To my writer friends

As a library media assistant, I am humbled by the power of words. Every week, I am honored to listen as children uncover that power -- as they find those home run books, the ones that make them LOVE to read. It's truly a gift to see as they dash to the library to tell me how much they LOVED a book or to ask if I have the sequel.

I thought of my writer friends as I read this poem, and I thought of the magic of their words. My oldest daughter just read a novel that one of my BFFs wrote nearly 14 years ago. Emma was blown away by it. So this one is for you, j...

What Happened to Your Book Today

Somewhere, a child laughed

on that page where you made a joke.

 

Somewhere, she wiped away a tear,

Just when you thought she might.

Somewhere, your book was passed

from one hand to another in a hallway

busy with clanging lockers,

with whispered words,

“You have got to read this.”

And a scribbled note:

O.M.G. SO good.

Give it back when ur done.

 

It’s looking a little more love-worn lately,

rougher around the edges than it did on release day.

There are dog eared pages and Gatorade stains.

Someone smeared maple syrup on the cover

because she read all through breakfast.

Pages 125 and 126 are stuck fast with peanut butter

Because Chapter 10 was even more delicious

than lunch.

 

Somewhere, tiny hands held up your book

And a little voice begged, “Again!”

Somewhere, the answer came,

A grown-up sigh…and a smile…

And the fourteenth read-aloud of the morning.

That same book. Again.

Your book.

 

Somewhere, a kid who has never read a whole book on his own

(Really. Not even one.)

picked up yours and turned a page.

And then another.

And then one more.

And it was pretty cool, turns out.

He brought it back – huge smile on his face –

(and I mean huge)

And asked for another one.

And he read that, too.

 

Somewhere, a teenager who thought she was alone

Opened your pages and discovered she’s not.

And somewhere, somebody who thought about giving up

will keep on trying,
keep on hoping.

Because of that book you wrote.

Somewhere tonight – listen closely and you’ll hear–

A child will turn the last page of that book,

That book you wrote,

and sigh.

Can you hear it?

It’s the sound of a story being held close

Right before a young voice says,

“It feels like this was written just for me.”

And it was.

 

-- By Kate Messner

 

 

 

Time may pass, but your words still ring true, my friend.

Thanks to Mo: Living in the moment...

Maurice Sendak is a rock-star in the world of children's authors and illustrators. In this beautiful piece from NPR, he shares his thoughts about aging. Whether you believe in an after-life or heaven or are an atheist like Maurice, there's something touching about his sentiments... about living in the moment -- something I need to work on in 2013.


http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/12/30/magazine/the-lives-they-lived-2012.html?view=Maurice_Sendak

Hi ho, hi ho...

It’s off to work I go.

After 14-years of having one of the best jobs on the planet, I’m diversifying. I’m taking on a second one.

And yes, I’m thrilled. I’m excited to have a job that will challenge me and let me explore (a bit more on that later) what I went back to school to study. Financially, it won’t be a huge boon to my family, but having another source for insurance is a huge relief. With a chronically ill child who has one medication that costs $2400/month, I stare out the window at night while my brain chews on the “What ifs…”

So, here’s the reality of a new job:

·         Social security – check.

·         Pension – check.

·         A busy mind – check, check, check, check, check.

Quite frankly, I’m scared to death for good reasons (and not-so-good ones, too). For the past 14 years, I have been Mom. When there are sick kiddos, doctor appointments, or activities to be shuttled to and from, I’ve been there.

·         Laundry, meals, housekeeping – all my domain.

So, now, it’s time for me to rely on others, which (as you may recall from a previous blog) isn’t exactly my forte.

At the end of August, our lives will shift after 14-years. I will be a library media assistant (not a teacher-librarian) at an elementary school. In addition, there are other milestones in our family:

·         Emma starts high school – a change for her as she will be at a different school.

·         Ellie starts middle school – again, a change as she will be at the same school as Emma. So, I’m grateful for that.

·         And Olive – well, she will learn what time the bus drops off the girls, and her body clock will know about what time my car will pull into the garage.

Fall: change is in the air.

