A Room of One's Own

I'm obsessed with the idea right now that we all need a space of our own. I suppose it has, mostly, to do with the fact that I have my own room for the first time in a long, long time. Like ten years. Or more, feasibly. There were roommates before there was husband, after all. Although I was one of those spoiled brats with a single room for a while. I love being a spoiled brat.

But I digress.

I've been thinking and planning my bedroom make-over for a couple of months now and have made very little progress. I know what I want, though and that's something.

The other day, Brynna and Maren got into a completely typical (around my house) fight and I told Brynna that when she needs to get away from Maren, she should go to her room.

"The living room is for all of us to share and I'm not going to kick Maren out of it so you can have space. You have space. It's called 'your room.'" (I was a might bit frustrated.)

"But I don't like my room," she responded. Since we just redid her room about a year and a half ago, this sort of floored me. And also broke my heart. I didn't have a sibling when I was Brynna's age, but I still needed a spot that was mine all mine.

Growing up, my room was pale pink. I didn't hate pink yet. It was large, but I was limited as to what I could do. I had wallpaper, so I couldn't paint. I also had a grandma who was a little crazy about wallpaper, so I couldn't have posters or tape or push pin anything to my walls at all. I had really nice furniture and although it was really nice, it didn't exactly scream little girl.

For all of that, it was still my space. I had my pictures on the wall and my bed had a fluffy white canopy. (You may feel free to pass out that I was ever that girly. What can I say, everyone has phases.) My bed was covered with pillows and stuffed animals and dolls and at the foot of my bed was a park bench.

I may have been stuck with my antique hooked rug, but there was never any doubt to whom that room belonged. I made it mine. It may not have been my dream room, but it was still all mine. I always felt at home there. In fact, after the nearly twenty years since I moved out of that room, there is still a certain comfort to be found in those pale pink walls.

That is what I want for Brynna. That sense of ownership, of peace and quiet and calm and belonging. When the world pushes against you, you need a space where you are completely free and yourself.

She and I are working on deciding what that means to her. What would make that space belong to her in a way that it doesn't right now. And I'm working on doing it to my space too.

Everyone needs a space that is only theirs. Where's yours?

Five Things on Friday - Small Blessings Edition

Today, I dropped my kids off and I won't see them again until Sunday. This is one of the worst things, the every other weekend thing. And the truth is that the weekends themselves aren't so bad. I do fun things, I hang out. I go to movies. I take quilting classes. I clean out my kids toys while they aren't home to pull out everything I want to sell and declare their undying love for a toy they haven't seen in four years. But Friday morning, kissing them goodbye like it's any other day and knowing that they are going to be gone for the whole, long weekend. That is rough.

So, I present:

Five Small Blessings on this Friday:


1. It's Friday - Who can be all verklempt when they don't have to go to work the next morning. Seriously.

2. It's Sunny - I love the cold weather and rain and general gloominess, but in the heart of winter, I don't get to see much of the sun and today is a happy reminder that it still exists.

3. Red Spoons - I took my lunch money today and got myself a sandwich and some ice cream with a lovely long handled red spoon. So cheery, a red spoon.

4. Movies with Grandma - Tomorrow's the day. Scary movies, HO!

5. Girls Night Out - I've got a friend coming in town tomorrow night to hang out and play cards. And that's truly awesome.

And now... to announce the winner of one $25 AMC Gift Card in honor of my 500th post.....

Suze!!! 

So, Suze, I'll get this to you next week and I hope you have a wonderful time at the movies.

The Birth of a Hoarder

Last night:

Me: All I really want is to just go to bed. Is that okay if I go to bed

Smarter Me (SM): No, you idiot. Brynna's not even home yet. Declare cord bankruptcy, you've been talking about that for two weeks.

Me: I don't wanna. Cord bankruptcy is stupid. Who thought of that anyway?

SM: Umm.... You dumbpants.

Me: Whatevs. I guess I can do that.

SM: Don't forget that drawer. And the other drawer. And the drawer in the kitchen. Oh, and that drawer you have to move the couch to get to. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the cord situation wouldn't have gotten so out of hand if you kept them all in one place?

