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."

The Problem with Reading a la Bret & Jermain

The problem with Bird learning to read is that I ca no longer wear my favorite T-shirt that my friend Will brought me from a Flight of the Conchords concert (never mind that he bought the shirt in a youth size for his son and in his Newcastle stupor he didn't realize that the shirt looked like this).

Summer Slide

I love summer. I work fewer hours so I can be home with Bird and Deal while school is out (the biggest perk to running my own marketing consulting business!). Since Bird is perched on the cusp of first grade, I especially love the time we have together over the summer. He often feels left out when, at the end of the day, an anxious Deal who has patiently waited for his big brother to get home from school, sputters on and on about our adventures and escapades from the day. Bird shrugs it off, but I can tell he feels like he never gets to join in our reindeer games.

Our weekend jaunts are markedly different from the places we frequent during the off hours Monday to Friday. We rarely go to the same places with the boys over the weekends because a warehouse full of jumpy houses is utter mayhem. A stress factory. So I suppose Bird does get ripped off. I promised him that our summer would be chock full of adventures, popsicles, Happy Meals, matinees, swimming, exploring, duck feeding, and general frolicking. The boys have half-day camp one week a month, all by design. There's no need to over schedule kids, for childhood is precious. Bird, Deal, and I spend our days relaxing and romping.

We stay in our pajamas until lunch time.
We eat pancakes and waffles and breakfast sundaes.
We build LEGO vehicles and race them down the hallway.
We watch Ace of Cakes.
We make Playdoh cannolis.
We paint.
We make popsicles.
We eat store bought popsicles because we are too impatient to wait for ours to freeze.
We rock out to Mamma Mia.
We build ramps and catapults.

And that's all before lunch.

But the lazy days of summer can go too far. Education is not folly.

Three months of no teachers, schedule, routine, or homework can be detrimental. Imagine doing your job after a three month hiatus. I don't want my kids to spend the first two months of school re-learning everything they accomplished. Bird ended his kindergarten year as a pretty strong reader and mathy kid. One month into summer vacation has killed it. He loses a brain cell for every firefly that lights up its glowing bum. The adage "practice makes perfect" should not be reserved for the September to June months.

Now I'm not a believer in summer tutors, ruler-on-the-knuckles study time, or any such Draconian measures, but I do think summer is a time to keep the ole noggin fresh. And I ain't talkin' a certain "preschool on TV" variety.

And so I traipsed off the to Teach Me store to stock up on school supplies. Bird has some workbooks to complete, and Deal has letter writing to practice. They actually enjoy their "school" time, and they'll never admit to this, but they like the break from running around like banshees. Deal learns an awful lot just from watching and listening to Bird. Bird likes to engage his brain and thrives on taxing himself. He's a creative, energetic, precocious kid who loves T-Ball and Transformers. But he gets jacked up on learning too. What a disservice it would be to take that away from him. We don't have formal study hall or anything and we don't even pull out the pencils everyday. But we do have workbook time throughout the week, and I squeeze in a seat at the kitchen table to chat, explain, and help.

I know naysayers are out there grumbling the whole "they're only kids once" drivel. I echo that with an emphatic yes, they are only kids once. We owe it to our children to teach them about balance, education, discipline. The Spartans believed in a sound mind and a sound body. I think those toga clad dudes had it right. Learning and Fun are not mutually exclusive. At any age.

So if you're looking for ways to engage your kids, come up with clever crafty ideas, or just figure out what to do about swimmers ear, check out Shine from Yahoo. And get yourself a subscription to Family Fun magazine. Oh, and here's my secret to making reading seem like a video game...BrainFlips online flashcards. There are tons of fun ways to exercise those blank slate kiddie minds. A little laughter tossed with a little learning will go a long way.

Here's to "Summer Slide" referring to just the playground equipment and a kicky pair of sandals!

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?

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 !

Help Kids Get Classroom Supplies. Please.

Bird has the privilege of going to a top notch school. Public school. He has a gecko in his classroom. And some pretty cool snails that require his teacher to have special snail certification. He has books galore, comfy nooks to curl up in, a microscope, dozens of Legos, crayons, markers, pencils, glue, glitter, construction paper, notebook paper, newspaper, bubbles, baubles, and building blocks. Those schools want for nothing. Well, the teachers probably want more money, and I cannot blame them.

Robeson County is North Carolina's poorest county. The median income is $13,244 (I could spend hours poring over Census data!). Now imagine feeding, clothing, protecting, transporting, and nurturing your children for that amount. And that's not to mention healthcare and insurance. Or god forbid birthdays and holidays. This is a place where parents hope their kids don't lose their baby teeth because the Tooth Fairy is flat broke.

I'd like to do my part to help those kids get a more enriching education. And to equip those dedicated teachers to give those kids every opportunity my Bird has in kindergarten. It's the least I can do.

Donors Choose helps teachers make requests for specific items they need to supplement their classrooms and curricula. I'd like to help out a teacher in Robeson County and I'm asking my readers to give a dime or ten too. Literally one dollar would help. Like with exercise and with voting, every little bit helps. In aggregate we are more powerful than as one.