The Promise Land

When the girls were little, my brother-in-law Jay used to joke about the Promise Land: the day that our then-toddlers would play independently, when life would be "simple." We imagined...

• Stress-free dinners that would not include something labeled a "tot."
• The day when picking a restaurant didn't involve an analysis of how noisy the restaurant was -- with noise being a plus because a screaming toddler would, most likely, go unnoticed.
• The day when we didn't order off the menu as soon as the waitress appeared -- in fear that she might not return again and we might have to leave early because of an unpredictable toddler.
• A living room that wasn't overwhelmed with Legos or stuffed critters.

Some time... somewhere along the way, we reached the Promise Land. There were no signs announcing our arrival, no commemorative t-shirts, no trumpets heralding the day.

It just happened.

And I appreciate the Promise Land...

But there are times when I miss what it was like before...

Because while we are in the Promise Land, my girls are past it. They are in their own worlds. They are independent, fiercely loyal to their friends, and social creatures. While they still want to spend time with us, their worlds are filled with friends and adventure (and even their adventure can leave me in the dust... like riding this log while mountain biking in Sisters, Oregon).

I'm grateful for their spirit, but I wish... oh how I wish... I would have savored those tough times BEFORE we reached the Promise Land. There was an innocence and simplicity amidst all that complexity.

For now, I strap on my helmet and try to keep up -- as long as my girls will let me tag along. Because utimately, this is the Promise Land.

Read, think, do...

Read, every day, something no one else is reading.

Think, every day, something no one else is thinking.

Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do.

It is bad for the mind to be always part of unanimity.

Christopher Morley (1890 - 1957)

A Buttload of Life Lessons

This week, Life pulled up her rusty old pickup and dumped a buttload of Life Lessons on our front yard. There was no order, no sense -- just a pile of lessons that we had to sort through as a family. And here's just one of those lessons...

Empathy...
Our school district has a variety of options programs available for middle and high schoolers who have a passion or interest in a certain area like the arts or science. Unfortunately, these programs are very popular, and to even the playing field, the district randomly chooses students through a lottery.

Both of my girls independently decided to apply to the same options program that allows students to focus on the arts -- ACMA. Days before her 14th birthday, Emma came to me and told me that she had this intuition that she wouldn't get into ACMA, the school of her choice.

Sure enough, two days before her birthday, I go to the mailbox and discover two very different looking envelopes. I brought them inside the house, placing them carefully on the counter. Emma walked by and without touching them, she proclaimed, "Ellie is IN, and I'm not."

Uh huh...

Ellie at BizTown (editor of the Business Journal)

And so my youngest, who has defied the odds when it comes to her illness, yet again defied the odds by making it into ACMA. With 600 applicants across our district, she was one of 70 chosen through a random lottery.

But instead of feeling ecstatic, we were all reminded that Emma didn't...

And neither did many of our great friends who are all so talented in the arts.

The posts on Facebook started to reveal the many classmates who weren't so lucky by the Fickle Finger of Fate.  Those like Emma... the big sister who belts Broadway songs every night in the shower, who sits quietly in her room drawing hour after hour, who has story after story saved on my laptop.

As the district calls them, "A good fit" for an options school.

A "good fit" with bad luck...

And when you try to teach your children empathy, it becomes impossible to celebrate your own happiness when you know that your sister, your friends are just a random flip of the coin on the opposite side...

Okay, I'm listening...

There are times when the Gods or Goddesses have a message for me, and it comes when I least expect it.

Today, I was working on an assignment for my Collection Development class and reviewing the middle school library's philosophy section. For some reason, a book on Confucius caught my eye. Instead of just checking it for a copyright date and doing a quick check of its merit, I pulled up a chair and started reading.

And the first quote I paged to was this:

Don't worry when people fail to recognize your merits. Worry when you fail to recognize theirs.   -- Confucius

Okay, Gods and Goddesses, I got the message.

And I will try harder.

We've come a long way, Baby...

I was going through pictures this afternoon and found these. In this day of digital pictures, these had been printed out long ago and filed for me to scrapbook. Only that never happened...