Me: Has it ever occurred to you that the cord situation wouldn't have gotten so out of hand if this were Victorian England.

SM: I fail to see how that applies.

Me: This cord says Fisher Price. Can you think of anything at all Fisher Price that would need a USB cable?

SM: No. So we must not be using it. Throw it out.

Me: But what if it's in the basement and it's totally fabulous and if I could find it I could see it at the consignment sale and make a lot of money? I think we should keep it.

SM: *sigh*

Me: How many telephone cords do you think I should keep?

SM: Considering that you no longer have home phone service and you have a wireless network? Let me think...

Me: Yeah, two is probably enough. A short one and a long one. Unless you think I should keep this red one because it's red.

SM: I think you can live without a red phone cord, since you don't, you know, have a phone.

Me: Okay, so I have 8 USB cables that I don't know what they go to. I'm going to label this box "Cords for Stuff" and then put them all in there and when I need a USB cable for something, I'll know it'll be in the "Cords for Stuff" box. Unless it isn't. And as I discover what cords are for what items, I'll label them and then someday, I'll throw out all the unlabeled cords since I obviously don't use them.

SM: Really? "Cords for Stuff" is your solution.

Me: Look, Brynna's home. Can I go to bed now?

SM: Whatever. You've totally worn me out.

On Cuddling...

Maren has had a terrible cough for the past couple of nights. And only at night. I think it's a lying down thing. In any case, for the past couple of nights, after listening to her cough for a couple of hours, I've given in and invited her to climb in bed with me. My giant pile of unshared pillows guarantees her a slight incline and you know, the comfort of mommyness.

Usually, Maren comes and gets in bed with me when she wakes up. She'll usually doze for a while and then start slapping me about turning on the TV. As I wake up generally as a grumpy monster of doom, you can imagine that these are not my happiest moments. I am nice, because it's my kid, but I also take extra time to wallow on the mornings when she isn't there when I wake.

But there's something different about these nights.

When she crawls in bed with her hair still damp from her bath, smelling of shampoo and nuzzles her head into my ribs, it still hurts and I still develop an uncomfortable wet spot on my side. I still can't sleep through her congested little snores. She still tries to push me out of the bed with nothing but her skull and her will.

But for all that, she's so much cuter while doing it. I lay in bed last night and thought, "What else could I possibly need in my life, other than this one trying to merge with my bone structure and the one that's going to wake up mad that Maren got to sleep with me?" And the answer, of course, is nothing.

Brynna woke up with a migraine this morning, and was reluctant to get up, get moving, get dressed, take her medicine or anything else. Finally, I broke down and made a strategic decision. I risked being late and made her crawl under the blanket and lay her head in my lap and just lie still for a few more minutes.

She lay there, breathing deep while I rubbed her back and watched the weather. It wasn't much special, but it was sort of magic at the same time. There was still a healthy dose of morning yelling - seriously, how many times is it necessary for me to say, "Put on some shoes!" but we got out the door and into the car and were the very last car accepted through car line.

It wasn't my idea of a peaceful morning, but as Brynna pulled on her shirt and fumbled with the buttons, she looked at me and said, "I want to cuddle more. We don't cuddle enough."

Indeed, Brynna. We don't. I'm not sure we ever could. But we'll try. We'll cuddle every day. We'll still fight about shoes and backpacks and why-didn't-you-do-that-last-night's. We'll miss a few bedtimes and possibly a few car lines. We'll struggle through.

Cuddling is now on my daily to do list. Because someday, you're going to think that we cuddle too much.

Five Things on Friday - Go to the Movies Edition

I love to go to the movies. It's partially because I love movies. They're like short stories and I love a tightly crafted story. But it's also because I just love to go to the movies. I love the dark, cool quiet. I love the big screen and the booming sound that completely remove you from your own life for two hours. I love the weird decor. There is no other place on Earth where giant velvet drapes, rope lights and bright orange and purple "go." I like the popcorn and the half gallon of Coke.

