An Open Letter to Our Cat

Dear Margot,

First, allow me to welcome you to the family.  I know it's been two and a half months since you've joined us, but we've been pretty busy, so you'll forgive my lateness.  We're a pretty fun group -- if your definition of fun is staying home, living a sedentary life of reading and watching tv and eating, with only brief bursts of energy that propel us off our posteriors and into equally brief moments of sociability -- but you're a cat, so that seems like a good fit.  The smallest member of the family (yourself excluded) has more frequent (and intense) bursts of activity (and sociability), but we figure she'll outgrow that.

We may have gotten off on the wrong foot in terms of your understanding of the contract of expected behavior, so this seems like a good time to break down the rules and expectations for living in this house.

1.  You have a litter box.  Use it.  Great news!  You've already got this one down.  No problems here.  Keep it that way if you know what's good for you, er, I mean, GOOD JOB!

2.  Chew nothing but your kibble and cat toys.  We've had a little run-in on this one already, haven't we?  My fault for not explaining the terms of your contract, sooner, I suppose.  So let me break it down for you.  You are adorable.  You are soft and fluffy and have big eyes and ears that you use to your advantage.  Nevertheless, there are not enough cute head butts and purrs in your repertoire to make up for destroying my MacBook charger.  Silky ears and twitchy tails do not keep my laptop running.  Keep those pointy little fangs to yourself, and we'll get along just fine.  And on a related note...

3.  DON'T BITE.  Not me.  Not anybody.  But especially not me.  Perhaps this one requires a little history.  You probably don't remember this far back (nearly three months ago), but you were rescued from certain death by a dear friend.  Together, she and I took one look at your tiny, flea-covered body and suited up for battle.  We knew we couldn't use any chemicals on such a young kitten, and so we spent the better part of a day picking hundreds of fleas off your squirmy, little self.  Did you catch that?  We picked them off by hand.  I'm not asking for much in return.  Just a little gratitude.  Ever heard that chestnut, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you?"  Didn't think so.  Well, it also applies to the hand that feeds and picks fleas off you by hand so as not to poison your baby body with chemicals.  You're welcome.

4.  Don't destroy my furniture/curtains/child's toys/etc.  Remember that story about how I picked fleas off you by hand?  How I provided you with a home full of food and warmth and a dog covered in cords/kitten toys?  Yeah, keep that in mind every time you get the urge to scratch the sofa or cling to the footboard of my bed using only your rear claws and killer balance.  Though I will say I appreciate your self-control in waiting at least two days before removing every one of the claw caps I so carefully applied.  It shows you have some self-control.  Or a sense of humor.

5.  Keep doing that thing where you sit on my chest and purr so loudly it can be heard across the room.  That's really working for me.  Especially when you combine it with the half-shut eyes and occasional chin or nose lick.  Keep up the good work.

That's Perfectly Normal

I have never been normal (an admission that is shocking to exactly no one.)  When I was a small child, my family moved.  A lot.  Whether it was school (when I was even in an actual brick-and-mortar school) or church or ballet class, I was generally the odd man out.  Children are not known for their immediate acceptance of the new and/or different, and I was both of those things on a regular basis.

In junior high, I stepped up my weirdo game when I developed a skin condition that prevented me from getting any sun exposure.  Did I mention that we lived in Myrtle Beach at the time?  The land of sand, surf, and swimming pools is not exactly the ideal spot for a budding heliophobe (look it up, people, I did.)  There I was at the ripe old age of thirteen and no longer allowed to go swimming or to the water park.  I couldn't even play kickball in PE (admittedly, not a great loss.)

In addition to these relatively minor physical limitations, I also set about making sure I was viewed as a complete weirdo by deciding to make my life a never-ending Anne of Green Gable cosplay.  (No, there will be no pictures of that in my post.)  While I did attend an ultra-conservative Christian school at the time (you know, the kind where it's a big secret that girls have knees and shoulders), I still didn't exactly blend in with my petticoats and lace-up boots.  But the pretending got me through, and I regret nothing.

One of out two ain't bad.  Right? Anyone?

