One Thing Leads To Another

I have always believed - most likely because it was instilled in me as a child by my PhD holding father - that reading is the most important thing I could do for, or with, my children. I believe that immersing them in the English language and instilling a love of reading is one of the greatest gifts I could pass along. I tell Asher that once he learns how to read he can learn anything, do anything, know anything.

Because of this belief, I have read to Asher almost every night of his life. I remember I started reading to him, every night before bed, when he was just six months old. Once he learned how to hold his own bottle so I could hold the book, I was on fire. I credit that for his why he has always been very verbally expressive. And not only do we read, but we also discuss story lines and characters, word meanings, and I quiz him on various, random, aspects of the plot in an attempt to strengthen his reading comprehension. Sufficeth to say, I am very involved in trying to give him a leg up when it comes to language.

Which is why I was so horrified to find out that I am in fact a hypocrite. Not about the reading thing, I really do the reading thing. No, I discovered, just last Monday night in fact, that I don't actually want him to be entirely verbally expressive. I am not interested in opening the big world of language to him. I actually CENSORED his book!!!

To give you some background, we've finally started the Harry Potter collection. I say finally because I can remember wanting to read this series to my children, before they even existed, because I loved it so much. I figured that by six, Asher was ready so we started on the first book this year. We are currently reading the third book and I was totally shocked when I came across the word "bitch." It read as follows:

"You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup."

I was shocked. I couldn't read it to him. Now don't misunderstand me, I don't have any problem with the author using that word, it was more than appropriate given the context of the dialogue. I just didn't want to open that door. I didn't want to explain the appropriate and inappropriate use of the word, so I replaced it with "mother." Asher had no idea because he can't read yet, but I knew that I'd censored his book and that really gnaws at me. I don't believe in censorship even when the subject matter is foul so why did I feel compelled to omit that word? It's not like he's not going to, or hasn't already, heard that word. Wouldn't it have been better for him to learn the true meaning of "bitch" from me before his friends introduce him to the slang version? I believe that because of my fear we both missed out what probably would have been a really interesting teaching opportunity.

Oh well, hopefully Ms. Rowling swears in one of the next four books!

Happy, Happy Birthday Baby

I just wanted to take a minute to say Happy Birthday to the man I share my life with. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful help mate to stumble through this chaotic mess of an existence we've created for ourselves. He adds much needed fun and spontaneity to our home. He is a wonderful father and a thoughtful husband. And he still looks pretty good, for an old man!

Eye of the Tiger

I just finished reading "Life of Pi" by Yann Martel. This book tells a fantastical story about a boy who, after a shipwreck, becomes stranded on a lifeboat with a tiger.

I've recently started reading the Author's Introduction or Prologue before beginning this year's books and have found that they often provide important insight into the author's point of view. For example, in this book, the author discussed how he came upon this story during a trip to India where he was investigating another book idea. The book is introduced as a true story, thus providing the reader with a suspension of disbelief that makes the tale that much richer.

I really enjoyed this read and would recommend it to anyone looking for a good story. During my free time, I found myself picking up this book instead of the remote. And when you consider that there were new seasons of Project Runway and American Idol on the DVR, that is no small feat.

Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)

I am a runner.

Or at least, I was a runner back before I took 18 months off to finish nursing school and birth a child; gaining about 60 pounds in the process. And while I, and my aching legs and feet, secretly appreciated the break, it has been difficult for me to be so far removed from such a personally identifying habit.

Running, while physically invigorating, involves so much more than the physical aspect itself. Running is also a salve for the soul. It comforts and soothes, the consistency of footsteps lending itself to all manner of problem solving. It has a remarkably calming effect, if only for the fact that, for me, it is a solitary endeavor. On a run is just about the only time I ever get to be alone with my thoughts. I missed running, I missed the total exhaustion that comes from a early ten-miler on Sunday morning. I missed the feeling that I had the ability to push myself beyond what my body believed I was capable of doing. I missed being in on "the secret." You know, the look you give people when they marvel at how you were able to get up that morning and pump out five miles before work. Yes, I have missed running.

If this past week has shown me anything, it's that running, clearly, hasn't missed me. In fact, it seems as if running is actually pretty pissed off that I stayed away this long. Running wants nothing to do with me. I would go so far as to say that running hates me and, if I want to get back in it's good graces, I'm going to have to pay dearly.

I finally made the commitment and started my payments last week. I'm training to run the half in the Oklahoma City Memorial marathon this coming April. Starting from the beginning is both humbling and exhausting, but I'm determined. It may take another 18 months, but here I am, trudging my way back, one mile at a time, to a place where I can once again, honestly say,

I am a runner.

A Hard Day's Night

Saturday night is my final shift of the week. I'm a nurse and I work three 12 hour shifts every Thursday through Saturday; which makes Sunday my comedown day. The plan is that I sleep until 3:00pm, veg on the couch until I've consumed a pot of coffee and try really hard not to gripe at my family. In other words, Sundays are the suck.

However, Sundays make the rest of my week possible and the rest of the week usually rocks. I love spending the week home with my kids. I love knowing that Tuesday is the day I change all the sheets and that I will be the one making the after school snacks every day. I love eating breakfast with the kids and having dinner together every evening. Yes, my weeks pretty much rock.

So I continue to endure the suck that is Sunday, because the rewards throughout the week more than make up for the mental fog that I'm in now.

Same Auld Lang Syne

It's a new year and, for me, that calls for resolutions. Aside from the usual eat better, sleep more and be kinder resolutions, I have another broader, slightly more rewarding, but vastly less tangible, resolution.


I resolve to write.
I resolve to remember that I enjoy writing.
I resolve to write until I remember that I enjoy writing.

So here I am with a new year, a new blog, and a new resolution.