bear to reorganize because I found myself flipping through the dogeared, marked up pages, checking out my changing handwriting (I always write my name inside the cover of my books.), admired the unbroken spine (One of the byproducts of my self-diagnosed OCD is that I cannot stand for a book spine to be creased or bent, requiring me to read very gingerly. This is why my friends just buy me a new copy of a book instead of returning the trashed spine book they borrowed from me.), and even burying my nose into a few, the smell taking me back to Ms. Smith's English class or Mr. Harrison's British poetry class.

I was the kid who eshewed Cliffs Notes, even for Jane Austen, whom I loathe. I was the kid who laughed at kids who couldn't get through the summer reading list. I was the kid who was repeatedly told not to bring books to the dinner table. I was the kid who crept under the covers with a flashlight and got lost in Ramona's adventures until the wee hours. I was the kid who oohed and aahed over gifted books at my birthday party. I am still that kid.

I love words. I am in awe of people who can put words together to spin an enthralling tale, paint a vivid picture, mend a troubled psyche, or create a character so real you feel you should add him to your Christmas card list. Words inspire me. Excite me. Tempt me. Poor use of words infuriate me. Words are powerful little buggers, whether spoken or written. They invoke emotion in ways moving pictures cannot because they leave us to our own devices. Words take us on a journey, challenging us to create the pictures and images and people that accompany them. Words are instruments that few people can master.

Books are my escape. Cheaper than a plane ticket, more engrossing than television, often more effective than therapy, and they don't talk back.

The one gift I hope to impart to Bird and Deal is a love of books. So far so good. One of my proudest moments was when Bird was about 3 or so. I offered him the choice of going to the library or the park, and he enthusiastically chose the library. That's my boy, I thought to myself, smiling. Both Bird and Deal devour books of all kinds. Bird's driving force behind his kindergarten excitement is that he will learn how to read. Right now he's memorized a million books so he often sits with Deal and "reads" The Lorax and other such jewels. The bounty we bring home from the library would leave me $64 dollars poorer if I were checking those books on a US Air flight.

My friend Norman gave us one of the best baby gifts ever. Not the standard Goodnight Moon, Mother Goose, or Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. He gave us Honey for a Child's Heart by Gladys Hunt. The book is a clever, delightfully written guide to help choose age appropriate books for your kids. Hunt also writes candidly about topics such as censorhip and what makes a good versus bad book. Honey for a Child's Heart is peppered with the old standbys that I love to read to my boys. The House at Pooh Corner. Where the Wild Things Are. Richard Scarry. Shel Silverstein. Mercer Mayer. Even if you are a voracious reader like I am, this book will serve as a handy guide should you ever need a kick in the pants to actually go to the library with a list.

Oh, in case you are wondering what books Sarah Palin supposedly wanted to ban (rather "purge" since that sounds less like censorship) from her library, wait no more. Check 'em out. Thanks my old buddy Mike for passing this along.

Sarah Palin's Book Club - Asterisks* are by the ones I've read. You'll see that I am clearly a heathen who has no business being a card carrying library book checker outer.

*A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
*A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden
*As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
*Blubber by Judy Blume
*Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
*Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
*Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
*Carrie by Stephen King
*Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
*Christine by Stephen King
Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
*Cujo by Stephen King
Curses, Hexes, and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
*Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Peck
*Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Decameron by Boccaccio
*East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Fallen Angels by Walter Myers
Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland
*Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
*Forever by Judy Blume
Grendel by John Champlin Gardner
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
*Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
Have to Go by Robert Munsch
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
*How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
*Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
* I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Impressions edited by Jack Booth
* In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
* It’s Okay if You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein
*James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
* Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence
*Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
*Little Red Riding Hood by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
*Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Love is One of the Choices by Norma Klein
Lysistrata by Aristophanes
More Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier & Christopher Collier
My House by Nikki Giovanni
*My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara
Night Chills by Dean Koontz
*Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
One Day in The Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
*One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
*One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
*Ordinary People by Judith Guest
*Our Bodies, Ourselves by Boston Women’s Health Collective
*Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy
Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl
Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones by Alvin Schwartz
Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
*A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Silas Marner by George Eliot
*Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
*The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
*The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Bastard by John Jakes
*The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
*The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Devil’s Alternative by Frederick Forsyth
The Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs
*The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
*The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Snyder
The Learning Tree by Gordon Parks
The Living Bible by William C. Bower
*The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare
The New Teenage Body Book by Kathy McCoy and Charles Wibbelsman
*The Pigman by Paul Zindel
The Seduction of Peter S. by Lawrence Sanders
*The Shining by Stephen King
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The Witches of Worm by Zilpha Snyder
* Then Again, Maybe I Won’t by Judy Blume
*To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
*Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff
Witches, Pumpkins, and Grinning Ghosts: The Story of the Halloween
Symbols by Edna Bart

And now, I am peeling my fingers away from the keyboard to open up my latest crack. Plan B by Anne Lamott. Must see TV? Nah. Not for me tonight.

