BlogHer Book Club: Reflected In You

If you haven't figured this out by now, I love to read.  I love reading books I wouldn't normally pick up, partly because I've exhausted my favorite writers.  And their favorite writers.  Reflected in You by Sylvia Day is probably not one of the books I would have picked up on my own, even though it is currently the #1 New York Times bestseller.

Reflected in You is the second novel in the Crossfire series, featuring Gideon Cross - another mid-twenties billionaire who owns companies with a twisted past - and Eva Tramell, who has recently graduated college and is working her first job in Manhattan - and of course she comes with a twisted past of her own.  Sound somewhat familiar?

It actually has its own nuances and is a different story from the 50 Shades books, though there it falls into the same erotic genre - sans naughty play - with the disparity in power of the relationship.  Eva, however, comes from money on her mother's side and has a best friend she lives with in her spacious apartment, paid for by her stepfather.  I had similar queasy stomach issues reading this book and seeing the decisions that the characters would make as I have in reading similar novels.

That said, I'm awaiting the next Crossfire novel (and I'm slightly ashamed to admit that).  I did read the first novel in the series, Bared to You, prior to reading Reflected in You, but the book has enough backstory that you can read the second novel without having read the first.  The first does provide much of the detail that helps the second flow more smoothly, however.

I have never been in a relationship that started with all-consuming passion from the first moment, where there is a question of where the line between obsession and caring needs to be drawn.  And I have certainly never been in a relationship with such a power discrepancy, nor where the passion/obsession has been maintained at such a high level for so long.

It worries me a little to think that young adults might view this as a typical or expected relationship, when there is so much about it that is unhealthy - both individually amongst the characters and with their relationships.  That was hard to close my mind to as I was reading because I worry about the wee ones as they grow older and develop their own relationships, not just romantically but with friends.  And all those relationships are pretty messed up, too, in this book.

And fortunately, this book is more about the relationships amongst the characters and less about the raw carnality, which makes it a much easier read for me.  I'll admit that I get bored when there is more intercourse than story.  And Reflected in You certainly has plenty of story, disturbing as much of it is.

Have you read either of the Crossfire novels?  Do you plan to?  Regardless, jump in with the BlogHer Book Club discussion.  This week, we're talking about how we recharge when life is too overwhelming.  I certainly can't afford to jet off to Vegas or have a spa come to my home for a day of pampering, but I find my ways.  Share with us what you do!

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of the Crossfire novels for review purposes.  I am also compensated for participating in this campaign. That said, all opinions remain my own.

BHBC: Diary of a Submissive

I enjoy book clubs because they expose me to books I might not pick up on my own.  I love working book fairs at the wee ones' schools for the same reason - and we found some neat books for Mister Man today that we might not otherwise have discovered.  So Diary of a Submissive: A Modern Tale of True Sexual Awakening is admittedly something a little different from what I normally read - though yes, I like everyone else I know read the 50 Shades books.

This isn't 50 Shades.  This is a memoir written by "Sophie Morgan" - which is a probably very necessary pseudonym.  She tells her story starting back in her childhood through ... now.  The book shares when she had her first spanking, and examines her changing desires as she discovers more about who she is and what she likes.  And as she's changing, the book continues right with her, becoming very graphic and detailed.

This isn't a "how to" manual, but a look into a lifestyle that isn't anywhere near what was portrayed in the 50 Shades trilogy.  Some of it made me twitchy because I was uncomfortable and would never have made the choices she did - and knowing that this is a memoir and not fiction makes me all the more twitchy.

You would expect that Sophie were someone who suffered in her life somewhere and had a whole that needed filling, but from everything you can see, Sophie is the epitome of success.  She is a journalist and has good relationships with friends and family.  And yet she finds that traditional relationships just don't do it for her and she explores her urges - and those encounters with Tom and Charlotte, with James, and more.  And we see all the details of her exploration in painful (and sometimes repetitive) detail.

The book was hard to read because it was so hard for me to watch what Sophie did to herself, as she seemed to simultaneously need it and hate it.  Closed doors are closed doors, but I hate to see such disparity in power.  This is no fairytale, but it's definitely a unique look into a world far from that in which I live.

We'll be discussing this book all month long as part of BlogHer's book club. Come join our discussion of Diary of a Submissive.

In the interest of full disclosure, this is a book review as part of the BlogHer Book Club.  I was compensated for writing this post, but all opinions remain my own.

Who Needs Spring?

Mister Man turned to me this weekend as we took a walk through our neighborhood.  Mom?  What season is your favorite?

A discussion ensued.  I enumerated the benefits of all the seasons from snow and hot cocoa to relaxing days at the pool to football and leaf piles to green and warming weather.

He looked at me as though I were insane.  Really, Mom?  You like spring?  Why?

Well, I replied thoughtfully (because that's what we do as moms in all situations), I like spring partly because you can see all the beautiful flowers blooming.

Flowers? he scoffed.  Who even likes flowers?

Well, kiddo, I smiled down at his indignant head (yay, he isn't yet 9 and I still have time to smile down at him before he begins to tower over me), there are lots of people who like flowers.

How do you know? he demanded skeptically.

People buy flowers all the time, Mister Man.

He shook his head in disgust.  Really?  Then, Mom, people get ripped off all the time.  All they're good for is sneezing.  Sheesh.  Some people....

Remind me not to buy him flowers anytime soon.  Oh my stubborn boy who sees the world in black and white instead of shades of grey.  My child who beats to his own drummer and heeds his own clarion call.  How could I ever resist him?

In the interest of full disclosure, this was part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by the books we read rather than reviews of the books.  I did receive a copy of this book as part of the book club.  That said, all opinions remain my own.

The book we read this month was "The Bloodletter's Daughter" by first time novelist Linda Lafferty. 

