A Week of KidPages

On average, we check out about 20-25 picture books from the library each week. (For tips on how to use and abuse your library's hold system, check out my older post: Finding a Good Book.)

Each week, we discover books that we will never check out again (like The Icky Sticky Monster) and also many that are nothing above average. But invariably, there will be a couple of books that practically leap into our arms and wrap us in a warm hug and say, "Don't you want to keep me forever?"

I have a shelf on Goodreads specifically dedicated to picture books we've read and loved, and before any trip to the library, I always take a minute to add our new favorite titles from that week.

That list is getting a bit unwieldy, and even though I have great plans to write about every single one of those books, that's probably not going to happen.

However, in an effort to bring to your attention some of our most favorite books from the last few months, I am dedicating next week solely to KidPages. Each day, I'm going to feature three favorite books from someone in our family. And although that will still barely scratch the surface of books I wish I had time to share, it will be 15 books closer to...hmmm...not exactly sure  to what...some  elusive book reviewing perfection?

Anyway, get ready because it's going to be a fun week!

May 13 - Bradley
May 14 - Maxwell
May 15 - Aaron
May 16 - Amy
May 17 - Mike 

The Submission by Amy Waldman

One of the great things about being in a book club is it pushes you (okay, me) to read things you (okay, I) wouldn't normally read.

The Submission is one book I might not have even heard of (much less read) if it hadn't been selected as my book club's book for April. (Interestingly, no one in our group had read it prior, but it was on the library's list of book club books, which meant we could check out 20 copies at one time--definitely appealing--plus the plot sounded intriguing and looked like it would lead to a good discussion--which it did.)

The story picks up two years after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. A jury has been selected to choose a fitting memorial from among anonymous designs submitted from all over the country. After narrowing the submissions down to two finalists, the jury finally votes and selects The Garden. Minutes after the selection is made, the winning designer's identity is revealed: an American Muslim named Mohammad Khan.

A name on a piece of paper shouldn't make any difference. It shouldn't matter, right? The design should still be as loved now knowing who the designer is as it was then when the designer was still anonymous. But turns out, human beings have crazy and impractical reactions to fear and heartache, and the jury instantly wavers and divides on whether or not to keep The Garden as the  winning memorial. Before long, the story leaks out, and then it is not only a handful of jury members but an entire country choosing sides and trying to separate their minds from their hearts.

This story is fictional, but something about it resonates with truth. Part of this, I'm sure, is that the events leading up to this story are, indeed, very real and impacted every single American in some way, be it large or small. Also, the characters themselves give off the aura of actual people, so much so that you want to go look them up on Wikipedia, only to find out that they don't actually exist.

But even more than those two things, I think the reason why this breathes heavily of nonfiction is because in 2010, proposals were made for an Islamic community center (now known as Park51) just a few blocks from Ground Zero. The controversy surrounding the building of this center is eerily similar to the controversy played out in this book.

The fascinating coincidence is that Amy Waldman had actually already written a full draft of this novel before anything came out about the Islamic community center. In fact, I read an interview with her, and she said that real life was playing out so closely to what she'd already written that she actually changed some small parts of the story to differentiate between truth and fiction. I just wonder how many people read this book and think that Amy Waldman used the mosque controversy as inspiration when in fact her work was being plagiarized by real life.

Although written in third person, the story travels between several characters so the reader understands the plot from many different angles and viewpoints: there's Paul  Rubin, the head of the jury with the motives of a politician, trying (unsuccessfully) to please all sides; there's also Claire Burwell, who is a member of the jury and represents the victims' families since she lost her husband in the attacks; then there's Sean Gallagher, who lost his brother and is leading more of a grassroots campaign against The Garden; there's Asma Anwar, a Muslim, illegal immigrant, and a widow of the attacks; there's Alyssa Spier, an unscrupulous reporter who will do just about anything for a good story; and finally, there's Mohammad Kahn, or "Mo," who finds himself in the middle of the heated debate even though he has lived in America his whole life and hardly even identifies himself as a Muslim.

