Jen on the Edge

I, Jennifer of Jenworld, hereby declare open hunting season on the toys of Jenworld. Beginning immediately, the following are no longer safe:

• games with missing pieces
• missing pieces without their games
• Barbie shoes missing their mate
• Lite Brite pieces
• random, unidentifiable bits of plastic crap
• anything “too young” for two girls, aged 7 and 9 (My Little Ponies and Care Bears — watch your pastel backs)
• anything my girls are no longer playing with

What I WISH I could declare open hunting season on:

• Barbies
• stuffed animals, especially Webkinz
• any toy that I step on with my bare foot and then need anesthesia
• any toy that pisses me off for any reason whatsoever, which is many of them

Yesterday, I spent HOURS (truly) cleaning the girls’ toy room in the basement — a room that had not gotten my attention in months. I think possibly the last time I cleaned it was before Christmas. Perhaps I should have told Santa that all I wanted for Christmas was for him to haul away some of the crap he’s brought us over the years.

We (okay, I) store toys in big plastic bins with snap-on lids. (The girls’ preferred storage method is to keep everything on the floor.) So, Legos are in one bin, Playmobil in another, Barbies in a third, and so forth. I dumped out every single bin and sorted through every single item and put them where they needed to be. It was strangely therapeutic. Not that I wouldn’t have preferred to spend a sunny Saturday doing other things, but at least I’m not actively angry over that lost time.

In a move that might or might not be seen as odd, Pete’s old G.I. Joes are now kept in the same bin as the Barbies, as opposed to the cardboard box his mother used to transport them here years and years ago. I know it might not make sense, but in my mind, G.I. Joe and his military brethren are simply Barbies for boys, so why not? They can be husbands/boyfriends/pool boys for Barbie, Skipper, et al. Sure, the males are shorter than the females, so let’s just assume that the G.I. Joe crew all have a “Tom Cruise complex” and leave it at that.

In an amazing twist of fate, I also managed to find all the vital internal organs for Operation, in spite of the fact that the teeny tiny bits of white plastic were hidden within the fibers of a cream-colored carpet — this is pretty much divine fate telling me we have to keep the game. Divine fate did not also instruct me to replace the batteries, so Operation remains a quiet game.

Did I mention that all this took hours? I needed several breaks and some restorative M&Ms to get through it.

Also in the rec room is a built-in bookcase where Pete and I keep most of our books. By consensual agreement — as in, I didn’t have to nag Pete too much — we sorted through our books and pulled out several dozen to donate to the library’s annual book sale. Good bye Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler, and Stuart Woods. Especially Stuart Woods — his reliance on blow jobs as a way to move the plot forward is what sounded his death knell. In fact, while I was standing on a ladder dealing with the top shelves, I might or might not have thrown those books to the ground with particular vigor.

[Related note: I just finished the latest John Grisham at 2:00 this morning. It was good until the last couple of chapters, which pissed me off so much that, if I hadn't been reading a library book, I would have dropped it from the roof of the house before putting it in the donate box.]

Today, I may or may not continue my cleaning efforts by tackling the pig sty that is Elegant’s bedroom — a secondary toy room for the girls and in need of my efforts and several large industrial garbage bags.

And how did YOU spend your Saturday?

I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already. For whatever reason, time is flying this week, which I guess is better than it dragging its sorry ass.

Some random things for today:

