When Borders Books closed a couple of years ago, we lost two nearby stores. While it was not the David-and-Goliath story of Fox Books putting The Shop Around the Corner out of business, because Borders Books was actually the "Goliath," in some ways it was worse. Because now there is no nearby book store.
In You've Got Mail, Kathleen Kelly surmised her store would become "something really depressing, like a Baby Gap." Our nearest book store became a TJ Maxx.
The next-nearest Borders Books was an anchor in a shopping mall. And when I first saw what that store had become, I had to stop the car and stare for a moment. This is what I saw:
And now every time I drive past that mall and see that gym, in my head Joni Mitchell sings,
Don't it always seem to go,
That you don't know what you got til it's gone.
They closed Borders Books
And put in a Crunch Fitness.
(Okay, it's actually Counting Crows singing in my head, because that is the version of "Big Yellow Taxi" that I've heard more often.)
I don't care about tops on my muffins,
Leave me the books and coffee,
Pleeeeeeeease!
And I realize that fitness is important. But then so were parking lots.
I feel obliged to begin with the full disclosure that the author, Sarah Smiley, is a good friend of mine. The Navy has sent our families to opposite corners of this great country, so it's been several years since we've seen each other. But we are friends in the way that only comes from middle-of-the-night deployment phonecalls and drinking-in-a-hot-tub family vacations. Which is to say that I love her stories, and I am definitely biased.
When Sarah began her "Dinner with the Smileys" project--during her husband's year-long IA deployment to Djibouti, she invited guests from her community to have dinner with her family every week--I thougnt it was brilliant. Dinnertime really is when when my family misses my husband the most. I read about her dinners in her weekly newspaper column, and I followed the project on her Facebook page.
But when her book was released, I didn't order it right away. I kept putting it off, choosing other things to read, and I felt guilty about it. I did finally pick it up, and when I began to read it, I realized right away that I had been reluctant because I thought I knew what the book would be like. And also that I'd been wrong.
I was expecting to find 52 nice chapters, each telling a funny and warm-hearted story about meeting new people, with typical kid antics, and a positive little nugget of reflection. And I didn't want amusing, warm-hearted nuggets about how crazy yet happy family life is. I didn't want examples about how moms and milspouses have to make the best of challenging situations.
Parenting is challenging, and messy, and heart-warming, yes. But I wanted to find a book reflecting how important the job of parenting is. That respected the weight of the responsibility of raising children. That went beyond the stress of the laundry and stomach bugs and homework and schedule-juggling, and reflected the serious decision-making that comes with being coach, teacher, referee, and psychologist.
Little did I know, my friend Sarah was writing that book.
The book is not so much about being a military family, as it is about parenting alone. Sarah did have email and Skype access to her husband, but any single parent will know what it's like to handle your children's care, their schoolwork, their activities, but more importantly, their discipline and heartaches, disappointments and endeavors, without a partner to talk things over and sometimes pass the baton.
That is the real weight of being the parent at home when your spouse is deployed. This mothering gig, I have figured out, is an endurance test of leadership. Sarah's story will certainly make you laugh, and definitely "warm your heart." It builds a story that any mom will recognize, and identify with, but the commonality of it does not make it trivial or mundane. I think the reason second-guessing other people's parenting is a universal pasttime is because it IS such an important responsibility.
And let's not forget that it is BRAVE of any mom who shares her parenting thought-process, her tough calls, and her parenting mistakes.
Of course, I think Sarah's year going solo at the helm was an inpiring success. But read Dinner with the Smileys and see for yourself.
Are you a compulsive book lover? A social book reader? Do you read for prestige? Do you read only when traveling?
I couldn't resist this infographic, describing all the ways and reasons we read. I'm a bit of a compulsive buyer myself, I've been known to buy multiple copies of a book I love from thrift stores, and while I can't abide a cracked spine, I've been known to underline, asterisk, and scribble in a margin.
Can you find yourself on this chart?
Explore more infographics like this one on the web's largest information design community - Visually.
When I was in college, I worked in the library and spent much time reshelving carts full of books, which led me through the stacks, discovering many titles I never would have stumbled across otherwise. A happy little find were the two 1970s bestsellers by Richard Bach: Jonathan Livingston Seagull and Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah.
Both books are philosophical in nature, but they are entertaining and easy reads. They are not what I would call spiritual, in a religious sense, so don't be misled by the word "messiah." They are not about religion. They are novels. They are about nonconformity, and the rewards of being your true self. And they are full of quotable little gems, like this one, which I copied down so many years ago, and find myself remembering whenever I talk to my kids about making friends.