Out of those six characters, I identified most with Claire. I half-wondered if she was meant to sort of embody the reader: she had to take information from all sides and decide where she stood in the midst of it all, and that's what I felt like I had to do as well. And it was hard! When I started the book, I sided with letting Mo build the memorial. Of course I did! This is America after all, the great melting pot, where everyone has a fair chance and an equal opportunity and we don't hold prejudices. But Waldman did a very thorough job of exploring all angles, and sometimes I felt my resolve wavering, much like Claire's.

For example, I thought the hearing (where many family members got up to speak and explain why they were for or against Mo's memorial) was exceptionally well done. There was such an array of contrasting voices and ideas. Each time a new person spoke, my loyalty seemed to flip sides. One of the family members was a father who said, "I don't find the prospect of a Muslim designing this memorial, or even that it has Islamic elements, insulting. I find it insensitive, which is different. We who have carried the weight of loss, are now being asked to carry the weight of proving America's tolerance, and it...well, it's a lot to ask." Oh, I had never thought about it that way before, and I could totally see his point!

In the end, I still held fast to my original opinion, but I found the exploration of so many ideas very thought-provoking (especially since I then got to go to book club and have an actual discussion with actual people instead of doing it all in my head).

Amy Waldman's writing is beautiful. I read some reviews that said the plot was too slow and repetitive, but that was never my impression. I thought the writing style fit the pacing of the book so perfectly that it all seemed to unfold easily and seamlessly. Here's one line I liked, just to give you a taste: "Tears filled Claire's eyes, but, as if they knew their place, didn't leave."

I listened to the audio version of the book, which was read by Bernadette Dunn. Her voice sounded instantly familiar, and I realized that I'd also heard her read Garlic and Sapphires. I've mentioned before that sometimes I have a difficult time listening to the same narrator read different books because hearing their voice combines the two stories in a weird way (Jim Dale's voice is especially bad for this), but I love Bernadette Dunn's voice because. while it is distinguishable, it is not overpowering. I thought she was perfect.

While I thought the book explored some really important ideas, I was disappointed with the amount of profanity (many uses of the f-word) and sexual scenes (one of which I just skipped over entirely). I know this is an adult novel. I know that's the way people talk, and those are the things people do, but I don't like reading it.

The ending was a little sad but also appropriate. I felt like, given what happened in the rest of the story, it couldn't have ended any other way. And there was a little twist I wasn't expecting.

Even though I still vividly remember exactly where I was and what I was doing the morning of September 11, 2001, for the most part, I have been far removed from the events of that terrible day. Reading this book helped me remember and also understand in a completely new way the grief, the passion, and, ultimately, the hope.

What You Get Instead of a Book Review

I was planning on writing a book review this afternoon but was pulled in a number of other directions instead. That's okay. I can be flexible. (At least, that's what I try to convince myself of when things don't go my way.)

I'm not feeling too badly about the neglected review however because it means that instead I can share with you three book-related things that made me happy today.

First, I absolutely loved this article by Rachael Stein in The Horn Book. In it, she shared how The Penderwicks on Gardam Street helped her daughter through the rough time following her parents' divorce. I thought when Rachael mentioned bibliotherapy that she had coined the term herself in reference to this experience. But no, turns out bibliotherapy is a real type of therapy used to help treat depression. Who knew? (It totally resonates with me though. I often read the same thing over and over again when I'm seeking answers or feel like I need a little lift. This is what I've currently been reading again and again.)

At any rate, her article is worth checking out. Not only do I adore the Penderwicks, but I think Rachael Stein is a great writer. (I love the insights she shares on middle grade novels at For Those About to Mock).

Second, on Publisher's Weekly today, there was an article about a children's songwriter who composes music to go along with books. I have no idea if I would like her style, but the very idea is something I could get behind! Apparently, she already has one album out ("The Little House Songs" to go along with Virginia Lee Burton's The Little House (which our library had a copy of and which, of course, I immediately put on hold)), and she is currently trying to get funding for two more albums.

Last, have I mentioned how much I love Kate DiCamillo (author of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane?, etc.)? Oh, I have? Well, did you know she has a new book coming out this fall? It's called Flora & Ulysses, and the summary sounds delightful. I'm just a leeeeeeeeeetle bit excited!

