food for thought

I had the opportunity to return to View from the Bay last week to speak about the importance of reading aloud, and also to share some children's books chosen by my son's school librarians. It was hard to stick to my allotted five minutes! Here's the clip:

Labels: reading, television, view from the bay

People write to me at Literary Mama fairly regularly, asking me to help them promote this or that event, and most of the time the events don't have much to do with the mission of Literary Mama. But when I heard from the folks at LitWorld about World Read Aloud Day, it was easy to offer our help, especially since it means I get to a) read aloud to kids (including my own!) and b) go on tv again!

So join me on World Read Aloud Day, March 3rd, at Books, Inc. in San Francisco's Laurel Village, from 6 - 7 PM for a bedtime story reading! I'll be joined by my friends and fellow writer-mamas Lisa Harper and Nicki Richesin. Bring the kids in their pj's for a fun evening outing!

Labels: literary mama, litworld, reading

In case you missed it, here's the clip of my recent segment on View from the Bay:

Labels: literary mama, reading

It has been, by most objective measures, a lousy week. It announced itself with a dog bite on my Monday morning run, developed with Eli’s fever, peaked the night Tony and I spent at Eli’s bedside, putting cold washcloths on his head and wondering whether to take him into Urgent Care, and has now moved into the quiet dull rhythm of boredom and cabin fever that settles on a house when a family member has been sick a while. I did finally make the ultimately ill-advised decision to leave the house, only to back our garage-parked car into our driveway-parked car (another reason I want to sell one of our cars; it might be a bit harder now, though). But I have to say that if my child was going to choose any week to be sick and keep me anchored on the couch, stroking his head while he watched endless episodes of Oswald and Peep in the Big World, at least he chose the week that the New York Times Magazine published the food issue.

Click on over to the other blog to read the rest...

Labels: family life, food, learning to eat, new york times magazine, reading

cross-posted from the other blog

It's not like I grew up with it. My mom learned to cook mostly from her own mom (though luckily got an excellent pie crust education from her mother-in-law). When we moved to the US in the early 70s, I remember seeing The Galloping Gourmet and The French Chef occasionally on our black & white kitchen television, but I think they were on more for entertainment than education. Mom subscribed to the Time-Life series of international cookbooks (the hardcovers now live in my house; the paperbacks, with more recipes, continue to get a workout in her kitchen) but never a cooking magazine, that I recall.

It was after college that I started to pick up Gourmet occasionally. It was a glimpse into another world. It was like a travel magazine to me, so glossy and beautiful. I tore out the occasional recipe – and if it looked good on the page, it always turned out well-- but at the time mostly just dreamed over the beautiful pictures. And that's one small reason I'm sad about losing Gourmet; for someone who doesn't subscribe to fashion magazines or anything else with beautiful photography, and whose nightly dinner table can get a little dull with plates of pasta, every month Gourmet showed me lovely tables I could aspire to, and reminded me to set out a vase of flowers or put the vegetables in a pretty bowl.

When I moved to California, I had more time for cooking, and although I didn't have much money, I saved a few dollars every month to pick up Gourmet. It was always fun reading, a perfect escape from my dense graduate school reading lists. When I broke up with my boyfriend and moved into a place without a kitchen, I would amuse myself trying to make some of Gourmet's recipes with just a toaster oven, hot pot, rice cooker and electric skillet. I made great stir fries, a fabulous (small) lasagne, and baked cookies by the half dozen. When I moved in with a roommate (partly, to be sure, because of the kitchen) we shared a subscription to Gourmet, and celebrated when she passed her oral exams with a cocktail party fueled by the magazine's recipes. Whether for a single woman without a kitchen, or two budget-conscious grad students who wanted to eat well, those recipes always worked. And that's another reason I'm sad about losing Gourmet.

And then just as I was finishing graduate school, I met Tony, and we bonded over food. I discovered, at his mom Nancy's house, a veritable library of cooking magazines, refreshed with new issues every month: Fine Cooking, Food and Wine, Saveur, Cooks Illustrated, Gourmet. Ruth Reichl was the editor of Gourmet by then and it was becoming a home for writers, terrific writers like Laura Shapiro and Michael Lewis and Anthony Bourdain and Jane and Michael Stern. We would hang out at Nancy's house leafing through all the magazines and tearing out the recipes, but Gourmet was the one to read and we would talk about the essays over dinner and long Scrabble games. I remember in particular an essay by Michael Lewis that came out the month Ben was born, in which Lewis describes a trip to Masa's for dinner with his wife and toddler. For ages afterward, I paraphrased a line from the piece (which sadly I can't find online), "If you won't [fill in the blank with whatever I wanted Ben to do] we'll just have to stay at home and eat broccoli."

The magazine was always smart, relevant, and delicious, and I routinely incorporated its recipes into our life, from cookies or savory biscotti for our annual New Year's Day party to banana muffins for preschool bake sales. Gourmet's vodka-spiked tomatoes came camping with us this summer, and the magazine's roasted potato and kale salad is now one of my favorite ways to eat those two favorite vegetables. Flipping through my messy binder of saved recipes tonight, I see that over half of them come from Gourmet. Without their monthly infusion of fresh recipes, the binders will stop bursting from their seams, which is probably a good thing, but it's another reason I'm sad about losing Gourmet.

After Nancy passed away, we had her mail forwarded to our house and that meant two copies of Gourmet each month. I called the customer service people, who were happy to consolidate her subscription and mine, but there was a little confusion over the name and so it has come to me each month with her name on it. If Nancy liked something, she put her money on it, so the subscription was supposed to go deep into 2012. It was a monthly reminder of the meals and conversations we shared, and that's the last, biggest, reason I'm sad about losing Gourmet.

Labels: family life, Gourmet, holidays, Nancy, reading, recipes

It's been so long (thank goodness), that at first Eli hardly knew what to do with himself.

He was surprised when I told him he wasn't going to school, but when I pointed out that he could barely lift his sweaty, feverish head, he nodded on the pillow and said ok. He rallied to eat half a bowl of granola, and then flopped on the couch sadly with me after waving Ben off to school. "Do you want to watch something on TV, buddy?" I asked him. "Is there time for a show?" "Oh, there's time for whatever you want," I told him; the boys don't watch much TV (none during the week, maybe a half hour on the weekend) but on days like this, I think of my childhood sick days, watching back-to-back Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' movies, and I'll queue up movies for hours if that's what the boys want.

Except by this point, Eli was so cozily cuddled up, he didn't want me to leave the couch to get a DVD, so our options were limited to a few Tivo'd kids movies: Curious George, Babe, Happy Feet. He managed ten minutes of Happy Feet before declaring it too loud, so we looked at the Tivo list again: movies; Oswald; Peep and the Big Wide World; Bear in the Blue House. We recorded these shows years ago, when Ben was a toddler, but my children are creatures of habit like I am; if a show was good when they were two, apparently it's good when they are four and seven. Periodically we hear about new and interesting TV shows aimed at kids, and I'm briefly tempted to record something different, but then I think how I would miss the somber opening chords of the Oswald theme, or Peep's jaunty tune, and I doublecheck that Tivo won't delete these old shows before we're ready.

We settled into Oswald. Then we watched a Peep. I was half-watching, stroking Eli's head, and reading the New York Times magazine section. Life was good. But then Peep ended and Eli sat up. "I want to draw." Really? We moved to the art table, he picked up a marker and laid his head in my lap. "Eli? Honey? I think it's going to be hard to draw with your head in my lap." "OK, let's draw upstairs," he decided. I wasn't convinced he'd be able to hold his head up any better upstairs, but up we went -- and then he spotted his bed. "How about we read some books instead?" I suggested. "OK."