My scrapbooking stopped about the time of the diagnosis.

This picture was taken nine years ago -- at our first Jingle Bell Run. My 2-year old had been diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis just a few months earlier.

It was a much smaller run then (maybe a couple hundred people). I ran the entire course with tears in my eyes, wondering if my daughter would ever have the thrill of running a road race. Afterwards,  we bumped into our new pediatric rheumatologist . He was like a stranger. Now, he greets me with a big hug and insists that I call him by his first name. He's an integral part of our lives.

At the time, I knew no one who had a child with JRA. I felt terribly alone.

I look at that little baby in my arms and think of what she had been through at that point: already a round of joint injections and she was well into her 2nd month of weekly injections of the chemo drug. She was brave then -- just as she is now.

I wish I could go back and tell them both that it's going to be okay, that the next nine years won't be tough. But that would be a lie.

I can tell them this blasted disease won't stop Ellie.

• She will run and swim and kick soccer goals.
• She will climb trees and rock climb and tap dance.
• She will hurt, a toe will fuse, joints will be injected, and we will learn that it sucks to get arthritis in the jaw.
• Shot day will come twice a week -- not just once, and it will be as simple as brushing her teeth. 
• She will write about her disease and explain that it makes her "unique." How's that for a bright side?

And as a family...

• We will find other families who are also fighting this disease. I will never know what it's like to feel alone with this diagnosis.
• We will be inspired by the children who face this disease everyday with dignity, courage, and amazing resilience.
• We will find our voices and become advocates for the 300,000 children who hurt and deserve a childhood free of pain.
• We will see more medical professionals than we ever could have imagined: physical therapists, an orthotist, a naturopath, our pediatric rheumatologist, a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an orthopedic surgeon, and an oral surgeon. All to treat this disease and the toll it has taken on her body...
• We will see compassion in our daughter who doesn't suffer from this disease, who piggy backs her little sister through the house without even asking why.
• We will gain lifelong friends who push us to do the right thing when we're afraid, who give us tips and tricks, and aren't afraid to give us advice -- even when we might not want to hear it.

And I will discover that you can give birth to something much stronger than you.

Glogster

Next week, I'm teaching the 5th graders about Glogster, an online poster maker. This tool was named one of the top ALA technology tools in 2010.

It seems as if Ellie is always working on a poster for one project or another, and using Glogster seemed like a fun way to show students that they can express themselves online and create things just as beautifully. The students are also working on a poetry unit, so we're combining our efforts and having them post their poem in Glogster. Two of my favorite things combined in one...

In the meantime, I've been playing around a bit with the tool. This is a simple first pass, so students have a baseline (i.e, no bells and whistles... yet). I really like the format of this poem. It has the students examine their beliefs -- in the present, past, and future. Some are seemingly contradictory, but when you think about it, they're not.

Anyway, here's a link to my latest project and MY poem (a fun exercise for me as well):

http://dawniek.edu.glogster.com/dkpastpresentfuture/

Letting go...

As a mother, I'm constantly reminded that there are times I can't be everywhere. For me, this is bittersweet. I'm lucky that I have a hubby and friends who help out. For that, I'm grateful.

However, there are moments that I don't want to miss. A lot of these trace back to my memories of being a child and having my mother with me...

Recently, I had one of those moments when I had to let go, when I had to let Doug take charge.

Monday night as the girls were headed to bed, Emma started to complain about a tummy ache. It became more serious as the tears started streaming down her face. By 8:00, she was in the bathroom with her head in the toilet. Once she stopped the first round of vomiting, she started to cry, "But you have your test tomorrow!"

True... For the past week, I had been studying for a state test on the civil rights of students -- my head crammed full of law cases and their implications in the classroom. And I have to admit that when my daughter first mentioned her tummy ache, I immediately thought of my test early the next morning.

I reassured Emma that it wasn't a big deal, and we'd work out. I headed to bed early to make sure I was rested up for the test, and sure enough, at 10:30, I heard the cry, "Mama!"

