Avid Reader

avid: showing great enthusiasm for or interest in

This past week a friend e-mailed me and asked how in I managed to get through a book 960 pages long plus many other books in one year. Where did I find the time? I guess the answer to that is twofold: 1) you always find time to do what you love, and 2) nursing a baby means you are required to sit down for quite a bit of time every day, especially in the first few months. Perfect time to read!

Yes, I guess I am considered an avid reader. My husband is continually astounded at how fast I fly through books, but he’s the guy that might get one book read this year and that’s Star Wars Made Simple for kids. I don’t think much of it. Honestly, I wish I had more time to read because the lists of books I have on my “Want to Read” list are already more in number than I have years to live. But I’m working on it.

I became an avid reader in about 3^rd grade. The truth is, I started reading a series of a books because the “popular” girl in my class was reading them and I was forever trying to stay in her good graces. It didn’t help on that score, but after that I was always in the midst of some book. As a teenager as soon as my schoolwork was done, I was in my room either writing a book or reading a book. I spent whole Saturdays doing nothing but reading. Ahh…those were the days.

Of course I want to pass on my love of reading to my kids. Some days I think Ethan is a hopeless case. Granted, I don’t read to him as much as I did Emry. I don’t have as much time. But, then, he simply doesn’t sit still like Emry. He might last one board book before he’s climbing all over me or attempting to eat the book. But we do try.

Now Emry…well, lately I can barely get her out of bed and down to breakfast for she’s sitting in her bed, a pile of books next to her and ALL of them must be “read” before she’ll get out of bed. At naptime, she reads. If she had a light in her room, she would probably read before bed, too. Now she carries books around with her. Beatrix Potter was right: little hands want little books. I got her The Tailor of Gloucester by Beatrix Potter at the library this past week. Now, it goes everywhere with us: the store, whatever room we’re playing in, any car ride and even the walk we took tonight. We’re walking down the hill and I’m pointing out Christmas lights. Emry? She’s got her little book open, “reading” aloud as she goes.

Maybe I’ve created a monster. No. I’ve just created another avid reader!

Five Minutes of Thanks

I’ve set my timer…in five minutes I will see how many things I can list that I am thankful for (which would be more if I wasn’t such a stickler about punctuation along the way…):

My God and Savior. My kids – Emry and Ethan. My husband Ed. My mom and dad. My sisters and brothers. My three adorable nephews – Jay, Curtis and Benito. My job that fits so perfectly into our lives and gives me a few hours break a week from household life. Vacuums, soap, washing machines and dryers. The ability to run, and jump, and stretch (even if yoga is not my forte!). Books, books, books, books!!!! The ability to read and write. Sunny but cold days. SNOW!!!!  Fall leaves to crunch, Walks with Emry. Games to play. Imaginations. Friends, even though they are all so far from me. Allyson. Clothes to wear. The fact that I can see color, and smell spiced apple cider, and hear Emry playing her little games. That Ethan sleeps through the night! Sleep (or what I get of it!). Warms blankets, hot showers. Ice cream, pizza and cheddar broccoli soup. My husband’s job. Our little place to live. A vehicle (most of the time). Sidewalks, rivers, a blue sky. Stars at night. The Bible. Bible studies. Rainbows, rain, really cold days. Five minutes to do this…oh, wait! Is that Ethan I hear?

Goal Accomplished

I think I have not yet blogged this week because I have been waiting in great anticipation of reaching my year-long goal. And, today, I have done it!!!!

If you recall, I posted on January 12 my reading goal for the year. Quite simply to read Shelby Foote’s The Civil War, Volume 2. Most of you might not think that’s a huge deal, but it is 966 pages that covers about two years of the war from Fredericksburg in 1862 into the spring of 1864. All in all, a lot of ground to cover.

I also had a late start in getting on with my goal. In anticipation of our move, I had been packing things we didn’t need to get to as early as the first week of January and that included quite a few of my books. Including this one. But I figured I had plenty of time, so when I unpacked it in March I got started. It is 9 very long chapters (over 100 pages each) but that’s only one a month at an average of 3½ pages a day. Easy peasy. Except I have a terrible habit of going to the library…and signing up to read books to blog about…and generally finding other things to read. But July, I confess I was a little bit behind.