Just click on the Donors Choose little widget thingee in my lefthand sidebar. It's fast and easy to donate. And it'll feel better than those warm fuzzy slippers tucked by your nightstand.

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.

23 Magazines and Not One in the Bathroom

I have some pretty highbrow magazines coming to my mailbox. I'm one of those erudite, horn rimmed glasses kind of girl, don't ya know.

Um, not really.

But magazines, or any other reading material for that matter, do not make their way into the bathroom. Staph germs on the pages I flip through?! The horror. Not under my roof.

There are actually pretty flighty publications that pepper my reading list which tends to get a little heavy and hearty. My brain needs material that requires no more attention than a wee bit of perusal while I engage in other activities like watching Alton Brown or listening to Mac Daddy hammer out flight costs and times for a holiday trip to see family back in Wisconsin. I read magazines during my brain's down time.

And, because I work in marketing, it's helpful to see and read what resonates with various audiences these days. For instance, here's what I've learned: Sex sells to both men and women. Children are becoming miniature adults. Everyone eats. Fashion makes us feel like shit about ourselves. Celebrity worship is alive and kicking. Dockers is making a comeback. People still sport the milk mustache. Paul Mitchell must stop starring in his own ads. Target rocks. People are actually willing to spend a mortgage payment on a handbag. Men are eternally trapped in the bodies of 12-year old boys. No one is a natural blond. Indian women apparently do not live in America.

Here's what I currently have a subscription to (and yes, I do read them all, albeit not necessarily in the month in which they were delivered):

1. Southern Living - Fantastic recipes and tidbits on gardening (I live vicariously.)
2. Cooking Light - Easy recipes that I actually have the ingredients for, and most importantly, dessert often makes the cover story
3. Food & Wine - Add shoes and you've got a purely perfect publication.
4. Details - Men's fashion and what nots that are a good insight into the metrosexual lifestyle.
5. Maxim - Tasteless and sexist, but the jokes are funny.
6. Glamour - Still a keeper after all these years. Funny, now all those articles about wrinkles and hair color speak to me.
7. Inc. - Hipper than your average business rag.
8. Entrepreneur - Does the opposite of inspiring me; makes me curl up and give up.
9. Wired - Not written in a language I understand.
   
10. Marie Claire - Fashion. Blah. Make Up. Blah. Boyfriends. Blah.
11. Lucky - Shopping, shopping, and more shopping. Love the little stickies inside to mark what I covet.
12. Allure - Hair and make up, two things I don't do. I'm a ponytail and swipe of mascara and black eyeliner girl (liquid only).
13. Self - Awesome workouts, but the lithe models don't fit the "all women are beautiful" message.
14. Consumer Report - A must-have if you ever buy anything.
15. National Geographic Traveler - Cool trips but out of my reach.
16. Conde Nast Travel - Way out of my league. More living vicariously.
17. Cookie - Fabulous girl clothes that are fabulously expensive. Not for the poor or frugal. And totally unrealistic visual representation of motherhood.
18. Parent - Your basics. Moms, kids, meals.
19. Brain, Child - Fantastic essay writing with no fluff.
20. W - Too big for my mailbox. Obnoxious fashion. And I've hated the letter "W" for at least four years now.
21. Rolling Stone - Lost all faith when the Jonas Brothers were on the cover.
22. Newsweek - Anna Quindlen.
23. Domino - Cool, funky, fresh home decor ideas and inspiration that are actually affordable and doable.

And I did learn one funny little tidbit from this month's Glamour: Apparently Meghan McCain won't be running for office any time soon (wipe brow and exhale here). However, she did say, and I quote, "I would help run a campaign but, I would never run for office. I've seen how it affects families, and I'd like to have one someday." Hmmm... Clearly the interview was ages ago since it made the September issue, meaning it took place before Sarah Palin was a household name.

So what magazines are in baskets and bathrooms around your house?

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.

I feel just like Sally Field.

Can you tell I am blushing? How about my beaming? Is it contagious?

You see, I just got my first bloggy award thingee! Look up there. See that glimmering gem of an award? It's for me! Little ol' me. There I go blushing again.

Caroline at Morningside Mom awarded me with the coveted virtual trophy. Take that, Mac Daddy! Now I have a trophy for something other than band. Supposedly there's a way to display the award on my blog, but I don't know how to do that. Anyone, anyone? Hey, all I do is write, man.

The share the love thing stemmed from a great post by Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored. In essence, she's encouraging us all to take the time to check out other bloggers who pour themselves into their posts and enlighten, entertain, educate, and entrance us. Every little bit helps as folks like me try to take their blogs to higher havens.

So back to Caroline. I don't recall how we found each other, but we're bosom buddies now. Honestly, I would embrace her and stay gabbing over oodles and oodles of wine until the restaurant closed if I ever meet her. She is the mom of 2 boys and has lived most of her life in Africa. Caroline is a wonderful story teller and has such a lively voice to her writing. We're gonna raise some bloggy love ruckus at BlogHer next year because we are saving up our AdSense pennies to go!