I got out a stack of favorites-- The Bunny Planet trilogy; Library Lion; Bread and Jam for Frances; The Bunnies Are Not In Their Beds; Violet the Pilot-- and we climbed into bed, and I read, and then I told him the story of the day he was born, and then I told him the story of the day Ben was born and eventually he was asleep, and I took a nap, too, and hours later when he woke he was still sick, but a tiny bit livelier, and I'm grateful for our day.

Labels: family life, reading, sick day

Masha Hamilton's gripping new novel, 31 Hours, tells the story of a young man, Jonas, who is smart and sensitive, worried about the world and wanting to make a difference. He reminds me of someone one of my sons could grow into someday, someone I would want them to grow into someday. Except for this: Jonas falls under the influence of a man named Masoud who convinces him to participate in an act of terrorism.

Jonas' is just one of the storylines in the novel, which introduces us to three families: Sonny Hirt, a subway panhandler, and his sister; Jonas and his long-divorced parents; his girlfriend Kit, her much younger sister Mara, and their newly-separated parents. They are all pretty regular folks traveling a Manhattan and Brooklyn landscape that is quite familiar (and more familiar to me than the settings of Hamilton's earlier, terrific, novels like or ). Jonas' story draws the other families closer, like a dangling thread which, when pulled, tugs the others inexorably tighter. I read with an increasing sense of urgency as the clock ticked down the thirty-one hours to the story's climax.

The story is told in shifting narrative voices, allowing the reader into a variety of different perspectives on the events. I found myself feeling most for Carol, Jonas' mom, whose sense that her son is in trouble opens the novel, but I can't stop thinking about this passage from the 'tween, Mara, who is suffering quietly through her parents' separation, hearing her mom cry behind closed doors every day, and wants only to bring her parents back together. Hamilton writes:

It had been left to Mara to rescue her mother. No one else seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation. Mara was reminded of a movie she'd waatched once... The title had long since slipped from her memory, but what she did recall was that a ship went down and two women found themselves in a lifeboat with nothing to eat or drink. They floated alone at sea. At first there were jokes, or attempts at jokes, and then singing, and finally the sharin gof secrets that altered the way the two women felt about each other an themselves. But as their situation became increasingly desperate, much of the talking ended. One woman finally succumbed to thirst and, though her companion begged her not to, began frantically gulping seawater cupped in her hands. And that drove her mad. It caused sodium toxicity--Mara looked it up afterward--which resulted in a shrinkage of brain cells, which in turn resulted in confusion. The woman, now crazed, jumped into the ocean thinking she was walking into the kitchen in her own home to get a snack. She drowned. The audience was meant to weep for her. But Mara cried for the woman left behind, sane still but alone, floating on the vast sea. Mara felt as if her mother had become the dehydrated woman guzzling saltwater, and Mara was in danger of being abandoned at sea.

The lines keep resonating for me, as I think about what's worse: to be the one who becomes quietly unhinged and dies (but who is protected, by madness, from fear of death); or to be the one left behind, "sane still but alone." And as I was reading, I pulled myself out of the novel's spell occasionally to force myself to consider this, and to wonder how I wanted the book to end. I couldn't decide. Hamilton's conclusion is absolutely uncompromising, somehow both shocking and satisfying.

Labels: 31 hours, masha hamilton, new york, reading, reviews

The hardest aspect of editing was not editing the selections, nor working with the publisher to fine-tune essays, nor copyediting, nor even coordinating all of this work with a coeditor living 3,000 miles away who had two (now three!) kids of her own. No, I think really the hardest part was actually getting the essays. We sent out a call for submissions to our friends, and asked them to send it to their friends; we published it on list-servs and websites and broadcast it as widely as we knew how. It wound up in places that we didn't even know existed, like the Women and Crime mailing list. But still, many of the essays came from women of similar backgrounds and in similar disciplines as ourselves. For Mama, PhD this wasn't a deal-breaker: the collection winds up accurately reflecting the diversity of women in higher education. Still, I know there are more stories out there that we didn't manage to uncover, and I'll always wonder how we might have found them.

Yvonne Bynoe, who edited , found an amazingly diverse group of women to contribute to her anthology. The women are different races and ethnicities; they are single, widowed, divorced and partnered, gay and straight, mothers and childless, at home with their kids and working outside the home. The women are not all professional writers, but they contribute deeply-felt stories which are powerfully told.

Mary Warren Foulk's piece, "Which One's the Mother?", beautifully traces her complicated road to lesbian motherhood, and I loved Kathy Bricetti's sweet essay, "The Baby Bank," about going with her partner to a sperm bank, way back in 1992.

Christine Murphy is resisting friends' and family pressure to jump on the "baby train" in "Mommy Maybe..." -- and wondering if she's making the right choice. Liz Prato writes poignantly of her decision not to have children in "Is Life Without Kids Worth Living?" With a mother who died at fifty-eight and two aunts who passed away in their forties, she feels that "knowing the parent-child relationship can come to such an abrupt end has shut down our desire to have kids."

In "The Mother I Always Wanted," Robin Templeton describes how her pregnancy makes her finally confront the reality of her own troubled mother; sitting on an airplane on the way back home, she writes, "I fanned myself with the laminated safety instructions, closed my eyes and a neon warning scrolled behind them like an interruption from the Emergency Broadcast System: Beep. This is a test. Beep. You are your mother's chid. Beep. Your baby will be raised by a woman raised by your mother."

Eileen Flanagan also addresses the legacy of difficult mothering in her essay, "A Pellet of Poison: I Don't Want to Feed Racism to My Children the Way My Mother Fed It to Me." Untangling what she was taught from what she wants to teach her children, she searches out slave narratives, abolitionist histories, novels and songs; she writes, "In the realm of race, I can also face the heat of my family history, sweating out whatever I've absorbed and teaching my children to do the same. Stories are like saunas that can help draw the poison out of us."

And I loved Lisa Chiu's essay "Ching Chong!" which hopes her son won't hear the playground taunt that haunted her childhood: "Nico's classmates haven't yet asked him where he's from. But when they do ask--and they will--I hope he will answer the question with clarity and confidence. I hope he will respond in a way that educates people, informing them not just of his own cultural background but of a world that is multi-hued, complex, and complicated.

"It took me years to come up with my own succinct answer to the question, replying that I'm a second-generation Taiwanese American woman who was born in Canada and raised in Cleveland. It took a long time for me to learn how to define myself. Now, it is time for me to guide my son along his cultural identity journey. I know where we're from. And I'm gaining clarity in knowing where we're going."

I like these essays for asking good questions rather than presuming to have all the answers. These are women in the midst of journeys, and it's interesting to follow along with their thinking.

Want to read this book? Leave me a comment by Saturday, May 30th, and I'll choose someone at random to receive my advance galley.

Labels: book reviews, mama phd, reading, writing

I was delighted today to receive my contributor copy of , in which my essay "The Cookie" has been reprinted. My story is about a particularly trying day of new motherhood and how a little old-fashioned advice and infant Ben's own ingenuity saved the day.

My Literary Mama colleagues Amy Hudock and Kristina Riggle also have essays in this collection, which is a terrific group of moving, honest, and unsentimental essays about new motherhood. Check it out!

Labels: anthologies, Cup of Comfort, literary mama, reading, writing

There's a little something for everyone at Literary Mama this week. Can't stop thinking about the election? Read Children's Lit Book Group for some books that will get even the youngest readers involved, and The Maternal Is Political for a thoughtful exploration of one mama's political journey. Sick of thinking about the election? Then read about how Doing It Differently came to take one big step, or follow as Me and My House takes many steps.

In Literary Reflections, you know you all do it -- now read about how Heidi Scrimgeour writes in the shower. And finally, I wanted to learn about how my friend and former LM columnist Gail Konop Baker writes anywhere, in addition to mothering her 3 kids, running, and dealing with cancer. So I interviewed her; read our conversation here.

