|My dream library. This one is Karl Lagerfeld's - by the way. Via the The Selby|
Between working away from home, the boys (27 and 2) (my god, they are such babies), and my foolish insistence to DYI just about everything - this feels like a daunting task. There are people - mommies never the less - out there that read 52 books a year. Ya. That's one a week! How?!?
BC (before child) I used to read a lot. Anything I could get my hands on. Since high school, I think I have read everything by Margaret Atwood and Alice Munro. The last Atwood book was the Penelopiad. I am not sure if she published anything since, I am not allowed to read her anymore. Apparently, I become angry when I do. Really? Atwood - angry?!?!
In the 1st year of Hudson's life, I scanned two baby books in search or relevant information. The first one was this one, because it was recommended by a friend ( it was good, lots of common sense stuff, but with baby #1 it is sometimes nice to know that your intuition matches the advise of an "expert"). This was the second one.
Ok, allow me to digress because to be perfectly honest, I do not know many mommies who like this one.
So, in defense of the Ferber sleep method ;
I love my son. Very much. But I love him sooooo much
In Hudson's second year of life, I caught up on my long neglected stack of Harper's. Which I luuuuuve and continue to read every issue pretty much cover to cover - but it's not exactly chick lit. And I missed chick lit. I really, really did.
Late last week I put down my copy of Fall on Your Knees, wept like a little girl, then made myself a cup of tea, sat in the living room and stared at the wall. Now that's a good book as far as I am concerned.
Then, over the weekend we went to the library where Karl and I took turns finding something new to read. We each had 15 minutes of "free" time while the other hung out with Hudson in the kids library. On the way home we both confided in the other (and now I am confiding in you) that we felt sort of lost amidst all the titles. What are people reading these days? And please - no vampire books. Not into that. I settled on Joyce Carol Oates and The Gravedigger's Daughter. (Karl picked up a copy of Robert Frost - The Poetry of Robert Frost - if I am not mistaken) I am about 100 pages in. No crying yet - but I am enjoying it. Am I weird in that I like books that make me cry? You don't have to answer that. Unless you are being sympathetic.
At this pace, I should be done with it by the end of next week. (And at this pace, I should be able to make all 6 - wooo hoo!)
Any recommendations for what I should read next?