So in turn I'd like to nominate seven blogs for the same prestigious award. The rules:

Put the logo on your blog (Then tell me how you did it.).
Add a link to the person who awarded you.
Nominate at least seven other blogs (see below).
Add links to those blogs on your blog (done in the nominations).
Leave a message for your nominee on his or her blog.

The Art of Over Thinking. Damn, she's a funny one. She can fire out a great story about prostitutes or plumber butt. You'll enjoy her sense of humor and wit. Trust me here. Not one to me missed. She even offered me a $100 airline voucher to help fund my way to BlogHer this year. Can you believe it?! We've never even met. Now that's what you call Minnesota Nice in the truest sense.

Chris. You gotta check him out at Wat da Wat? He's a father of five, teacher, and amazing soul. Chris is raising money and pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into building a school in his native Philippines. His posts are often poignant and sometimes simply wacky. Plus, he's a good Wisconsin grad who agrees that the best place on the planet to have a beer is at the Union.

Emancipation of a Drama Queen. The movie quote on her homepage sums it up: "You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but think you're low maintenance." She is sarcastic in a funny, self deprecating way and has a way to make the mundane fun.

San Diego Momma is another one of those women who will close down the restaurant with me. She is an inventive writer, hot momma, midwestern girl at heart, and a totally fun read. With a gajillion blogs out there with some serious crap disguised as real writing, I assure you, this chica knows how to write.

My Life as a Hotfessional first caught my eye for the title alone. Ree's posts are random, quirky, fun. Even before the Blog the Recession, Ree's been handing out blog love in her monthly posts dedicated to her new commenters.

Mommy Pie is no stranger to blog awards, but I just couldn't resist. Despite her life in the tundra, we share a lot of randomness in common. Plus, she's saving up for a fat dowry for her daughter to marry Deal. Mommy Pie is Hi-Larious. She has a way with words and um, pictures.

Cheeky's Hideaway gets the distinction of being the first blog I ever read. Mainly because my dear friend Tony writes it. He is a dad, music fiend, movie buff, gamer geek, and overall funny dude. Tony and I go way back, and so far he's refrained from blogging about anything that would be keep me from running for office. Every time I read his posts I can hear him talking. His writing voice is well, his voice. You'll dig it.

Whew! There you go folks. Now go waste some more time on The Man's dollar.

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.

Love Letters

For some reason I recall this poem from Mr. Harrison's British Poetry class in high school. He made us memorize a lot of little quips ("O' Rose, thou art sick...Whan that April with his showres soote...Of mans first disobedience," the list goes on...) This one below by Coleridge never resonated with me until now. Perhaps because it's not related to any Grateful Dead lyrics like most of the other stuff we read. Mr. Harrison was a VW bus drivin', baggy corduroy and beaded belt wearin', bearded, duct taped shoed granola dude who loved teaching, poetry, and Jerry Garcia. He made poetry come to life for us in ways that few teachers could. He had a magical wackiness about him that was just the right mix of hipster cool and erudite professor for a classroom full of hormonal, know-it-all high school juniors.

Anyway, the following poem inexplicably popped into my head this afternoon. Our brains play tricks on us that will never be explained, so let's just chalk it up to one of life's great, marvelous mysteries. I found this befitting the day, "Love Day," as Bird calls it.

Answer To A Child's Question by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, I love and I love!
In the winter they're silent -- the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving -- all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he --
I love my Love, and my Love loves me!


To Bird:
I love your infectious laugh that inevitably leads to that hysterical snortle sound you make.
I love that you leave the pretzels when you eat Chex Mix.
I love your maddening inquisitive nature.
I love your wet, sloppy kisses.
I love they way you chew on your cheeks when you're concentrating.
I love when we curl up and read Shel Silverstein together, especially when you memorize the poems and recite them with me.
I love your smart ass attitude because I know that will translate into a confident young man who isn't a lemming.
I love that you blush and chuckle when I call you my first baby.

To Deal:
I love your sweet, sweet voice.
I love when you randomly clutch onto my knees and say, "I love you, Mommy."
I love your giant bug catcher smile.
I love the way you cross your ankles when you're deep in thought.
I love your happy, shy, sensitive nature.
I love holding your hand.
I love your giggle that sounds like a show tune when you're being tickled.
I love that you unselfishly live your life and are quick to give feel better kisses to anyone who's down.

To Mac Daddy:
I love that you love me despite myself, cliche as it sounds.
I love that you bake, and it's not from a box.
I love when you laugh so hard that you take off your glasses and wipe away the tears.
I love your pipes.
I love that you let me talk and talk and talk every night before bed, even though you've driven 800 miles and just desperately want to tune me out and sleep.
I love that you kiss us when you walk in the door, even before putting down your briefcase.
I love your wicked sense of humor that is all the more maddening because everyone thinks you're so nice.
I love that you make me better and happier just being in your company.

HAPPY LOVE DAY, EVERYONE!

I love you to the moon and back again, boys.