Book Review

I am an avid reader. Avid might not be a strong enough word. Obsessive, compulsive, addicted . . .you get the picture. Until recently anyway. I've been having a hard time completing books, which is not usually a problem as I am afflicted with "must finish the book no matter how bad it is" syndrome. But lately . . . well, I have two books that I have started and not finished. Both seem to be good books so far. I just can't get excited about reading them, or anything else for that matter. Except I did breeze through Hot Mahogany by Stuart Woods recently.

At first I thought this book was the cause of my reading malaise (did I use the word correctly?). I wanted to read it, but was trying to stay away from it because I had been EXTREMELY disappointed with the last several Stone Barrington novels by Woods. I know I used to really like his work. I remember thinking Chiefs was fabulous (note to self: reread this one, just to be sure) and many of the earlier books were also good. His books can't always have been this bad or I never would have read as many as I have, or feel compelled to keep reading them even when my expectations are so low.

So did Hot Mahogany disappoint? In a word, yes.

The plot had potential, but it didn't seem to be fully thought out or else the reader wasn't given enough to follow the path. The characters, which should feel as real and multi-faceted as a living person, considering the number of books Woods as written about them, were flat, stale, stereotypical and one-dimensional.

In the acknowledgements at the end of the book, Woods thanks his editor for her light touch. I'd say, his editor should work a little harder at helping her author put out respectable work or look for a new line of work. Just because he's been writing and published for 25 years does not mean everything he writes is worthy of publication. Someone should stop giving Stuart Woods a free pass and I suppose that should start with me.

I will not purchase Woods' next novel. If I absolutely must read it, I will find it at the library.

It Had to Happen Sometime

All of my kids have had a favorite blanket as babies. All of my kids still have a favorite blanket. Four of my kids still carry their blankets around the house with them. Two of my kids still like to take their blankets with them when we leave the house. The youngest occasionally adds a doll or stuffed animal that must travel with her. Occasionally the blanket and/or doll/stuffed animal must accompany us into the store.

Last Friday was such a day. P had to bring her kitty into Target with us. Half-way through our list P decided to put her kitty in the cart and carry the bread.

All was well until I asked where her kitty was as we were getting out of the van at the bank. Kitty had not made it out of the cart. Kitty was not actually lost because we knew where she most likely was, but kitty was missing in action.

P was surprisingly calm while we waited in line at the bank, only once reminding me that we needed to go find kitty. P was surprisingly calm on the drive back to Target, while I was anxiously praying that they hadn't moved the carts yet, that if someone had found kitty, they had turned him in, that I would not have to deal with a broken-hearted little girl.

Seeing our cart parked exactly where I had left it was the greatest relief. Finding kitty tucked in the bottom of the cart was fabulous. Seeing the smile on P's face when I tossed kitty into her arms was priceless.

And today, when she wanted to take kitty into IKEA, she thought twice . . . and then left him in the car.

Election Madness

I bet you thought The Election was over with a month ago. And I bet you had the same feeling on that Wednesday morning -- Thank Heavens that's over. Now we can just get on with it.

Am I right?

But, alas, for us poor souls in Georgia, the election did not end a month ago. Sure the big stuff was decided, but we had one last decision to make - a run off for the Senate. And apparently it was a BIG deal. Apparently this one senate seat would be the deciding seat in the balance of power in the Senate. (I haven't done any research to see how the numbers actually look, but this is how it's being played in the media.)

So while the rest of the nation has been basking in the glow that comes after 18 months of campaigning, we have lived through another month of commercials and mudslinging and those darn automated phone calls that, while they might be filled with info about the candidates qualifications or stance on the issues, I feel are really designed to show you just how well the candidate is connected and to impress you with the clout they have. But really we all know, we just hang up the instant we realize who or what is on the other end of the line.

So today is election day again. I have done my civic duty (which maybe I could have avoided if I had voted for the guy in the first place rather than abstaining from that vote by not choosing either candidate). Now please let someone win, so I can just get on with it.

Quandry

I have decided at long last to complete the I Spy Bags that I purchased supplies for 6ish years ago. I have a better design now and a deadline.

But I have also decided to use a picture card with the words underneath so my non-readers can play without driving me crazy asking "What now?" (cause any mother in the world will tell you that they just won't be able to look and see what they see. No, if there is a list, and they'll know there is a list even if they can't read it, they will want to find what is on the list, which if there are no pictures, will require bothering mommy every minute which kind of defeats the purpose of handing them the bag and saying, "Please play quietly.").

However, if I put a picture of a pink hand on the card and my youngest cannot find a pink hand because the hand in her bag is red not pink, tantrums will be thrown (and again, if I can avoid a battle with a child who only because of her age is not quite up to logically thinking*, then I will do so).

So I have gone to the extra effort of photographing every color of every object and will be making every effort to ensure that the color that is on the card is in the bag, because, although I plan to sell these at the Market Day in my town and not keep them for my own neurotic children, I am a mother and am considerate of the potential pitfalls we mothers face every day.

The Tree

At 8:45 pm, as I was trying to get her to go up the stairs to bed, P said, "But what about the tree? We didn't do the tree."

And in my perfect little world we wouldn't but the tree up until after my oldest's birthday (3 days before Christmas) and it would be down before the youngest's (5 days after Christmas).

Just call me Scrooge. But the endless buildup to Christmas wears me out. By the time Christmas actually arrives, I'm ready to take the tree down as the kids are unwrapping presents. And don't even think about leaving it up past the first of the year.

And it's not just the tree. Everything must be put away before January 1. Not on January 1. BEFORE. I cannot enter a new year with the trappings of the old one still hanging around.

But if she remembers tomorrow, I might just allow The Hubby and the kids to put the tree up. So long as I don't have to help.

Traditions

Today M (child #2, age 8) asked what we would be eating on Thursday.

"Um, turkey." I replied.
"What about the roast beef? We always have roast beef."
"Um, no we don't." What Thanksgiving has she been going to, I'm thinking.
"Yes, we do." I'm sure she's thinking, Where have you been , Mom.

I cannot convince her that we have never had roast beef at Thanksgiving. Perhaps she is confusing it with Christmas when we usually do a ham, but either way she is sure there should be roast beef.

So to please my nearly protein-phobic 2nd child, this year there will be roast beef next to the turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Subversive

The youngest of my five children, who we will call P for the purposes of this blog, has a few obsessive tendencies. She must put her clothes on in a specific order - panties (and don't call them underwear, you will insult her), pants, shirt, socks - or a melt down will ensue. I'm really not sure if I should just go with it or try to change it, but really she's 3 and the youngest of 5, so yeah I just go with it.

Her chocolate milk must also be made in a certain way. First you pour in the clean milk (that's just milk, but she must distinguish between clean milk and milk that we may have spiked with any medicine she may need at the moment but refuses to take) and then add the powder and stir with a spoon. If she sees you make it another way, she will refuse to drink it. Again, not sure if it's good for her future mental health to let this continue, but yeah, 3, 5, pick your battles.

Except . . . .

When she's not in the kitchen to see how I make her chocolate milk . . . .

I put the powder in first and then the milk . . . . and I laugh a slightly evil laugh.