I used to go to the movies a lot, and then I had kids. Now I consider going to the movies to be one of the world's biggest treats. Here are:

Five Movies I'd Like to Treat Myself with Right Now
1. Woman in Black - I'm plotting to take my grandma (who is increasingly living my dream of becoming a hermit) to see this next weekend. We share an intense love of ghost stories and all things horror. Grandmommy, however, doesn't like the slasher end of the spectrum, which makes movies that are absolutely perfect for her few and and far between. I think the last one was The Others. Combine the creepy feeling, the Victorian flair and the Daniel Radcliffe of it all and I think we have a winner.

2. Chronicle - I love a good sci-fi. I also love a good twist on the super hero genre and Chronicle promises to be both. Also, I love high school movies. I don't know why.

3. Contraband - Mark Wahlberg. Is there really anything else I need to say? Okay, so it's also an action movie, and it doesn't seem like it's going to take itself too, too seriously. This is a risk we run with Marky-Mark.

4. Iron Lady - This is a biopic about Margaret Thatcher, a woman I find fascinating. If I ever get to see this, I guarantee it'll be all alone, but I'm in anyway.

5. Joyful Noise - This doesn't seem like the strongest premise ever and I'm not even 100% sure what it's about. Frankly it doesn't matter. Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton. That's all I needed - two of my favorite women doing their thing. I kinda can't wait.

Sooooo.... For those of you counting, this is my 500th post. Which kinda blows my mind. Who woulda ever thought I had so much to say. I really, really appreciate all of you coming along for the ride - it's been wild, but I would have given up long, long ago if it weren't for each of you.

I'd like to give you each a puppy. But I can't. I can't afford that many puppies, plus the shipping would be a bear. And of course, I'm not at all sure that you guys would even want a puppy. So, in lieu of that, and in honor of me babbling along for 500 whole posts, I'm giving away one $25 gift certificate to AMC Theatres.

To enter, simply leave a comment telling me what movie you would like to go see right now. If there's nothing out there, you may feel free to leave a comment about the horrible-ness of modern cinema.

A couple of notes:

1. I'll take entries until next Thursday night at midnight. I'll announce the winner in next week's Five Things. 
2. Only one entry per person, please.
3. I will choose the winner using a random number generator to be all fair and pants.
4. I am not in any way affiliated with or reimbursed by AMC Theatres. They don't know who I am or what I am about. If I died tomorrow and started haunting their corporate headquarters, they wouldn't even recognize my ghost. They'd be forced to hire a medium to get rid of me because they would have no idea how to put my soul to rest.

Have fun!

Talking about the S Word

If there is any part of motherhood that I am not on board with - it's talking about sex. I think that kids should just magically grow the knowledge they need as they mature. Or, do like I did and hum like a mad person and pretend absolute ignorance until middle school where there was sex ed, which, while uncomfortable, was waaaay better than having any kind of "talk" with my beloved family members. (Holy run-on sentence, batman.)

My coping mechanism for this is to not have "the talk." And by that I mean that I never, ever, ever intend to sit down with my daughters on the edge of the bed and have a full-on heart-to-heart where we cover every bird and bee issue under the sun, like they always seem to do on TV. Instead I have "talkettes."

It started for both of them when they were about two. Two rules for two year olds:
1. No one touches you where your bathing suit covers except mommy or daddy and the doctor in mommy or daddy's presence; and
2. You are boss of your body.

That's pretty much the basics. Since the first talkette, Brynna has asked questions that launched a new talkette, like, "Mommy, what's a period?" and I have done my best to not choke on my Coca-Cola and answer in a complete and truthful manner without telling her more than she actually wants to know.* (And you know, make sure she's talking about that period and not the one that comes at the end of a sentence.)

As far as spit-take inducing and immense discomfort goes, it's all been pretty cool so far. Until last week. While we were watching TV, Brynna casually said, "I know what you're supposed to use your girlfriend for - sex." Other than the massive heart attack I suffered right there in my mom's living room, I survived. I chose to answer the more worrying part of that statement - i.e. not sex.