What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty

It is a rare book that grabs hold of me on the first page and doesn't let me go until the final sentence. But What Alice Forgot did exactly that. I can't tell you how many times I wished I was on vacation so I could make reading this book my sole occupation.  Then again, even spreading it out over a week seemed too short a time to properly enjoy it, like I could have read hundreds of more pages and still been sad when it was over.

But first, I don't want to gush and rave about it without giving other readers an honest heads-up: there is quite a bit of offensive language scattered throughout (multiple uses of the F-word and the name of God in vain, as well as some milder swear words). Also, there are some brief mentions of sex and a couple of immoral acts, none of which are very descriptive. I'm mentioning this up front because it is unusual for me to read a book with this kind of content, and so I don't want anyone picking it up on my recommendation without fair warning. I realize that the moral standard by which people judge a book's content is as varied as books themselves. Even my own standard seems somewhat flexible as I have observed that a handful of swear words doesn't necessarily make a book "bad" while, at the same time, perfectly clean language doesn't automatically make a book "good." Just my own two cents' worth.

In this case, I felt like I gained so much by reading this book. Even though it's classified as "chick-lit," it didn't feel fluffy and empty at all. I can already tell it's the kind of book I will still remember several years from now and will probably reread at some point.

Okay, that all got rather long and drawn out. Sorry. Shall we get to the actual book?

When the story begins, Alice Love is regaining consciousness after falling and hitting her head. She is confused and disoriented, and it soon becomes apparent that she has lost the last ten years of her memory. She wakes up thinking she is pregnant with her first child, in the midst of a happy marriage, with loving family and friends. Instead, she finds that she has three children, is on the brink of divorce, and has gone through some bitter heartaches and tragedies.

I wasn't lying when I said this book had me on page one. Sometimes it takes me a couple chapters to really settle into a story as I familiarize myself with the characters and the setting, and this often translates as a slow start. So you would have thought that the beginning of this book would have been frustrating because it is intentionally confusing and scattered. But instead, it had the opposite effect, and I think it was because Alice herself is confused and scattered. So unlike with other stories where I acutely feel that I am the reader, a bystander looking in on a different world, in this case, I felt like I was Alice: I didn't know who the woman with "sleek bobbed hair" was, but neither did she, so we were even...I was figuring it out at the same rate she was, whereas in other books the main character already knows who her best friend is, and so I, as the reader, have to be brought up to speed...the sooner, the better (for my sake).

At the beginning, Alice's brain is so far removed from her current life that I had to keep reminding myself that no, she hadn't been in a coma for ten years, and no, she hadn't traveled through time and miraculously landed ten years in the future. She had actually been living her life just minutes before she hit her head and lost all recollection of it. So, yes, she is responsible for all the choices she has already made, and no, she doesn't get to go back and fix them.

Medically speaking, I have no idea how accurate this is. If you really did hit your head and lose your memory, could you really lose a chunk of time like Alice did, and would you just have a few shadows of memory here and there before it all finally came rushing back in complete and total clarity? I don't know, but I'm pretty sure actual amnesia isn't as romantic as this (for one thing, I have a feeling they wouldn't let you leave the hospital so easily in real life), but I don't really care because it made a great story.

Besides Alice's own story, which is told in third-person, there is also her sister, Elisabeth's story (told in first person as a therapeutic letter to her psychiatrist) and her grandmother, Frannie's story (told in first person as a letter to her long-dead fiancé). In the ten years that Alice forgot, her older sister, Elisabeth, has married and tried to have children for years. She's been through numerous IVF cycles, pregnancies, and miscarriages, and by this time, she is filled with such bitterness and resentment that she is going a little crazy. Frannie, on the other hand, is concerned about her family but also has caught the eye of one of the older gentlemen at her retirement village.

I loved these sub-plots and really felt like they helped move the story along by providing multiple viewpoints and perspectives to events. But not only that, they made it so that you truly cared about other people, not just about Alice.