• Go over to Eco Women and check out the three new posts I put up today.
• For some reason, Elegant’s fancy schmancy velvet blazer is back in play. It hung, unused, in her closet almost all winter and has recently come back out. Strange. I really thought velvet was a winter fabric, but apparently it’s more appropriate for fall and spring. Today, she wore it with an outfit like this, which is a look that no one else at her school has decided to attempt. Oh, and she finished off the entire ensemble with a purple glitter headband.
• The third grade is in the midst of standardized testing this week. Graceful is actually enjoying it greatly, as the students get an extra recess each day, some sort of yummy treat, AND there’s no homework. She’s pretty certain this is a pretty good deal.
• Graceful’s soccer team had their regular weekly practice yesterday. Too bad the coach didn’t actually show up to, you know, coach the girls. So, two other mothers and I supervised the practice and attempted to transform the girls into junior Mia Hamms before the final game of the season this coming Saturday. I don’t think we were successful, but you never know.
• On a related note, Pete is considering coaching soccer in the fall. He’s never played and knows nothing about it, but he figures he can’t be any worse than a coach who has done next to nothing this season. Luckily, my brother used to coach a high school girl’s team, so Pete’s going to ask for pointers.
• This week, I’ve read Fairest by Gail Carson Levine (almost as good as Ella Enchanted), How Starbucks Saved My Life by Michael Gates Gill (so so), and Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen (worth your time).
• It’s been a while since I’ve asked for suggestions on future blog entries from y’all. If there’s anything you want me to talk about, let me know. I’ll cover just about anything.

And that’s all for now. I really need to get busy, but must also make a Tar-zhay run, as SOMEONE (okay, a couple of someones) managed to use all of the toilet paper in two of the bathrooms and I found out the hard way this morning.

A while back, Mrs. G. over at Derfwad Manor asked for questions from her readers. We could ask her just about anything and she said she would respond.

My question was:

Of all the books you’ve read, which one is your favorite and why? That’s a tough one, I know, because it’s like choosing a favorite among one’s children. So, to be fair, when you post your response (and there’s no time pressure), I’ll post the same on my blog. Hopefully, by then I’ll have decided which of my children I love the most.

Mrs. G. responded:

Last year, Mrs. G. finally quit equivocating and declared Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird her favorite book of all time. The story holds up generation after generation, its themes are timeless and Atticus Finch is her Secret Boyfriend #8.

So now I have to uphold my end of the bargain and declare my favorite book of all time. Perhaps it would be helpful if I first list my three favorites:

• Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
• Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

These are the true loves I return to again and again, even when I’ve whored my brain out to the likes of John Grisham and Clive Cussler.

These are not necessarily the best books I’ve ever read — although they are quite excellent — they are merely my favorites. Like Mrs. G., I believe To Kill A Mockingbird is one of the best books I’ve ever read.

Of these The Count is my favorite.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read it, but it’s at least a half dozen.  Every time I do open its battered cover, I’m completely transported into this tale of love, revenge, and redemption.  If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend that you do so.

So now it’s your turn readers. What is your favorite book of all time? It doesn’t have to be the best book you’ve ever read, just the one you return to repeatedly.

And while we’re on the subject of reading, go over to Eco Women and check out today’s posts!

I’m picky about books. If I start one and it’s not grabbing me within the first chapter or two, I don’t bother to finish it. There are too many other good books out there for me to waste time on a dud.

I’m also somewhat picky about the books my children read. I don’t censor them, but if see that Graceful is in a Nancy Drew rut, I make sure there are other good books available for her to choose from so that she can branch out a bit. And, when I take the girls to the library, I limit how many books they get from a series. Especially the Babysitters’ Club. Blech.

There are some books I haven’t allowed my children to read because I know they’re not ready for them. Just because my third grader reads at a middle school level doesn’t mean she’s ready for middle school content.

Until recently, I have not allowed Graceful to read the Harry Potter books — even though many of her classmates are working their way through the series with much enthusiasm and speed. My reasons for this ban were twofold: 1) I wanted Graceful to be mature enough to be able to handle the violence and the intense emotional upheaval and 2) I wanted her to be old enough to really and truly appreciate the literary magic.

Graceful started the first Harry Potter book yesterday and she is utterly enthralled, absolutely hooked already. I’m happy, because I know she’s ready for this experience and will enjoy it thoroughly.

That said, once she finishes the first book, she will not be allowed to move on immediately to the second book. I know, that makes me cruel and unjust, but I believe that she’ll better appreciate the books if she spaces them out a bit and has time to reflect on each one for a month or two. Or more. I probably will let her read #2 later in the winter and #3 this summer. Then, a longer break until #4, followed by a longer break for #5. And so on. She doesn’t know this yet and is going to be unhappy when she finds out. But, I truly think this is the best way for her to approach this particular series.