BlogHer Book Club: Daring Greatly

I heard Brene Brown speak a couple years ago at a blog conference.  She stuck with me - and not just because she has such a unique name.  She had a commanding presence, and she has a powerful viewpoint, one that continued in her just-released book Daring Greatly.

We spend so much of our lives trying to proves to others and to ourselves that we can do it all, that we can be everything, that we are strong.  And we aren't, always.  Nor should we be, which is the main point of her book.  Daring Greatly dares us to embrace our vulnerability, to admit where we aren't as strong as the face we put to the world.

Using 12 years of research, Dr. Brown makes the case that our vulnerability is actually what makes us strong - when we acknowledge it.  Vulnerability is what allows us to live our lives, from experiencing the deepest pain to soaring with the highest joy and everywhere in between.  Without allowing vulnerability in our lives, we aren't really living our lives as fully as we ought.

This is a powerful book.  It isn't really a self-help book, but it's visionary.  The book is footnoted throughout with Dr. Brown's and other research, but she also puts her own self and life across the chapters, giving us examples of exactly what she's talking about and making it that much more real.

Life isn't a guarantee, much as we want one.  In this book, Dr. Brown encourages us to go with the lack of guarantee and take on that feeling of vulnerability to live more fully and - ideally - more happily.  I dare you to do it.

Brene Brown is also doing a book tour this fall.  If you can, don't miss the opportunity to see her in person. It's worth it!  Want to keep the conversation going?  On BlogHer, we're talking about her book for the next month.  This week, we're talking about vulnerability hangovers.  Have you ever had one?  Do you even know what that is?

In the interest of full disclosure, this was part of a compensated campaign as part of the BlogHer Book Club.  That said, all opinions remain my own.

Bread. Is It Supposed To Do That?

I'm a bit of a food snob.  I'll admit it.  I blame some of it on the fact that I lived in Belgium when I was seven and eight.  There, we picked up fresh food each day because... that's how you do it.  The meat (aside from the horse that my mom accidentally bought early on in our sojourn there and couldn't figure out why it wasn't browning) was fantastic.  The bread?  Beyond so.  And oh the pastries....

Here?  Sigh.  It's really hard to find, and it's so expensive so often.

I look at the ingredients on the "fresh" bread loaves, and there are things I've never heard of before.  That's not the wonderful European bread I'm looking for.  The worst was last week when a friend dropped off a loaf of "European style, gourmet Italian" bread because she is going on a diet and bread doesn't figure into her eating plan.

We ate a few slices of it, but there was still some left over on Friday.  I went to pull out a slice to go with the goat cheese and smoked salmon omelet I had made for myself for lunch.  It was wonderfully still soft.  Orrrr maybe not to wonderfully.  Bread is supposed to go stale, but this was still pillow soft.  I squeezed it, mentally rolling my eyes.  Then I noticed the mold.  The bright green and pink mold.  The entire loaf was going bad but retained its not so natural dreamy soft texture.  Ew.

There are some wonderful traditional bakeries near me, and I patronize them from time to time.  And this is a good reason why I bake so much, I think.  At least I know what I put in my food, and it goes stale before freaky colored things start growing on it.  And that's assuming that mold even starts going on it at all.  There are some foods that just... keep hanging around.

Me?  That's not what I want to eat.  It's why I make most of my food from scratch at home.  It's why I avoid processed foods whenever possible.  And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make toast for breakfast with some of my homemade sourdough bread.  And maybe - just maybe - I'll stop by a true European bakery for something special a little later.

When I eat, I want to love what's going in my mouth and enjoy it.  How about you?  What's your food philosophy?  Or better yet, what are your horror stories?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by books we read rather than true reviews.  This month's book "The Baker's Daughter" by Sarah McCoy was sent to me, but I received no compensation.  The novel follows a reporter in 2007 interviewing about German Christmas traditions and flashes back to Elsie's time living in Nazi Germany where she worked for her family's bakery.  As always, all opinions remain my own.

BlogHer Book Review: The Care And Handling Of Roses With Thorns

In the majority of cases, I aspire to be the protagonist of the books I read.  The protagonist inevitably has some flaws, but the flaws make them human.  In the case of The Care and Handling of Roses with Thorns by Margaret Dilloway, the main character Galilee Garner is deeply flawed, and I should have wanted nothing to do with her.  She had health issues and lacked social graces.  She was on the outs with her principal, holding onto her teaching job at a private school by a thread, because she refused to kow tow to parents who believed she was too tough.  There wasn't much to love or to root for.

All Gal wanted from life was to breed a prize winning rose that would be developed commercially.  She, a mere hobbyist in her backyard, had to goal to create a rose perfect enough to garner attention at rose shows that it would become something sold in garden centers across the world.  Of course it wasn't so simple as a fairy tale, not when her sister dumped a very unhappy niece on her while the sister worked a new job in Asia.

Finally, Gal has to climb out of her non-living life and figure out how to parent and start giving of herself, beyond even just her niece.  The book was an enjoyable read, and I've been waiting to write about this one for almost a month now.  I have to admit I enjoyed it far better than I did Margaret Dilloway's previous book, How to Be an American Housewife.

Have you read it?  Whether you have or not, join in the conversation at BlogHer, where this week's question asks how you feel about roses - do you like receiving them?  Do you grow them?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of the book "The Care and Handling of Roses with Thorns" for review purposes.  I was also compensated as part of this campaign, but all opinions remain my own.

My Parents Actually Knew What They Were Talking About

I've been engaged more than once.  I think I've mentioned that before.  When I was young, my parents - like most parents - always encouraged me to not be too serious about anyone I dated.  They didn't want me missing out on anything in my life because of it, and they didn't want me tied down to the wrong person long term.

