I kept a list in 2011, too.  Surprisingly, even with all the marathon nursing sessions of this summer, I only read five more books than in 2010.  (A male librarian commented on the size of my check-out stack this week, and then giggled like a 12-year-old boy when I explained “read and feed”.  They love me at the library, I tell ya…)

Since it’s still January, and since my friend Katie says that once you have a baby, two weeks late is the new on time (YAY!  My new mantra!), I am going to post my 2011 book list.

[DISCLAIMER:  I read for pure enjoyment.  Occasionally I'll pick up a biography or a non-fiction book, but for the most part, I read what looks interesting.  Or fun.  (Yes, I judge books by their covers.)  I am not terribly picky.  I read all genres, for all ages.  Trashy beach novels are my secret shame.

I am a very fast reader.  VERY fast.  Just this summer, I realized that I don't actually read at all;  I skim.  I pick out details and ignore the rest.  (Blessing and curse, I tell you.)  I have very good immediate recall, but unless a book really moves me, I don't remember much about it a month after I've read it.  Looking back over my list, there are some books that are complete blanks in my mind.

Unless they are terribly written, or mind-numbingly boring, I will force myself to read books from cover to cover.  (In 36 years, I think I could count on both hands the number of books I've stopped reading in the middle.)  You will find swearing in a lot of these books.  There are probably some explicit scenes as well.

My point is, this is MY list.  If what I find acceptable, literature-wise, is incompatible with your standards, that's totally okay.  I just don't want you to be offended because I read a book like that (whatever *that* is to you), and then chastise me about it.  Got it?]

1.  Fablehaven:  Keys to the Demon Prison  (Book 5)–  Brandon Mull  (LOVE this series!)

2.  The Chosen One–  Carol Lynch Williams  (This one still haunts me.  Especially meaningful now, with the FLDS/Jeffs issues.)

3.  Gods in Alabama– Joshilyn Jackson

4.  The Seventeen Second Miracle– Jason F. Wright  (Everyone should read this and apply it!)

5.  Last to Die– Kate Brady

6.  Between, Georgia– Joshilyn Jackson

7.  Morning Glory– Diana Peterfreund

8.  The Girl Who Stopped Swimming– Joshilyn Jackson

9.  Bulletproof Mascara– Bethany Maine  (Girlfriend HAD to have sold some Mary Kay at some point.)

10.  The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey– Trenton Lee Stewart

11.  The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Prisoner’s Dilemma– Trenton Lee Stewart

12.  Good Enough to Eat– Stacey Ballis

13.  The Scent of Rain and Lightning– Nancy Pickard  (Good book.  Rated “M” for mature.)

14.  Once a Spy– Keith Thomson

15.  How High the Moon– Sandra Kring

16.  The Help– Kathryn Stockett

17.  Winter Bloom– Tara Heavey

18.  The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society– Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows

19.  Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet– Jamie Lee

20.  Truly, Madly– Heather Webber

21.  The Fortune Quilt– Lani Diane Rich  (Also enjoyable.  Also “M”.)

22.  Mrs. Kimble– Jennifer Haigh

23.  The Rebellion of Jane Clarke– Sally Gunning

24.  The Painted Darkness– Brian James Freeman

25.  Blood is the New Black– Valery Stivers 

26.  Previously Engaged– Elodia Strain

27.  Through Black Spruce– Joseph Boyden

28.  Meg’s Melody– Kaylee Baldwin

29.  License to Dream– Anna Jacobs

30.  Saving CeeCee Honeycutt– Beth Hoffmann  (One of the best books I read this year.  LOVED it.)

31.  Watermark– Vanitha Sankaran

32.  Letters From Home– Kristina McMorris  (Another contender for “best read”.  Excellent.)

33.  Wrecked– Carol Higgins Clark

34.  Live Wire– Harlan Coben

35.  Welcome to Last Chance– Hope Ramsay

36.  Never Bite a Boy on the First Date– Tamara Summers  (On Kendra’s recommendation.  Mine?  Not so much…) (…although 13-year-old me would have loved it.)