How about you? What do you think?

Updated to add: Graceful finished the book this morning and is now re-reading bits and pieces. I’m now thinking I’ll let her read the second book in a few weeks — enough time to digest the first, but not so much that she goes crazy with anticipation. She also hasn’t seen the movies, but I’m no hurry to expose her to those.

I would have to say that yesterday was a strange day.

Hmmm…. Let’s rephrase that slightly, shall we? Imagine Dennis Hopper’s voice saying, “Yesterday was s-t-r-a-n-g-e man.”

Okay, that’s better. Conveys what I’m trying to explain.

Like so many millions of other people, I woke up with great anticipation. It was the Day of Harry Potter #7! Practically a global holiday.

As with Book #6, I had ordered the new one from amazon.com, which meant that the book would be delivered with the mail at approximately 1:30 in the afternoon. Therefore, I had half a day to fill.

(Yes, I know I could have gone to Barnes & Noble at any time, however, I was trying to avoid the crowds and an accidental spoiler. Later in the morning, Pete and Graceful had brunch after her riding lesson and ran into a local family we know. The family’s teenagers told them it’s all the rage among that generation to read the last chapter and yell spoilers. Not these kids though, so no spoilers were yelled.)

Since I had so many hours to fill and since I know I’d be worthless as a wife and mother once the book arrived, I decided to do responsible things. Cleaning and chores. Check out what I accomplished in the morning:

• cleaned three different bathrooms
• stripped all the beds and changed the sheets
• did the laundry
• cleaned the inside of the microwave
• sanitized the kitchen counters
• scrubbed our stove top — one of those smooth cooktops that take a little extra effort but are oh so worth it
  
• sent a polite, positive, and constructive email to the Girl Scout camp directors with suggestions for next year, including not making the girls clean the bathrooms
• vacuumed the main floor of the house
  
• fed the children at various times
• picked up random things around the house and put them away
• received a lame response from one of the Girl Scout camp directors
• cleaned out and organized the linen closet
• tidied my desk and dealt with some paperwork
  

During an hour of this, I was also on the phone with my best friend from college, making plans for a coming event and catching up on life.

By 12:30, I was showered and ready to read. I wandered outside to look at the gardens. I picked a few weeds and tidied a few things.

What I did not do at any point was surf the web, read blogs, check the news, or do anything online. I was trying to keep myself in a cocoon so as not to hear anything about the book.

At 1:25, I was talking with Pete when I heard the mail truck. I know our mailman and guessed that he would pull up our driveway to hand deliver my package. Which he did.

Only, it wasn’t my package from amazon.com containing the highly anticipated book. The mailman and I conceded that that was odd, given that everyone else got their book today. I went inside to talk to Pete. I glanced outside and saw that the mailman had pulled the truck aside and was going through all of the mail to see if my package was there. It was not and he went on to the next house.

As I was talking with Pete, it suddenly occurred to me that I had never gotten a confirmation email from amazon.com letting me know my book was on the way. I had Pete go to their website and then I checked my account.

Guess who had forgotten to actually order the book?

I’m such a dumb ass.

Pete offered to go to Barnes & Noble for me so that I could remain in my cocoon. It was very sweet of him, but as he was about to go outside and work on a project that would be hot and sweaty and somewhat backbreaking, I didn’t want to add anything to his load. After all, once I started reading, he’d be single parenting for the rest of the day.

I grabbed my purse and Q and headed out. It was when I got into the car that the world seemed to slow down and move at a glacial pace.

First, I noticed that the car’s gas light was on, meaning I’d need to stop for gas.

Then, as I was trying to leave the neighborhood, I got stuck behind one of those drivers who goes at least five under the speed limit.

I went to the gas station, which was pretty quick and then pulled into the Barnes & Noble parking lot, at which point I was stopped by the slowest old people in the world, crossing the road. A man and woman. Between the two of them they had a cane and a walker. Traffic was stopped in all directions.

It was like the world was conspiring against me. But, then again, maybe it wasn’t.

I parked the car in and pulled out Q. I put on the earbuds and pushed ‘play’ as I closed the car door and started toward the store.