"Well, Brynna, a boyfriend and a girlfriend are in a relationship," I said. "They shouldn't be using each other for anything. A relationship is about equal parties treating each other with love and respect. Not about one person using the other person for anything."

Later, in the car, Brynna asked what sex was anyway. Brynna asks me stuff in the car a lot because she doesn't have to look at me or have me look at her. This is a good thing when I am pretending not to have an aneurysm. It is a bad thing in that Maren is typically in the car with us and I have to think doubly hard about age-level appropriateness.

I survived, but just barely. I answered as honestly as I could, without giving any scary details and made sure to emphasize the part where - for the love of pants - only grown-ups. I mean, I kept the car on the road and that seems to be a major accomplishment here.

So when does sex ed start these days? I mean obviously, the playground talk has already started. Isn't that when other adults should step in and save me from myself? I feel certain that talking to your kids about sex is the ultimate punishment for having it yourself. Pregnancy, childbirth, sleepless nights - cake walk. This is the real test.


*In my opinion, this is another big deal. A three year old asking what sex is wants a completely different answer  than a fourteen year old. You have to know your kids and also, you have to ask them, "How much do you want to know," or give them permission to stop you, "it's okay to tell me that I'm talking too much." Just remember where you left off for next time.

Accessorizing

It's no secret that I'm trying to look nice. I'm not very good at it.

I don't mean that in a self-deprecating way. One of the things I like about myself is that I am not one to spend hours getting ready for anything. Give me a hairbrush, a toothbrush and some moderately clean clothes and I can be ready for whatever in about five minutes.

But, what this usually means is limp hair, no make-up, tennis shoes, jeans and a "dressy" tee shirt. FYI - dressy here means plain with nothing on it. That's about my only requirement for "dressy."

So, I'm trying.


I'm still not wearing make-up because after years of saying I was going to and working at it, I've finally just come to conclusion that I am just not a make-up person. I will wear it to job interviews and cocktail parties and maybe, maybe girls' nights. That don't involve my daughters. But not on a daily basis.

And although I want to work on the tennis shoes, I'm not making much progress.

So, basically, I bought some stuff that makes my already-almost-curly hair actually curl and I'm trying to wear matching clothes. And accessorize.

And that's the fun part.

Apparently, trying doesn't
require smiling or opening my
eyes. Pay no attention to that.
Look instead at the kinda
curly hair and necklace.
Not that the necklace is curly.

You know what I mean.

Because, the thing is that I love accessories. I love clunky necklaces and dangly earrings and scarves - oh how I love scarves. And there is so much more personality in a pair of earrings than in a whole wardrobe of solid tee shirts. I love this stuff. And I have this stuff. I just don't wear this stuff.

Until now.

Holey Pants, this is a full time job.

But it's also inspired in me a desire for more accessories. For instance, despite my all encompassing adoration of all things scarfy, I only have about three. And I have a awe-inspiring collection of fun, little pendants, but most of silver chains have seen better days.

All I've bought so far is a card of big box silver hoops and a couple of pieces on a $1 sale at a little store downtown, but I have needs, here. Scarfy, necklacy, dangly earringy needs.

So, those of you who accessorize: where to you pick this stuff up? Give me some insight into where you shop. I'm hard on jewelry, especially, so I don't like to pay a lot, but I don't want it to be really pitiful quality, so mid-range stuff for bargain budgets? Help me, please.

Now with More Dancing!

I'm trying to institute a new policy at work. Whenever we finally accomplish something, we all jump up and dance like this:


What do you think?

And Then There Was Shrieking

My children (bless their hearts*) have entered this phase in which they are constantly screaming.

They scream when they are happy - "Papaaaaaaawwwwwww!!!!!!"
They scream when they are sad - "Paaaaaandddeeeeeee!"
They scream when they are angry - "AAAAARRRRRRRRR. You are sooo mean!"
They scream when they are bored - "EEEEEEE! It wasn't me, it was the pony."

They scream when they are together or separate or hungry or sleepy or just woke up or in the car or on the lawn or in someone else's house. They scream when they see me, my mom, Jerry, Uncle D, their dad, a cartoon on TV or a rainbow.