So, once I had finished the most recent pile from the library in August (and when I say pile, I mean like six books at a time to be read in three weeks unless I can renew it), I promised not to check out anymore books until I was caught up. However, that was not a promise I completely kept as I put things on hold that are not yet out and forget about them until I get a text that it’s been published, the library has processed it and it’s waiting for me. Then I have to get it and read it in three weeks (usually less) because there’s a line of people waiting for it after me and I won’t be able to renew it. Still, by the end of September I was not only caught up but ahead…and two months later I’m done!

In truth, these volumes are not difficult to read. He writes in narrative and while some of the facts can be a bit dry, most of the time it is extremely easy to follow and sparks an interest to read further on this battle or that. He stays away from politics except as it forwards the war itself, which is nice (because Abraham Lincoln is a man I want to have about as much to do with as Barack Obama). Once I picked it up, I had trouble putting it down. In fact, I’m about ready to pick up volume 3 and finish the whole narrative…

…except for that stack of books I have waiting at the library!

My Kids

I guess everyone brags about their kids. After all, what fun is it to compare the bad things they do? The stall tactics Emry uses when it’s naptime, or how Ethan bites, or the two of them doing who knows what in the utility room again. Yeah…even I don’t want to dwell on those things.

So, I’ll tell about other things. Because, you know, I’ve only been told twice this week how completely adorable my kids are. It’s a good thing, too, because sometimes…

Ethan is completely charming. I mean, look at the picture below! It’s like he knows exactly when to smile, and laugh, and smirk, and even grunt – especially when some woman is admiring him. I have a feeling I’m in for trouble. But when he’s not being completely adorable or trying to throw himself down the stairs (if he’s in Emry’s room which is right at the top of the stairs, he goes straight for them so a gate of some sort is in our near future), he is growing and changing so much. He’s everywhere! He hates to be left alone, he has this squint-smile thing he does that I laugh at every time I see it and all he wants to do is stand. Just yesterday, he said, “Mama!” Even Emry heard him. She declared, “Biffen said Mama!” and then added, “Biffen, say ‘Emmy’.”

Now Emry…she has learned that if she doesn’t want Ethan to have something, it needs to be put out of his reach. Which mean, she throws it into the half-bath downstairs and shuts the door. The problem with this is she puts everything in there she has simply decided he should have (including his toys). This room has also become in her own private area. The other night, I thought she was in there playing with and talking to her stuffed panda because she takes him in there, tucks him in blankets on the toilet and shuts the door, telling him to have a nice nap. However, I then realized panda was on the table. So, I opened the door and peeked in. She was standing in there, her Bible storybook open on the stool, reading the stories to herself aloud.

Yes, yes. I was delighted… and not a little bit proud.

What is a Woman?

Don’t be fooled by the title into thinking I’m going to go into some deep, thoughtful, even theological discussion on woman’s creation, God’s purpose for a woman, women in the 21^st Century and – in the end – how mixed up we all are. But even in Christiandom, this question is discussed to a pulp with seemingly very little concrete conclusion.

If you follow the news at all (which I barely do except for headlines on my phone), we all know how many women are rising up and declaring #METOO (or something like that, I get confused with this whole pound sign that’s now called a hashtag). It’s starting to seem like if you have anything resembling the biology of a woman, you have probably been sexually harassed. And, as such, you should stand up and shout it to the whole world. But just in case you’re afraid of not being heard, be sure you accuse someone famous of having done it. It can be political, Hollywood or sports. And you could have just passed him in the airport, but if he looked at you the wrong way then, please, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and, in general, scream it to the whole world. Because, apparently, the whole world cares.

Now, I’m not saying some of these women haven’t been sincerely sexually harassed. Nor am I saying that some of these men aren’t complete jerks. However, no one has pointed out that a majority of these women (especially actresses) are only half dressed to start with and are practically falling out the half-dress they have on. I know our world doesn’t see it this way, but they might as well scream, “Please, sexually harass me!!!!” The rest of the women? Well, if he’s male, white and Republican it’s open season.