Labels: literary mama, reading, writing

OK, I realize I've been ignoring the blog a bit lately, but it's been a busy time spreading the news about Mama, PhD. So I'm delighted to stop talking about that book (just for a moment) to announce the publication of my essay, "Wonderful Life," in the new anthology, (Health Communications, Inc). The book is one-stop Christmas shopping, with essays, stories, recipes, pictures and advice on how to get through what can be a stressful holiday without losing sight of the magic. I've never shared space in a book with a martini recipe before, and I am well pleased. My piece is based on my Literary Column on It's A Wonderful Life; here's an excerpt:

Christmas Eve, 2002

It's my first Christmas as a mom, and I as sit rocking infant Ben to sleep in the darkened room, I realize that the ubiquitous Christmas telecast of It's A Wonderful Life (Frank Capra, 1946) is flickering on the ancient television. The sound is muted, but I remember the dialogue. George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) has just learned that Uncle Billy misplaced the day's deposit, and despite sacrificing his whole life for the Building & Loan, George is ruined. He can't listen to his wife Mary cheerfully prattle on about their daughter Zuzu's cold. He rages about the money spent on the doctor, their money-pit of a drafty house: "I don't know why we don't all have pneumonia!"

Ben stirs in his sleep and cries out. I hold my breath as I adjust his IV, which has tangled around my arm and pulled taut. I touch my lips to his sweaty head and he relaxes back into sleep. I exhale, relieved to have avoided another cycle of the anguished cries that raise his fever and bring the nurses running with another round of invasions.

We have pneumonia.

Go pick up a copy of to read the rest!

Labels: family life, holidays, mama at the movies, reading, writing

It's always gratifying to update Literary Mama on Sundays and see pieces--some of which I first read several months ago--find their broad audience. I try to give each just a quick final read--they've all been through a couple rounds of editing and copyediting, but sometimes I might catch a stray typo--still, inevitably I forget myself and get drawn into the essay or story or poem as if for the first time.

This week, there's Hilary Meyerson's beautiful Voice: A Study in the Writer's Art, which begins with a nightmare like one I've had myself:

The night before my daughter started kindergarten, I had a nightmare. . .that I was nine months pregnant with a third child. Not just pregnant, but in labor. In typical dream-reality, I had missed the pregnancy signs until labor was imminent. My dream voice broke as I told my husband that this child would be born September third, two days after the crucial September first enrollment cut-off date. Didn't he understand? It meant that it would be almost six more years before this third child started kindergarten. Six more years before I'd have all the kids in school, before I could finally begin my new life as a writer. I woke in a sweat, grasping my belly, relieved to find it still less firm than I'd like, but not in fact, housing a third child.

In Children's Lit Book Group, Libby writes about a different transition, as kids finish school and move away from home:

It's back to school time around here. Four of my friends have packed sons or daughters off to college for the first time and are learning how to reconfigure patterns set over the last eighteen years of parenthood. As my friends face their new version of parenthood, their children have the gift of an extended transition, a prolonged adolescence as they negotiate the four years of college.

This month's poems focus on a place dear to my heart: the kitchen! In Elizabeth Bruno’s Kitchen Daffodils: "their necks tilt Vincent-gold toward the glass." In Cookie Bakers, Lois Parker Edstrom listens to "radio tuned to Queen for a Day". I empathize with Yvonne Pearson who writes, in Eaten Alive, "All day I feed and I feed." And finally Ann Walters notes, In the Kitchen, "A gingham tablecloth makes a fine parachute."

And finally, I confess I got as caught up as the next girl in the gossip and hoopla surrounding Sarah Palin's nomination as VP on the Republican ticket: I was up late reading blogs, looking at pictures, wondering what to make of the story, all the while feeling increasingly queasy about the way she and her family were being portrayed -- and all my reading about it. So, since I'm in the fortunate position of knowing lots of good and thoughtful writers, I suggested to LM's columns editors that we put put out a call for some op-eds on the topic, and I'm delighted with the pieces we received this week.

First, we have our own Subarctic Mama, Nicole Stellon O'Donnell, unpacking "The Sarah Myth:"

I never voted for Sarah Palin. Politically, we don't get along... But I did like her. I've never liked any politician so unlike myself so much. Many of my liberal pro-choice mom friends liked her too. She was an Alaskan after all--a mom like me, bundling babies in snowsuits and dragging them around in sleds. She nursed and governed. She seemed real, someone who, despite our differences, I could talk to. Like everyone else in this giant, small state, I was on a first name basis with her. "Sarah," I'd say if I ever ran into her at the airport, "Hello."

And in a terrific complement to her piece, Mama, PhD contributor Rebecca Steinitz writes about "Sarah Palin's Kids, Our Kids:"

On the third night of the Republican National Convention, Sarah Palin finally spoke up. The next morning I woke up to a front-page article in The Boston Globe, announcing that Sarah Palin has reignited the mommy wars.

No kidding. Birth plans, breastfeeding, working moms, teenagers and sex: it's like the national conversation has become one big mommy kaffeklatsch. Or one big mommy driveby, as women across the country wonder how Palin does it--when they're not condemning her for doing it.

I couldn't be prouder of all this writing if I'd written it myself; click on over to Literary Mama to check it out!

Labels: literary mama, mothering, reading, sarah palin, writing

Libby's recent column over at Literary Mama brought me back to one of my favorite series, the books by Rosemary Wells. In each one, a bunny is having a pretty lousy day until the Bunny Queen, Janet, whisks the animal off to the Bunny Planet for "the day that should have been."

I've always identified most with the hapless Claire, who doesn't get a good breakfast and whose shoes fill with snow on the way to school; she has to sit through two hours of math at school (no matter how long the math lesson was, it always felt like two hours to me), is served baloney sandwiches for lunch, and then is the only girl in her gym class who can't do a cartwheel: this sounds like any number of bad days in my childhood!

Luckily, in the Bunny Planet, it's summer and Claire is home, where she can pick vegetables from her garden and then hang out in the kitchen watching her mother cook -- this, in turn, sounds like any number of good days from my childhood.

Claire's mother makes her soup from the summer's first tomato, but I think my mother would agree that the best thing to do with the very first tomato is a sandwich, and that's what I made today: just one sliced tomato, on toast, with some mayonnaise, salt and pepper. Yum.


I ate mine too fast to take a picture; this image is from Out of the Garden

Labels: reading, recipes family life, summertime

One of the unexpected pleasures of moving up the masthead to Senior Editor of Literary Mama has been getting to correspond with all the other department editors about pieces they're considering for publication. It's been particularly enlightening for me to work with our poetry editor, Sharon Kraus, since my formal poetry education is limited--aside from the odd 2-week unit on poetry in one class or another--to one college seminar on Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson, plus reading my dad's work. I still remember how he responded when I wrote him about an English class in which we were studying e.e. cummings: he wrote me a sonnet about how he would teach poetry!

So when Maria Scala, one of Literary Mama's columns editors, said she was interested in exchanging reviews of recent publications, I jumped at the chance, though I had to warn her -- and now caution you readers --that I can't write very knowledgeably about the form. I respond to what I like, pause to admire unexpectedly effective word choices, remember images that resonate with me. I read her chapbook, Between O and V, straight through over lunch the other day, which is not at all how one should read poetry, I think, but speaks to the appeal of Maria's writing. Reading these poems felt rather like sitting down with a beautiful bowl of ripe cherries, not wanting to stop consuming them till they were gone, and then sitting still, satisfied, for a time at the end.

There's a mood of concern in some of these pieces, a sense of worry about the future, which speaks to me (I'm the one who's got a fortune which reads "You are worrying about something that is not going to happen" taped to her laptop, remember?). "I'm not long for this world / if I don't have you" goes one stanza; or in a poem titled "Nonna," in which a mother tries to busy herself away from thoughts of grief, "I fear for the day / when I have to make myself / forget this way." Deep sigh.