Or, you know, air.

I figured that by having my kids four years apart, I wouldn't be dealing with the simultaneous phase, but there you have it... screaming.

So, the question arises, how does one deal with screaming. I've tried to reason with them about inside volume levels and such. I've tried yelling at them, which seems counter productive. I've tried punishing. I've tried bribing. I've given begging a shot and I've even appealed to their sense of empathy, "Mommy has such a headache. Do you think we could keep the volume down? For mommy's poor head?"

Nothing works.

The screaming continues, unabated. And my head pounds, likewise unabated.

This morning as they were screaming at each other (a favorite variation), I broke down and asked them, "What am I supposed to do to make you guys get along and lower the volume?" I asked.

"Spray us with water," replied Brynna.
"Yeh, spay us with hot-hot water," added Maren.
"Oooh, hot water. Good call. That'd teach us. And when we are good, you can spray us in the mouth, and when we are bad, you can spray our hair," amended Brynna.
"Or our eyes," complied Maren.

So - there you have it. Spray your kids in the eyes with hot-hot water when they scream.**
_____________________________________
* You know how ticked off a Southern woman is by her use of "bless their hearts." In this case, very.

**Of course, in the interest of not being a psychopath you should probably not do this. Although, maybe if I spray myself in the ears with hot-hot water, I won't mind the screaming so much.

Making It - Motorcycle Edition

In groundbreaking amazing news - I finished a Pinterest project! The Diaper Motorcycle!

The pin leads to Sweet April's tutorial complete with great pictures and wonderous instruction and amazing examples. Which leads me to believe that doing a tutorial myself would be a little like re-inventing the wheel. Using spaghetti.

So, I present:

My rendition of the diaper motorcycle!!

The dog is a little small for scale.

So is the ribbon.

Some notes:

• The wheels are such wicked fun to make that I may do this for every baby shower from not until eternity. 
• Do not buy an 8 oz. bottle. I debated and was sooo glad I got the 4 oz. size.
• Plain white diapers are the bomb. Generic diapers are not plain white. Debate.
• I happened to have a little flat box that was perfect for transporting this thing, but otherwise, I'm not sure how I would have moved it. Disposable platter? Paper box top? Foam core?

In any case, I will accept orders, praise or snark. Be my guest.

Five Things on Friday - Things I Didn't Say Edition

Sometimes, the only way I know that I am a good person is because there are things I think - but don't say. Otherwise, I could be Satan in disguise. Or a Kardashian. Whichever.

In either case, I thought I would share

Five Things that I Thought But Didn't Say This Week

1. O Rly - I have tried, like really made an effort, tried to look nice every day this week. I have put on nice clothes and jewelry and brushed my hair before I got to work. I have tried to color coordinate and accessorize and even wear some tinted chapstick. I have done this because I have this theory about looking good and feeling good and making good choices all sort of being related and I'm trying that out. The point is - I've been trying. Except today, I woke up feeling like dirt and threw on some jeans who have questionable cred in the cleanliness department and an old sweatshirt that I typically save for Saturdays when I'm not going anywhere. My boss walked in this morning and said, "Oh! Don't you look nice in your teal." I wanted to say, "You're clearly either delusional or a liar." But I didn't.

2. I Like My Space - We all went out for a birthday lunch yesterday and while some of the girls were parking the car, two of us walked into the restaurant. After being vaguely waved at to find our own seat, we chose a nice table by the window with six seats. The waitress ambled over with a water pitcher and asked us if we were expecting any more. I wanted to say, "No, I'm claustrophobic and must sit at a table with at least four empty seats. Or I start screaming obscenities." But I didn't.

3. Oh, Me Too - After we left, while we were walking back to the cars, one of my coworkers said, "Well, that was filling. I don't guess I'll have to eat dinner." I wanted to say, "It must be nice to be so skinny AND not have to feed children no matter what AND be able to casually lord it over everyone else." But I didn't.

