Blame Timothy Olyphant (and 8 other reasons) for my Delinquent Blogging Habits

1. The whole point of a blog is to fulfill a narcissistic desire that other people care as much about what you have to say as you do about saying it (writing it).  But I have no idea if anyone is actually reading my entries never mind eagerly anticipating my next semi-witty post. As such, I'm not hugely committed to writing on the weekly basis that I had hoped to.  Now, if someone wanted to pay me for this...I'd be all over it!


2.My girls have decided they need to call my name approximately every 90 seconds that they are awake.  And sometimes even when they are sleeping (I kid you not.).  I'm not going to get into how much I love my girls, love hearing what they have to say and how much they love talking to me because in a few years they won't blah blah blah.  Any mama worth her mama title knows this.  And any mama not up for sainthood also knows that you can get diddly and squat done when your kids need to talk to you every 90seconds 20 out of 24 hours a day.  Even when their daddy is standing right in front of them willing to talk, listen, or do.


3.My phone is poopy.  What's that you say, in the middle of a contract so not eligible for a free upgrade yet? Then by all means my phone should stop working consistently.  I use my phone for the majority of my online interactions because it's easy.  But for reasons beyond my understanding,the touch screen is starting to fail, the apps don't work consistently and when drafts of emails and text messages disappear, I'm not going to risk that with a blog entry.  Also, sometimes my gadgets know when I'm coveting other gadgets and stop working out of spite. My phone must know that I was recently lured into wanting an iPad despite my solid stance against succumbing to dark side. (More on this another time I'm sure.  If I can stop being a delinquent blogger)


4. I'm under the delusion that all of posts have to be deeply meaningful...or at least long.  And, as of yet the technology to extract posts from my head that I think up when not near a keyboard - does not exist. Besides, I'm out of practice.  I used to be an avid journal-er and so was much better at writing personal perspective pieces.  But that was before I went back to school and had three children so that my writing as of late has consisted of text messages to myself of grocery lists, reminders, and 12-20 page academic papers.


5.I've developed a thing for a Kentucky Marshall.  Or more accurately, Timothy Olyphant in Justified.  I don't why.  His character is a bit of an ass.  I've never been particularly into the cowboy-type.  He's certainly no Jon Bon Jovi (Oh, wait, maybe I am into the cowboy-type.  As long as it's just pretend.)  My new "interest" has resulted in marathon viewings of the show's three seasons.


6.I continue to enjoy the conversation - and other things - offered up by my partner. Easy distractions from the computer. And I haven't even bought him a cowboy hat yet.


7.I recently re-discovered my love of reading and my ability to whip through a good book in a day or two.


8.My interactions with the grown up world are somewhat limited and as a result so is my content. Also, holding balancing my netbook on my knee while breastfeeding my almost 3mos old is both mildly painful for me and potentially a bump on the head for her. (Don't worry, I haven't let it slip yet.)


9.I like to sleep.


Do you have secret crush on a TV cowboy? 

Children's Books, Part 1

I have 17 minutes to write this before I go to bed.  Coincidentally I was inspired by a recent episode of Up All Night where “the Fonz” guest stars as one of the main character’s Dad.  He plays a role, where if you grew up during a certain time you will recognize as a parody of Ezra Jack Keats, children’s author and illustrator.

When I was six, I got my first public library card and I was very impressed with myself for knowing where to find books by Ezra Jack Keats; my favourite one, was A Letter to Amy.  But I’m sure I was introduced to him at school via the librarian reading us “A Snowy Day”.  It was the beautiful water colours that I enjoyed and on some level, the fact that the main characters were not white.  While I was not African-American, nor was I growing up in New York, I was drawn to the brown- skinned characters and their urban “adventures”.   Adventures such as going for a walk in the first big snow; learning to whistle, mailing a party invitation to a crush. I never realized how much of an imprint these books left on me until I was pregnant with my first daughter, and I bought her Keats’ Neighbourhood as a present.  I read them to her while she was in the belly and when she was just a baby.  Now, she reads them to herself and her sisters.

There are so many other books I’ve passed on to her that I grew up loving (I will definitely write more about).  But I think the Keats’ books meant so much to me because picture books – of a high quality – were rare things to own.  I had dozens of books as a very young child, but the illustrations were of varying quality, and they were typically fairy tales.  Not like the dozens,- close to a hundred- picture books my girls have by award winning authors Mo Willems, Emily Gravett, Oliver Jeffers, and Canadians Melanie Watt and Jeremy Tankard to name just a few.  These books are hilarious, cheeky, and smart.  Many of them have  a direct appeal to the grown-ups reading them – from Scaredy Squirrel’s neurosis to Willems’ Knuffle Bunny Free epilogue bringing my partner and I to tears it so obviously written for the parents.   It’s easy to find and buy children’s picture books now. And, I confess that we go to the bookstore more than the library, but we do go there – to borrow fiction and non; books by familiar authors and new ones; books that are older and books that are brand new.  But be it at the store or in the library, I’ve yet to come across a collection that speaks to me the way the Keat’s books did.  And they really did speak to me and I spoke back.  Because in this very vivid memory I have of my first visit to the public library (I could retrace that path exactly if I had to), I remember talking to myself and the books as I chose them.  I wonder if my girls will have a memory of a children’s picture book like that?

Did you grow up with picture books that had and continue to have a special place in your heart?  Who are your current favourite children’s authors?