As a teen, I ignored them.  Even as a young adult, I was having none of it.  Like far too many people, I defined myself by the relationship I was in.  If I wasn't dating someone, if I couldn't say that I had a boyfriend, if I didn't have plans all weekend, I wasn't good enough in my eyes.  Oh how silly that seems now, but I know I wasn't the only one.

And so I dated people I didn't even really like.  I remember one guy I dated in high school who was so wrong for me, and I knew it... but he had chosen me over a friend of mine.  Sort of.  And so I dated him until a few weeks into college, even though I had my breakup plan and timing arranged in my head since a week or two after we had started dating.  Fortunately I came to my senses eventually... and I'm pretty sure my parents did a happy dance when I did so.

As I neared the end of college, I was dating another guy who simply wasn't right for me - and I knew it then, too.  He didn't tell the truth often, and he manipulated my feelings and guilt constantly.  He had grand delusions that weren't based in reality, but I never bothered to correct him.  He was someone I could hang my hat on, and that kept my self-worth up.  Or down, looking back at it.

I have goals, and I always have.  He didn't graduate college and was a security guard.  He ended up having to move back home with his parents, into a basement bedroom, because he couldn't figure out how to make his paycheck fit his bills - and that didn't bother him.  If you know anything about me, I know to the penny where I spend my money, and it's important to me to be independent and financially secure.  I ignored it all.

When he bought a new (to him) car, he assumed that we would get married and I'd pay for it.  He got the delusion that my dad would hire him to work for him doing... something.  And there's no way that would happen given that he wasn't remotely qualified for it.

My eyes slowly opened after we were "officially" engaged.  He hadn't actually bought the ring yet, but we were there and talking about what we would do and how we would do it.  I even went so far as to have a tasting of the food at the venue I had chosen and determined the fillings for the cake.  When he told me he had bought a ring, I was informed that he'd bought it on credit.  For $129.  From Sears.  And shallow as it may be, that's what finally gave me the kick in the pants - not because it was a fairly cheap ring or because he'd purchased it from a department store but because he told me this with the expectation that I would hand him the cash for it.

I never saw the ring.  I finally came to my senses and realized that I was setting myself up to be the Sugar Momma for a spoiled child who was never going to grow up.  I remember how angry he was that I had done so because he couldn't return the ring he'd purchased - or so he told me.  He was beyond rage that I had "made him" buy the car that he couldn't afford - though I'd never complained about his previous car nor mentioned buying a new one to him.  He was furious that he couldn't make the payments on his pink Geo Tracker - because apparently that didn't give me a clue right there - once I'd broken up with him.  I was his golden goose, escaped.  At least in his head.

I found out later via friends that he was telling everyone how I'd made his life a mess, how we had grand plans of my dad the CEO (ummm he wasn't a CEO) was going to hire him to his accounting firm (ummm he wasn't an accountant, nor did he have a firm) to be his partner (though this boy had no college degree, let alone any experience in accounting), and I had ruined it all for him.

Can you imagine my life married to this man?  I still scratch my head every once in awhile trying to figure out where some of his ideas came from and wondering how I got tangled up with him to begin with.  I'm pretty sure my parents broke out the champagne when they heard this engagement was off.

I'm lucky that I escaped when I did with my dignity still intact and my self-esteem not shattered.  And I stayed not engaged for many years after that, though I continued dating - some good guys and some not as much a fit for me as they should have been.  In the end, I chose my husband, and we've been married with two children for a good long while now.

My parents still call him their favorite son-in-law.  Or they did until last month when my sister got married.  But hey, it's a good sign, right?

Who did you date who you are glad you never married?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was inspired by the book "Getting Married and Other Mistakes" by Barbara Slate, a graphic novel about Jo and her life after her sudden divorce.  As part of the From Left to Write book club, we receive copies of the books, but we do not write traditional reviews.  Instead we write posts inspired by the books.  I was not compensated, and all opinions remain my own.

We All Have A Little Crazy In Us

There are things my husband does that drives me nuts.  And some of it is silly, but I’ll admit to my slightly compulsive tendencies.  I have systems for doing things that are important to me because I’ve figured out what is (in my mind) the most efficient or best way to do something, and that’s how I want it done.  Doing it any other way seems wasteful to me – and so I like my laundry hung a certain way and I like the wee ones fed at certain times (like, you know, before their low blood sugar turns them into roving maniacs with the logic of a flea and attention span of a cockroach).  My husband is much more go with the flow.

I admit to my crazy*.  Mostly because a) it works for me and b) it isn’t something that interferes with my life.  While I like things a certain way, I deal with them not that way on a regular basis.  Not everyone admits to it though, but there is plenty of … specialness to go around.

I take a look at my family, both my immediate family and my extended family, and I can point to various family members both on my side and on my husband’s side of the family and say, “oh yes, she is the X in our family” or “he is the Y in our family.”  I can identify all sorts of nuttiness, and I’m fine with that.  Every family has it.  Some to a greater and lesser degree, but it’s all there somehow.

One of friends has a great expression, and it’s one I go back to time and time again.  If you look around your family, and you can’t point to who that person is in your family, then it’s you.

Can you identify who is who in your family, or is it you?  What’s your brand of crazy?

*I admit to this bit of ummmm eccentricity. Outside this little little quirk, I admit to nothing.  Stick toothpicks under my fingernails, and you’re still not getting anything else from me.



In the interest of full disclosure, this post was part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by books we read rather than traditional reviews.  This month’s post is based on the book “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn.  I received a copy of the book as part of the book club but was not compensated in any way, and all opinions remain my own.

