Page 123, 5th sentence

Hooray! I have been tagged by Sass E-Mum of One Strangely Lush Mother to do a book meme - for some reason, she has assumed that I read more than nutrition labels and magazine articles about parenting.

This is about books. Like the stack from the library of which I read three pages of something each night before I fall asleep and then wake when my hands have relaxed and the book falls and whacks me on the nose, waking me to realize that I'm not actually reading when my eyes are closed. Those kind of books.

Anyway, here are the rules:

• Pick up the nearest book of at least 123 pages.


• Open the book to page 123.


• Find the 5th sentence.


• Post the next 3 sentences.


• Tag 5 people.

The problem I'm having now is that among the destinations of my laptop's recent migration is my "office," and in my "office" is the children's library. There are not a lot of lengthy books in here in all fairness. The page count of one shelf combined barely hits 50 between Goodnight, Moon and The Little Engine That Could.

There are a few anthologies, and a classic. Here from page 123 of Shel Silvestein's A Light in the Attic is the 5th line and the three five that follow.

And add some color to the chipmunk's coat.

I paint the flamin' red on a Robin Redbreast,
I pour the blue on bluegills by the shore.
And when the firefly's dim
I splash silver paint on him,
And he shines more brightly than he did before.

It's from a poem called "The Painter," about the guy who gives gives each animal its unique markings.

The book was a gift from a childhood friend, it is inscribed "To my favorite friend Karen." This friend was the one who received pages of ill regard in my sixth grade diary for having the nerve to move away from my neighborhood. I don't know how I've managed to keep the book for as long as I have (going on 26 years here), especially when I think of all the other things I have cast aside over the years. I tried to read some of his poems to my children, but I think they were a little young to appreciate the wisdom and humor, but I'm betting Jake would enjoy them more now.

Rafe gave me a copy of Silverstein's The Giving Tree for the mother's day when I was pregnant with Jake. I dare you to finish the book with a dry eye.

Now, the fun part.

I'm tagging:

Adrienne from Max's Mommy because the woman feels about books the way others feel about shoes - you can never have too many. Plus, in the off chance that she hasn't had her baby yet, I bet she could use the distraction.

Ivy Brown from Ivy Brown's Stoop whom I hold responsible for the most recent addition to the books on my library pile.

Foop of One Swell Foop - she seems like the kind of person who might pick up a book or two.

LaskiGal who writes From the Cheap Seats and is an English teacher. If anyone's reading books these days, it's got to be her.

Amy of Waiting for ....? if for no other reason than the inspiration of this meme that I've been saving to do for just the right time.

ballerina girl

ballerina girl, you are so lovely
with you standing there, i'm so aware
of how much i care for you
you are more than now
you are for always
i can see in you my dreams come true
don't you ever go away


-Lionel Richie, Ballerina Girl

Reason #8,987,653,712

...that I love Target, spring, and being a girl (and not necessarily in that order).

Do you love my new dress as much as I do?

Type A at Play

Who says you can't be a control freak and still be creative?

While Ellie painted and Jake drew, I stickered. (And organized the art supplies and the cabinet where they are found, then the items that were displaced when room was created for their tools and projects. I'm that kind of fun.)

You'll note, not all the letters are lined up exactly, that's how artsy I am.

(Until hours later when I find myself compelled to straighten them.)

What I Like About You

You will forgive me if I am overly effusive about the school where Jake attends Kindergarten, but after a few tough years in preschool (and seriously, seriously, before you were a parent would you have expected the words "tough" and "preschool" strung together in a sentence?), when we see the kinds of extraordinary moments he has there, we are filled with every imaginable kind of parental joy and satisfaction. (Knock on wood.)

Jake was chosen as his class Star of the Week last Monday. By chosen, I mean to explain that his name was drawn from a box which held all the children's names, and his was one of the remaining three so the timing was somewhat inevitable.