A Time Saving Tip

We are all busier than a hive of predatory queen bees bucking for, well, Queen Bee, these days. With all the Facebooking, Twittering, Stumbling Upon, Kirtsying, and blogging we do, there are simply no seconds to spare or waste time on the inane. That is precisely why I don't watch Regis & Kelly or bother to shave when it's not date night. In light of our buzzing lives and all that beckons, I'd like to share a time saving tip.

Do not read this book.
Put it back on the shelf. Dig up the receipt and return it for The Other Boleyn Girl. Hell, read Elle Decor instead. Reading a whole box of fortune cookies would be more interesting (especially if you add "in bed" to the end of each fortune).

I have read some crappy stuff in my day, but this one takes the reine de saba cake.

I was so excited to get my hands on this book and finally have a free spot between book club books to read it. I didn't get past page 51. And let me tell you, I never ever leave a book dangling in mid air before I've finished it. Life is too short to read shitty literature.

I love to cook. I love to read. I love to write. All the necessary ingredients to make Julie & Julia a time honored favorite of mine, right? I envisioned reaching for its tattered pages over and over again through the years. Nah. Not gonna happen. The writing is unimpressive, and I am surprised some editor or agent didn't get fired over its publishing. The author's voice is unauthentic, and the attempt at comedic banter is uncomfortable and unnatural. But mostly what irked me is that I've been duped.

Here I thought I was going to dig into a verbal feast a la Like Water for Chocolate. Not even close to being Like Water for Chick Lit. Food played a tertiary role in the book, not capturing the lime light as I had anticipated (and naturally expected based on the title and premise). The author spent more time complaining or waxing about random adolescent memories that were not salient to the premise. I feel like she secured a book deal, spent the advance, and went to town writing a free flow piece all in one sitting, deadline ticking feverishly away. I bet she even turned it in bleary-eyed with cramped fingers and carpal tunnel about to blast through her wrists. This book is not an example of stellar writing, folks.

If Julie Powell can land a book deal and have a mastermind PR team behind her, surely Dirt & Noise can. In the mean time, I'll devote my time to not wasting yours.

Green babies aren't scary.

I just discovered this great book that I wish had been around when I was hunting for baby gear. It's written by a very clever (and may I say lovely), talented, and creative classmate of mine from graduate school. We have kids about the same age, and she has eco living down to a science. Her tips and ideas are actually feasible, budget friendly, and she doesn't pretend to be perfect (for example, she doesn't compost...yet). This book would make an awesome baby shower gift with an organic cotton blanket used as the wrapping paper.

Friendships Bloom in Unlikely Places

I've been reading the Owen and Mzee books to Bird and Deal lately. I'm pretty certain I enjoy them more than they do. What's not to love about a darling, tsunami-orphaned hippo and a crotchety 130-year old tortoise who become fast friends? I'm a sucker for animal stories and have sobbed, as in heaving, tears streaming into my cleavage sobbing, on more than one occasion watching Animal Planet. When Mac Daddy was in graduate school I would tiptoe into the den shaking in silent sobs until he gave me some love and calmed me down. This happened pretty much every night I watched Emergency Vet. Eventually Mac Daddy banned that show from our house. Now he's put a blocker on Animal Planet all together, and I fear that Discovery Health will be next. Sick kid stories make me sob like a three-year old whose peas are touching his chicken tettrazini on the plate (had I only invested in those cafeteria sectioned plates when Bird was three!).

Before I had children my cats were like my kids. I taught them how to sit for treats, and Capote even came when I called him. He really was a dog. Ask my mom, she abhors cats but even liked Capote. I wasn't one of those nutjobs who fed the cats off of fine china but I did spend a LOT of money buying prescription food. I was snap happy with my camera every time Casey and Capote cuddled on the windowsill or cleaned each other. I have hundreds of said photos, and oddly enough, no one ever wants to flip through those albums.

You MUST check out the Owen and Mzee books. Whether you have kids in your life or not, you'll be astounded at the story and photographs. It is sheer delight and one of the many joys I would have never come across had I not had Bird and Deal in my life. You can find out more and buy the books here. http://media.npr.org/programs/atc/features/2005/jul/hippo/tortoisehippo200.jpg

Dooce, if you can't get a hippopotamus for Christmas, this is the next best thing.

Back in the Picture

I missed out on three days of my sons' lives.