I Believe

I believe.  I believe in right and wrong.  I believe that hard work matters in the end.  I believe that it's important to know what we're putting in our bodies.  I believe it's important to stand up for what I believe in.  I believe in treating people the way I want to be treated.  I believe in telling the truth.  I believe spending time with family and friends is important.  I believe in the value of education.  I believe in sports superstitions.  I believe in saving money where I can, in being frugal without being cheap - and that there is a difference.

And I want the wee ones to believe, too.  I want them to believe in this and in so much more.

As a parent, this is one of our toughest jobs.  How do we pass on our beliefs to our children such that they become ingrained in them, something that they simply know.  We can't just lecture them, as that quickly gets old.  Talk is cheap, anyway.  I know we need to model what we believe, live it and breathe it, but that doesn't guarantee that our children will absorb those beliefs automatically.  There isn't a magic wand or a simple booklet that lays out steps one through twenty-seven for how to get our children to grow up with our beliefs.

Part of growing up is learning to think independently and decide what you will reject from your upbringing and what you will incorporate going forward.  And that fits in nicely with my belief in standing up for what you believe in.  Except that I hope and pray that the wee ones end up believing what I want them to believe.

And so I talk about things that are yucky - about how I really hope they never smoke because it smells so bad and is gross and costs a lot of money and will make you old before your time and you'll get sick from it and all the other arguments I can possibly marshal.  And they will never see me smoke, not because I hide it from them like some of my friends, but because I simply don't smoke.  And then I cross my fingers and make a wish on the first star I see at night and then just hope and pray that something sticks.

I do the same with hard work.  We talk about how hard something was but then how awesome it felt once they finished it or figured it out.  I let them see me working hard and how I deal with my frustration in those situations.  I talk about other people I see who have had to work hard in life to get where they are and how happy they are because of it.  This is an important lesson for me to impart because so much of my life was too was too easy.  I had too much handed to me, and when I finally had to work hard, I didn't know how.  And I didn't want to.  It was a hard lesson to learn, and I do all I can to ensure that the wee ones learn it early.

And so it goes.  My list is fluid and never-ending, and the how's and why's are always changing, too.  There's something I want from you, though.  I want to know:

What do you believe in?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was inspired by the book "Julia's Child" by Sarah Pinneo as part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by books rather than actual book reviews.  I received a copy of the book for review purposes but was not compensated.  As always, all opinions expressed remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club: Where She Went

I'm loving this time of year.  It's spring, and the gala at Mister Man's school is finally starting to wind down (it happens on Saturday, so my role of tracking donations and writing descriptions for the brochure is near an end) so I have been spending some time sitting outside reading.  It's awesome, and I love the most recent book I finished, Where She Went by Gayle Forman.  It is the sequel to her novel If I Stay, though it isn't necessary to have read that first.  I haven't read it - yet - and had no issues jumping into the story.  As much as I loved Where She Went, though, I might suggest getting both books and reading them in order.

Where She Went is about Mia and Adam and how they've reconnected via a one night stay Adam has in New York when he - the rock star about to leave for a European tour - goes to see Mia perform a cello concert at Carnegie Hall where he goes backstage to meet her again.

They were once very close, as they grew up together in Oregon and both were music whizzes there.  Unfortunately, there was a horrible car accident that killed Mia's parents and brother, leaving her in a coma.  By the time she's recovered, he made a promise to give her up and she heads to Julliard on a scholarship.  The book deals with them working their way through the minefield that is their previous relationship and asking all the questions they never did in high school.  And then, of course... there's figuring out if they have a future.

This is a beautifully written story that drew me in.  I didn't want to put the book down, which is always the sign of a good book to me.  The characters are well-developed, although Adam and his rock star attitude kept him from being a favorite of mine.  I don't have to like all the characters to like a book, and this is one I definitely enjoyed.

We'll be discussing this book over at the BlogHer Book Club over the next few weeks.  Come join us.  This week's topic is on your brain and music.  Come join us!

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "Where She Went" for review purposes.  I was also compensated for participating in this campaign.  However, all opinions remain my own.

My Own Little World

When I was growing up, I attended Catholic school.  It was never a question; it was simply what we did.  I come from an Irish Catholic family, and I grew up in areas where the other families were very much like mine.  We attended church every Sunday with many of our neighbors, and it never dawned on me that not everyone did and believed and lived as we did.

It wasn't until I was in the third grade that it dawned on me - innocent and oh-so-naive me - that there were people who are different.  I remember very clearly my mother driving me to school one day in the winter and seeing other children playing on some huge snowbanks.  My mom explained that they were waiting for the bus, but there was more.  She warned me to stay "away from those Publics" as she termed them.  I was somewhat afraid of children who attended public school for awhile after that, as my mom had very clearly communicated to me that there was something wrong with them.

It was clear to me - intentionally or not - that the way we lived was the only right way.  That what others did wasn't valid and wasn't even worth talking about.  I remained immersed in my little world for a long time, and I knew no different.

As I got a little older - and moved to a slightly more diverse area - I realized that there were people who were different from me.  There were people who were Lutherans (I lived in Minnesota by this point).  I even was friends with some of them, as they lived in my neighborhood.  One of my best friends went to Lutheran school, and I remember being jealous that I couldn't attend her school, as it was so much larger and more beautiful than my 1950s crumbling parochial school. 

Eventually, I discovered that a neighbor three doors down who I am still friends with today was Jewish, a religion I had heretofore only known as something that existed in the Old Testament.  Go figure.  I was fascinated by the fact that she went to Hebrew school every Wednesday and by the little yellow bus that came to pick her up each week.  I wanted to learn a foreign language like she did, as much as she complained about the homework and Hebrew practice she had to do.  It was so far beyond my ken, but I was hooked.

I wonder in a way if making these friends wasn't part of what pushed me to separate from my own Irish Catholic upbringing.  As I entered eighth grade, I talked my parents into letting me attend public school (with those nasty publics, ya know).  I pushed back on the faith I'd grown up with, and it took me a long time to work my way back towards finding my place within it again as an adult.