I managed.  Though I continued to get less normal, especially health-wise.  Mumps at eighteen?  Absolutely. (And yes, I had been vaccinated.  See? I told you I was weird.) Chronic sinus issues that ended up in surgery?  Why not?  By the age of twenty-five, I was in less than stellar physical condition and was diagnosed with systemic Lupus and Sjogren's Syndrome shortly before I got married. I had required corrective lenses since I was twelve, but would have to wear glasses for the rest of my life because of the severe dry eye.  (I would also never be far from my artificial tears bottle.)  I was easily tired and often in pain.  Still it was comforting having a diagnosis.  (And I'd given up on the 19th century garb by then, so that was a bonus.)

Fast forward to two and a half years ago.  I was married with a small child, and I'd never felt worse.  Enter a new diagnosis: Celiac Disease.  What is that, you ask?  Well, the short version is that my gut doesn't like gluten.  No, it actually hates gluten.  Like get-those-kids-off-my-lawn-before-I-call-the-cops kind of hates gluten.  And every time I ate it, my intestines would call the cops, and the party was definitely over.  It got ugly.

Just for fun, try going a day without any gluten.  Trying going a meal.  It's tougher than you think.  Then, just to make things super-challenging, try to go a meal without eating anything that has even touched gluten.

And that's my life.

So here's the thing.  There's good and bad about always being that kid.  It definitely made me into a bit of a non-conformist.  I don't want to like the same things as everybody else.  And I don't feel the need to adjust my opinions/tastes/etc. to match those of the prevailing crowd.  Being an introvert, however, I do tire quickly of any attention my differences might draw (19th century cosplay notwithstanding. It's about forced differences.)

I like to be normal. (Not to be confused with conventional.)

I revel in routine.  It is a point of pride that I have lived in my house for nine years.  (A record for me by quite a few years.)  My little girl came home from the hospital to this house and knows no other home.  She went to the same preschool for three years and (I hope) will go to the same elementary school all the way through.  We have Taco Tuesday.  Every Tuesday.  We are incredibly boring.  And I LOVE it.

Kiddo and I started baking together when she was still in diapers.  One of my favorite videos is of her attempting to add chocolate chips to cookies only to miss the bowl entirely and dump them on the floor.  (Not included in the video is how sick the Big Dog got from eating just one of those tiny chocolate chips, but I digress.)  Every special occasion in our home included a heaping plate of my pan-fried chicken.  And my fried chicken fingers were a favorite at gatherings and parties.  I had a specialty.

But all of this ended with my Celiac diagnosis.  Our love of trying out trendy, high-end(ish) restaurants?  Over.  Baking anything we want in the cookbook with my assistant?  Over.  Having dinner with friends in restaurants and their homes?  Really over.  Being able to blend into invisibility at group functions that involve food?  So over.

Much like the condition that kept me from sun exposure in the land of the sun, Celiac keeps me from food in a time of my life when food is central to most social interactions.  When you have a severe food allergy or sensitivity, you become a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be overcome.  Well-intentioned and kind people flock to your aid, only to be hurt and abashed (and sometimes flat-out offended) by your unwillingness to risk your health and sanity on their "gluten-free" offerings.  It's messy.

Still, I treasure routine and sameness.  Normalcy.  Celiac may have killed my love for cooking and baking much like my sun issue ended my enjoyment of swimming.  But there are bright spots that I treasure.

I found a way (through MUCH experimentation) to make gluten-free fried chicken and pan gravy that is comparable to my old glory.

There are a few restaurants where I can safely eat, but far better is the gluten-free restaurant in Asheville, Posana, where I can order anything I want off the menu.  Until that choice is taken away from you, there is just no way to appreciate how intoxicating that freedom really is.  Bread? Biscuits? Cheesecake?  It's all safe.  And in a gluten-free establishment there is no worry about cross-contamination.  It is, in a word, glorious.

The worst part of all of this (for me) is how it affects Kiddo.  While I understand that I can't protect her from everything, I desperately want for her to have the option to be normal.  I want her to have the same bedroom year after year.  I want her to know the same friends for as long as she chooses.  I want her to go to birthday parties and sleepovers and not to have to say, "I can't eat that, do that, etc." And most important to me, I never want my limitations and weirdnesses to affect her (an impossible dream, I know.)  If she wants to grow up to be a rebel, a non-conformist woman with a bit of an exhibitionist streak, so be it.  I just never want that label, that burden, placed on her shoulders by me.

So these are some of the things I treasure:

My little cookie-cutter house that looks exactly like at least three other houses in our neighborhood.