Having raised four babies, I've spent an incredible amount of of my time, energy, and problem solving skills over the last 11 years on trying to get babies to sleep.
A CD player was an early nursery essential, and now we have an ipod and my old Samsung Galaxy as music players for my kids' rooms. Although the older two often read before going to sleep, they still enjoy listening to music as they drift off.
The first CD I used many years ago, when I was a new mom trying to get my baby to fall asleep, was given to me by my sister. She is a music therapist, and is married to a music professor/classical guitarist/cellist. I would never have found and selected the classical Guitar Lullaby album on my own, but I loved it. After listening to it so many peaceful, sleepless nights, it is ingrained in my soul.
That's the thing about the music you rock your babies to. It becomes the soundtrack of your baby years. I still can't listen to James Taylor's 'Baby Buffalo' without tears welling up as I remember quiet nights holding my very first newborn. Those nights when your baby's sweet sleepy face, and quiet breath, and your hopeful, tiptoeing peeking at them--it overwhelms your heart with baby-love. Listening to it years later brings all those memories and feelings flooding back.
So pick carefully.
Here are three albums that I loved, but more importantly, that my babies fell asleep to.
They sometimes still do.
Guitar Lullaby by Various Artists-- Soothing and easygoing. Even if I needed to hit repeat and hear it on the monitor all night long, I never tired of it.
Nightsongs & Lullabies by Kim Scanlon-- Jazzy and lazy, you'll recognize some standards, like 'Moonriver' and 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.' 'You Can Close Your Eyes' makes me wish they were all still babies. Almost.
October Road by James Taylor-- This album came out just before my first baby was born, and every track takes me back to that fall. And come on, who doesn't love James Taylor. Every kid should grow up feeling sentimental when they hear his songs, even if they don't know why.
Our school is on a year-round calendar, and yesterday was the first day of school for my three older kids. They were all happy about their new teachers and classes, especially my five-year-old, who started kindergarten. She got the same teacher that we fell in love with when my older daughter began school. She couldn't say goodbye to ME fast enough!
We didn't get out the door early enough to walk, as I had planned, and we didn't have time for morning pictures. We are a zoo over here before school, and I have some ambitious back-to-school resolutions.
1. In an effort for all of us to be more punctual, more prepared, better groomed, and less stressed, I have resolved that we will all stick to our bedtimes, so that we can get out of bed on time.
2. I resolve to make the kids lunches everyday, so they will know they are getting healthy food that they like. Also, buying lunch at school takes so long they hardly have time to eat it.
3. I resolve to walk them to school every morning, to avoid the parking chaos, and for us all to get healthy exercise. Bonus: Saving a little gas.
The first resolution we pretty much blew. The kids were so used to staying outside late and eating dinner late, and I didn't really make them go to bed early in advance of back-to-school night. Although I've tried eating dinner earlier the last few days, they were still baffled at why we were eating dinner so early in the day. They even escaped back outside after dinner to play. It is July, after all.
Once I had them corralled, they were still squirrely, I suppose because it seemed so unnatural to be told to brush their teeth while the sun was still up. Showers, picking out clothes, reading--it was almost 10 PM before the older two were tucked in. I was trying not to tear my hair out, and hope I didn't sound too maniacal when I shrieked "It's almost TEN O'CLOCK!" at my 5th grader when he casually came out of his room carrying a book and still dressed.
I laid out everything I would need to pack lunches, and went to bed on time. And couldn't sleep. Because my husband was flying late, and that always keeps me from sleeping well. He came in at something like 2 AM, and woke me up.
So when the alarm went off at 6:30 . . . I snoozed. I'm ashamed at my laziness! On the first day of school! I snoozed twice. It was 6:45 before I got up, and now we all had to rush. I did, however, pack all their lunches, snacks, and waterbottles. No time for braids, though. There goes grooming.
We didn't have time to walk, we drove and parked by the back gate, so we still avoided the parking lot. We took back-to-school pictures after school, amid much eye-rolling from them, and threats form me. "Come on, guys! Everyone does this! It'll just take a few seconds! STAND HERE!!!" The 5 year-old started crying aligater tears, with open-mouth wails. My kids are always dramatic after school.
"Mom." Says my 5th grader, with patronizing, calm wisdom. "It's just a picture."
"Exactly. So why don't you stand there for just one quick picture and get it over with?"