Those friends opened my eyes to so many different parts of the world, and I'm grateful.  I think it's served me well over the years to know that the little corner of the world that I grew up knowing is just that - a little corner.  There's so much more out there, but that doesn't mean that I've abandoned that corner.  I still attend Catholic Mass (almost) every Sunday, and Mister Man just made his First Communion on Saturday.

As a parent, I don't want to do that to the wee ones.  While it's important to have a life view and to identify with a certain group - whether religious, ethnic, sports teams, or otherwise - it's just as important to recognize that it isn't the only point of view out there. I want the wee ones to have a different view on life.

I'm very glad they already know that many different corners are out there.  I enjoy explaining to Mister Man what a bat mitzvah is - something he recently read about in a book - or talking about Hindu gods or debating the merits of various sports affiliations.  I wonder if that doesn't make our own little corner of the world more treasured for the wee ones, not more valid and not more special but more treasured because we know its ours.

What does your corner of the world look like?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is a part of the From Left to Write book club.  I received a copy of "I Am Forbidden" by Anouk Markovits for review purposes.  In this book club, we don't do traditional reviews but instead write posts inspired by the book.  I was not compensated, and all opinions expressed remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club: The Book of Jonas

I have a friend who left two days ago to go volunteer at an orphanage - with her neurosurgeon husband - in Ethiopia for two weeks. Again. And they'll go back again, and one day, they'll bring home a baby from there. To me, that is so foreign to my daily life, but yet I have connections there from my friends both now and growing up, as adopting from South Korea was very "popular" where I grew up in Minnesota.

When I had the chance to read The Book of Jonas for this month's BlogHer book club, I jumped at the chance, as it's a view inside the head of a (fictional) young man from an unnamed Middle East country whose village was bombed by US troops. Again, it's something that is so foreign to me, but yet something I want and need to relate to and understand on a human level.

Jonas survived the bombing, but his family perished. He miraculously makes it to a US hospital where he then is sent to the States to live as a refugee. He comes into contact with Rose, the mother of a soldier who is MIA after serving in that same country. The stories of Rose, Christopher, and Jonas are all woven together as Jonas tries to move past the events that killed his family but instead moves down a self-destructive spiral.

The book was so thought-provoking, which was just what I had hoped. The chapters were startlingly short, just one to pages for the most part, but in a way they had to be, given the story being told. In the end, it was a tragedy for all involved - just as so much of life is. The bare bones verbiage tells the story powerfully, although I think it could have done so just as powerfully without interjecting Rose into it. I felt that the author needed a female character and so put her in, but I think I might have enjoyed the book even more had it simply focused on Jonas and - through his diary that Jonas has - Christopher.

The book deals heavily with loss, and that is the topic this week in the BlogHer book club discussion of The Book of Jonas. When faced with tragedy, what is your reaction? Do you hide from it, do you seek atonement, do you search for the truth, or do you have another reaction entirely?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "The Book of Jonas" by Stephen Dau for review purposes. This is part of a compensated campaign for the BlogHer Book Club, but all opinions remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club: Lost and Found

I come from a financial background. My parents both have accounting degrees, and I worked for a bank for almost a decade. I taught Junior Achievement. I like to think that I'm fairly financially savvy, but I snow there is so much more I could be doing. Sometimes, I like to stick my head in the sand. While I pay off my credit cards every single month, I haven't yet deposited my 2011 Roth IRA contribution because... well, I don't have a good reason.

I'm pulling my head out of the sand a little bit more, and driving that check over to my financial institution is on the docket for today now. I finished reading Lost and Found by Geneen Roth, which is the current BlogHer Book Club book, in which Geneen tells stories of how she lost all her money in the Bernie Madoff collapse and how she coped and found "life" afterwards.

How often do you hear people talk openly about money, let alone honestly about the disasters they've faced with it? Or even think about why we want and need the money we think we do? It doesn't happen nearly often enough, and I firmly believe that more of it would help empower all of us to take charge of our money and prevent it from having as much mystical power over us as it does today. After she lost her money, Geneen freed herself from the habits and patterns she'd fallen into and created a new and far more fulfilling life for her, focusing not on what she doesn't have but instead on what she does.

We're all so often guilty of that - focusing on what we think we want and focusing on the "more" that we don't have - and we rarely question why we want it or if having it will truly make us happy. The book is full of little stories and pearls of wisdom that caused me to reflect on my attitude towards money and why I have the attitudes I do. It isn't preachy in any way, which I appreciate. It is simple, open, and honest.

While I would never wish the loss of their life savings on anyone, it was fascinating to me to see how one can rebuild from that and the - in a way - positive impacts the loss of that money did have on Geneen Roth. We talk about wanting to find balance in our lives, but how many of us have truly thought about the cost that every extra hour we put into getting ahead costs us in terms of stress and time with family and enjoyment of the moment? This week's discussion at BlogHer Book Club deals with just that. Whether you've read the book or not, come join us and share your thoughts.

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "Lost and Found" by Geneen Roth for review purposes. This is also a compensated campaign as part of the BlogHer Book Club, but all opinions remain my own.

No, We Aren't Playing Baseball This Year

It's spring. Soccer and baseball and softball have already started up by us, and by mid-June they'll be over. When I grew up - where I grew up? - these were truly summer sports and didn't encroach so much on spring and the school year. I've been having the question for months already, especially since sign ups for some sports happen back in December, "So, are the wee ones playing (fill in the blank) this year?"

Well, no. They aren't. It just doesn't fit for them, unfortunately.