For example, Elisabeth told her story with gut-wrenching honesty. I could feel her bitterness, depression, cynicism, and deep sadness. Since it is written as a letter to her psychiatrist, it is supposed to be a form of therapy for her, something that technically no one will see but just a way for her to get all of her feelings out there and away from herself. Because of that, it is written in a very sort of stream of conscious way with lots of tangents and side notes. At one point, she said: "I remember thinking about how mothers were prepared to run into burning buildings to save their children's lives. I thought I should be able to go through a bit more suffering, a bit more inconvenience to give my children life. It made me feel noble. But now I realize I'm a crazy woman running into a burning house for children who don't exist." Later on, she said, "So what sort of mother would I be? A horrible one. Maybe even an abusive one. They'd probably take my children away and give them to someone else. An infertile woman could adopt them." Elisabeth felt so real to me. I felt like I should say something to her, try to comfort her, but I had no idea what, if anything, would help ease her pain.

At the beginning of the story, as Alice is trying to piece together her life over the last ten years, you get the impression that she has really messed up her life: she's become consumed with materialistic pleasures, she has filled her life with meaningless projects, she has abandoned her sister in her time of need, she has mercilessly criticized her husband. I felt just the tiniest bit of resentment towards her, like, I hope you straighten out your life now that you see what a complete jerk you've been for ten years. But the story is so much more intricate than that, and it soon becomes apparent that all of the supporting characters are flawed in various ways and have contributed to who Alice has become. Isn't this the way life is? There are always at least two sides to a story, and everyone makes mistakes. I think the beautiful thing about this story is that after Alice gets her memory back, she is able to see both her life in 1998 and her life in 2008 much more clearly. Even though she still feels hurt about all the things that have happened, she is also able to see what kind of life she wants to have.

I thought this quote at the end summed up perfectly how shared memory really does unite people, binding them together in a way that you can't achieve without the memories: "Each memory, good and bad, was another invisible thread that bound them together, even when they were foolishly thinking they could lead separate lives. It was as simple and complicated as that."

Of course, I couldn't read a book about forgetting ten years of your life, and not think about what it would be like if I lost the last ten years of my life. Ten years ago, I was 18 years old. I was still living at home but getting ready for my first semester at BYU. I didn't know who Mike was. I had a whole different set of friends. I was naive and incredibly innocent (I didn't even know what the f-word was...). So many of the people that I care about so deeply now, I didn't even know then! It's so crazy to go back ten years, but it's also crazy to try to project myself ten years into the future and wonder if my life will change as dramatically in ten more years as it did over the last ten years.

One of the things I loved about this book had nothing to do with the actual story per se. Liane Moriarty is an Australian author, and I loved all of the little words and phrases that so obviously set it apart as Australian. I definitely learned some things: boot = (car) trunk; jumper = sweater (I actually had to look that one up); car park = parking lot; rear-vision mirror = rear view mirror. Also, the book takes place in May, but they kept acting like the weather was a bit chilly. It wasn't until they mentioned a sweltering hot Christmas that I thought, Of course! Southern Hemisphere, Amy!

I don't want to spoil the ending, but I just have to say that when it was over, I realized I'd been tense and holding my breath for the last ten pages. I let out all that pent up breath in an audible sigh of relief. I was so worried that things weren't going to turn out the way I wanted them to, and I desperately wanted a happy ending. Thankfully, this is one book I would not have changed the ending on at all.

I love reading for so many reasons, but when I read a book like this one, where the pages literally seem to just melt away and I find myself trying to back pedal just to let the story last a little longer, I remember why reading is so much fun.

Half Magic by Edward Eager

Let's begin this review with a question: Is Half Magic a well-known children's classic or not?

I ask this because I have been mulling over the answer for weeks...not in a it's-keeping-me-awake-at-night sort of way (I have other worries to fill that time with), but more just a here-and-there, every-now-and-again, as-I-hear-it-mentioned-or-read-about-it sort of way.

For example, it came in at #31 on Fuse #8's Top 100 Children's Novels Poll, which led me to think, Okay, definitely a children's classic. But then recently, it's come up in conversations with several of my (as I would define them) "well-read" friends, and they've never even heard of it, so, Children's classic? Maybe not.

I, myself, was familiar with the title because my brothers had read it, but I had not actually read it.

So if you wouldn't mind weighing in ("Yes I know this children's novel" or "No I've never heard of it"), I might finally be able to find some closure regarding this book and get some sleep!

Because I was having a hard time deciding where it fell on the "much-beloved children's novels" continuum, I decided to give it a read myself so I would at least know where it fell for me. And I thought a little company might be nice, so I read it aloud to the boys.