Doug greeted me at the top of the stairs as I headed out of my bedroom -- toward the cry. He redirected me back to bed with a "Let me take care of this."

I wish I could say that I fell right back to sleep, but I didn't. I laid there, listening, waiting.

I woke at 12:30, 1:30 and then 3:30 as the cries switched from "Mama!" to "Daddy!"

Every time I woke. my mommy instinct was in full force, and it was all I could do not to charge out and hold Em's head and try to make it all better. Memories of MY mother with her cold hand on my forehead, a wet washcloth waiting for me, and a glass of 7UP to follow everything up...

Part of learning that I can't be on call 24x7 is letting go. For me, it's letting others help, and I readily admit that I'm not always good at that.

But it's more than just that: it's about sharing those moments. And perhaps I've been selfish in NOT wanting to share them -- the sweet hugs, the kind moments of appreciation from a child when they start to feel better, the times when I can TRULY take care of my kiddos again -- without them insisting that they're FINE.

But for now, it's MY turn to tend to my hubby who now has that same tummy bug...

No cud chewing!

Happy 2012!

While January brings new resolutions for most, I’m focusing on mantras this year. In the past, I’ve created resolutions – some that were pretty successful (5+ months completely gluten-free) and some that didn’t go quite as well (no size 6 jeans here).

And there are some resolutions that I strive toward every year, knowing that these are ongoing:

• move more
• eat healthy
• be present more

But this year, I’ve decided to try a mantra instead of a resolution. A new way of looking at things…

As a chronic worrier, I spend far too much time in the past. Over the holiday break, I read an article in Real Simple, describing this behavior as “ruminating.”

I’m clearly a ruminator.

A cow.
A cud chewer.
Someone who regurgitates life – instead of swallowing it whole and moving on.

I choose to relive moments again and again, wondering how they could have played out differently. Wondering “What if?” instead of “What’s next?”

So, you see the need for my ongoing resolution to be present more? But since that resolution hasn’t been so effective, I’m going to try this mantra:

I can’t control what’s going to happen, but I can control my reaction to it.

And for me, my reaction is going to be to float on past. I will hitch a ride on the nearest cumulus cloud and ride the jet stream.

I will focus on the freckle pattern on Emma’s face.

The golden highlights in Ellie’s hair.
The way my hands are starting to look like my mother’s.

I will float on past and not look at the past and worry.  And ruminate.

And in 2012, I have a goal to exercise my writing muscle every week. Let’s see how well this goes, but here’s to goals, resolutions, and mantras. No matter how you get there, we’re all just trying to be the best we can be.

Fall 2010: What I'm Reading

I hate to admit that I am very picky about picture books. Many are poorly written. Often, they "dumb" down a theme for children, or they rely on cute animals to carry a story.

I also have to admit that I don't usually enjoy "celebrity authors" -- folks who are lucky enough to get published simply because they're famous for one reason or another (think The Duchess of York aka "Fergie").

So... I was reluctant to pick up The Sandwich Swap by Queen Rania of Jordan -- even when I saw it appear on bestseller booklists. Not even the blurb on the back from Bill Clinton could entice me.

And then, I was in our public library -- desperate for a great book. It was the 2nd week of school, and it was the day before I was to return as guest reader at our elementary school.

I knew that I'd have a packed house of squirmy little bodies -- children from kindergarten through 5th grade. I needed a great story that would engage everyone and beautiful illustrations that children could see from the back of the library while remaining in the famous "criss-cross applesauce" position.

As I wandered through the library, there it was again. After browsing aisle after aisle of books, I was discouraged. Finally, I grabbed The Sandwich Swap and leafed through the book. The pictures were sweet, large enough to share with a crowd and fun.

Okay... one thumbs up for the illustrations, but what about the content?

The story line is simple: two inseparable best friends notice each other's lunches. Lily has a PBJ, and Salma has a hummus and pita sandwich.  Like most kids, they think that their friend's sandwich looks, "YUCKY!" simply because it's different When one of the girls spurts out her opinion, it brings about an end to their friendship.