My church, where I've attended for nearly seven years, where the people and the place are beautifully familiar, and where Kiddo feels safe and loved.

My gloriously boring little family.

Taco Tuesday.

Kiddo's gymnastics class where all her little friends from preschool go.

Knowing my way around, not one, but two towns.

Having a specific doctor for every illness, having our dry cleaner, after-church restaurant, dentist, etc.

Friends that I've known and loved for nearly my entire adult life.

Some of these things may seem trivial, but I've made this sameness, this routine a priority for my own happiness and sanity.  I've made sacrifices for it, and I'm going to revel in it for as long as it lasts.


**My original intention when I started this particular post was to also talk about the beautiful normalcy that General Mills has given back to me with the addition of their gluten-free Cheerios and Honey Nut Cheerios (my go-to childhood breakfast.)  Since that time, however, General Mills has issued a recall on nearly two million boxes of Cheerios, due to incorrect labeling of "Gluten Free" on boxes that weren't.  When we're talking about people's trust and health, that kind of mistake is inexcusable. When the gluten-free boxes were released, Twitter was lit up with Celiac patients celebrating this bit of old-school normalcy (and safety) in their lives.  We could finally have something other than Chex for breakfast (don't get me wrong, I love Chex.)  Here was a cereal that wasn't a special variation on the gluten-filled version.  This cereal could be purchased in any grocery store and for the same price as other General Mills cereals.  And now we're told that General Mills was extremely careless with the health of its customers.  It's disappointing in a way that is difficult to articulate. 

It's My Birthday And I'll Buy If I Want To

It's actually the day before my birthday, and it's a good time to be me (mostly). Last night was dinner with a few dear friends, courtesy of my husband, The Grill Master.  There was even GF red velvet cake from Coffee to a Tea.  So much cream cheese frosting goodness, and the first red velvet cake I've had since my Celiac diagnosis.  YUM!

I may or may not have had a piece of this for lunch today.

Tonight, it's off to Asheville, just the three of us, at my favorite GF restaurant, Posana.  Until you've been diagnosed with a severe food allergy/sensitivity, it is difficult to understand the glorious freedom of going to a restaurant where everything on the menu is safe to eat.  It's intoxicating.

But I didn't write to make you jealous of my dining option.  This entry is meant, instead, to make you jealous of my Amazon book order.  (Isn't that more important, anyway?) I made the dizzying decision to spend a chunk of my birthday money on one big book order.  I hadn't placed such a large book order since grad school, and never solely for books I wanted to read.  I was practically drunk on the choices.  And the best news?  I got a B&N gift card from a dear friend, which means I get to do an abbreviated version of that order AGAIN very soon.

So here are the soon-to-be latest additions to my TBR:

Fates and Furies, Lauren Groff

I only ordered two new releases, and this is one of them.  Long listed for the National Book Award, this book already has so much buzz, and I can't wait to read it.

The Angel on My Chest, Leslie Pietrzyk

There was no way I was not [pre] ordering this book.  It doesn't come out for a few days yet, but this new release was written by my thesis advisor/faculty mentor from grad school.  I've read some of the stories from this collection previously, and they are amazing.  Can't wait to get this one.

White Teeth, Zadie Smith

Strangely, the only Zadie Smith book I've never read is her first.  Really looking forward to reading what the 24 year old Smith had to say.

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz

Sad and embarrassed to admit that the only place I've read Diaz is on social media.  Starting with his Pulitzer Prizer winner.

Play It As It Lays, Joan Didion

Joan Didion + fiction.  Can't go wrong.  How have I not read this before?

The Art of Memoir, Mary Karr

Okay, so I lied.  Three new releases.  (I forgot about this one somehow.)  Anyway, so excited about this book.  I am so obsessed with Mary Karr's memoirs.  Lit was mind-blowing, and Liars' Club was gutting.  This is definitely going to be a worthwhile (and instructive) read.

Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood

I'm finally going to get to start the Maddaddam Trilogy! I adore Margaret Atwood, despite being woefully under read in her books.  Handmaid's Tale, Blind Assassin, and Alias Grace were impossible to put down, though, so I'm thinking this trilogy will also be right up my very dystopian alley.

Call the Midwife, Jennifer Worth

I am the world's biggest Call the Midwife fan (the tv show), so I cannot wait to start reading the first of Jennifer Worth's three books about her time as a midwife in East London.  I'm admittedly a little late to this particular book party, but I'll be all caught up in no time.