We tried t-ball for two years because everyone else we know plays, and it was miserable. Neither of the wee ones enjoyed playing, and they weren't that good either. Not having good coaches meant that at the end of the second season, I was still working on teaching them the basic rules (No! When you run to first base, you run the other way!) rather than watching their skills progress to where they could start hitting coach pitch.

Last year, Little Miss played soccer. She liked that a little better, as she loves running around. In practice, she apparently was faster than anyone else and could steal the ball from anyone. Come game time, she hung back each and every time. Her first goal was an own goal. She didn't love it though, and when I asked if she wanted to play again this past fall, she declined. It just wasn't her thing. And Mister Man? I knew better than to let me easily overstimulated sensory-seeking Aspie kid out on a soccer field when he's already not super regulated, not that he had any interest in playing to begin with.

Instead, the wee ones have focused on other sports. Mister Man has done tae kwon do for almost two years, and this is his great love. He goes two or three times each week, and he still tells me that his goal is to make it to black belt. I've seen how it helps his focus and his impulse control, although both still need improvement. They're working now on his push ups, and he's convinced that some day he'll do pull ups, too.

Little Miss is my gymnastics girl. She was invited to the preteam this year, and she's been doing three to four hours of gymnastics a week. Her skills progression has been awesome to watch - and she loves showing me new tricks like her pull overs or the hand stand to a forward roll or the back walkover she can do on her own (when she's on a wedge mat). She's proud and thrilled with what she can do, and she loves how strong it's making her. Right now, she's not doing a Monday night class I had her in to keep her occupied while Mister Man was in OT at the same facility, and every week she asks if she gets to go to gymnastics on Monday - disappointed when the answer is no.

I love that they've discovered sports they're passionate about and that they're the ones who discovered them and are truly the ones who love the time and energy they put into their respective sports. But their sports are a little off the beaten path. And the locations we've been going to aren't the ones that their friends necessarily attend. In a way, that's a little hard because it isn't the same level of social interaction and bonding that so many other kids have talking about the teams they're on together or the sports they do at the same place. I worry just a little bit that they'll one day decide that what they're doing just isn't "cool" enough and want to quit because their friends aren't there with them.

In fact, we changed the gym that Little Miss was at recently, partly for that reason. While Little Miss had been making progress, each time I saw the class (and I didn't often, as my mom insists on taking her to class and spending time with her there) I was disappointed by how hands off the instructors were. I felt like she wasn't getting the corrections she needed not just to get better today but to be safe tomorrow and later when she's doing more difficult and potentially dangerous maneuvers. I discovered almost by accident that one of her classmates attends another gym (not the main one in town that everyone goes to - that one costs as much for one class as what I had been paying for two, ouch!) where the focus is on form and safety. And Little Miss would have a friend there, though the friend is two levels above her right now. We made the switch, and though the class is harder, Little Miss is thrilled - not that she has a friend who goes to the same place, but that she is being challenged and she's rising to that challenge.

In the end, that's what I want the wee ones to do. I want them to carve their own paths. I want them to find their passions and chase them, no matter what their friends are doing or what the popular thing to do is. I want them to find what makes them happy and stick with it. Somehow, I'm ok looking at my friends and acquaintances and telling them yet again, "No. We aren't playing baseball this year. It's just not our thing." When they look at me sadly, my focus is on the smiles I see from the wee ones when they head into class, excited to see what the next hour will bring.

How have you or your children carved your own paths, or have you followed the traditional path and been happy with that?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "Up: A Mother and Daughter’s Peakbagging Adventure" by Patricia Ellis Herr as part of the From Left to Write book club where we don't write traditional book reviews but instead write posts inspired by the books we read. I was not compensated, and all opinions expressed remain my own.

Thank Goodness My Life Isn't *This* Nightmare

I don't consider myself to be a paranoid person. Generally. But there are some things that I have to do a certain way ... for luck. There was a time when I was afraid to let my husband get a v@sectomy, not because I thought there was even the remotest chance that I might want a third child - my two wee ones keep me hopping enough as it is, and I know my personal limits - but because if we made it so that we couldn't have another child, that was inviting something bad to happen to one of our current children. We could never replace a child were something horrible to happen, but the possibility of procreating somehow in my sleep-addled mind kept away the bogey man.

It's silly, isn't it?

But two nights ago I had a nightmare that woke me up at 4:30am and kept me from sleeping the rest of the night. In my dream, I had to euthanize my dad. He was sick and wasn't doing well, and my mom wasn't up to doing it herself. We were all in our "house" (which of course wasn't my actual house, not only because it was spotless) talking about how to do it and how it had to be me. My dad said good-bye to the wee ones, and the plan was for me to drive my parents back to their house for the actual euthanasia. Trying to explain to the wee ones that Grandpa was going to die. And he was going to die tonight was beyond heartbreaking.

When we got to my parents' house, my dad called the wee ones one last time to say good-bye, although I have no idea how we got through any of that. I was the one who had to load the syringe, and I was going to be the one who had to actually do the injection. I was a mess and shaking in my dream. I am grateful only that I woke up before I actually pushed the plunger - and that two days later, this is all the detail of the dream I remember, because I remembered every second of my long and intense dream when I woke up.

As soon as it was decently possible, I called my parents to ensure that my dad was ok. He was. I didn't tell them about my dream. How could I?

That nightmare got me thinking, though. I have no idea how I will someday - and I hope very far away someday - get through the loss of my parents. And more importantly, how will the wee ones? They absolutely adore my parents and they see them and spend time with them constantly. They are so much more a part of their lives than typical grandparents are. They take them to gymnastics and tae kwon do and to laser tag and have them spend the night, not because they have to but because they genuinely want to.