The perspective in these pieces feels familiar to me; it's a voice old enough to see her parents clearly, as people apart from being parents, and now starting to reconsider some of the impressions and ideas of her childhood. These are moving poems about relationships and writing, particularly interested in family, but there's a light touch to them, in pieces like "House Rules," which begins simply "Stick together." Or the sweetly funny "Now I Am Married," in which the narrator, her husband away on business, "awakens[s] in the middle of the night / cold and surprised / heartbroken too: / remembering how good it is / to accidentally elbow you in the head / so that I can kiss it better." I loved "My Friend Is Left-Handed," which made me laugh, in the context of these carefully-observed pieces, with its opening line: "After all this time, / I never noticed."

But my favorite is perhaps "My Literary Uncle," which ends, "I pare down each experience / hoping to leave / a lovely mess of shavings / behind." This collection is a lovely mess of shavings indeed, and then some.

Labels: book reviews, literary mama, reading

Saturday started like any other day. Eli came thumping down the hall at first light and climbed into bed with his patch blanket and blue bear for a wriggly cuddle. "Is it a school day?" he asked after a bit. "No, sweetie, it's not," I answered. "That means I can watch a show!" he crowed. So he jumped and I hauled myself out of bed and downstairs we went, where he settled on to the couch with his "show snack" of dry cereal and a sippy cup of milk. I turned on the TV, ready to read him the titles of the 26 episodes of Oswald we've recorded for him to choose from for his weekend morning's entertainment.

But before I could get to the Tivo screen, there was Hillary Clinton, bowing out of the race for president, and I sat back down on the couch, momentarily deflated.

"Mama?" Eli asked after a moment, puzzled that his beloved blue octopus wasn't yet on screen. "Mama, please tell me the choices?"

"Just a minute, sweetheart; I want to watch this. This is very important."

Soon Ben and Tony were downstairs, too, and we all watched the speech: Eli, bored and impatient, Tony providing running commentary to Ben (who's been an easy Obama supporter ever since his kindergarten teacher put a campaign sign on the classroom door), and me with surprised tears in my eyes. Because despite my ambivalence about Clinton as a candidate, I found myself profoundly sad to see her candidacy end. Her candidacy – despite the terribly sexist coverage it attracted – put an end, finally, to the question of whether, as Gail Collins put it, "it’s possible for a woman to go toe-to-toe with the toughest male candidate in a race for president of the United States. Or whether a woman could be strong enough to serve as commander in chief." Her candidacy made it clear that a women, indeed a mother, could govern the United States, and it inspired me.

Happily, I have plenty left to be inspired by. I can support an exciting candidate for president, and I can dive into lots of terrific reading in the wonderfully timely and engaging . Now, I should admit that I am a completely subjective reader: many of the contributions in this anthology are by excellent writers whom I consider friends, women I know from my work at Literary Mama. And the book is edited by my fabulous partner in the work of managing the site, Shari MacDonald Strong. But, despite my subjectivity, I'm still a very critical reader; I've probably read over a dozen anthologies in the last year alone, and having now edited one myself, I've formed strong opinions on aspects ranging from cover design to essay length to a book's organization.

You can all judge for yourselves what a great cover The Maternal Is Political has; the book gets other little things right, too. It offers reader-friendly sections, titled Believe, Teach and Act – words that move me, that get me thinking about the ways that I believe, teach and act just by reading them. It offers a reader-friendly variety of essay length and tone, from the 2 ½ page day-in-the-life account from Benazir Bhutto (reading how competently she moved through a day of governing and mothering made me mourn her all over again) or Cindy Sheehan's sharp critique of the progressive left in "Good Riddance, Attention Whore," to the more leisured reflection of Shari MacDonald Strong's thoughtful "Raising Small Boys in a Time of War" or Barbara Kingsolver's funny, smart "A Letter to My Daughter at Thirteen."

And with all this writing, The Maternal Is Political gets the big thing right, too. It's great writing, cover to cover. It's all here--gender politics, sexual politics, school politics, adoption politics, religious politics, body politics, community politics, family politics, social politics—but with a mix of tone and approach that makes the book a real pleasure to read. Rather than weighing you down with the utter importance of it all, these writers make you want to think critically, get up off the couch, make a phone call, sign a petition. Do good in the world, and teach your children how to do good, also.

And that part's not so hard, really. These essays remind us that our children are our constant witnesses, and so why not take subtle advantage of that while they're young, as in Gayle Brandeis' "Trying Out," or in Jennifer Graf Groneberg's quietly forceful "Politics of the Heart," which relates moving through a regular day with her three children while following the news of a state assembly bill that would affect her ability to home school them:

At noon, another email update from MCHE arrived, explaining that the crowd had moved to the Capitol. I fed Carter a grilled cheese sandwich, and I fed the babies pears and green beans and bits of Ritz crackers in their high chairs, thinking about how flimsy my position felt—I was fighting for the right to educate my son, but I had nothing to go on but a mother's intuition, a mother's love.

In some of the essays, the children taught are sometimes older, and sometimes not the writer's own. Amy L. Jenkins, in "One Hundred and Twenty-Five Miles," describes how she took advantage of the confined space of a road trip to work on a young man's views of gender roles. In Gigi Rosenberg's "Signora," she speaks up, in halting Italian, to break up a charged moment on a bus, and Anne Lamott wonders briefly if she's gone too far, but is then reassured: "During the reception, an old woman came up to me and said, "If you hadn't spoken out, I would have spit," and then raised her fist in the power salute. We huddled for a while and ate M&Ms to give us strength. It was a communion for those of us who continue to believe that civil rights and equality, and even common sense, may somehow be sovereign one day."

All of these women write about families, but I was especially moved by stories of creating families, or asserting them in the face of challenges. I teared up at the end of Kathy Briccetti's wonderfully rich detailing of her family's complicated adoption history, which culminates in one of California's first second-parent adoptions. And Ona Gritz, who writes a gorgeous monthly column for Literary Mama, writes matter-of-factly about the casual discrimination she faces every day:

Here is what I want to believe. That Lois didn't think blond, blue-eyed Ethan and I were related because of my dark hair and eyes. Or that I look too young to be the mother of a two-year-old (even though I'm thirty-six). But there is another, more likely explanation, and I can feel myself squelch it down. To Lois's mind, a disabled woman can't be a mother. The disable are dependent and asexual. They are like children themselves.

I cannot stop thinking about the striking image of street children in Violeta Garcia-Mendoza's poetic yet also clear-eyed account of a trip to Guatemala to adopt her first child:

I don't expect the street children to whisper. I don't expect them to approach us like they do, bumping against each other somnolently, like fish. Opening and closing their hands instead of their mouths. Some of them hold hands with a smaller sibling, tethering themselves together to make sure they don't get separated in the crowd. They try out a handful of English words on us—"hello," "please"—before they learn I speak Spanish. Then they ask for money for milk, for medicine. Their skin is dull, inflamed in places, their lips chapped, hair tangled and matted; their feet are bare. They don't swarm but quietly press against us with their soft por favores and gracias.

And finally, I come back again and again to the strong and simple words of Shari MacDonald Strong's introduction: "…If my life as a mother of three children has taught me one thing, it's that there is no more powerful act than mothering. There is no greater reason than my children for me to become politically involved, and there is no more important work to put my efforts to than those things that will make this world a better, safer place for my kids." "Vote Mother," Shari writes; indeed. Share this with the mothers you know, and their partners, friends, and children, and remind them: it's time to get political.

For more reviews, plus an interview with Shari MacDonald Strong, check out MotherTalk this week.