4. Pants You - Bob and I had a miscommunication about whether I was picking up the kids or he was dropping them off. Normal stuff. I apologized (because I'm nice) and said, "I should have communicated my plans better." His response: "Yeah, wouldda been nice." I can't tell you the things I wanted to say, but they involved a lot of pants. But I didn't.

5. Liar - We waited for an hour and a half before I asked at the desk when, exactly, the neurologist would see us. "Oh, any second now, your appointment wasn't until two..." I wanted to say, "You lost us. You lost my kid on her first visit to the big scary doctor and now you're lying about the time of my appointment, as if I didn't confirm it with you yesterday. You, sir, and your whole office of insanity suck pants." But I didn't.

Because I'm a lady, dammit.

Share something you didn't say. It's therapeutic.

Conversations with a Seven Year Old - MRI Day Edition

Yesterday, Brynna went for an MRI and a visit to the neurologist. We were dealing with her ongoing migraine issues (which, according to the pediatric neurologist, are not all that uncommon in seven year olds - who knew). The good news is that she seems to fine, in that there are no tumors and the migraines, while a total pain, could be much worse. (The bad news is that we spent $1,000 to find out that we are handling things the right way and no course corrections are needed. Huzzah.)

It never occurred to me that this would be comedy gold, but it was. Here are a few snippets.

The night before, I was explaining the process in the car.* Maren started freaking out. Ten minutes later, I was just repeating the same explanations and calming words I'd be saying and still getting nowhere.


Maren: Mommy, mommy, don't let them put Brynna in a tube. Please, that would be very bad. She will be scared.

Me: I'll be there if she gets scared and the tube isn't scary.

Maren: No, tubes are very scary and you can't let her go. Please, I want my sister to stay with me and not go in the tube.

Me: It's not scary. It's just like the tunnels on the base at MiMi's house. She'll be okay and I'll be with her.

Brynna: Listen, It'll be professionals. I'll be fine. It's not like these people didn't listen in college. Of course they did! They're professionals.**
_______________________________________

When we were getting ready for the MRI, the tech was explaining what would happen and what Brynna needed to know.


Tech: Okay, so it's going to be really loud, so I'm going to give you some earplugs. I'm going to let your mommy put them in because they feel kind of weird. Have you ever worn ear plugs before?

Brynna: Yes, I wear ear plugs when I shoot guns.***
_______________________________________

Finally, at the neurologist's office, we were answering questions.


Dr. J: So, is she physically developing normally? She can run, jump, climb, skip, ride a bike?

Me: She can't ride a bike.

Dr. J: Why not?

Me: shrugs I don't know. She won't let me take the training wheels off.

Brynna: Because it's scary.

Dr. J: It's not that scary. You wear a helmet, that makes it not scary. You wear a helmet, right?

Brynna: Not so much.****

* I tend to think that it works better if I explain everything and give her a chance to deal with it on her own. Note to self - in the car with Maren, not on her own.

** I ended up telling Maren that I had fixed it and they weren't going to put Brynna in a tube. They were going to put her in a cylinder which is clearly less scary. She was strangely fine with this. The power of the synonym.

*** For the record, she's only "shot guns" once, under adult supervision. She wants to turkey hunt, which is fine by me. It's just not something she does all casually all the time like she made it sound.

****  For the other record, she wears her helmet when she is on her bike or her scooter and off of the deck. I don't see the point in making her wear it on the deck. She can't build up speed and the fall isn't that far. If she falls off the deck, that flimsy little Hannah Montana helmet isn't going to be all that much help.

Five Things on Friday - Read This Edition

Every once in a while, I read a book that just really sticks with me, gets under my skin and makes me want to share it with everyone I meet. Okay, maybe it's not all that uncommon and I do it all the time. What's your point?

In any case, here are:

Five Books You Should Probably Just Read

1. Feed, by Mira Grant - This is maybe one of the best zombie novels I've ever read. Why? Well, mostly because it's not about the zombies. See, here's the thing about zombies: they are, in essence, sort of boring. They are really a portrayal of universal human fears (loss of self, technology, big government, etc, etc.), but basically they are shambling shells who want to eat you. They aren't particularly smart or savvy. Which means that zombie books have got to deal with bigger, human questions. Feed is really about politics and scandal and journalism. But it's so much better than that. It's about truth, no, sorry, it's about Truth and Justice. And also, zombies. Aaaand, it's not about a world destroyed by zombies but a world adapted to zombies. Which is sort of fresh and interesting.