I took a picture with the kindergartner crying loudly anyway, and when they heard the camera shutter sound, they all started laughing. The next few shots show them all genuinely smiling and laughing with silliness.
So it didn't go all according to my plans. But I am NOT going to give up on my resolutions! Ok, last night they still missed bedtimes, and I learned that the girls must be banned from baths on school nights, at least from baths in my big tub with unsupervised access to bubble bath. They really do know better. Showers only from now on.
But lights were out before 9 o'clock. We are headed in the right direction, and I am hoping to hit the 8 o'clock hour before the end of daylight savings time.
This morning also went better, and we even did braids today. But. But! The 5th grader woke up with pinkeye, so he missed the second day of school today, with a trip to the doctor and the pharmacy instead.
An article on Huffington Post offers an example of what a Barbie doll might look like if it were based on the measurements and dimensions of an average nineteen-year-old girl. And concludes that the doll looks pretty good.
A more realistic-looking Barbie would make me breathe easier about buying the dolls for my own daughters. I do want them to have healthy attitudes toward how they can expect their bodies to grow.
But I doubt Barbie will ever change, because the doll is about being stylized. She is, fundamentally, a fashion doll, intended to display exaggerated femininity.
It's just that the exaggeration is not for the artistic appreciation of adults, but for the imaginations of little girls.
I don't think one brand of doll is what harms a kids body-image. I just wish the rest of the toy aisle wouldn't follow in the same disproportionate, exaggerated body style.
Regardless, there's much more outside of playing with dolls that contributes to our girls' self-esteem. A playroom full of games and building toys and costumes and instuments and crafts is much more important than the figure of a fashion doll.
And let's not forget that live role-models have a much more powerful impact than little plastic ones.
On July 5th of last year, I published this post on my old blog, Small Things, about our disappointing Fourth of July:
I don't believe in omens. But the migraine I had yesterday morning might make me a believer.
We love the fourth of July, and we especially love it in San Diego. We drive to Coronado and spend the day at the beach, and then we watch the Big Bay Boomfireworks show from behind the helicopter hangars along the seawall on San Diego Bay. Year after year, it's a can't-miss fantastic holiday.
Thanks to the headache today, we got a much later start than we planned. And while July is never really a hot month here, the beach was actually pretty cold. We always bring fleece jackets with us, so the kids played anyway.
Now that I think about it, if the migraine hadn't been an omen, what happened next might've been.
My 6-year-old was crawling along the surf, digging, on her hands and knees. I stood holding the baby while watching dolphins jumping just offshore. A very large lady stood several yards in front of me taking pictures of the dolphins with her iphone. As a large, cold wave washed toward her feet, she began to back up. Very quickly. I saw she was making a backwards beeline for my daughter. I could see what was going to happen, but there was no way I could stop it.
The very large lady tripped over my daughter, waved her arms out at her sides, trying to recover, and then sat down, hard, right on top of her. My daughter was flattened onto her stomach, pinned for a couple of seconds, until the lady fell backwards, with a wet thud, spread-eagle on the sand, arms flung wide, feet in the air.
The poor woman was stunned. Her iphone went flying onto wet sand, so I picked it up quickly to save it, as the woman was not making any move to get up. My daughter scrambled out from under the woman's legs, and ran to hide behind me, wailing in shock, and probably pain.
I gave her the phone, asking if she was okay. The woman took a long time to get up, so her family came to help her.
No one asked about my daughter, who was still crying. I wrapped her in a blanket and made her sit down to calm herself.
I did not see that she sat right on my husband's key fob, sunglasses, and cell phone. I didn't know, in fact, until she got up again and we saw the items lying in a puddle of water in the folding chair.
The glasses and key fob were spared. The phone was dead forever..
When everyone was hungry, we realized we'd forgotten a lighter to light the grill for our hotdogs. We had to beg to borrow some matches from some kind folks nearby. A lot of matches, actually, as it was cold and windy.
By nightfall, we'd finally made it over to the seawall behind the hangars known as the double-domes, and settled in to watch fireworks. We set up to tailgate with chicken wings and smores over our little grill, planning to stay late rather than sit in traffic after the show. We were tailgating at the perfect point to see three barges in San Diego Bay, surrounding us, all set to fire simultaneous shows coordinated with music playing on a local radio station
It began with a crazy huge inferno for just over ten seconds, which we watched with our mouths open. Then there was nothing. All the families along the seawall waited. We speculated. Jamie's grill went out and his wings got cold, so he put more coals on.