Labels: literary mama, mothertalk, politics, reading

Eli and I have been reading Else Holmelund Minarik's quite a bit lately; also, for the most part unrelated, we have been talking about ways to solve conflicts. Hence the following dialogue:

Me: Eli, can I have a kiss?
Eli: No.
Me: No? Why not?
Eli: Let's talk about it.
Me: OK, let's talk about what's nice and not nice about giving kisses. What's nice?
Eli: It's sweet.
Me: Yeah, and it make a person feel loved.
Eli: And it's bee-tiful.
Me: Yes, and ...
Eli: And it's happy! And houses!
Me (momentarily stymied by that one, so moving on): So what's not nice about giving a kiss?
Eli: I don't know! Here a kiss!

Labels: family life, reading

This week, check out Children's Lit Book Group for recommendations of two excellent picture books -- for older readers :

"Sometimes a child's sense of wonder can refresh my own. While I can get annoyed with the constant echo of "did you know?" and the "Mom, look at this!" I try to remind myself that for Nick, at ten, there's still a lot of the world that's new and unknown, that he has a lot to learn, and that I should be grateful when he shares it, even if it's not new to me."

In Doing It Differently, a lovely tribute to her mother:

"When I read a book I think my mother would like, I sometimes find myself making a mental note to tell her about it. My mother was what she herself would call a real people person. Everyone she met confided in her. A man behind her in line at the grocery store would tell her of his son's drinking problem. A young waitress would slip into her booth at a coffee shop and share her sadness about a recent miscarriage. She was a good listener and a terrible gossip. She loved human drama."

And finally, read Violeta Garcia-Mendoza's review of the new poetry collection by Julia Lisella, Terrain:

"Becoming a mother has awakened a profound hunger for narration in me. I seek the connection, the promise of life, and the epiphanies that reading about the experiences of others offer me. Now that I am tethered so intimately to another human life, I open more fully to the lives of others. I feel initiated into a network of witnesses -- the women who know the terrain of motherhood."


All of this, plus more poetry, short stories, essays and columns, every week at LiteraryMama.

Labels: literary mama, reading

Part of my wonderful Mother's Day this year involved attending a reading/writing workshop with Lisa Garrigues, with whom I've corresponded since I reviewed her book, Writing Motherhood, for MotherTalk. She was in town to celebrate the paperback release of her book, and so a friend and I drove out to the event, where everyone got a chance to write a bit, share their work if they liked, and offer feedback. Somehow within just a few minutes, under Lisa's guidance, small groups of strangers were offering thoughtful feedback on each other's work. It was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Today, when I got home from collecting Ben at school, I found the paperback in the mail, courtesy of Lisa's publisher. Now it's a beautiful book, and if I didn't already own the hardcover (now signed!) I'd keep it, too. But that just seems greedy. So, lovely readers, I'm hosting a giveaway. Leave a comment on this post by the end of the week and I will pick a winner at random.

And in case you missed my earlier review, here it is again; it still holds up--though now my copy of Lisa's book is a bit battered from use. (I've updated the final paragraph to reflect changes at Literary Mama.)

Very early on the morning of July 4th, 2001, I climbed out of bed and took a pregnancy test. As I waited for the result, I left the stick resting on the edge of the bathroom sink and sat down at my desk to write a few lines on my computer. A few minutes later, I went back and added some more thoughts, trying to absorb the fact that I was pregnant.

That was the start of my mothering journal.

I’d kept journals sporadically in the past: a small, cream- colored book my aunt gave me before a high school month in England; a cloth-bound book I bought before my junior year at Oxford University. But when I didn’t have a discrete period of time to document, I could never keep a journal going. I’d get fed up with myself for using it as a dumping ground for my complaints about adolescent life, or I’d get hung up with worry about someone finding it.

But this time was different. I’d just started a new job, I was pregnant, Tony and I bought a house: my life was changing fast, changing permanently, and I wanted to keep track of my thoughts.

That January, my computer crashed and took my journal with it. I lost teaching notes, syllabi, years’ worth of emails, but it was the journal’s loss that made me cry. It took me a few days to regain perspective (I hadn’t lost the baby, I kept having to remind myself, only the writing about the baby), but when I did, I took myself to a good art supply store and bought a nice journal with lined pages and an elastic strap to keep it closed.

And now I have a neat pile of six on the bottom shelf of my bedside table, with the current one, a pen in the middle holding my place, on the top shelf next to my lip balm, the current New Yorker, and a water glass.

I’ve kept it going.

The problem, though, was that before long the journal was not enough. I’d start something, jot down a funny thing Ben did or make an observation about my new life, and then it would sit there, undeveloped. I didn’t have any compelling reason to develop my thoughts into an essay. And after years of steady writing in graduate school, culminating in a nearly 300-page dissertation, I didn’t really even know how to write an essay about myself. I cast about for a year or so, writing unfinished essays during Ben's naps, not knowing what to do with them. Eventually I lucked into a writing group and from there landed a position at Literary Mama and, between the gentle pressure of my monthly turn to present at writing group and the inspiration of the essays I edit, I found my way to a regular writing gig, a book, and a new life as a writer.

But it all would have been much simpler if I'd had Lisa Garrigues book, back then.

I confess, I haven’t read any other writing books, so I have nothing to compare this to. Well, that’s not even quite right; I haven’t finished any other writing books. I’ve poked around Bird by Bird (and found it quite useful when I do), read a few lines of Writing Down the Bones, but I’ve always gotten a little impatient with the books, always had a moment when I realized, “Wait... no one’s asking me for snack, no one needs a dry diaper, I should be writing!” and put them down. So one of the things I like most about Garrigues’ book is that she invites you to do just that. It is not a book to read cover to cover (although I did, for this review, and it holds up perfectly well to that sustained attention), but one to pick up and read for twenty minutes when you have an hour free, or five minutes when you have ten: pick it up, find your inspiration, put the book down, and write. Because just as no one learns to parent by reading parenting books, no one learns to write without writing.

I like the bold orange cover of this book, which won’t get lost on my desk; that bright flash will always peek out from under the messy pile of drafts, bills, and Ben’s latest train drawings, and remind me to write. I like her tone, which is encouraging and friendly throughout; she leaves behind any kind of authoritative teacher voice and comes across as a woman you’d happily share a coffee with. Garrigues calls her writing prompts “invitations,” another subtle way that she manages to lighten up the task of setting down to write. And I like that she gives you lots and lots of good stuff to read, because the most important work in becoming a writer, after writing, is, of course, reading. Garrigues gives you her own short essays (on topics ranging from copying other writers, to marriage, to mama playdates); some of the little essays are hardly about writing at all, but about mothering, and then as she comes to the end and crystallizes the feeling that she’s expressed in the essay, she neatly raises a question for your own writing. She provides sample “mother’s pages” (essays written by her students), and she offers loads of great quotations from other writers. She also offers concrete advice on everything from buying a writer’s notebook to setting up a productive workspace. I have both of those things, but I still picked up a couple good ideas from her. She closes the book with an entire section on moving from new writer to a writer seeking connection and publication, with ideas on setting up and maintaining writing groups and taking one’s writing public. And then, in case there weren’t already enough ideas to keep you going in the text of the book, she offers a list of 99 writing starts and a bibliography.

I am keeping this review short because, inspired by Garrigues book, I want to get back to my writing! But I want to leave you with a couple quotations. The first, from Annie Dillard, resonated with me right now as I struggle to clear space in my days to write:

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days.

And now here’s Garrigues:

This book is, in part, a story of growing up and into a role I claimed for myself.

Is she talking about mothering or writing?! The point, as she claims throughout the book, is that the two are not mutually exclusive but complimentary roles that feed and develop each other. We should take advantage of that fact, and make time to write our lives.