Yes, I was here, in the same house, but totally out of the picture. Being balled up in fetal position with a fever and intermittent chills and sweating does not make for great fun-with-mommy time. Mac Daddy, along with our beloved nanny Miss Emma, held down the fort. Mac Daddy had to bear the brunt of it since he had to enterain the kids all weekend while tending to my needs: chicken noodle soup, tea with honey, water with a straw, Chapstick, Motrin, tissues, remote control, blanket, socks, more water, juice, bread ever so slightly toasted, apple sauce, tissues. Of course he tended to the kids' needs too: apple sauce, tissues, Spiderman bandaids, water with a straw, blanket, potty training, M&Ms, grilled cheese. You get the picture. Mac Daddy has been a short order cook, waiter, nurse, professional wrestler, housekeeper, and best-in-show entertainer. Somehow he managed to do it all while still keeping close tabs on the Rasmussen Reports.

The official results are in: I won the husband jackpot. Crackpot and Jackpot, we make the perfect pair.

While I was in bed for three straight days I missed out on a lot. I find that the magic is in the humdrum of our Sisyphus lives. I missed out on celebrating Deal's potty training successes and Bird's mastery of the letter B. I missed out on silly time together, nonsensical knock-knock jokes, and messy peanut butter and apple snacks. I missed out on meal time thank yous (Our dinner time tradition is to take turns saying something we're thankful for from the day. It makes for some heartwarming material.). I missed out on bath time when the boys' excrutiatingly long eyelashes are glistening with water droplets and their little bottoms and tummies are scrumptiously soft. The I-just-had-a-bubblicious-bath smell puts me over the top and makes me want to gnaw on Bird and Deal's ears. I missed out on goodnights, story books, and our ritual butterfly kisses.

Between my fits of sleep I heard the boys happy (and sometimes not so happy) noises downstairs. There was a chorus of "He hit me!" mixed with "NO! NO! NO!" peppering the pandemonium, along with some hearty laughter and giggling. All I could do was lie in bed and feel my family's presence but be totally disconnected from it all. It seemed as if I wasn't even there and I didn't even matter. Life went on without me. I've been told I have a flair for the dramatic, but work with me here. For three days I was not a caregiver to my children. I was nothing more than a feverish blob with mucus breath and a red swollen nose. Sure, Bird and Deal greeted me each day with a kiss to the forehead, but then I was out of the picture. It reminded me of the book I just read for my book club, "The Ghost a the Table."

In the book the mother is an invalid who lies in bed upstairs for pretty much the entirety of her girls' childhood. In reading the book I sympathized with the children and gave little thought to the mom. Now that I spent a few days bedridden myself, I totally sympathize with the mom. What torment she must have felt. What torture to hear her children's tears and laughter and not be available to hug away the sadness or partake in the joy. Her heart must have cracked a bit each day. Her sense of purpose was diminshed. She had no way to show her love. I feel her anguish now. It's palpable and still fresh.

Today is a gift.

We're enjoying spring temps in the middle of winter. Now if you'll excuse me, I have two delicious little boys to tickle and squeeze.

Fun with Grammar!

I remember having to conjugate the verb "to be" in Mrs. Robinson's English class in eighth grade. We couldn't leave for lunch until we had conjugated the verb correctly. I whipped out my #2 pencil and jotted down I am, you are, he/she/it is, etc. Then I left, fully expecting my classmates to follow. Even my friends, the OTHER smart, nerdy girls who weren't cool enough to hang with Ronnie Wilkerson at dances, did not follow. I waited and waited and waited. No one left Mrs. Robinson's room. That was one of my defining moments; I realized how dumb so many people are.

Do the hairs on your neck stand at attention in the grocery check out line with the sign that reads " 10 items or less?" Argh, I shudder just typing that. Do you use "none" with a singular verb? Do you answer "well" when someone asks how you're feeling (assuming you're not fighting a nasty case of dengue fever or anything)? If you have even one shred of appreciation for proper grammar, then check out http://nationalgrammarday.com/.

My boys' use of adverbs makes me prouder than a horny male peacock in mating season. In fact, Deal, who is just 2 1/2, tries so hard to use adverbs properly that he ends up saying things like "I am trying very hardly." I don't sit around with grammar flash cards at home, we simply talk properly. I even change the grammar in books we read if something is written incorrectly. All those nut jobs are worried about sinful books being removed from our school libraries, but no one gives a hoot about all those books that say "Johnny and me went to the circus." (by the way, I abhor the circus...another post, another day).

One time a babysitter read a book to the kids that I had previously edited in my rendition. She, of course, had no way of knowing my little grammar practices, so she read the book as it was printed. Bird apparently freaked out about it (because that's what 4-year olds do, and they do it so well) and corrected the babysitter. He told her that whatever word she flubbed, rather, the word she did not edit, was not the right adverb. ADVERB! He actually said that. Needless to say, she was not happy. Then again, would you be if a kid who can't read or write had just corrected your use of your native tongue that has served you well for 50-some years? Admittedly, I gave Bird a mental high five for catching the error.

Lolly Lolly Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here!



http://www.school-house-rock.com/soundfiles/adv.wav

http://youtube.com/watch?v=FWYmEICNgOQ