When I walked in, there were people everywhere and the line at the cash registers was long. The Harry Potter display was right up front, so I grabbed a book and got in the line. The line moved quickly and I soon found myself at the register. I was still listening to Q. I had the music at that level where I could not hear the conversations around me but so that I could still interact with the B&N employee, to whom I apologized for the iPod and explained my motive. I paid and went back to the car. When I got in, I looked the iPod. Four minutes and 20 seconds had elapsed from the time I left the car until I returned. That may be some sort of world record.

When I got home, I settled myself on My Precious. I took a deep breathe and exhaled calmly. This would be the only time in my life that I would read this book for the first time. The only time I would not know what happens. I planned to savor this experience. I opened the cover and began. It was 2:15.

Slightly more than six hours later, I shakily closed the book. I was done. I had read almost nonstop, with occasional short breaks to collect myself, go to the bathroom, have a bite to eat, or move to a different room.

I was in a daze for a few hours afterward. Pete and I watched a couple of episodes of Season 2 of House MD, which helped pull me out of my own head. We went to bed and I even managed to go to sleep, even though my head was full of Harry Potter.

Today, I feel more normal, but still am thinking of the book. Two years ago, I thought about Book #6 for a day or two and then reread it. This time, I’ll probably reread selected chapters in the next couple of days but honestly don’t think I can handle a full reading quite yet. Too intense and I need to live my life normally.

Pete and the girls are going to an amusement park for the day, so I have the day to myself. I plan to go for a walk shortly. After that, I’m going to immerse myself in work for several hours to get a jump on the week. After that, who knows?

We drove to New York state this weekend for a gathering of Pete’s family. Instead of traveling the path through Hell (the I-95 corridor), for the past few years we’ve been driving the western route, which takes us through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York.. So instead of seven hours of Hell (three major cities before we’ve even hit the NJ border + a dozen tolls that are always major back-ups), the drive is now mostly seven hours of heaven, with occasional sidetrips into purgatory.

Elegant hooked into the Leapster (aka “the Crackster”)

In Pennsylvania, we pass a horse trailer, which I remark on to the girls. Elegant’s reply, “All I see is a bunch of horse butts.” She’s right, and they’re enormous.

I don’t know if you can see it in the distance, but that’s Dorney Park and Pete is pouting because I wouldn’t sanction an amusement park pit stop. I told him before we even left that stopping for a couple of hours was not part of the plan. I made it abundantly clear that it wouldn’t happen. Yet, he still put his annual pass in his wallet, just in case.

Elegant made her grandfather a card for his birthday. She wanted to give him something special, so she thought and thought, and decided to give him what she would like to receive herself. Consequently, Grandpa Warren was a bit bemused to receive $1 in his card from his six-year-old granddaughter, but he very graciously thanked her.

Also, this photo:

A blurry photo, but the expression on Elegant’s face is priceless.

I should explain. Several years ago, we bought Pete’s father and stepmother a hammock for this shady corner of the yard. Every year during this family reunion, there are always children piled into the hammock for pretty much every minute of every day. I think as many as six or eight have piled in. One game the children have come up with is to have one person lie down and hold on as tightly as possible, while the other children swing the hammock and eventually get it to spin it around. The goal is to stay put, but falling out isn’t a problem either, except that the ground is rock hard underneath.

I just love books. [happy sigh] Love ‘em, love ‘em, love ‘em. Is there any greater pleasure than sinking into a comfortable chair and diving into a good book? Add a tasty snack and you have the makings of a really great hour or two. Or three. Hell, find a babysitter and make it an entire day.

Our local library is truly one of my favorite-est places in town. I know the librarians, they know me. We talk about books when I come in, which is pretty much weekly. If I skip a week, someone is sure to ask if I’m okay. Our library offers a monthly publication, The Book Page, which is a little newspaper filled with book reviews. I go through it very carefully, mark the books I’d like to read, and then go online to the library’s website and put them on hold — always with a feeling of great anticipation. Right now I have 19 books on hold. What a great feeling. All of those books, just begging to be read. Hours and hours of entertainment. And it’s free. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can get a library card.