Garrigues teaches writing classes, and those of you in the NY/NJ area should check them out. For anyone looking for on-line writing classes, I highly recommend Susan Ito's parent lit workshop (which I have taken) and the poetry workshops led by Violeta Garcia-Mendoza (an editor at LiteraryMama). Literary Mama is now offering monthly writing prompts, with personal feedback from the Literary Reflections editorial staff, as well as listings of workshops and other resources for writers. So get writing!

Labels: literary mama, mothertalk, reading, writing

Two of my favorite columnists have new pieces up at Literary Mama!

First, Libby Gruner's Children's Lit Book Group feels a rare twinge of nostalgia as she contemplates sending her daughter off to college:

"Three of my favorite read-alouds are Beatrix Potter's , Maurice Sendak's , and Ezra Jack Keats's . These three wouldn't seem to tell me much about a child going off to college, and indeed they don't. But they do tell about the power of the imagination, the appeal of the unknown, and the comforts of home, in ways I'm finding helpful right now."

And in Me and My House, Elrena Evans is way too tired for nostalgia:

"As a Christian mother I sometimes feel like I can't turn around without stubbing my toe on the God-as-parent metaphor, hand in hand with its twin, you-are-your-child's-first-image-of-God. I love the idea of being God's image for her, being his hands and feet on this earth, and I want more than anything to show that kind of love to my daughter. But it's hard, at 3:07 a.m."

Labels: literary mama, reading

When Eli outgrew his crib, we moved him into a big-boy bed in a now shared room with Ben and I--for the first time in my life--got an office. One small room with a desk and, well, yes, a pull-out couch because it's our guest room, too. But mostly it is my office, with a tall bookshelf stacked with my old grad student books (the ones I wasn't so sick of that I sold back), and my favorite novels, and tons of anthologies, and one little picture book about food that never made it down to the kitchen, where it belongs. It's a collection of Andy Warhol's comments about food, illustrated with his drawings, and now everyday after his nap, Eli comes bombing down the hall with his blanket and his bear and his bunny and his two doggies and his ball (because ever since our trip east last month he is a dog, he says, who needs to sleep with a ball), and he pulls the book off the shelf and says, "Mama, let's read Yum Yum!" So we do.

Some of the lines are profound:
"Progress is very important and exciting in everything except food."

And some of them are not so profound:
"Tab is Tab, and no matter how rich you are, you can't get a better one."

Some are sweet truisms:
"It's nice to have a little breakfast made for you."

And some make excellent points:
"When you want an orange, you don't want someone asking you, 'An orange what?'"

This is my favorite line:
"I love the way the smell of each fruit gets into the rough wood of the crates and into the tissue-paper wrappings."

And this is Eli's:
My only regret was that I didn't have an ice cream scoop in my pocket.

I don't remember how the book came to us, but I'm glad we have it. As Eli says, "I'm great fond of this book!"

Labels: books, family life, food, reading

Check out the write-up of Mama, PhD in the latest issue of eGrad, a newsletter for Berkeley graduate students:

Up on the web — it’s a site, it’s a blog, it’s a book!

Mainly, at the moment, it’s (almost) a book. It just happens to have the regulation 21st–century promotional bells and whistles, so it’s an instant community, and not a tiny one at that.

Read the rest of the article here. We're hoping to do some readings and campus talks at Berkeley next fall, so stayed tuned!

Labels: Berkeley, mama phd, reading

JP Mom won this week's give-away, but here's another for all of you. I confess I haven't read either of these books, but they look like good curl up on the couch with a cup of tea kind of novels...

This week's books:
, by Kate Jacobs and , by Sophie Kinsella

Leave me a comment saying you want to enter by the end of the day Tuesday, April 8th and I'll announce a winner next week.

The fine print, as devised by Overwhelmed with Joy:

"1) Once a month (or so) I'll pick a book to give away to one lucky reader (you don’t have to have a blog to enter). It may be a book that I’ve purchased new or used, or it may be a book that someone has shared with me that I really like. It’ll probably be a paperback, just to make things easier, but no guarantees.

2) Details on how you can enter to win will be listed below.

3) If you’re the lucky winner of the book giveaway I ask that you, in turn, host a drawing to give that book away for free to one of your readers, after you’ve had a chance to read it (let’s say, within a month after you’ve received the book), or donate it to your local library or shelter. If you mail the book out using the media/book rate that the post office offers it’s pretty inexpensive.

4) If you’re really motivated and want to host your own “Pay It Forward” giveaway at any time, feel free to grab the button above to use on your own blog. Just let her know so she can publish a post plugging your giveaway and directing readers your way!

So there you have it, the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, designed to encourage people to read, to share good books, to possibly get you out of your reading comfort zone, and to get fun stuff in the mail instead of just bills!"

Labels: books, pay it forward book exchange, reading

It's been a while, and the pile of books on my desk threatens to tumble over and crush me, so I'm giving away two books this week; look for another give away soon!

This week's books:
by Susan Callahan, Anne Nolen and Katrin Schumann
I didn't read this one -- it arrived in the mail last week, I don't know why. I don't need to spend my time off reading about taking time off, but maybe you know someone who does?

edited by Ilena Silverman, with essays by Michael Chabon, Ayelet Waldman, Kathryn Harrison and others. There are some nice pieces in here, and it's not all in-law bashing. And who doesn't love an anthology, really? Not me.

Leave me a comment saying you want to enter by the end of the day Friday, April 4th and I'll announce a winner next week.

The fine print, as devised by Overwhelmed with Joy:

"1) Once a month (or so) I'll pick a book to give away to one lucky reader (you don’t have to have a blog to enter). It may be a book that I’ve purchased new or used, or it may be a book that someone has shared with me that I really like. It’ll probably be a paperback, just to make things easier, but no guarantees.

2) Details on how you can enter to win will be listed below.

3) If you’re the lucky winner of the book giveaway I ask that you, in turn, host a drawing to give that book away for free to one of your readers, after you’ve had a chance to read it (let’s say, within a month after you’ve received the book), or donate it to your local library or shelter. If you mail the book out using the media/book rate that the post office offers it’s pretty inexpensive.

4) If you’re really motivated and want to host your own “Pay It Forward” giveaway at any time, feel free to grab the button above to use on your own blog. Just let her know so she can publish a post plugging your giveaway and directing readers your way!

So there you have it, the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, designed to encourage people to read, to share good books, to possibly get you out of your reading comfort zone, and to get fun stuff in the mail instead of just bills!"

Labels: books, pay it forward book exchange, reading

I've been meaning to point you all away from my blog and toward the Literary Mama columns for a couple weeks now, ever since the latest installment of Libby's (on the question of boy books vs girl books) and Elrena's (on the question of the Bible's setting boy rules and girl rules...) fabulous pieces.

Now, those columns have been joined by a whole new cycle: Susan Ito's sweet Valentine to her husband; Ericka Lutz's funny piece on binge writing; Ona Gritz's and Rebecca Kaminsky's different reflections on self-image; and Shari MacDonald Strong's beautiful dream for a better world. So head on over to Literary Mama and dive in.

(the image is for Shari's column; you can start there, but be warned: you'll have "Yellow Submarine"thrumming through your head the rest of the day!)

Labels: columns, literary mama, reading, writing

Inspired by Hemingway, who (maybe) wrote:
"For sale: baby shoes. Never Worn."
6-word memoirs by various writers.

My "memoir" earned a comp copy.
The entry? Inspired by my book:
"Closed a door, opened a life."
Pretentious? perhaps, but certainly heartfelt, true.

I can't put the book down!
My copy from e-friend Felicia Sullivan.
Her entry, page 150, quoted here:
"Weird quiet girl, fading from view."
Others worth a look; my sister's:
"Learned reading, writing, forgot arithmetic"
(Though note, it's only five words!)