It's a simple, but compelling story line: just because something LOOKS different, doesn't mean that it's bad. Unfortunately, our world seems to be becoming less tolerant of other people, and this book teaches acceptance and how to embrace cultural differences -- instead of letting them divide us. Wow... what a concept for adults... I mean children.

An added bonus is that our school population is very diverse, and one of my favorite families is from Jordan. When I showed the children what book I was going to read, the little girl from this family quickly raised her hand and shared that her family came from there. When another child asked where Jordan was, the little girl quickly explained. The world became a little smaller and the distance between the Pacific NW and the Middle East a little closer...

Summer 2010: What I'm reading

Have you ever felt like you were different than everyone else? Mississippi Beaumont (the main character in Ingrid Law’s book Savvy) KNOWS that she’s different. Her family is unlike any other family she has met: they all have a savvy – a secret-power that no one outside their family knows about.

Her mother tries to convince Mississippi (or “Mibs” as she’s called) that they’re not different from other families: “In most ways, Mibs, we Beaumonts are just like other people. We get born, and sometime later we die. And in between, we’re happy and sad, we feel love and we feel fear, we eat and we sleep and we hurt like everyone else.” But Mibs knows otherwise: her mother is perfect; her brother Rocket has a knack with electricity, and her brother Fish has a “stormy” personality all his own. They all have a special savvy.

All the Beaumonts learn their savvy on their thirteenth birthday, and even Mibs admits that before her birthday, “I prayed every night for my savvy to come and be the best savvy ever. I prayed for the power to fly or to shoot lasers from my eyes.” Imagine not knowing what kind of super-power you might have!

While the Beaumonts all have spectacular powers, Savvy isn’t a science fiction or fantasy type novel. It’s all presented pretty matter-of-fact and reminds me a bit of a tall tale – a believable tall tale. If you liked Anybodies by N. E. Bode or The Girl Who Could Fly by Victoria Forester, you’ll enjoy Savvy by Ingrid Law. Although the main character of this book is a girl, there are two boy characters who have strong roles. It’s not just a book for girls!

Even with a super-powerful family, Mibs has to deal with issues that many twelve and thirteen year olds do – like dealing with two bullies who nickname her “Missy-pissy.” Also, Mibs is not sure what to do when a fourteen year old boy is especially nice to her, and she struggles with issues like doing the right thing.

Join Mibs as she learn her savvy and comes to terms with the fact that “the Beaumont kids were extraordinarily, freakishly not normal. But all told… we were also pretty amazing.” Mibs also learns an important lesson: “You never can tell when a bad thing might make a good thing happen.”

Perfect for Grades 4 and up... A YRCA Award Winner!

Summer 2010: What I'm reading

What if your middle school teacher hates you? Holling Hoodhood is pretty sure that his 7th grade teacher despises him, and she's out to get him -- whether it's by volunteering that he'll clean all the blackboard erasers in the entire middle school or by sending him out to play soccer with the meanest kids in school.

It's the late 1960s, and the war in Vietnam is on everyone's mind, including twelve-year old Holling Hoodhood. That is, when he's not worried about Mrs. Baker's plot against him and the Shakespeare plays she has assigned him to read. Just when you think it couldn't get worse for Holling, it does.

A coming-of-age novel that's hysterical and bittersweet at the same time. Wednesday Wars is written from a male perspective. It's a great novel for anyone who roots for the underdog.

A Newberry Award winner...

A Reading Biography: My Home Run Books

This summer, I started back to school to get my master's degree in Library Media Science. It's something I've always wanted to do, but really didn't know HOW to. I remember telling my high school guidance counselor that I wanted to be a bibliotherapist. It was a word I'd come across somewhere, but my thought was that the right book could help a child through a dark time. It's something that I've always believed: words can heal.

Unfortunately, that guidance counselor laughed and told me to go into elementary education. So, here I am literally 25 years later, starting back to school.

One of my first assignments was to share my reading biography -- my earliest memories of reading, my successes and failures. I encourage you to think of your experiences. Maybe even write down a thought or two. You may be surprised.