2. Come and Go Molly Snow by Mary Ann Taylor-Hall - Come and Go Molly Snow is about woman dealing with the loss of her child and the loss of her one true love, her music. It's haunting and lyrical and lovely. It's set in Kentucky, which buys it bonus points in my book. Dealing with the Bluegrass music industry and culture, it is never insulting, always insightful and again - just plain lovely.

3. Kimmie 66 by Aaron Alexovich - I've decided to read all the non-super-hero graphic novels at my local library. Don't worry, there aren't many. They are really nice to read between books, though, because you can read the whole book in one sitting and they are, generally, kind of weird. Kimmie 66 is about a girl trying to uncover the secret of her best friend's (who she's never met in person) suicide. It's twisty and turny and the main character, Telly, is enchantingly cute, while trying desperately hard to never be cute. It's not rocket surgery, but it is fun and enjoyable.

4. Under the Dome by Stephen King - You know, ever since Mr. King "retired," I love every book more than the last. Possibly because I worry that it will be the last. In any case, Under the Dome is the tale of what happens in a small Maine town when an impenetrable dome pops into place around the borders. Those who are in - are in, including some children whose parents ran out for supplies and those who are out - are out. There's some really interesting stuff here about small-town politics and religion. But what I loved best is the story of the town kids. Like It, the adults are too busy worrying with whatever it is that adults worry about and the kids are the ones fighting the good fight. It's epic and long, but very, very worth it.

5. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card - I like to throw in an oldie to these lists. If you've never read it, Ender's  Game, the novel that launched at least two full series, is the story of brilliant little boy who becomes the chosen one to lead the entire Earth against some (possibly) hostile aliens. The story of Ender is complex and beautiful and speaks to what happens when you mix child-like focus and determination and grown-up politics and ruthlessness. It's also a great book about world government and why and how and will it work.

All of these books are stories that I find myself pondering fresh in the dead of night. You need those in life. Things to ponder when the lights are out and there's nothing on TV and you still can't sleep. Something to wrap your head around and wonder about. I recommend any and all of them to anyone over the age of consent.

Now it's your turn. What book is rattling around in your head? It doesn't matter if you read it last month or last decade, tell me what pushes your buttons.

Word of the Year - ASK

I've been reading a lot of "Word of the Year" posts. (If you are unfamiliar with this concept, it's basically a replacement for the New Year's Resolution. You choose a word to be your guiding principle for the year ahead. Then, I'm assuming, you forget it before February and revert to your old ways of slobby, stingy, status quo-ness. Because that's what we always did with resolutions, right?)

I've been reading about how people are going to strive to GIVE more or ENJOY more or look UP. And I've been thinking about what I want out of this year. What I want is to GET IT TOGETHER but I'm not sure that's one word or that inspirational. And then it occurred to me.

What I need is to ask.

Here's the thing. I hate to ask. For anything. I will sit at the table miserable for twenty minutes instead of just asking someone to pass the pantsing butter. Imagine what happens when I need something big.

(It's been pointed out to me that perhaps I am sabataging myself by not asking for help and then berating myself when I fail. To that I say, "Um, who, me?")

It's a thing with me. I don't want to be weak. I don't want need help. Which is just plain ridiculous, because 1.) I love to help. Ask me for help. I almost never say no (something else I need to work on) and 2.) Everyone needs help, and 3.) C'mon. Look at me. Clearly I need help. I'm the girl in dress pants and white tennis shoes with mayonaise stains all the way down her outfit who can't remember if she brushed her hair this morning. Help-needing should be a foregone conclusion.

So, this year, I pledge to my self (an no one else, because February is coming fast) to ask for what I need. People may say no and they may think I am a useless hoser who can't take care of herself, but I guess that's part of it, isn't it: Finding out who you can ask.

What about you? What's your word of the year?