37.  Night of the Living Dandelion– Kate Collins

38.  Mini Shopaholic– Sophie Kinsella

39.  The Uncoupling– Meg Wolitzer

40.  Toys– James Patterson  (So, so awful.)

41.  Pumped for Murder– Elaine Viets

42.  Never Knowing– Chevy Stevens  (Good book.  Darker subject matter.)

43.  The Art of Saying Goodbye– Ellyn Bache

44.  Bossypants– Tina Fey

45.  A Crowded Marriage– Catherine Alliott

46.  Keep a Little Secret– Dorothy Garlock

47.  Declaring Spinsterhood– Jamie Lynn Braziel

48.  The Peach Keeper– Sarah Addison Allen

49.  The Hoarders– Jean Stringham  (This book made me weep.  AMAZING.)

50.  Princess for Hire– Lindsey Leavitt

51.  I’ll Walk Alone– Mary Higgins Clark

52.  Now You See Her– James Patterson

53.  The Hunger Games– Suzanne Collins  (LOVED.)

54.  Catching Fire– Suzanne Collins  (Liked a lot.)

55.  Mockingjay– Suzanne Collins  (Not so happy with.)

56.  Poison Study– Maria V. Snyder  (LOVED.)

57.  Magic Study– Maria V. Snyder  (Liked a lot.)

58.  Fire Study– Maria V. Snyder  (Not so happy with.)

So, there you have it.  If (When) you comment, be sure to include a book you’d recommend.  So far, my 2012 list only has 4 books on it…

…after you drop a stack of Pampered Chef stoneware pans on your big toe, it:

1.  HURTS enough to say the really bad swear word.

2.  Is possible to keep from saying that word by collapsing into a heap on the kitchen floor while yelling and pounding the floor with your fists.

3.  Makes the whole house come running.

4.  Causes your toenail to turn black in less than one minute.

5.  Makes you shake and twitch uncontrollably as your body tries to process the excruciating pain.

6.  Suddenly makes sense how people could pull their own hair out in agony.

7.  Takes 4 Advil exactly 42 minutes to bring the pain down to a manageable level.  (From an 11 to a 6.5 on the pain scale.)

8.  Means your sister and her almost-fiance, who works in the ER, love you enough to interrupt their date in order to assess the injury.  (Thank you, Kristi and Jason!  So sorry you went back to cold pizza!)

9.  Makes absolutely no difference to a hungry baby who wants to nurse.

10.  Earns you the night “off” , which is code for a sink full of dirty dinner dishes that will wait until morning for you to tackle them.  *sigh*

Take my word for it:  Do NOT try this at home.

Seven months.  Where does the time go?

*He has four teeth, with more ready to break through any day.

*He loves to bite whatever he can get into his mouth, other people’s fingers being his first choice.

*His favorite food is sweet potatoes.  (After fingers, of course.)  He likes to munch on rice rusks, and he HATES the Gerber 1st stage meats.  Watching him do the full-body dry heave of revulsion after a spoonful of “chicken” makes me giggle every time.  And since they say a baby needs to try something at least 10 times before he knows for sure he hates it, I have six more highly enjoyable mealtime shows to enjoy before the guilt can “officially” creep in.

*He doesn’t roll over.  He absolutely refuses to do it.

*He can, however, turn in a 360-degree circle on both is back and his stomach to get to what he wants.

*He sits up on his own, with the occasional wobble.

*He loves books.  His Hungry Caterpillar and Hawaiian fish books are his favorites.

*He still likes to be swaddled (best blankets EVER!) tightly when he goes to sleep.  He recognizes the blanket and tucks his arms into his body in anticipation.

*I have finally worked him up to one nap (most days).  Clearly, not much gets done during the day.

*He’d have no problem being held 24/7.  (See: above)

*He is a shameless flirt.  He bats his big blue eyes and charms everyone.

*He snorts when he laughs.  HILARIOUS.

*He’s tiny.  Barely in the fifth percentile, he still hasn’t doubled his birth weight.

*He holds onto my finger while he nurses.  He also does a dirty-old-man chuckle when I lay him across my lap and reach under my shirt.  (Kenny says, “That’s my boy!”)

*He is fascinated by the dogs, his feet, and sunlight.

*He loves his mama.  (She loves him right back!)

Out of all the babies in the world, I’m quite sure I got the very best one.

It’s definitely time to send someone(s) back to school.

Example 1:  The child who never fails to tell me how fat I am and how pregnant I still look (he’s a real gem, that one), will cover his ears and burst into tears every time Kendra starts singing her choir song about an overweight Santa.  It’s a delightful song, and by the time she gets to the chorus, we are laughing at the lyrics AS WELL AS Anthony’s histrionics.  For some reason, he is terrified that Santa will categorize the entire family as troublemakers and skip our house altogether, not realizing that Anthony is the lone defender of Santa’s waistline.

Because it makes perfect sense to protect Santa, who only brings one gift, and relentlessly mock his mother, who provides the rest of the holiday haul, as well as the gifts for his mid-December birthday.  And has half of Santa’s girth.

Perhaps this year, Santa will bring the gift and Mommy will give the coal!  Or she will just sing the song over and over and over again, to mess with his head.  (It would serve him right, don’t you think?)

(to the tune of “Jingle Bells”)

Santa Claus, Santa Claus, you are much too fat!