When a child is Star of the Week, s/he brings home a stuffed plush star with googly eyes barely sewn on and ironed-on decals threatening to disappear at any moment of rough play. The star, called Starburst, is sent home along with a scrapbook and a note explaining that Starburst likes to participate in the family's activities, and won't you please create a page or two journaling your days with it. The following Monday, parents are invited to attend a Friendship Circle in which your child will share the glorious details of their week with Starburst. While it sounds entirely too precious, we do what we are asked because that is what we do.

Jake loved schlepping the toy around town, to the market, to Ellie's dance class, bowling, on a playdate, and for a haircut. When Starburst was in the car, he was buckled in a booster seat. At the end of each night, the star joined us for stories and slept in Jake's bed. We took our photos, created our pages for the album, and ended our happy week.

We didn't know that the best was yet to come.

We arrived this morning to see our son at the front of his class, ready to share about his adventures with, and as, the star. He read his journal pages with confidence, showed pictures of his early years (you know, because at 5 1/2 you can hardly consider him a child anymore), and then his teacher introduced the beginning of the Friendship Circle.

In the class tradition, each and every child holds the star with great reverence and tells something that they like about the week's Star-child. Jake chose his best friend to start the Circle, and we sat, amazed, as each child spoke about our boy.

Some children were too shy to speak at their turn. Others rattled off a list. The girls praised his gentle nature, the boys admired his wackiness.

I found myself surprised and reassured by their insights.

They like Jake because ... he is sweet, he is silly, he is kind, he is a good reader, he plays with everyone, he is funny, he is nice, he completes all of his work, he is friends with everyone, he is crazy, he plays soccer, he has a big heart, he plays with everyone. His teachers each had a turn. They like that he always comes to class ready to learn, that he is speaking Hebrew, that he is always smiling, how he asks for help when he needs it, that he is sensitive and thoughtful, a good friend, and a good listener.

Ellie (demanded a turn and) said that he was a nice big brother.

We had a turn, too. Somehow I managed to speak without losing my thoughts in a puddle of tears.

That he is in a place where he is seen as himself, where he is loved and respected for who he is, where he has the opportunity to grow and learn, to be nurtured in our traditions and culture, is almost too much.

He is a classmate and peer, an active contributor in his own education, and one whose actions and character reflect well upon our community and school. His success may be a product our influence, but it is also independent of us.

My boy is growing up.

And yet, he is and will always be, my baby.

Three Beautiful Things

You know how I love to steal borrow a good meme, right? One strangely lush mother posted her reaction to the inspiration of a blog called Three Beautiful Things and I will follow.

1. iTunes. Not sure which part I love more - the free music downloads on Tuesdays or the "Just for Me" recommendations. iTunes rocks.

2. Eucerin Plus Intensive Repair Hand Cream. There are two places in the world I could browse indefinitely - a drug store and an office supply store, either one will do (which makes Target a place I seek and avoid). In the recesses of my mind, I believe if I try enough products, I will find the perfect solution to whatever ails me, and with the constant hand wringing washing I do, I think I've found the answer. The stuff glides on, absorbs quickly leaving you able to open jars or sippy cups, and leaves me looking more youthful than reptile.

3. The Ocean. I don't love my morning commute, but I love the miles I drive along the coast every day. One can't help but look out and feel more peace in the world.

This, fair friends and kind readers, concludes my 200th published post. At the rate I'm writing, I'll hit 300 somewhere around 2011, but I'll still be writing.

Marital strife

The night I met my husband a million eleven years ago, I found the one person with whom I have more in common than anyone else in the world, with one exception. We disagree about music.

A lot.

He was born and raised in the city, hanging out with his friends at the local college (which turns out to also be the university I would attend years later), at the same time I was living in the suburbs hanging out at the mall. While he spent his high school years in draaaamaaah, off winning awards in city wide competitions, directing serious ensembles and delivering monologues from King Lear (I kid you not), I was planning my school's fund-raising events from the confines of the student leadership office. We probably would have found each other cute but intolerable back in the day.