Here are my thoughts:

My Reading Autobiography and Connections to Students Today

“I think I can. I think I can…,” my grandmother read to me. I was probably three or four years old – my oldest memory of being read to as a child and the earliest memory I have. An elementary schoolteacher, Grandma had a dramatic voice that rose and lowered when needed, pausing for emphasis while I waited -- as if I didn’t know the next words (when in fact, I knew the story by heart).

Every time I visited my grandmother and grandfather, I begged Grandma to read The Little Engine That Could. No matter how busy she was, Grandma would pull out the worn Watty Piper book that still had her name written in the front as “Mrs. Kimball,” and I’d climb into her lap – the perfect lap for cuddling up with a book. When we made it to the most dramatic part of the book where it’s unclear if the little tank engine would make it up the hill, Grandma would point to the words and have me read along with her, “I think I can… I think I can.”

Grandma clearly had the biggest impact on me as a reader. First, she was a reader. There was always a stack of novels and magazines on her nightstand, and she filled her free time with reading. Second, Grandma modeled what it was like to be a true reader. Most importantly, Grandma showed me that she was never too busy for me and that books can entertain.

Beyond those early memories of The Little Engine That Could, I have vague memories of learning to read. My mother claims that I was a reader by the age of 4½ -- thanks to the neighbor girl who was in third grade. Kim was my idol. Not only was she beautiful with her big brown eyes, but she read big girl books: chapter books. I remember sitting out front of our house under a big oak tree as we played school, and she taught me my letters and my letter sounds.

As I became a more fluent reader, I remember reading everything: cereal boxes, Grandma’s old Reader’s Digest condensed books, Mad magazines my dad had collected when he was younger, and lots of books.

My “home run” book that clearly made the biggest impact on me as a reader was Beverly Cleary’s Ramona the Brave. Here was a spunky gal that had adventures unlike any other protagonist I had read before. A little bit naughty and a little bit ornery, Ramona still had a good heart and intentions: she reminded me of myself.

From there, I plunged into the rest of Beverly Cleary’s books. Henry reminded me of my older brother, and Ribsy was just like the mutt my family adopted when we moved to central Illinois. That summer, my mother bought every single Beverly Cleary book for my tiny bedroom library. We didn’t have much money, and I knew that it was an extravagance to own the entire series of Beverly Cleary books. When we headed out on a road trip to Florida, my mother packed up the entire series and rationed out one book/day for me to read. If I finished the book before the day was over, I was done – no more books, no more reading. That was when I discovered the art of re-reading!

In fourth grade, my family moved again -- during the middle of the school year. It was a difficult transition for me, and one of the few positive memories I have of that year occurred on my first day at my new school. During story time, my new teacher pulled out a book I had never heard of before: Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume. For those thirty minutes, I forgot all about being the new kid in the class as I sat spellbound and listened to the stories of this poor boy named Peter whose brother Fudge sounded an awful lot like my little brother -- “home run” book #2.

As a child, I was lucky to be surrounded by readers and adults who supported and encouraged my reading. I found characters I identified with and admired. All of my memories and connections to reading have been positive.

Obviously, many things have changed since I was a young reader. Still, there are many similarities between young readers today and my experiences. Children still love to be read to, and they love to read – despite being surrounded by technology and all of its attraction. My observations on children and their book choices are based on the two schools where I volunteer in the classrooms and libraries.

This past year, I’ve been a recurring guest reader at our elementary school library. We started the year with picture books, eventually graduating to Ursula LeGuin’s Cat Wings and then Beverly Cleary’s Henry Huggins. Over the year, my audiences grew until the final Monday in June when the children spilled out of the library and into the hall.

During the year, I fretted over every book I read, wondering if the children would make a connection and enjoy it. I worried that the plots weren’t fast enough or outdated. Instead, I was amazed at how engaged the children were – just as engaged as I was listening to Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. The biggest compliment I received was when the assistant librarian referred to the crowd of children as “my groupies.”