Then an MP drove by with a loudspeaker, saying that there were no more fireworks, and it was time to clear the area. He began flashing his lights.
I didn't know if the little grill was kosher on base, so I told my husband, "I'm gonna make these smores right now before the po-po shuts us down."
So my husband held a rack of half-cooked chicken wings in his hands while I made smores for everyone.
The MP got out of his car and walked over to us. Mary exclaimed excitedly, "He's gonna arrest us! Oooooh no, he's gonna arrest us!"
"Hush, Mary! Shhh! Stop it!" I hissed.
My husband sat in his little folding chair with the chicken balanced on his hands and the fire dying to coals at his feet, and looked up as the MP told him we needed to pack up and get going . My husband pointed out that there was two hours of traffic jam to sit in before even getting off the island. The MP said he understood, and just to leave when we could. Then he left.
Husband leaned to me, "Po-po not shuttin' US down."
We ate our wings, then began to pack up the car.
We'd been listening to the radio the whole time, like most of the cars tailgating, hoping to find out what had happened to the show.
But we should have heeded the omens.
Our car battery was dead.
Fortunately, there was one other family left, fishing further down the seawall, and they were happy to give us a jump.
My husband accidentally let the jumper cables' clamps touch, and sparks flew. The helpful stranger said, "Wow, that's a better show than we had tonight!"
We finally got loaded and left, only to make a u-turn ten minutes later to go back and search for my phone, in the dark.
On the way home, the main road to our neighborhood was closed by police, and we had to take a dirt road detour.
As I put the kids to bed, my son asked why we took the "bumpy road," which woke up everyone in the car. I said there was a roadblock.
"Of course." He rolled his eyes. "This was the worst Fourth of July ever."
My daughter piped up, "No, this was the best Fourth of July ever!"
I'm not proud now, but I couldn't stop myself from snapping.
"What!? What was the best part!? When the fat lady fell on you?"
Her eyes grew wide. And then I started laughing. Uncontrollably, until tears rolled down my nose. And the kids all laughed in their beds.
When the laughter finally subsided, I kissed my daughter goodnight, and as she closed her eyes, she told me, "The best part was the smores."
We love the Barnes and Noble near us. I browse the YA books while my toddler plays at the train table, my preschooler hugs and rearranges dozens of stuffed animals, my 2nd grader begs for toys, and my 4th grader reads lego encyclopedias. Also, I drink coffee, pick up books to recommend to the children, and try to get the toddler to listen to me read a whole picture book. It helps if it has finger holes and puppets attached.
Ok, it's not the idyllic literary outing I would prefer for my kids, but they easily get absorbed by books at home, so I understand that they are distracted by all the brightly colored playthings at B&N. They know I will only buy books, and if they want a toy, they'd better bring their own money. Last time, my daughter bought a princess blendy-pen art set with money she saved from the tooth fairy, her allowance, and a lemonade stand. The cashier was very amused by the tedious counting of the can of change. Oh, and once I was a sucker for a Harry Potter chess set. But mostly, I only buy books, coffee, and organic milk boxes.
Now that is it summer reading season, the children's section has a summer reading journal promotion on display. There is a tear-off stack of flyers, which you can use to log your summer reading titles. If your child fills the entire journal, they can bring it back and select a free book from the list of select books on the flyer. You can also print one online.
My Dad had three daughters, so he was the only boy in our house. He always made time to play with us, read to us, and help us with our math homework. He usually had a lot patience, except when we'd get really LOUD, when he'd yell "HEY!" In my memory, that always worked, and now I can't figure out why my four kids don't respond as well when I try it.
Things for which I am grateful to him:
1. Letting me sleep in his tshirts.
2. Reading to us.
3. Teaching me to ride a bike, even when he said he was still holding on but really wasn't.
4. Teaching me to tie my sneakers.
5. Taking us to the Drive-In movies.
6. Making me choose between a Happy Meal and a Yankees cap, so I would learn an early lesson in value.
7. Playing catch.
8. Whenever we got our report cards, he would praise all the As and Bs, and say it was a great report card. But he would always ask us if we had done our best. I learned that the grade was not as important as the effort. And that the answer to that question should matter more to me than to him.
9. Showing us how to make his instant coffee, and how to pour a scotch.
10. I am also grateful for how he has always supported my mother. In addition to being patient, he is considerate and kind to her. I remember him always complimenting every meal she make for us. As a mother myself, I know how important it is to have that support from your partner. Dad showed us kids how manners matter, and by respecting our mother, he set an example for us to respect her, too.