His musical tastes run deep. Mine are shallow. For him, music is the centerpiece. For me, it is as ambient as a scented candle in the corner of a room, most likely the room you're not in right now. The only area of our overlap is in the R&B/funk spectrum, though he leans the way of George Clinton and the P Funk All Stars and I'm more Kool and the Gang.

In our modern life, we've installed our own personal versions of iTunes to keep our music separate; for as much as I don't want to hear every single performance of every song ever recorded by the Grateful Dead, he could live without Madonna. It all comes to a head on the weekends when we drive in the same vehicle at length and have to choose our sounds.

* * *

Him: (Grumbling while flipping through my playlist, muttering something about "crap rock" and "bubblegum pop") You know, my iPod dies a little inside every time one of your songs plays. I think it's sad.

Me: You know what I bet would cheer it up? My iPod is having a party, and we're totally serving jello shots!

Tutu much

On the phone, this afternoon.

Me: (casually) ...so, yeah, we've got Ellie's first dance class before you get home.

Him: (expectantly) Today? Did you get her one of those little outfits?

Me: (with some restraint) Well, I thought I'd see what the other girls are wearing, and I want her to help pick. You know she'll want to.

Him: She's going to look really cute.

Me: OHMYGOSHIKNOWICAN'TBELIEVEITSHE'SGOINGTOBEADORABLE! (Calms down) This has got to be the best part of having a girl.

Go ahead, I dare you

(Dear Readers: I have a problem with the "Save Now" function of Blogger. I have a growing list of misplaced thoughts that started as something timely and relevant that grow dusty in my Drafts tab, the oldest of which is dated 11/5/06 - it's not likely I'm going to finish or publish, but you never know. Anyway, I started writing something a couple of months ago, and I can't get it out of my head. Now it's yours.)

* * *

I have never been a proponent of New Year's resolutions. I've only written them once, and that was in 7th grade. If I recall correctly, one of the resolutions was, "I will not be sarcastic."

Yeah. Right. Good one 1985.

I've determined resolutions are for corporate entities, boards, the United Nations, but not me.

I like goals, but I don't stick to them. I am a person motivated by end results, and feel that goals sometimes get in the way of progress. Besides, whatever you call them, goals, resolutions, plans, you're talking about the same thing: change.

I feel like if I'm going to get anywhere out of my comfort zone and into getting where I really want to be, I've got to do it one better. I'm not wishing on stars, or thinking about plans, hopes or dreams. I'm thinking about a dare.

* * *

There is a famous quote attributed to the Rev. Robert Schuller that has made the rounds of t-shirts, bumper stickers and paperweights:

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

In my head, I'm flipping it over. What would you do if you knew you could, and probably would, fail? What if the trying and failing were more important to your growth than the achievement?

What if taking the risk were enough, so long as the trial involved something truly audacious that might end up filling your life with joy?

What would you attempt if you could muster up every imaginable bit of courage, enjoying not only the prospect of success, but also the novelty of doing something totally foreign and overwhelmingly exciting?

What dream would you try to catch on a dare?

What would you do if you knew you could fail?

* * *

Since going back to work in the fall, I've been stewing on a business idea. I've been thinking about it, doing bits and pieces of research, and testing out the concept on my friends and family. I poured my heart out to friend I've never met who believes in me so much that she's offered to help me make it come true.

I've even started talking about it with strangers.

There are days when I am filled with every confidence that not only should I be doing this, I should become one of the world's leading experts.

On others, I am overwhelmed with fear and doubt, which I then try to swallow or ignore knowing full well that I won't get any farther ahead by doing nothing but worry. And I happen to excel at worry.

I realize that the biggest step in moving forward is taking actual steps.

Sometimes the steps feel like leaps.

But each time I take one of these leaps, I feel like I'm getting closer to the dream. The dream, the dare, it's out there and it's mine.