The story begins on a beautiful summer's day. Jane, Mark, Katherine, and Martha are hoping their summer will be full of adventure, but so far, it hasn't looked too promising. That all changes when Jane finds a "nickel" on the sidewalk. Within minutes of picking up the coin, strange things begin happening, and the children soon figure out that Jane didn't pick up an ordinary nickel but a magical charm that grants wishes--but only halfway. (For example, before she realizes the coin is magic, she wishes for there to be a fire just to add a little excitement to their day. Within seconds they hear the fire siren wailing as firemen rush to put out a small fire (a "half" fire, if you will) on a little playhouse.) For an entire week, the children have adventure after adventure, with many disasters and mishaps and mistakes. But in the end, their very last wish is granted exactly as they wanted.

I probably should have skimmed this book a little bit more before starting it with Aaron and Max. It was a fun book for sure, but it was a little advanced and complicated, especially for Max who just turned three. It was pretty obvious after reading just a few pages that it was a little beyond them, so we could have switched to another book right then, but I didn't, and here's why: I could tell they were enjoying certain parts even if they were zoning out in other places; also, they weren't begging to stop--in fact, sometimes Aaron wanted me to keep reading--so I knew they weren't hating it; plus, it was introducing some fun new ideas and concepts. So we kept going, and I'd say the farther we got, the more we enjoyed it.

Still though, be aware that there were some things that made this a difficult story for the 3-4 year-old crowd, such as:

• Long chapters - we're talking like 30-40 pages. It was impossible for us to get through so long a chapter in one sitting, but it was also difficult to stop in the middle since there usually wasn't a great stopping place. This meant that when we picked it back up, I had to remind them of everything that had already happened (which turned out not to be a bad thing since they needed the summaries and explanations anyway).
• Very sparse pictures - within those 30-40 pages, there was only one picture (plus the one at the head of the chapter). No exceptions. One picture. For the most part, Aaron and Max do pretty well with just a few pictures, but I know that for this story, they would have preferred a higher ratio of picture to words.
• Concept of half - unfortunately, the idea of taking something (whether it be location, person, or time) and and slicing it in half was a major part of the story (it is called Half Magic, after all). But a three-year-old has a difficult time understanding what it means to eat half of an apple, much less how you make a person disappear by half or give a cat the ability to half-talk. This was a bit of a disappointment for me just because this was one of the most clever aspects of the story, and for the most part, except when I stopped and explained it, it went right over their heads.

I think the hardest chapter for them (and for me, too) was the one where the children end up in Medieval times fighting Sir Launcelot. For one thing, the Old English language was a little tricky for them to grasp, plus it just seemed a little slow with lots of jumping around (but that could have had less to do with the actual plot of the chapter and more to do with the fact that it took us probably five different occasions to finish this chapter).

Our favorite chapter was the one where Martha wishes she wasn't there (at the movie theater) and ends up as a mere wispy outline of herself. (I think it helped that there were robbers in that chapter. Aaron and Max always perk up with robbers around.) A close second for me was the chapter where Jane wants a different family.

Personally, I loved the ending. It was just the right mix of wrapping up the old and unwrapping the new, getting the reader ready for a whole new set of adventures. (For those who have read them, I'd love to hear how the other Half Magic books hold up to this one?).

Even though this was a book we liked, it is one I think we will love in another four or five years. And going back to my original question, maybe just the fact that it is a book that would definitely be worth rereading helps to qualify it as something of a classic. What do you think?

P.S. I am sharing this post at The Children's Bookshelf.

A Joyful Mother of Children: The Magic and Mayhem of Motherhood by Linda J. Eyre

If you are a parent living in Utah, it's kind of an unspoken rule that you have to read something by the Eyres. You might think I'm joking, and I guess I kind of am, but I hear their names spoken and wisdom touted in virtually every type of parenting circle I find myself in. For the longest time, when their names came up, I felt like I was on the edge of the circle, with very little to contribute, because I hadn't read anything of theirs. But no more! Now I can speak my opinions with the best of them.

