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November book report

caravanofcomposition 1 Comment

I know, I know, it’s eighteen days into December. But good news: I finished my yearly reading goal!

goal
And I couldn’t let a month slip past without giving a shout-out to all the wonderful words that entered my brain in story form. November was a very YA/Middle grade focused month. In fact, I didn’t read a single “adult” book.

Glimpse by Carol Lynch Williams
Another verse book recommended by my editor friend. This one did not make me cry, but it certainly tugged at the heart. It is a story of two sisters, one of whom struggles with mental illness, and it reminded me of Stop Pretending by Sonya Sones. Be warned, there are suicide attempts and abuse, some of which was quite difficult to read. I had a hard time with the mother character, but overall enjoyed the quality of verse and story telling.

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi
Oldest read this book with his class, and I had promised him back in the day that anything he was assigned I would also read so that we could discuss it together. We’ve read a few Avi books together – he is an excellent story teller. The book is fast paced and full of girl power adventure. Critics argued that the character shift was not believable, and while my son and I concurred, we both enjoyed watching her go from prim stuck-up to edgy risk-taker. Fans of Treasure Island would enjoy this read.

Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech
Here is my review from Goodreads: I recently read Walk Two Moons with my oldest son. It was not my first time reading it. Not my second. Not my third. It was probably the 20th time I’ve read this book, and I cry EVERY TIME. It is a beautiful, moving story about family, friendship, loss, and love. And so much more. If you’ve never read it, you should. Read it alone. Read it to your child. Read it to your pet. Just read it. And have tissues handy.

My youngest reported that his teacher was reading WTM during silent reading time, so I mentioned it during conferences. She had never read it before and asked if it would be okay to share with third graders. It’s not (IMO). There are some seriously heavy parts to this book. I used to read it with 7th graders and feel it would be appropriate for 10+.

Liar & Spy by Rebecca Stead
I loved When You Reach Me. The “mystery” in this one was a bit more obvious (I had it figured out right away), but it was still a great read aloud with my younger son. We both enjoyed the MC’s voice and the various characters, especially the neighbors with their unique names and personalities.

Stay Where You Are and Then Leave by John Boyne
Another book chosen because I loved the first one I read by the author. In this case, it was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas – a total tear-jerker that left me sobbing in my work parking lot last year. (Note: Read the book over watching the movie. Far superior.) Stay Where You Are and Then Leave is another excellent, beautifully woven war story. It deals with PTSD before it was recognized as a mental illness and taps into the heartache of missing a family member. The audio book version is worth a listen, and again I would recommend it for 10+ due to the issues addressed.

Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff
I listened to this verse book on my phone and worry that not seeing the poems may have altered my appreciation a bit. The story is about a young girl trying to make money for college who takes on a job babysitting for a single mom struggling with poverty. It was good, but after trying a few other verse books in audio format and giving up, I’ve decided it may be better to stick with print.

All The Broken Pieces by Ann E. Burg
A verse book about finding out who you are and dealing with demons from your past. Deals with post-Vietnam War adoption in a way that didn’t make me want to throw the book across the room (I can be a bit touchy about adoption in literature). Many of the poems were raw and beautiful. It hasn’t been my favorite verse book, but I’d definitely recommend it.

So far, my December reading has been a bit sparse. But I plan to spend some quality time during the holidays wrapped up with a good book. Happy reading, everyone!

 

Thirty days of thanks

caravanofcomposition 4 Comments

In the beginning of November, I came up with a plan: To write and deliver one note for each day of the month, thanking someone who has made a difference in my life. The note must be delivered anonymously (I cannot hand it to them). With a handful of exceptions, the daily recipient will be randomly chosen. Exception number one: start with hubby – partly because he is the number one influence in my life but also because he will likely see the pile of note cards and wonder what I am up to.

Day one: note left on hubby’s pillow. He doesn’t notice it until after dinner, at which point he takes it into the bathroom to read. It stays there indefinitely. He says nothing. I question whether or not this is a good idea. Nevertheless, I begin to brainstorm a list of people to thank, and bust out our 12 sided die to help with the random aspect.

Day three: note left on co-worker’s desk. She gives me a hug and tells me it made her day.

Day four: A complete stranger gives me his raffle winnings (a portable grill and grill tools). I’m convinced that the positive energy I am putting into the universe is coming back around.

Day ten: Mom calls to thank me for her note and to ask if everything is okay. She’s worried someone is sick. Someone is, I tell her, the friend I told you about, remember? A good friend is battling serious health issues right now and part of the reasoning behind my endeavor is to make sure the people I care about know that I care about them. And I know that she knows that, but I wanted to make sure other people in my life knew too. Knew how the small things they do make a difference, especially when it feels like the day to day does nothing but wear us down.

Day fifteen: I blew off yesterday’s note and this morning my mom texted to say she’s in the ER. Okay, universe, I get it. Seriously though, I just finished writing yesterday and today’s notes and now I’m falling apart a little. One was to the friend mentioned above. And I hold my breath every time I see a message from her, because it’s usually bad news. Then there’s my mom. She’s battled back before, again and again really, so I don’t expect this time to be any different. But what if it is? What if dad calls to say she’s gone? Because hearts do that. They just stop. And hers has taken a lot already. What if the last thing I said or did was something mean and selfish? Part of this exercise has been to be a kinder, more loving person. But as I pull people closer to me, it only hurts more when something bad happens to them.