Also love this, from Ariana Huffington:
"Fearlessness is the mother of reinvention."
And also, from writer Daniel Handler:
"What? Lemony Snicket? Lemony Snicket? What?"
or commercial approach from Martha Clarkson:
"Detergent girl: Bold. Tide. Cheer. All."
And a thoughtful entry; Arthur Harris:
"Good, evil use the same font."
Brilliant understatement from Roy Blount, Jr:
"Maybe you had to be there."
And I relate to Barb Piper:
"Rich in degrees and student loans"
Ayelet Waldman always makes me laugh:
"New Jersey to California. Thank god."

Get the book; read some more.

Labels: books, reading, writing

The call to participate in a blog day for Patry Francis attracted my attention because I'd just enjoyed reading her profile on Literary Mama. To learn that she's too ill, right now, from cancer treatment to promote her book, , attracted my sympathy.

I don't know Francis, and I admit I haven't read her book, but having just started work on a publicity plan for my own book, I feel terrible at the thought of someone publishing a book and not being able to support it with readings and other events. It's like putting your kid on a school bus for the first day of kindergarten and saying, "Bye! Good luck! See you at the end of the year!"

So if my writing about her writing can help raise attention to her work, I'm happy to participate. Here's an excerpt from her profile that struck a chord with me:

I really admire writers who can get a lot of work done when their children are small. I was never one of them. For me, trying to understand who each child was and what they needed to grow and develop their own talents took all the creativity I had. There was no room for me to ponder the inner life of characters. Though I made many outlines and filled notebooks with ideas for the novels I hoped to write, nothing much was finished while there was a child under six in the house.

Writing, if it’s genuine and honest, is an act of supreme empathy. In writing a novel, I struggle to understand my characters, to accept their strengths and weaknesses, to allow them the freedom to be themselves (even when it doesn’t fit in with my plans), to celebrate them, forgive them and then to let them go. When you think of it, it’s very similar to the arc of parenting.

I also think my dedication to my work, both when I met with success and during the long years when I didn’t, has had a positive influence on my children. It’s taught them that if you truly love what you do, the process itself is always the greatest reward.

I have always loved my role as a mother, but I am also grateful to have something that is all my own. As my children are growing older and beginning to leave home, there is a sense of nostalgia and even loss, but that is counter-balanced by the joy I have in my other life: my work. Knowing that mom is busy and happy is also making the transition easier for the children. And, oh yes, one more thing: they are so proud of me.

And now go check out her blog, where she's got many more lovely reflections on writing. And then (don't forget!), check out her , which sounds like a good creepy read for a winter's night.

cross-posted at Literary Mama

Labels: reading, writing

As promised, I'm clearing out my bookshelves in a giving mood right now, so hard on the heels of last week's (won by Kim, who only wanted one book, and Violeta), I'm running another Pay It Forward Book Exchange. This week I've got two novels: Andrea Barrett's moving and Philippa Gregory's (coming soon to a movie theater near you).

Here are the rules, as created by Overwhelmed with Joy:

"1) Once a month (or so) I'll pick a book to give away to one lucky reader (you don’t have to have a blog to enter). It may be a book that I’ve purchased new or used, or it may be a book that someone has shared with me that I really like. It’ll probably be a paperback, just to make things easier, but no guarantees.

2) Details on how you can enter to win will be listed below.

3) If you’re the lucky winner of the book giveaway I ask that you, in turn, host a drawing to give that book away for free to one of your readers, after you’ve had a chance to read it (let’s say, within a month after you’ve received the book), or donate it to your local library or shelter. If you mail the book out using the media/book rate that the post office offers it’s pretty inexpensive.

4) If you’re really motivated and want to host your own “Pay It Forward” giveaway at any time, feel free to grab the button above to use on your own blog. Just let her know so she can publish a post plugging your giveaway and directing readers your way!

So there you have it, the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, designed to encourage people to read, to share good books, to possibly get you out of your reading comfort zone, and to get fun stuff in the mail instead of just bills!"

Post a comment telling me you want to enter by Wednesday, and I'll announce the winners as soon as I remember to.

Labels: pay it forward book exchange, reading

OK, it's been so long since I've done this that I'm giving away three (three!) books this month. And I'll probably do another give-away before the end of the month. I'm just in a giving kind of mood.

The books I'm letting go of this month are Elizabeth Irvine's Healthy Mother, Healthy Child: Creating Balance In Everyday Life; Simon Winchester's ; and a signed copy of Santa Montefiore's The Gypsy Madonna. A get-your-year-started-healthy how-to, a fascinating history, and a curl up by the fire novel.

Here are the rules, as created by Overwhelmed with Joy:

"1) Once a month (or so) I'll pick a book to give away to one lucky reader (you don’t have to have a blog to enter). It may be a book that I’ve purchased new or used, or it may be a book that someone has shared with me that I really like. It’ll probably be a paperback, just to make things easier, but no guarantees.

2) Details on how you can enter to win will be listed below.

3) If you’re the lucky winner of the book giveaway I ask that you, in turn, host a drawing to give that book away for free to one of your readers, after you’ve had a chance to read it (let’s say, within a month after you’ve received the book), or donate it to your local library or shelter. If you mail the book out using the media/book rate that the post office offers it’s pretty inexpensive.

4) If you’re really motivated and want to host your own “Pay It Forward” giveaway at any time, feel free to grab the button above to use on your own blog. Just let her know so she can publish a post plugging your giveaway and directing readers your way!

So there you have it, the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, designed to encourage people to read, to share good books, to possibly get you out of your reading comfort zone, and to get fun stuff in the mail instead of just bills!"

Leave me a comment saying you want to enter by the end of the day Wednesday, January 2nd and I'll announce a winner on Thursday.

Labels: memes, pay it forward book exchange, reading

Woo-hoo! has its very own and its very own (though not yet a cover image that I can share).
I'm a very proud mama, PhD, indeed.

You can learn more about the book, my co-editor, Elrena Evans, and all our incredible contributors at our website. Then click on over to . It's never too early to !

Labels: mama, phd, reading, writing

Full-disclosure: I worked with Andrea Buchanan for a couple years at Literary Mama, Miriam Peskowitz wrote the foreword for my book, and I think of them both as friends. I was one of the dozens, if not hundreds, of I hope not-too-annoying-people who sent them suggestions while they were writing The Daring Book for Girls this summer. I'd feed them if they came to San Francisco, and definitely buy them both a drink if we met up somewhere else. I'm a totally biased reviewer.

It seems many of the Daring Book for Girls readers have fallen into this book with a sigh of nostalgia. I didn't have that reaction. This book is nothing like any books I had as a kid, unfortunately, and lists dozens of activities and facts that are entirely new to me. Peach Pit Rings? I can't wait till next summer to try this with my sons! And today's princesses? All –except Princess Anne-- new names to me.

did not make me think nostalgically of my childhood because I've done so few of these activities – I counted around a dozen -- and two of them (public speaking and salary negotiation) I've only done as an adult (I worked as a kid, sure, babysitting and such, but I think people said "I'll pay you X" and I said, "OK!") I had a great, fun childhood, don't get me wrong, and I didn't spend it sitting in front of the television, but I was not a daring girl. I didn't learn how to ride a bike until I was 19, and I didn't get my driver's license until I was 20, or maybe 21 (the fact that I can't remember when I got it tells you what a milestone it was in my life. I was not chomping at the bit to adventure independently).

An adventure for me was walking in the meadow outside my grandparent's house at night, pretending to be Emily Bronte walking the moors – see, I wasn't even adventurous enough to pretend to be Catherine; I pretended to be the writer! And so of course I feel kinship with Miriam Peskowitz and Andrea Buchanan, who write, "When we were young and bored, our parents told us, "Go read the dictionary!" We did, and look where it got us. One should never underestimate the pleasure to be found flipping through a dictionary, an encyclopedia, or an old science book."