My dad had pneumonia last week that amazingly didn't linger forever and turn into anything worse, as it tends to do with him at least once a year now. Mister Man came home from school last week and announced to me once he'd heard that Grandpa was on the mend, "Of course he is. I prayed for him at church on Wednesday, that's why he got better so fast." That melted my heart, but I know someday all the prayers in the world won't help him get better at all, let alone "so fast" as he did this time.

I have no magic amulets. I have no secret code to keep my parents here and healthy and alive forever. I don't know how I'll survive without them, and I'm eternally grateful that I haven't had to try. My fingers are crossed that I don't have to try for many many many years.

Have you lost your parents? How have you coped with that type of grief and loss?

In the interest of full disclosure, this was part of the From Left To Write book club where we don't write traditional book reviews but instead write posts inspired by the books we read. I received a copy of "Signs of Life" by Natalie Taylor for review purposes only. I received no compensation, and all opinions remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club: The Fault In Our Stars

I love connecting with the characters in books. I've always been a huge reader, and yes, I've been known to cry more than once when reading. The Fault In Our Stars had me going through more than one Kleenex. You'd expect that from a book that details the life of a teenager with terminal cancer.

This book though? It's not a cancer book. It's not a sad, depressing, cry through your coffee kind of book. Hazel may be dying, but the book isn't about death. It's about living and finding delight in the moments for a girl who lives with an oxygen tank and has just her parents for company. When she meets Augustus Waters at the Cancer Kid Support Group, she finds another similar soul and connects with him.

The Fault In Our Stars is written by John Green and is billed as Young Adult Fiction, both of which are factors that ordinarily would have my shy away from reading the book. For some reason, I tend to prefer the writing of women, as I can connect with their characters more. John Green does a fantastic job making the characters and their situations real, and the dialogue is incredible and moving without being trite. I also wouldn't necessarily characterize this as a Young Adult book either. While it contains teenage main characters with Hazel and Gus, it is so much more, and the issues they face are not light fluffy topics that I associate with Young Adult Fiction.

So go. Read The Fault In Our Stars. And be prepared with some Kleenex, but know that there is so much more to this book than just that.

As always, the BlogHer Book Club will be having great discussions about this book for the next several weeks. This week, we're chatting about our favorite books, as Hazel's favorite book plays a role in this book - a very interesting parallel. Come join our book discussion!

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "The Fault In Our Stars" by John Green for review purposes only. This was a compensated review, but all opinions remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club Review: The Rules Of Inheritance

When I picked up the book Rules of Inheritance, I knew that it was going to be a heavy one, focused on author Claire Bidwell Smith's journey to and through her parents' deaths. I was expecting to cry - and I did at points - but I was also expecting to feel a certain level of distance from it. I haven't experienced the loss of either of my parents, thankfully, and this isn't the first time I've read a book by a blogger turned author. Rarely do bloggers translate well to book format, even when it's an enjoyable blog, in my experience.

This one actually worked well. It wasn't a compilation of her blog writing, walking us through the story one day and month at a time. That is the story we're used to hearing, but Claire Bidwell Smith uses a different tack altogether, one that makes her story far more unique and more powerful. Her story is broken into five stages of grief and walks through her experience. It isn't written chronologically, but her grief and pain are etched painfully on the pages as she shares her parents' diagnoses and subsequent deaths and her handling - or not handling - of them, sometimes in not the healthiest of ways.

As she moves into acceptance, you can really see how these events have shaped her as a person. It's how the events - from her helping her father track his WWII background to moving to NYC with a boyfriend - have turned her into the person she is today. Her grief isn't over, nor will it probably ever be. The novel moves powerfully through this.

Over at BlogHer Book Club, we'll be talking about this book for the next several weeks. Whether you've read the book or not, come join the conversation. This week, we're discussing the events in our lives that have defined us. What have been your defining moments?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "The Rules of Inheritance" as part of the BlogHer Book Club. I was compensated for participating in this campaign, but as always, all opinions remain my own.

You Are What You Eat

I firmly believe that what I feed myself and the wee ones has bearing on both our long term health and on our current moods and functioning. I know that when I feed Mister Man junk food or too much sugar or not enough protein - or just let him go too long without eating - he doesn't do well. We all get crabby, our brains don't work as well as they normally do, and our focus is gone. For him, especially, that's critical.

Add in all the things we hear all the time about pesticides and how animals are raised and the like, and it's enough to give me (more) grey hair. I started awhile ago buying organic fruits and veggies from the "dirty dozen" for our house. And I've definitely cut down on the meat we buy, although I still haven't gone fully organic on that. Chicken pretty much is, but oh the beef is so expensive.

Milk was my other area of concern, especially with all the added hormones. I can see puberty coming earlier and earlier to children around me, and I want to ensure that the wee ones have that pushed back as long as possible, especially for Mister Man - I want to ensure he's developed as much maturity as possible before those hormones wreak havoc on him.

Every time I looked at the price of organic milk, however, I flinched. I was buying a gallon of milk for $1.17 most of the time. A half gallon of organic milk was far more than that. I kept pushing it off, shuddering at the price differential. One day, I took a closer look at what I was buying for Little Miss. Because of her dairy allergy, she drinks rice milk (we don't do soy milk for a variety of reasons), and she gets organic rice milk because it's what's available. And I buy it because I have to. A gallon's worth of rice milk costs far more than the $1.17 I was paying for regular milk at the time and I wasn't flinching there. In fact, each 32 ounce container is only a quarter gallon. And it cost me $1.32 per container.

Suddenly the light went on. I'm not flinching at the price because in my mind, I have to do it for Little Miss's health. I have to do it for her. And really, it's the same for Mister Man. I do have to do it for him. And for us. I haven't bought conventional milk since that day.

