Dirty Little Secret

Welcome to Haiku Friday, go here for more haiku.

At the library
So much fun is to be had
Can we get this book?

Maisy, Blue, Clifford
Can come home with us today
Let’s check them all out

This library is
wonderful for my sweet kids
playhouse and many toys

So much more fun than
the library in our town
which is very small

No one else is here
the place is yours to explore
mommy can relax

Lunch time already
we had better get going
what a nice morning

(Thank you so much to Mary from my book club for mentioning this great library. Also thank you to Lisa from my book club for reading this blog and being a fan; you are forever permitted to skip comments here as long as you show up at book club meetings with them (and sweatpants). Actually, I’d like to thank my whole book club for being fellow bookworms and for reassuring me that Bergen County IS a tough place to make friends.)

(I feel like I should be writing PPS, but that feels so junior high. Anyway, to anyone who’s ever been reluctant to join a book club: Don’t be. They’re great.)

Lovebug spent most of last night screaming. He would calm down when I went into his room, but he still wasn’t happy. We asked him if anything hurt, if he wanted this or that and he always answered no. We’d cuddle him and then put him in the crib and leave the room. He would scream and instead of falling asleep as he usually does, he would grow louder and louder. So loud that I would go back in to check on him. Finally, I put him down and searched his crib to see if anything in it could be hurting him. He toddled over to his books and brought me one. Apparently my son woke up at midnight because I didn’t read him enough stories before bed.

I remember when he didn’t like stories at bed time. At six and seven months, he had no interest. Ironflower loved to be read to immediately, but I worried about Lovebug. I read to him despite his lack of interest - some nights he would only let me read while he breastfed. But about six months ago, he finally started to be interested in books. He began choosing what books we read and actually listening as I read them.

So naturally the one area where I felt like a good mom has backfired. Lovebug is now obsessed with bedtime books. At nearly twenty months he is already a bookworm. Last night I read him an extra story, then explained that it was WAY PAST bedtime and he had to go to sleep. He screamed for twenty minutes straight. But I held out because I knew all he wanted was another book. I peeked at him right after the screaming stopped. He was asleep.

I am dreading this evening.

I’m not a jealous person. I don’t get bothered when Hubby’s ex-girlfriends find him on MySpace. I don’t get mad when I see mothers who have two mellow children. I don’t get upset when I hear about the great vacations my financially solvent friends go on. I even only get a momentary pang of bitterness when I see women who have five kids and wear a size four.

So when I say that if one more bitch I went to high school with writes a book, then more than my eyes will be green - that’s out of character. While I am catty and gossip-y, I generally don’t begrudge other people their happiness or success. I enjoy the success of other writers and bloggers, for the most part. Unless I went to high school with you. A few years ago, a woman I went elementary, junior high and high school with published her second book. I had kept track of her career, even though we were never friends (not only was she a year older than I am, she was shy and quiet and studious and I, um, was not). I cheered her on as she wrote for Self and Glamour. I bought her book of essays.

Then she came out with her novel and I began to hate her. In her novel, a young woman from a town just like ours moves to the mid-west. Much learning and growing ensues, but her treatment of mid-westerners remains insulting and stereotypical. Not only had she written MY story, she had written it badly. I slammed the book to everyone I met and wrote an impassioned blog against it on Blogit.

This woman lives in LA now. The Week used one of her LA Times Op-eds. And I still hate her. But apparently my dislike of her has turned me into a jealous cow, because now I get annoyed any time I hear about anyone I went to school with publishing a book. Or an article. Or a dissertation. Or having a more popular blog. Or. . .well, I’m sure you get the idea. Last night I saw a mystery published by a woman with the name of another girl I went to school with. Before realizing that it is a fairly common name and not necessarily that girl who always did and said everything perfectly , I got ticked off enough to begin searching for bad reviews.

After reading a few I realized it wasn’t her and I felt like a total a**hole for SO many reasons. So now I have promised myself to think only positive thoughts about people I went to high school with - no matter how they’ve turned out. Except LA Times girl, whose novel was a TOTAL insult to every mid-westerner I’ve ever known. But I pledge a non-jealousy contract to everyone else. Really.

So last night I went to my first book club meeting. Ever. I’ve toyed with the idea of joining a book club ever since I left graduate school, but I just never bothered. I read voraciously, but the past few years haven’t exactly been filled with the kind of literature one talks about. I’ve been reading a lot of mysteries. And chick lit. I use reading to relax. I couldn’t really see what I would get out of a book club.

But exploring Meetup.com in my new town inspired me to try a book club. Also, besides the parenting group, it was the only one I felt qualified to join. I don’t scrapbook, or crossdress, and I’m not single. So, a book club it was.

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it so much. We read In Cold Blood, which is not what you’d call a fun book. It’s extremely well-written and well structured, but it was too sad to really enjoy reading. However, talking about it was a different matter. I can’t honestly remember the last time I had so much fun without involving my children or a vice. Hubby and I talk about books a lot, but we’re always telling each other about our books (or reading passages from them). We give each other book reports, really. The book club was the antithesis of that. It was a great conversation.

My advice to anyone thinking about joining or starting a book club? You should have done it sooner.