Indeed, and such is the pleasure of flipping through this book, full of facts and fun, instructions on games and crafts, social skills (boys! letter writing! Robert's Rules of order!) and life skills, from Japanese t-shirt folding to changing a tire. I was more of a paper-making, doll outfit-sewing, campfire singing girl than a hideout-building, tree swinging, roller skating kind of girl, but both kinds of girls are reflected here, beautifully. All kinds of girls – and boys – are going to find things to do and learn in this book. It's a completely inviting, approachable book, from its green and sparkly cover to its lovely line drawings; it's sized right for curling up and reading in bed, but also sturdy enough to carry along on a girl's adventures.

I wasn’t a daring girl, and I don't have any girls in my house, but this book will keep my family good company in the years to come.

Labels: mothertalk, reading

My sister reminded me that today is Irma Rombauer's birthday. For those of you who don't refer to your Joy of Cooking by her name, she is the author of Joy of Cooking, my kitchen dictionary. Irma is also my kitchen diary; following in my mother's footsteps, I use the back, blank pages to record my annual Christmas baking. It's not such an impressive list as my mom's, yet; she used to host enormous open houses throughout the holiday season, and her cookie baking would extend into dozens of batches. But I'm getting there, and we'll be home for Christmas this year (with my parents visiting!) so there'll be ample opportunity to add to the list.

Here's what I've baked in the past:

Christmas '98 (dissertation-writing)
bourbon balls
speculatius
chocolate/almond biscotti
pfeffernusse
lemon butter stars
coconut palm trees
gingerbread men
almond crescents
chocolate crinkle cookies
chocolate/chocolate mint chip cookies
raspberry thumbprints

no record of 1999 (job market) or 2000 (my first married Christmas)

Christmas 2001 (pregnant)
bourbon balls
speculatius
pfeffernusse
lemon cornmeal stars
coconut palm trees
gingersnaps
chocolate crinkle cookies
chocolate glazed toffee bars
raspberry thumbprints

no record of 2002, because we were hospitalized with a very sick baby

Christmas 2003 (21-month old baby)
pneumonia, strep throat, bronchitis and truffles

no record of 2004, as we were packing up the house to renovate

Christmas 2005 (7-month old baby; our house under renovations)
gingerbread men
lemon polenta stars

Christmas 2006 (Ben helping with the baking!)
speculatius
gingerbread men
chocolate crinkle cookies
pistachio-cranberry cookies
chocolate-dipped candied orange peel

Tomorrow, I'll post the batter-stained recipe to which my Joy of Cooking falls open when I pull the book off the shelf.

Labels: baking, reading

I've been dying to see my copy ever since Elrena posted about hers (sometimes living on the west coast really tries my patience!) and it has finally arrived, and it is gorgeous. But I didn't get much time to flip through it before Ben grabbed it out of my hands. "Hey!" he said, delighted. "Now we have the boy version and the girl version! I wonder what there is in here for me?"

"Take a look," I said, "and see what interests you."

He found the basketball section, right up front, and studied that a while, then flipped ahead to softball, and looked at how that differs from what he knows about baseball.

Flip, flip... Double Dutch Jump Rope: "Wow, look at that! that's a cool long rope; I want to try that..."

Flip, flip, flip... Every Girl's Toolbox, with a pause to look at which of those tools he and Eli have toy versions of, and which Tony has downstairs in his workshop (I do not currently have a toolbox, having deferred household improvement tasks to my more skilled husband. But, I should note that it was my mom who wired my dollhouse with electric lights and continues to wield a screwdriver as easily as a rolling pin, so I was raised properly...)

And finally, flip flip flip... pause, and then in a voice of quiet reverence, "Oh, Mama, look: Volcano Project." Ben started to read it on his own, then we read it together. We talked about vinegar and baking soda a bit (a combination he's watched work its magic in the kitchen, when we make soda bread), and then Ben said, "Hey, they should write that this is an activity for outside only." Indeed, people, let's keep those volcanoes outside!

Check back next month for my official MotherTalk review; in the meantime, Ben and I will be flip-flip-flipping through the book and embarking on daring projects.

Labels: reading

I am still behind on the memes I've been tagged for, but this one was easy, ie, requiring little of me in terms of reflection or writing ability. (My apologies, but if you'd seen my email inbox this weekend, you'd understand. Elrena, who tagged me for this one, certainly understands, as she sent me half that email as we were copyediting our book!) Anyway, all that work's starting to ease up, my brain is starting to re-engage, and I'm reading the most fabulous . I don't think I'll be able to part with it anytime soon, so don't hold your breath that it'll turn up in a Pay It Forward Book Exchange; I'm only half-way through, and I know this is one I'm going to start re-reading as soon as I finish.

Here are the rules:
"Open the book you’re currently reading to page 161, and post the fifth sentence on the page, then think of 5 bloggers to tag."


And here is the sentence, a bit of dialogue between two of the novel's main characters, Prue Winship, a gin distiller, and her younger sister, Tem; the setting is Brooklyn, late 18th century, just after their father's death:

"The fires have been cold almost three weeks," she told Tem, before her sister went off for her evening's drinking, "Will you help?"

But that's not the kind of sentence, fine as it is, that makes you run off and buy a book, so here's another. It would probably be useful to know that Prue Winship, gin distiller, is hoping to build a bridge between Brooklyn and Manhattan:

"Prue thought if she could bridge the distance between here and the Other Side; if she could build a monument to expiate her sin and her folly, and to embody the love she had borne her parents, who'd crossed over too soon, before she was ripe to understand them; if she might take this wealth of money and skill her father had bequeathed her, and do something with it, for the public good and perhaps to the general wonderment--if all, if any, of these circumstances might come to pass, Will Severn could keep to himself, and Ben could remain in the wilderness, and she could never move a hair's breadth closer to knowing where the dead resided, yet she would be happy the rest of her days."

That's a good sentence.

And now I tag Feed Your Loves, Midlife Mama, Marmee's Musings, Fertile Ground, and LoveBug and RolleyPolley.

Labels: memes, reading

This month's Pay It Forward Book Exchange winner is Stacey! Thanks to those who entered, and tune in next month for another book.

Labels: pay it forward book exchange, reading

It's time again for the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, as started by Overwhelmed with Joy. Here's how it goes:

1) Once a month I'll pick a book to give away to one lucky reader (you don’t have to have a blog to enter). It may be a book that I’ve purchased new or used, or it may be a book that someone has shared with me that I really like. It’ll probably be a paperback, just to make things easier, but no guarantees.

2) Details on how you can enter to win will be listed below.

3) If you’re the lucky winner of the book giveaway I ask that you, in turn, host a drawing to give that book away for free to one of your readers, after you’ve had a chance to read it (let’s say, within a month after you’ve received the book). If you mail the book out using the media/book rate that the post office offers it’s pretty inexpensive.

4) If you’re really motivated and want to host your own “Pay It Forward” giveaway at any time, feel free to grab the button above to use on your own blog. Just let her know so she can publish a post plugging your giveaway and directing readers your way!

So there you have it, the Pay It Forward Book Exchange, designed to encourage people to read, to share good books, to possibly get you out of your reading comfort zone, and to get fun stuff in the mail instead of just bills!"

So here's how to enter: leave a comment saying, "I want to enter." That's it. No muss, no fuss. I'll randomly choose one lucky commenter on October 20th and mail the book out; you agree to give the book away when you're done with it, via your own Pay It Forward Book Exchange or, if you don't blog, by donating it to a local library or shelter.

This month's book: by J. M. Coetzee.

Labels: memes, pay it forward book exchange, reading