One of the changes I see between my middle school library and a current middle school library is the emergence of graphic novels as a completely new genre. They are hugely popular at our middle school library where students check out multiples in a series at the same time – most likely because they’re able to read them so quickly. It reminds me of my mother rationing my books on long summer car trips, and I appreciate the students’ need to “stock up.” Often, I smile to myself as a handful of boys rush in the library between classes to quickly scan the shelves and see if any books have returned in the series they’re currently reading. Their love for reading and anticipation at getting a new book is inspiring.

In Growing Up Digital, Don Tapscott refers to this generation of young adults as the N-gen for the “network generation.” He points out that this is the first generation to grow up totally surrounded by technology and all of its influences.

As a result, the N-gen has nearly immediate access to any questions they have and any research they may need to do. As a young adult and college student, I spent lots of time in my school library, researching topics for my research papers. Now, students rely on the Internet for much of their research. This spring, my older daughter performed most of her term paper research online after getting a quick a quick tutorial about what makes a website reputable. If a question comes up at home, my 9-year old daughter frequently tells me to “just Google it.” Thanks to the Internet, answers are literally at students’ fingertips within a matter of seconds, and the library is no longer the center for research.

In Growing up Digital, Don Tapscott writes that “N-geners have a strong sense of independence and autonomy.” According to Tapscott, children created online clubs related to their favorite book series like The Babysitters Club – long before adults thought of it.

Partially as a result of these online fan clubs, children are more aware of the release of new books in their favorite series. Highly anticipated books are released with great fanfare, and bookstores and libraries plan elaborate events, vying for readers’ attention. When I was younger, there was little fanfare attached to the release of new books. I didn’t have a clue when the next Judy Blume book would be released. Instead, I’d stop by my library and scan the shelves for my favorite authors. In contrast, my family and I went to two different book stores to take part in the pre-release activities for the release of the seventh Harry Potter book. The day of the release, the mailman hand-delivered our copy to my squealing ten-year old.

As the parent of a fourth grader and seventh grader, I realize that the pulls on their time are great – school activities, sports, electronics, and friends. At the same time, there is more content for children to read – new genres like graphic novels, online clubs, and Internet blogs. My twelve-year old daughter followed the blog of 16-year old sailor Abby Sunderland long before her boat capsized in the Indian Ocean, and her story was plastered across the news media. As Tapscott points out in his book, there is no age in the online world, and there are no boundaries.

For young readers, the library is no longer the center of the reading community, and to reach young readers through the library, I think that literary promotion is even more important. We’re vying for the attention of young readers who have content everywhere. Students are still reading – although the content and mediums are very different than when I was a young reader.

Summer 2010: What I'm reading

A terrible mistake has happened. Someone has left a baby on the doorstep of the Willoughby home and attached a note that reads “I chose this house because it looks as if a happy, loving family lives here, prosperous enough to feed another child. “

Unfortunately, that’s not the case: a happy, loving family DOESN’T live at the house, and the children who do live there secretly wish that they were orphans – just like the orphans in great children’s classics like The Boxcar Children – the ones who triumph over adversity, find great adventure, and live happily ever after.

The Willoughby children plan a plot to become orphans, while their parents plan a way to get rid of the children. When Mr. Willoughby asks his wife if she likes their children, she quickly responds, “I never have. Especially that tall one. What is his name again?”

See what happens when the parents try to get rid of their children, and the children try to rid themselves of their parents. The Willoughbys is a hilarious mix of plot and character with lots of great references to classic children’s novels. Prepare to laugh and search for references to great classics – from Mary Poppins to James and the Giant Peach.

Last Day of School Blues...

It's the last day of school for my two gals, and I'm filled with the blues. I look forward to a summer of great adventures, no homework, no deadlines, and no soccer games to rush to. I love spending days with my girls, but I do have this overwhelming feeling of sadness. Another school year has passed, and that makes me sad. However, it has been a great year, a challenging one filled with milestones:

• Ellie's second year with a wonderful teacher who encourages her, understands her disease, and pushes her to be an even better student and step outside her comfort zone. Mrs. O is a teacher who greets Ellie with love and kindness every day.


• Emma's first year at middle school -- A year I was dreading (I admit). It has been a year of extreme ups and downs.