There are certainly more well-known books by the Eyres than this one (Teaching Your Child Joy has been on my to-read shelf for years), but it just so happened that a friend recently reviewed this one on Goodreads, it looked interesting, my library had a copy, I was almost ready for a new book, I was feeling that familiar feeling of motherhood insanity, and I thought, "Hey, I haven't read anything by the Eyres yet!", and before I knew it, I was halfway through the book.

Richard and Linda Eyre are the parents of nine children. As I already said, if you live in Utah, then you've almost certainly heard of them. But even if you live in a different state, or even a different country, chances are good you've run across their names. For years, they have spoken all around the world on the importance of strengthening the family. They have also written numerous books and made appearances on national TV.

A Joyful Mother of Children is a little bit different than some of their other books because it is specifically geared toward mothers (although, of course, much of it can be applied to both parents), and it was written by just Linda (rather than co-authored by the two of them).

Over the past five years, I've read my fair share of parenting books. The ones that are heavily anecdotal almost always begin with some sort of disclaimer, such as: "Please don't think we're perfect. Let me assure you, we are far from it!" So when I began this book, I braced myself for this kind of statement, and sure enough, there it was in the preface, right after introducing all their children: "We are truly blessed with this wonderful family. But before you draw any conclusions about a perfect family, please know that we struggle with life just like everyone else."

I don't know why this type of disclaimer irks me, but it really does. For some reason, just the fact that they're saying, "Don't worry, we're not perfect" always leads me to think, They must think they're pretty close to perfect or they wouldn't feel the need to point out how imperfect they are. They probably think they're doing their readers a favor by assuring them of how normal and flawed they are, but why do they have to tell us that? Can't they just show us?

The reason why I feel the above statement is completely unnecessary in this case is because Linda Eyre does show us: the book is full of funny, relatable, down-to-earth, heartwarming stories that show how normal and realistic her life is. And I loved all these stories: they made me laugh or grit my teeth or want to cry because in the few short years that I've been a mother, I've already had similar experiences.

My knowledge of the Eyres wasn't completely nonexistent before I read this book. I had seen them interviewed a couple of times and had a general impression of their philosophies. I could also tell that they were extremely organized.

That trait definitely came through in the book as well. In order to successfully raise nine children, you probably have to be at least a little bit organized, but the Eyres took it to a whole new level, beginning with about fifty million meetings. For starters, Linda and Richard each have personal Sunday Sessions, where they each retreat to their bedroom alone for an hour of planning time for the week. They also do a monthly Five Facet Review together where they discuss how each of their children are doing. They also do another meeting on the first Sunday of every month where they give "reports" on their responsibilities (Richard is the General Partner for things outside the home, Linda is the General Partner for things inside the home). She also gives her kids one-on-one time with Mommy Dates. And they have a monthly family meeting where the older children are invited, and they share schedules, make plans, check up on goals, etc. Plus, she describes several other meetings that happen less regularly.

So, yes, that's a lot of meetings. And that's exactly what kept going through my head as I was reading: That's a lot of meetings. But, I have to admit, I am implementing several of them (the monthly Five Facet Review, the personal Sunday Session, and the Mommy Dates). I'm especially excited about the Five Facet Review because it sounds like a fun date to me (go out to eat and talk about our kids), and I think it will help us stay on top of problems and concerns.

Another section that I really liked was the one about continually expanding your horizons. When I first became a mother, I felt like my horizons were shrinking, and I was getting dumber by the day. But since then, I have found ways to continue to push myself and learn new things, even as I am a full-time, stay-at-home mom, and I love it. One of the things she mentioned was that after we learn something new, we then have the opportunity to teach it to our children. (And as my kids have gotten older, I've found that this is actually one of my very favorite parts of mothering.) She gave some suggestions for how moms could teach their kids in various areas (art, music, dance, literature, etc.).

Her section on music particularly intrigued me because she gave several suggestions of classical works that interest children, and it was kind of a wake-up call for me: I need to expose my children to good, uplifting, cultivated music, not just catchy kids' tunes (though those have their place, too). One of the pieces on her list was Prokofiev's "Peter and the Wolf," which I actually mentioned in my post yesterday. I checked out a recording of it from the library, and Aaron and Maxwell have fallen in love with it. It gave me confidence to try out some other classical works on them as well.