But the truth is, our world is so confused not only about womanhood but also about manhood it’s no wonder these things happen. Last week I had great cause to celebrate. The Friday before Ethan was born (my last day at work), I accomplished the huge task of sending a volume of documentation to the Women’s Business Enterprise to get the company I work for certified as a women-owned business (which means 51% is owned by women). It was a massive amount of information and work, and that was only initially. They came back three times for more information or something we needed to change to actually be “women owned”. Then there was the interview, which they make sound like the Spanish Inquisition but really isn’t. Finally, ten months later, the certificate is in our hands. Hooray! A huge project accomplished.

Now, in all honesty, by the time it was all said and done I was yet again ashamed of being called a woman. Because the certificate is really all about empowering women and everything else our world preaches (blah, blah, blah). Besides the fact that the whole purpose for the certification is so our company can be considered a “minority” and so (hopefully) gain more contracts. And that is where the rubber meets the road.

Women all over America are screaming at the top of their lungs that they are just as good as men (if not better), should be paid just as much as men (if not more) and can do anything any man can do (plus everything they can’t). And yet…

A women-owned business is considered a minority  (and we’re proud of that). In Pennsylvania, with such a certificate, we can then apply to have a Disadvantaged Business certificate which gives us a foot in the door for state  and city contracts (although after this week and a city lawsuit ending up in my inbox, I’m not sure why we’re the least interested).  Please note the word disadvantaged (which is defined, on the website, as socially and economically disadvantaged).  Apparently, we’re also proud of that.

So…on the one hand, I’m supposed to stand up for my rights, privileges and freedoms as a woman. In fact, I should make myself downright obnoxious about my sex. On the other hand, I am a minority and disadvantaged. In fact, I should be quite proud of that fact and use it to achieve whatever my sinful little heart could desire.

Mmh…are you as confused as I am?

It's that Time of Year

When I was a teenager, I was introduced to some of the “finer points” of Catholicism after we moved to Texas and lived near by grandparents for a few years. One of these points is there is a saint for everything. I don’t remember which sibling lost what, but I do remember my grandmother telling her to ask St. Anthony to help her find it.  And I remember wondering how a dead guy could possibly help anyone find anything. Guess I’ll never be Catholic.

I mean, even Emry knows some dead guy isn’t going to help her find anything. She’s only 2½, but she knows exactly who to ask for help when she needs to find something: Mama.

The other day, Ethan and Emry were playing down in the finished part of the basement where Emry’s kitchen is set up. I left them down there to go up to the second floor and put some clean clothes away. Not five minutes passed before I could hear Emry through the baby monitor.

“Mama? Where are you, Mama?”

I heard her climbing the steps, still calling my name. She stopped when she got to the first floor and I can imagine her looking around, thinking I’d be in the kitchen or living area. For then I hear her say:

“Mama, where’s Mama?”

See? If you can’t find your mama, there is only one person to ask: Mama.

It’s that time of year: searching for the right Christmas gifts, searching for that bowl you only use at Thanksgiving, searching for those ornaments you put away a year ago. Actually, I don’t have any of those problems (except maybe the Christmas gifts) as I know exactly where I put all my Thanksgiving and Christmas things: in the boxes where they belong. But there is one search every family with small children has every Christmas: the great battery search.

Maybe we’ve started a bit early, but I like to get my Christmas village out early and enjoy it for longer than three or four weeks. So, yesterday I cleaned off my desk and pulled out the container where all the village pieces are carefully wrapped and stored each year. This year I have room for only half of the pieces, so I painstakingly chose and packed the rest away. Meanwhile, I let Emry get out her Little People Christmas village, which is in the same box as the Little People Nativity set, so it all came out. A couple of the pieces light up or play music, but I had dutifully taken the batteries out before packing the toys away last January. I told Emry we’d find batteries tomorrow.

Naturally, I needed six AA batteries and only had two. So, I sat on the floor and tried to figure out what other toys in the house have batteries but Emry and Ethan don’t use much. Which brought me to a brief exercise program of running up and down stairs to find said toys, hope they used AA as I unscrewed the covers and (naturally) discovered that a few of the batteries were on their last leg (which explains why one of the toys which they thankfully only get out on rare occasions is over-the-top annoying and doesn’t seem to work right). But the batteries were found and AAs were added to my shopping list.

