Bedtime and Books Please!

I have a low tolerance for whining.

Which is actually a high tolerance that runs low by the time the sun goes down.

Which is to say, I listen to whining and crying all day and by bedtime I have had enough.

Enough!

So I start whining and crying to myself, which is not so helpful to those previous whiners and criers.

Which basically means that by bedtime Mr. Wright gets to hear all five, count us five, members of his beloved family drive him batty with all of our tiredness and self pity.

And then I say things that I very much at the time sincerely mean but know I will later regret like, "If you want my help with bedtime these kids must go to bed nooooooow."

And then I sit around and wait for Mr. Wright to do everything so I can help by doing nothing and bark at the overly tired children and have the final word that pronounces they must get in bed right away or else they will loose every single activity and privileged that I can think to threaten them with taking away.

Then Mr. Wright kindly gives me some space, and I attempt to either accomplish something or blog about an accomplished something.

And sometimes all is well. And sometimes all is not.

Doors creek, tip toes ensue, and little people are requesting anything from chilled water to verbally debating a strong defense case of whom got more pizza two evenings prior and how utterly unfair it was.

Oh! How unfair life can be in the eyes of four little people ranging from twelve to two!

By now Mr. Wright is done, and I am done, and if you don't go to bed now you will most certainly be done. And all I can do is think about tomorrow, and all that needs to be accomplished, and how badly I want to sit in the sun with a very very good book.

Which I can't do of course because it's raining this weekend, again, and I am thinking there's something very real to be said for this seasonal depression stuff, so I make an effort to gather all the books I have been intending to read for quite some time.

Here's what I have so far:



Do you know how many books I read in 2008?

forty-eight.

I was prego with Lily and in bed the last few months and the only thing that brought me comfort was reading every book ever written by Sophie Kinsella, Brandon Mull, Stephanie Meyer, and whatever else was on the bestseller list that year.

Do you know how many books I read the next year after she was born?

Four.

I read four books in 2009, and three books in 2010.

If anyone ever asks what it is like to transition from three kids to four, I tell them to plan on reading forty-four less books.

So here's where you come in...

I need to read. Summer is approaching, and sunshine or not, I am determined to spend at least a few good days curled up with a book.

What's your favorite book of all time, and your most recent favorite book?

Throw it at me, and if I have already read it you'll be making a good suggestion for someone else.

There's only one rule. It has to be a book with flow.

If I have to focus on linguistics or a complicated list of characters, it doesn't quality as a good summer read.

Easy flow. Easy read. Easy to neglect everything around me.

Not that I would ever do that.

Or have done that.

Okay, I have.

Once upon a time I did it forty-eight times.

But everyone here seems to have turned out okay otherwise.