***

I started this post this morning while I was sipping tea in my jammies.  It's now going on eleven o'clock at night, and my jammies have reappeared.  Dinner at Posana was amazing (but that's a whole post of its own), and to make the night perfect, six of my eight ordered books were waiting on my porch when I got home from Asheville.  I had my own private unboxing on the bed, taking pictures of my new pretties.

Just look at those lovely virgin spines and crease-free covers.  Be still my heart

So now that you are gagging on all the saccharine-y goodness that is my perfect birthday weekend (well minus the monsoon weather that kept me from hitting the Asheville bookstores -- so sad), I suppose I will wrap up this post.  Look at this way:  At least it wasn't a rant!  And I'll be back to my grumpy self in no time.

Banned Books Week and My High Horse

I wouldn't exactly call it a trend, though it's certainly been getting some press lately.  No, I've seen it for years.  To be honest, I've probably participated in it, though it was many years ago when I was a very different person.  In the circles I ran in, it was the way things were done.  There were angry whispers, shaken heads, hands thrown up in despair.  It was the end of the world.

Except it wasn't.  And people are still declaring the end of all things decent twenty, thirty years later. (And let's be real, this is a practice that has a much, much older history than my childhood.) What is this epidemic am I referring to?  The idea that we mere humans cannot withstand exposure to (and heaven forbid exploration of) beliefs, opinions, or lifestyles that differ from our own and that we need to weed out the problematic content.

Everywhere I look, there are people in a frenzied scramble to control/erase/hide all ideas that do not align with their personal worldview.  Parents are challenging library books, students are denouncing college courses or book assignments, citizens are protesting against whole ethnic/religious groups.  Somehow, in a country supposedly founded on ideals of free thought/speech and separation of church of state, we as a nation have decided that those rights only belong to the select few who think a certain way.

It's not a new problem.  It's not a problem that's going anywhere.  What disturbs me most, though, is the number of people who are basing these protests and challenges on their personal Christian beliefs.  

That show/movie/book shouldn't be allowed because there are gay people in it.  

That book doesn't belong in the school library because it's about Muslims.  

You know what news stories I'm talking about.  You've seen them too.

Now I know what the people who make these statements would say to me.  They would aim all their righteous indignation in my direction and insist that in addition to eternal damnation, I am risking tramping all over their right to freedom of religion.  That it's their right to believe those things are wrong/evil/whatever.

To which I would say, Exactly.

You have a right to believe anything you want.  You can believe it's wrong for a woman to leave the house or have a job or a blog where she rants incoherently while a large dog breathes down her neck and a kitten claws at her legs. (Too specific?)

What you don't have the right to do is to decide what others believe, or for that matter to decide what other are exposed to.  You don't want your kid to read/watch/see anything related to homosexuality?  Well, good luck with that.  But hey, it's your right to attempt it anyway.

But stop blaming it on Christianity.

Somehow, in the Bible Belt at least (where I live), it has become accepted that if you call yourself a Christian, you are automatically aligned with the ultra-conservative, ban-it-if-we-don't-believe-it crowd.  People I encounter and who know I call myself a Christian, feel I'd be psyched to hear about how some book should be eliminated from their kids' school for scatological humor.  (Yeah, they REALLY don't know me very well.)  It is assumed that I share their outrage over television/movie/book content.

So, here's the thing.  My God is bigger and more powerful and more full of love than anything I can imagine.  My God does not need my defense.  If he is too weak for questions and doubts and people with differing opinions, different religions, then he wouldn't be much of a God, would he?  I have read nothing in Scripture that suggests we were put on this earth to police anyone's behavior but our own.

If you feel morally conflicted about a television program?  Don't watch it.  Don't let your kids watch it.  If you cannot in good conscience read that book assigned for that new course?  Then let the professor know.  He or she will either make other arrangements for you, or they won't.  Suck it up and take the consequences.

But here's where you must draw the line: Don't insist that everyone else should adhere to your personal convictions.

That's it.  It's that simple.  You should absolutely follow the way you feel God is leading/convicting you.  What you should not do, is demand that everyone else is being led the same way and they just missed it.