After all, it’s that time of year: battery companies make a killing!

9 Months!!!

I’m not sure if it’s harder to believe the Ethan is already nine months old or that he has survived to be nine months old. I’m also not sure if it’s harder to raise a daughter who is overly cautious (Come on, Emry, just do it!) or a son who has no sense of caution whatsoever (Ethan Hunter Camus, don’t you dare get near those stairs again!). Talk about extremes.

But, thanks to our Jehovah-Nissi (The Lord our Protector – we’ve been studying the names of God as a family), Ethan has survived to nine months. We’ll see if he makes it to ten…

Aside from having no fear, Ethan is all boy. He loves blocks and balls. He likes to annoy his sister (which is quite easy). He would prefer to be standing at all times (and so probably running), but he can only do that if we prop him up against something. He’s eating just about everything, but he is an extremely picky eater. In his world this means he would live solely on PB&J, which he scarfs down as if I haven’t fed him in two days. Just about everything else I have to “disguise” with yogurt and feed him on a spoon. At least if this keeps up, his favorite meal for his first birthday will be cheap: would you like strawberry or grape jelly on that PB&J?

Look at me – I love to stand!

This chair rocks!

Sock Monkey, you are stealing my limelight.

Hah! No more pictures with you, Sock Monkey!

Emry-isms

 Honestly, if I maintain a blog for no other reason, at least it’s a great record of the life of my children. Maybe, someday, they’ll appreciate knowing all the things they did as kids that their mother can no longer remember. But, then again…maybe not.

Emry is at that age when pieces of her world come together, sometimes in the funniest of ways. Of course, to her they make perfect sense. And, to be honest, her logic is often spot on even if it’s wrong. (Which can make you wonder if right is then illogical….) And, other times…well, it reminds me of how the English language doesn’t always make sense.

Several weeks ago, Emry was doing a search-and-find book. (She loves these! She and Grandpa should find some Highlight magazines to work on together…) I told her she needed to find a gramophone. Naturally, she has no clue what that is. She doesn’t even know what a CD player is let alone a record player let alone a gramophone. Thankfully, there was a picture of one which brought a look of confusion to her face. But, in all her two-year-old simple trust, she shrugged, nodded and said, “Find Grandma’s phone.”

After much discussion, we decided to take Emry trick-or-treating this week. We didn’t do anything big. We bought her a kitty mask (which she loves to wear while doing her yoga – that’s another story!), decorated a bag and dressed warmly in her fleece lined overalls and Sock Monkey fleece jacket. (And since Ed and Ethan were also wearing their matching Sock Monkey jackets, I think people thought that was the actual costume.)

Now, this is an important side note: I have an unusual toddler, especially considering she has a younger brother. But Emry has never used the words “My” or “Mine”. Mostly this is because personal pronouns have always been a bit allusive to her. She refers to herself in third person, so if Ethan has something that belongs to her you hear, “Biffen, that’s Emmy’s!” That said, it was hilarious as we walked down one of our neighborhood streets and Ed started teasing Emry about her bag of candy and saying it was his. Emry stopped, stood firm and stated loudly, “It’s my candy!”

I think Ed and I laughed for the next block.

Today was a very nice autumn day, cool enough for a jacket but quite sunny and lovely to be out for a walk. It started as a “bike ride” with Emry riding her Strider around the block, but she tired of that pretty quickly and then wanted to walk further than I had intended to get some pinecones. It was a bit cumbersome with the bike parked on the handles of the stroller and then Emry sitting on the front of the stroller telling me I needed to run before the whole walk was over (I didn’t bring the double stroller thinking the walk wouldn’t be that long…), but it was a nice day out. The last little bit Emry wanted to run, so she jumped off the stroller and took off. She runs a bit like me (doesn’t pick up her feet as she ought) and started to take a tumble, but then she caught herself. In order to ward off anymore tears (she had already slipped once on a steep decline in some leaves and landed on her bottom), I cheered her for catching herself so she didn’t get hurt. At first, she gave me a strange look and I knew why. Catch refers to a ball, not to one’s self. But once she figured she could use the word interchangeably, she was delighted. And for the next half hour, I heard about nothing except “Emmy caught herself.”