I loved the title of the book, which is based on a scripture in Psalms that reads, "He maketh a barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children. Praise ye the Lord."  I loved the emphasis on finding joy now--not after my children are well-behaved and my house is clean, but right now.

At one point when she was talking about enjoying the little (or, as the case may be, big) things, she said, "...anyone can experience those unexpected twinkles of joy that make a magical moment. At these moments, you feel true, deep joy because of a great new insight, a beautiful prospect, or a glimpse into the radiance of another soul. They are the magic moments when life seems better than you ever realized..."

Soon after reading that passage (maybe later that very same day), I had one of those moments. And because I had just read about the importance of recognizing those moments, I noticed it, and it lodged itself (I hope permanently) in my memory. It was on one of our first truly warm days of spring, and the boys were reacquainting themselves with all the things they could do outside. They had their shovels and were digging in the dirt. I was in the kitchen when all of a sudden I heard a piercing shriek. I raced outside, sure that someone had gotten hurt. But it was just Aaron racing across the lawn shouting, "I found a worm!" and Maxwell and Bradley huddling around him in an excited circle. As I looked out at them, it really did seem like a perfect, magical moment.

The more I look for them, the more I am aware that my life is literally packed with those little magical moments. Sometimes it's really hard for me to maintain that perspective when Bradley has thrown his cereal and milk across the kitchen again (which, sorry, but no matter how I look at it, I don't think that one will ever be magical--for me at least), but I really am so, so grateful that I get to spend all my days with them. Dealing with the cereal-throwing is more than a fair trade if I get to be a bystander on the worm exultations, too.

Celebrating Screen-Free Week with Normal, Everyday Activities

You might remember this post from several months ago. In it, I talked about how a punishment of "no TV for a week" turned into a real blessing as my kids started playing much more creatively and cheerfully.

Well, since that time, the TV has insidiously crept back into our lives. And once again, I am seeing its effect on my kids: they whine, they complain, they pester, they cry. When I tell them it's time to turn off their show, they act like I've delivered the worst news of their lives.

We were definitely in need of a break again, so Screen-Free Week came at just the right time.

Luckily, my kids only watch about an hour's worth each morning, so it is fairly easy to cut out. The times I really "need" it are when I am teaching piano lessons and trying to keep them downstairs. However, it's amazing how once it's not even an option, they find a multitude of ways to entertain themselves.

Since this is a "special" week, we are filling it with "special" activities (read: all the weekly activities we normally do with a couple new ones thrown in).

• Books (of course!) - We have a huge pile of picture books to read and enjoy. I'm also reading Winnie-the-Pooh out loud. And I just checked out the audio of Charlotte's Web. (I read this aloud several months ago, but Aaron really wanted to hear it again, so I thought we'd give this a try.) Aaron has also been reading Mercy Watson to me. And I'm sure we'll have plenty of moments where we're all sitting down just enjoying reading (or looking at) our own books.
• Music - particularly Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf, which Aaron and Max have been a little obsessed with lately.
• The zoo - We have been dying to check out our zoo's new Lego exhibit, and I think this week's the week. Anyone want to join us?
• Ice Art - I found this idea at Train Up a Child. My boys will love it!
• Bug Hunting - Nothing special about this one...just good ol' fashioned diggin' in the dirt. This is what they spend most of their spare time doing anyway. (Good thing it's the TV going away and not bug hunting or I might have an uprising on my hands.)
• Bike riding - Have you noticed the way nice weather makes it so much easier to turn off the TV. Love it!
• Shadow Play - I found this idea at Reading Confetti. I don't know that we'll necessarily use The Gruffalo's Child to make the shadow puppets...we'll put our own spin on it!
• Library storytime - We rarely miss a week at library storytime. We have found some of our favorite books and learned some of our favorite songs and finger plays this way.
• Playing at the park - As long as there is nice weather, we are going to be outside enjoying it!

So you can see, nothing overly complicated but definitely lots of fun to look forward to. What will you be doing this week?

 No better way to cure boredom than a heaping stack of books from the library!

A note: Obviously, since I am writing this post, I am not banning myself from the computer this week. However, I am cutting it out completely in the morning, and I also won't be watching any TV (which, I have to admit, is not a sacrifice at all for me since I haven't been watching anything lately).