I'm still struggling with many of the other purchases. I love that so many products are now readily available in organic versions, especially my frozen corn - thank you Costco. I buy organic for a lot of reasons, and GMOs are a big reason for me. (Yeah yeah, I would do better just moving to Europe, I know.) I'm pretty comfortable with most of what I'm doing right now, although I'm sure that will change over the years.

The one thing I really want to switch but haven't remains meat. What I really want to do is to find a local farmer and buy my half cow or pig from him. You would think that living near Chicago, it would be easy to find somewhere to do this, but I've found that it's surprisingly difficult. I still haven't found a good source that's a reasonable drive from me. It just isn't out there - or at least not well-publicized.

But I'm still searching. I have a friend who does cows from Indiana, and I'm hoping to go with her the next time she buys. When I go to a restaurant that talks in their menus about their locally sourced meats, I ask them if the farm sells to individuals or only commercially. Finally, I started reading the From Left to Write book for this month, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. There are some really uncomfortable bits of information about food, but at the same time, it's really empowering - and motivating - for me.

And I found the coolest website. Eat Wild is a site devoted to sharing information on pasture based farms across the US. When I searched Illinois, I was shocked by how many farms there were relatively near me. I hadn't been able to find these on my own, but it's truly inspiring. Most of those that provide the quarter cow (probably all we need) don't "harvest" until July, which was a bit of a downer. The options are out there, however, and I'm feeling good. I'm debating a drive out to Jo Daviess County in a couple weeks to spend the day with my family there and pick up some frozen beef from a farm while I'm at it.

It still isn't cheap. But I know where my meat is coming from this way. And it's less than the $13 per pound for organic ground beef I fainted over the last time I was at Trader Joe's. In fact, many were $4 per pound for the organic ground beef. As little as we're using red meat now, I can handle that.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go investigate CSAs. I haven't belonged to one since Mister Man was a baby, but I'm feeling inspired. A little freaked out and overwhelmed, but I'm oddly ok with that. I know I can't do everything, and I don't expect that of myself. On that note, not everyone has the same opinions and beliefs about their food, and that's ok, too. Where do you fall on the organic train?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was inspired by the February From Left To Write book club selection "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. I received a copy of this book for review purposes, but unlike other book clubs, we write a post inspired by the book rather than a review of the book. All opinions are my own, as always, and I received no compensation.

When Our History Is His History

I love hearing stories about my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles when they were younger. It's a sense of connection that creates an even strong bond amongst our family, and I know we aren't the only ones - the wee ones love hearing stories about "Mickey the Dickens" and other characters, too. My parents tend to be the major story tellers right now, but I know that will change and I will be the one someday.

For now, I enjoy listening to the stories of how my parents were once like me. They were young and silly and kids and had adventures and troubles and giggles and more. When we hear new stories, there's always something we learn about personalities that we hadn't known before - something that of course sets of the desire to know more and explore this little tidbit further.

My dad was once engaged before my mom. In fact, he was engaged when he met my mom. Or maybe when he started dating her. I don't really know because I heard those details once upon a time, and everyone's clammed up since. I don't know any of the details, and to me it sounds like it could be such a romantic story. Boy thought he was in love but realized Girl was the one for him, and nothing could stand in the way of their happy ever after. Maybe. But I don't know.

And of course the less anyone will speak the more I want to know. It isn't because I would be judging them, but instead because it provides a window into their personalities. How did they really meet? What was their dating relationship like? Why did he decide to marry her? What was it about my mom - and my dad - that was so special? I'll probably never know, and a part of me is sad about that.

At the same time, there are parts of my life that I'm just as happy if the wee ones were to never know. I'm ok not having them know about the night before my last college final first quarter my freshman year. Do they need to know my entire dating history? Do I want them to know about how my husband started drinking at the age of 12? Or that he drove his then girlfriend home from some party and she was so drunk he just rolled her onto the lawn? Ummm no.

That said, some of those stories would probably be great learning lessons for the wee ones. "What not to do when" type situations that could engender some really poignant conversations. Or maybe there are things we just want to keep to ourselves for other reasons. Family history is important to me, knowing who the people are - not just their names and where they were born and how they're related to me.

Where do you fall? Do you want to know all the little tidbits that make your relatives into real people, or do you fall into the camp of limiting what information you share about yourself?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of "The Joy of Hearing Heartbeats" by Jan-Philip Sendker as part of the From Left To Write book club where we write posts inspired by the book rather than traditional book reviews. I was not compensated for writing this post, and all opinions remain my own.

BlogHer Book Club: The Underside of Joy

There are some books I love but still have a tiny part of myself that regrets reading it. The January BlogHer Book Club book The Underside of Joy by Sere Prince Halverson is one of those. It was a beautifully written book that absolutely pulls you in to a heartbreaking story. I wasn't even at the end of the book when I had tears rolling down my cheeks and the sniffles coming faster and faster.

I regret reading it only for the thinking it made me do about my own life. As Ella loses her husband Joe to a freak accident, she has to put her life back together. There is so much that she doesn't know about their life together - financial and otherwise - and they haven't done much of the preparation that any couple really should. Let me just put this out there: neither have I. And that's scary to me because I know I need to get my act together, but I feel like I'm courting fate if I do. Stupid, right?

The book explores the tragedy of Ella's new life, where her two step-children also have to face the future, in many ways uncertain for them just as it is for Ella. The writing evokes strong emotions, as they so clearly show the pain and the fear and confusion all the characters exhibit. And I won't say any more to avoid ruining the book for you - because I do recommend you read it. It was a good one, though admittedly not the type of book I usually pick up. This is why I love book clubs!

Come join the discussion over at the BlogHer Book Club, whether you've read it or not. There promise to be some great thought-provoking conversations.

In the interest of full disclosure, I received an advance copy of "The Underside of Joy" for review purposes. I was also compensated for my participation in this campaign. That said, all opinions remain my own.