***

And yet, I'm not finished.  Because I haven't alienated enough people, I'm going to take it one step further and encourage you to read that book about someone different from you.  Did I mention that my God is not threatened by the infinite variety of human beliefs?  He won't be contaminated by you reading about and trying to understand more about people of other faiths.  Regardless of your feelings/beliefs on homosexuality, reading/learning about people who are gay is only going to help you understand other people.

Because that's what we're talking about here.  Beneath all the labels -- Muslims, gays, minorities, Democrats (GASP!) -- we're still just talking about people.  And here's the thing:  Most people are trying to do the best they can with what they were given.  Yes, even that jerk who drives all the way to the end of the entrance ramp and then wants you to let him into standstill traffic like his time is more valuable than everyone else's.  (Grrr.)  Even that guy is probably not setting out to ruin your day, destroy your belief system, or bring down the American family.  (Well, maybe that guy is, but NOT Syrian refugees looking for asylum, or that professor teaching the class on different perspectives of 9/11, or that writer who published a picture book about gay penguins -- how have I not read that book yet?)

So, here's the challenge.  Read outside of your comfort zone (you'll notice I didn't say, "outside your conscience.")  Learn about people and beliefs and ideas that are different than your own.  And most importantly, don't be afraid.  God isn't frightened by a memoir about being a lesbian raised in a funeral home.  And Christians are not (or at least shouldn't be) a people of fear.

And that's my Banned Books Week Shout-out/Rant.  You may now go about your normal lives and not post annoying things in the comments.

(Note/Freebie: Seriously, if I hear one more news story about some ridiculous book or class challenge from the state of South Carolina, I'm going to start claiming one of the many other places I've lived as my "home state.")

Writing Less, Grading More

Remember back at the beginning of the semester when I couldn't wait for all the writing time I would have on my day's off from teaching, you know, while Kiddo was in school?  Wasn't that ADORABLE?  I am nearly thirty-eight years old, and yet I somehow didn't see the schedule onslaught coming.  Tuesdays and Thursday are my "off days," my days with no scheduled classes.  So what am I doing besides writing on those two, long, glorious days?  Let's see...

Every single doctor's appointment that I ever have has to be on Tuesday or Thursday because my school schedule interferes on the other days.  Thursday morning/afternoons I spend helping out in Kiddo's classroom at school.  Every Thursday.  I thought the whole idea was for me to get a break from kids.  (Wasn't that an adorable assumption, as well?)  One Thursday a month, I get to go to a literary lunch at school, which is nice, but it's also me not writing.  Either way, both events end with me hauling ass to Kiddo's school to be first in car line (a separate post in itself) so that we can go to gymnastics (my own baptism by fire in the uncharted waters --for me-- of forced conversation with mom strangers.)

So that leaves the occasional Tuesday when I don't have anything scheduled.  (Every other Tuesday, I am interrupted by the cleaners, but that's a bit of a first world problem, isn't it?  Well, let's be honest, this whole rant is.)  Tomorrow should be an unscheduled Tuesday (mostly), but I kind of want to cry when I think about the rest of the week, about all the writing I'm not doing.  Oh well, I'll figure it out, you know, about the time the semester ends.

Anyway, the above is why I've disappeared from blogging much lately.  It's difficult for me to even collect my thoughts enough to put words down for a quick update.  I'm afraid my rare profound thought/comment is reserved for my students (they're probably still waiting for me to come up with something.)  School is going relatively well.  Freshmen are still freshmen, and I still could really use a scheduled nap.

On the good, good news front.  I got a cold a couple of weeks ago!  How is that good news, you ask? Well, the good news is that I got a regular old run-of-the-mill cold that remained exactly that, ran it's course, and then went about it's merry way infecting all I came into contact with.  It did not turn into bronchitis or pneumonia.  There were no ambulances or steroids or stern lectures about staying hydrated.  Just a cold that my immune system (and lungs) dealt with in a very routine way.  It was just so incredibly normal and mundane and like everybody else.  As far as colds go, it was nice.

On the best news ever front, fall break is coming, and I'm off while Kiddo has to slog away at kindergarten.  I am determined to get something done besides reading/grading papers during the break (and I don't mean housework/organization projects!).

Must. Write.

This picture has nothing to do with my post.  Just including it because it's Kiddo's, and it's awesome.