Middle school lessons learned:

• Some people are just MEAN -- no matter how kind you are to them.


• Twelve year olds will LIE when they feel that they've been wronged by a member of the opposite sex.


• You have to stand up for yourself. Not everyone agrees with your philosophy, and it's hard to stay true to your beliefs.


• You have to be an advocate for yourself in the classroom.

Still... her year has been filled with wonderful teachers who have shown her a world outside what she knew. Her head and heart are full...

Bring it on, Summer.

True Confessions

I hate to admit that I...

• Worry too much.
• Squeeze whipped cream on a spoon and slowly lick it.
• Push a chair in front of the back door whenever my husband is away from home at night.
• Hate shopping.
• Fail when it comes to being a good friend -- not always, but I'm often at a loss for what to do when the big things happen (like death, divorce, major illness). I feel so helpless for my friends, and I fear it comes across as my apathy.
• Sucked my thumb until I was 13 years old. I used to worry (see... I told you that I worried too much) that I'd suck my thumb on my honeymoon. My mother and grandmother tried everything to get me stop -- made me wear gloves, painted icky stuff on my nail, had me sleep on my hands... you name it. To this day, I don't know what made me finally stop.
  

Caution: VERY Slippery When Wet

I run with my head down. I guess it reveals a lot about me.

Last week, I was running on what seemed like the hundredth rainy day in a row. I was on one of my usual routes -- a little trail that runs behind a housing development. My head was especially tucked down because the rain was coming at an angle right under my hat.

On the trail, there's a bridge that crosses a small creek. There's never water in the creek so I pretty much cross it oblivious to the fact that it's even a bridge. Until last week.

For some reason, I looked up and noticed a small note written on an index card, sealed in a baggie and tacked to the bridge rail. Even with my head down, it was in my line of vision:

Caution: VERY Slippery When Wet

As I crossed the bridge, I took extra care in making sure that I planted my feet and didn't land on my bum.

Out of curiosity, I turned back to check the rail on the other side of the bridge, to see if the note was there as well. Sure enough, an identical note appeared on the other side.

For some reason, I found myself mulling over these notes, and they brought me comfort as I finished up my 5 mile run in the pouring rain.

In my mind, I pictured someone (okay, it was an elderly man who looked like my grandfather) walking home from his morning walk, sitting at the kitchen table, pen in hand and writing a note.

Whoever wrote this note must have thought his or her plan through carefully. He or she had to make sure the note wasn't ruined in the rain and then how to post it. Tape? Nail?? Tack?!

I don't know why, but this little note, scrawled by someone I will never know, made my day. It occupied my thoughts as I climbed hill over hill, my head still down...

Wondering what other signs I've missed with my head down.

Wishing there were more signs along my paths, carefully written and tacked so I can see them.

Gathering together...

This morning, I was keeping an eye on Olive as she roamed downstairs and I prepared breakfast.

I noticed her walk by with a bone in her mouth, then another bone, then her blanket, and finally her new froggy toy. One by one... she collected.

I finished getting down the cereal bowls and headed to the counter where I saw this on the floor of the living room.

Olive had gathered all of her treasures together, placed the blanket on top, and settled down for a nap.

And it occurred to me... I would do that if I could. I would gather my family, my puppy, my friends, my books, and perhaps a cup of coffee (!).

Pile them up, climb up on top, and nap.

Comfortably.

Knowing that all of them were safe.

Knowing that all of them were by my side.

And then, I started to think about toddlers -- how they collect things as well. It used to drive me crazy when I'd find bags and bags of stuff that my girls had collected. I'd open their closets, and there would be bags, filled with some treasures (a Polly Pocket doll, some Sesame street figurines, perhaps a small book, and some random drawings).

On playdates, they'd gather together their favorite toys and pile them up. I remember chastising them and reminding them to share -- somehow thinking that they were hoarding all the best toys so the other children couldn't play with them.

But maybe they weren't.

I think Olive just clued me in on something I should have known then.

They were just gathering together...

Keeping the most important things close at hand.