I find that what interests me has evolved over the years. I’m skewing more toward non-fiction and I’m taking notice of what’s on the New York Times bestsellers list. I used to be a real pulp fiction whore and would read just about anything, but now I’m a bit more discerning. I also won’t read a book until it grabs me within the first 50 pages or so. I’m not be a typical American with a short attention span — or else I wouldn’t be reading — but simply not reading a book unless I think it’s good. Even authors I used to like who aren’t always grabbing me.

Here’s a partial list of authors I used to like but now won’t even consider, no matter how highly rated their current books might be:

Jeffrey Archer — Early books — excellent. Newer books — SSDB (same shit, different book). Plus he’s a smug, perjurious, unfaithful jerk.

Michael Crichton — Yawn. He gets so technical that a typical paragraph goes something like this: “… and then the DNA was spliced, words words words, blah blah blah, bored Jen.” If I were interested in the sciences, I would not have majored in history and would have spent more time in labs.

Clive Cussler — In the beginning, the Dirk Pitt novels were just action-packed fun, but now it’s just SSDB. Cussler has branched out into different series with related characters, and each series has a co-author who clearly does most of the writing. He’s practically a McDonald’s franchise. There’s the Dirk Pitt series which has long since jumped the shark, and the Kurt Austin series, which I see doing the same. I do, however, still enjoy the Oregon series, which is still intelligently written and doesn’t have gratuitous sex and violence — probably because it’s written by yet a different ghost writer, ahem, I mean co-author.

John Jakes — There’s no question this guy does his research and his historical details are accurate as far as I can tell. However, he has a propensity for gratuitous violence that has actually turned my stomach when reading his books.

Jan Karon — She’s a perfectly lovely woman and the first few books in the Mitford series were delightful but the others were not so much fun. I was hugely disappointed by the final book, in fact I could have cried from the let down.

Perry O’Shaughnessy — This writing duo has produced the Nina Reilly series, which were great in the beginning. Now, not so exciting. However, I posted a book review on this blog not long ago about the new O’Shaughnessy book, which was a departure from the series and was quite suspenseful.

Romance novels — I don’t do ‘em. Period.

Stuart Woods — Wow, this guy’s early books were just phenomenal. I absolutely recommend Chiefs and also Palindrome. Unfortunately, Woods’ story lines are starting to get thin — another case of SSDB. And he seems to have a fixation with sex and his characters get into it within 12 hours of meeting, sometimes as much as 24 hours, but it’s always a given. And, he’s pretty graphic. Look, there are two types of readers, those who’ve done it and those who have not. For those are getting some, they don’t need graphic descriptions; they can play out their own fantasies in whatever way they choose, as long as no one gets arrested. For those who have not, well, there are books to help with that. I suggest the Kama Sutra or at least some good quality porn.

Linda Fairstein (Go ‘Hoos!) and Kathy Reichs are on the fence with me and may soon be kicked over to the Do Not Read side…

There are so many terrific authors out there, including some popular ones, that no one should ever be bored or nauseated when they read. Some of my current favorites:

David Baldacci — Intelligent, suspenseful, entertaining. Plus, he’s a ‘Hoo.

Bill Bryson — A Walk in the Woods and In a Sunburned Country are two of the best books I’ve ever read, hands down.

John Grisham — The man still has it, no matter how many books he cranks out and how many millions he has in the bank.

Rosamunde Pilcher — Sort of a guilty pleasure, like eating Twinkies, but she’s British so she can’t be too bad.

Ann B. Ross — Author of the Miss Julia series, which are just hilarious. But that could just be a southern thing, or maybe a woman thing, or both. I wouldn’t recommend these to my husband.

J.K. Rowling — I effing cannot wait until July 21!

Adriana Trigiani — Author of the Big Stone Gap books, as well as some others — All of which I recommend.

Of course, book preferences are subjective. Some people prefer histories, others like science fiction, and still others like romance novels. I guess what is most important is that we all read — that we broaden our minds and learn new things.

* The quotation in the title was by Thomas Jefferson.