Out of Sorts Launch Team - Sarah Bessey

Last Wednesday was a bad day.  Actually, last week was a bad week.  I'm not going to break down every gory detail, but let's just say it was one of those weeks that we all have and would like to pretend don't happen.  But it did, and Wednesday was exceptionally bad.  Like lemon juice on a paper cut bad.  

Before I slip into some serious hyperbole, however, let me tell you something GOOD that happened on Wednesday.  I got an email saying that I was on the launch team for Sarah Bessey's upcoming book, Out of Sorts!!!!  What does this mean, you ask?  Well, let me tell you.  I get to read Out of Sorts NOW instead of having to wait until the release date, November 3.  As I read (and after), I will be posting and tweeting and talking about and promoting this amazing book every chance I get, and I am honored by this opportunity.  In addition, all of the launch team folks (from all over the world) have a secret group page on Facebook (secret probably isn't the right word, but it just sounded so important and mysterious) where we can chat and share and just generally soak up all the good vibes of fellow Bessey readers.  So all in all, a great deal and a much-needed positive in an otherwise horrible week.

So your next question: Who is Sarah Bessey, and why should I care?  If you know me even distantly, or have read my blog, you have probably heard me talk about Sarah Bessey's first book Jesus Feminist, a book so amazing I read it twice, and I can already tell that Out of Sorts will definitely require re-reading.  Sarah Bessey is a Canadian author who grew up in church, took a step or two away from organized religion, then came back with a changed perspective.  She writes about all the questions and doubts that make so many evangelical fundamentalists uncomfortable.  She doesn't shy away from uncomfortable; in fact, she rejoices in it.  Her first book was full of joy and insight and humor, and at just past the halfway mark in the new title, I would have to say that #2 is following the same pattern.  

I will be writing more (and in more depth) about this book both here and in my various social media accounts.  But for now, more time writing means less time reading this amazing book.  So I'm going to back to it!

What I'm Reading and What You Should Read NOW (plus TBR)

So it's been a busy reading season lately.  I don't know if it's all the books I picked up at Wonder Book in Frederick or all the BookTube I've been watching or what, but I've been plowing through the titles in August/early September.  I've already talked about some of my favorites here.  But I've managed to squeeze in several more since that post, with one standout in particular, but first:

The Reader, Bernhard Schlink

I'll admit that this was not on my must-read list, but I found it at Wonder Book (a bargain) and decided to pick it up. It was not at all what I expected.  Actually, I don't really know what I expected, but this was a fascinating look at an entire nation's ability/struggle to deal with national sins and personal culpability.  So many more thoughts were swirling in my brain after I finished this, so many more questions -- in my accounting a sign of an excellent book. 

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

This was a local used book store find.  I was excited to read it as I'd heard so many good things, and everything about this book seemed to line up with my taste.  I wanted to love this book.  But I didn't. I didn't hate it.  But it felt like a bit of a slog to get through it.  Something about the shuffled narrative (which I usually love) just didn't work for me in this book.  The way details are doled out in seemingly random doses aggravated more than intrigued me. Much of the book is written from the limited perspective of very small children, but rather than trusting the reader the to see beyond their childish understanding, we are given sections that explain; we're told how everyone feels.  I was awash in so many human emotions that it nearly drowned out the narrative.  Maybe if I had read this one in another time and place, I would have loved it.  But alas, I read it this year, this season, and I just didn't.

Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates

Cue the music.  Cue the gushing.  Just finished this book last night, and I cannot say enough good things about it.  Toni Morrison's blurb on the front, "This is required reading," is not hyperbole.  I have never read or encountered in other media a more honest and powerful discussion of what it means to be black in America.  I cannot imagine how anyone could read this book and remain unchanged or unaffected.  This is one of those books that after the last sentence I felt like I needed to immediately read it again with highlighter and notebook to catch all the things I missed the first time.  Read this and you will be moved and convicted and changed.  I guarantee it.  Just read this book.

My current read is Jonathan Franzen's Purity, the fiction new release with all the buzz right now.  It is a monster doorstop kind of book, so I'll be reading it for a while, but here is a glimpse at my TBR books-in-waiting:

Note the assemblage masterpiece courtesy of Kiddo and an entire roll of scotch tape.

So lots of good stuff taunting me from my dresser.  Of course, there are also piles of lessons to plan, papers to grade, and writing to be done, so it may be a while before I get to some of these.  Maybe I can even make my Wonder Book haul last me though the end of the year? Or not.