Day twenty-six: I haven’t written notes all week, and feel a bit like giving up on the whole idea. It’s my birthday, and I want to stay in bed all day and mope. Not about getting older, honestly it doesn’t really bother me all that much, more about the fact that once again I have set out to do something and failed. The list of uncrossed-off names stares at me from a post it note on my desk, and after seeing all the love pour in on social media and text messages from friends and family sending me birthday wishes, I decide to tackle a few more letters. Some of them make me tear up a little, thinking about the people in my life who have influenced me in one way or another, who have stood by and supported me. There is so much I am thankful for; sometimes it is overwhelming.

Day thirty+one (today): I wrote twenty four and a half notes, and one has yet to be delivered. There are uncrossed-off names left on my list, and more that I need to add. And while I’m disappointed in myself for not truly completing the task, it has been a heart-opening exercise and one that I vow to continue in one form or another. When I’m feeling down, discouraged, unloved – instead of wallowing in self-pity, I will pull out my notecards and write to one of those people.

Because everyone deserves to be appreciated.

 

Letters from my former self

caravanofcomposition 3 Comments

It’s that time of year again. When hubby brings up the holiday decorations and we all reach into our stockings for THE LETTER. The one we wrote to our future self back in January with goals and dreams for the upcoming year.

My youngest wrote all about roller coasters and getting 100’s on his math and spelling tests. He seemed pleased at his accomplishments and proceeded to turn his letter into an airplane and fly it all over the room. Which, by the way, is his personality in a nutshell.

Oldest refused to read his letter out loud and moped on the couch saying he didn’t accomplish anything. Which of course is a total lie – he’s done a lot of great things this past year. Later I found the letter and learned the cause of his disappointment – he had written about things he was obsessed with last year, and trends being trends, they were no longer important. Oh, and he wanted to grow six inches. Genetics can be so, so cruel.

Hubby read his letter, which talked about a bathroom remodel that hasn’t happened yet, and a handful of other things he didn’t accomplish. I read mine. More of the same. Wow, we really stank this year, oldest remarked.

No, we didn’t, actually. We set out on one path and life took us a different way. We didn’t accomplish our goals from January, but instead entirely different experiences and opportunities came our way. And that’s okay.

Although… I would like to publicly say I am disappointed in myself in a few areas. My writing goals included querying my YA Historical Fiction project, which I didn’t do because I am somewhat terrified to put it out into the world. And my butt was not nearly in the chair as much as I had promised myself it would be – despite various mind tricks such as elaborate daily schedules, trips to cafes, and secret candy stashes. But it’s here now, right at this very moment. Let’s celebrate the small victories, shall we?

I think the area in which I have been most victorious is pushing out of my comfort zone. My new job has forced that to some degree; I’m required to go into the community and talk to strangers, so I’ve been working hard on my ice breaking and small talk skills. (Not to worry, there have been PLENTY of awkward moments this past year, during which I stared blankly and lost all ability to make normal conversation.) If something scares me, my immediate reaction might be to give up or walk away, but I’m trying to push past that and embrace new experiences.

And then come home and bury myself in a book next to my trusty feline companion.

We can’t change who we truly are at the core, and I’ve learned that after many, many years of stocking letters. But we can work to become better versions of ourselves, whether that means being more adventurous, working harder to achieve a goal, or being a kinder human being. (More to come on that last one.)

Don’t be afraid to set goals, both realistic and star-reaching. But be prepared for the universe to have other plans. That’s part of the fun.

 

 

 

Momiversary and other thoughts

caravanofcomposition 5 Comments

Today is my anniversary of motherhood. Eleven years ago I drove through a torrential rainstorm, waited for hours in the JFK airport, and at around 11:30 pm I met my son. A happy moment (and also slightly terrifying) and one that we regularly reminisce.

But the moments leading up to it were painful. And this morning, as I sat in the waiting room of my gynecologist, I was reminded of that pain as pregnant women made a seemingly endless trek toward the exam rooms. Today happened to be the office’s outreach to at-risk expectant mothers. Not great timing.

I used to spend a lot of time in waiting rooms, back in the days of fertility treatments. Waiting rooms that overflowed with pregnant women, many of whom were young, alone, and frustrated about their situation. You could see it in their eyes, and I used to wonder if they could read mine. Read the unhappiness and desperation. I would sit in the waiting room and keep myself together – keep my emotions steady – until I crossed the threshold into the exam room. Then I would break down and sob.

Thankfully, I am not in that place anymore. I have two amazing sons and have made peace with my path to motherhood. But there are moments when I can’t escape the rush of sadness that refuses to let go of my heart. Moments like this morning, as I watched each belly full of life and rested a hand on my own, full of scar tissue.

A few months ago we were guests at a church, and a couple had filmed their testimony. When the story began, I knew what would come next: Struggling to conceive, praying to God for a miracle – I spotted the trajectory right away, knew the meteor would land right in my gut. I left the room in time before tears came, and thankfully they never did. But I realized that I would never be able to fully let this go. The tears may no longer flow, but the ache creeps in, when I’m reminded of the painful journey that ended eleven years ago.

That’s the thing. Our pain never fully ends. Because no matter how much we heal, the scars remain a part of who we are. And that’s okay. The scars remind us of where we’ve been, of who we struggled to become, and the amazing things that came out on the other side.

Like my boy. I can’t believe it’s been eleven years. It feels like yesterday I carried him in his little green sling and sang endless rounds of “This Little Light of Mine.”

Let somebody blow it out?

No way.  I’m gonna let it shine.