I was sleeping peacefully and now my bed is flat!

Oh, Santa Claus, Santa Claus, how much do you weigh?

I’d hate to be a reindeer who has to pull your sleigh.

Example 2:  He spent last evening re-writing his Christmas list.  There are only a few items on it, which is surprising.  (Maybe he set the bar low, thinking it might earn him some extra points with the big guy in red.) (Not to be confused with the fat woman in pink.)

He declined my offer to mail it to Santa;  instead, he brought it into the family room to read it aloud.  “It’s so the elves can hear,” he informed me.  (We have two elves who visit us from the North Pole each December.)  “Game Boy, robot, GB charger, Cars bed.  Do you hear that, Elves?” And then, to me:  “‘Cause they’re the ones who actually make the stuff.”

While I applaud his determination, I can’t help but think that if he’d just behave himself ALL YEAR LONG, December wouldn’t be quite so stressful for him.

(Non-judgmentally, of course.)  

It’s both a blessing and a curse.  Right now, I have three drafts waiting to be finished.  There are close to 100,000 words between them that I haven’t published yet, for fear that they are too wordy.  (You think?)  Do you really want to read a 50,000-word birth story?  Probably not, and so I will most likely delete it and start fresh.  Then, I’m sure I’ll find fault with the next version, and it will be another six months before anything gets published.

Verbosity and perfectionism, why doth thou afflict me so?  (And how might I be compensated for your ever-present torment?)

Friday is my new Monday.

I blame Middle School.  Their late-start Friday throws a wrench in my morning schedule.  If I’m being honest, I also blame Kindergarten, because Friday is their early-out day.  When you add them together, my day looks something like this:

6:30 AM– Wake up

6:50 AM– Roll out of bed

7:15 AM– Family scripture study

7:35 AM– Make breakfast

7:40 AM– Nurse Sam

8:00 AM– Kendra to choir

8:10 AM– Still nursing Sam

8:40 AM– Hannah and Anthony to school

9:10 AM– Alex to school

9:25 AM– Empty/reload dishwasher, start new laundry, fold old laundry

Prepare crock pot ingredients for dinner

Marvel that Sam is still sleeping

Online Christmas shopping

Budget

Check E-mail, Facebook and Pinterest

10:10 AM– Sam is awake!  Feed him cereal.

10:20 AM– Clean spit-out cereal from baby face and hands, self, high chair and floor

10:30 AM– Change laundry

10:50 AM– Kindergarten pick-up

11:10 AM– Nurse Sam

11:45 AM– (Still nursing Sam)

NOON– Sam is screaming in the bedroom.  (One of us doesn’t like to nap.)

Make lunch

Change laundry

12:15 PM– Get Sam

Hold Sam

1:00 PM– Nurse Sam

2:00 PM– Walk past the crock pot and realize I FORGOT TO TURN IT ON

Panic, and re-think dinner.

Turn crock pot to HIGH.

2:10 PM– Kendra and Hannah home

2:20 PM– Blog

2:50 PM– Late for Middle School pick-up  (OOPS!)

On Fridays, I make six school trips in seven hours.  It hardly seems worth the effort to send them to school.  While I doubt they’d protest one less school day each week, that solution just isn’t practical.  Do you think they’d skip dinner each Friday, and agree to a 4:00 PM bedtime?

That’s what I suspected.

Is it Monday yet?

See, I’ve missed blogging.  I’ve missed sharing my crazy life with you.  (I’ve missed hearing how funny my life is.)  There are so many things I failed to write (type) down, and now they are lost in that foggy place memories go when you’re the mother of five.  (FIVE!)  That makes me sad, and blogging makes me happy.  So it’s a win-win.  It’s well past time to start it up again.

Earlier this week, I was feeding Sam in the high chair, and Alex was across the room, “working” on the computer.  Every so often, he’d guffaw, or giggle, or snort.  I had my back to him, and when I turned around to see what was so funny, I found him scrolling through my past blog posts.  Apparently, he still finds me hilarious, although I’m sure that will change in four months, when he turns 13.  He called Kendra over, and they read story after story, laughing together and reminiscing about what I’d written.

It made me happy (and proud, if I’m being completely honest) both in the moment, and for the past however-many years of blogging I’d done.  It also made me a little sad, for the years I let it slide.  Since I can’t go back, I can certainly move forward.  With a little bit of catching up first.  (Did you know I had a baby?  He is almost 6 months old now.  I’ll have to introduce you to him in a future post.  He’s a shameless flirt, and my heart melts every time I look at him.)

So, see you tomorrow?

THIS is what I hope they remember about this summer:  playing night games in the backyard;  riding the TRAX/Frontrunner from Sandy to Ogden (and back!);  swimming in the neighbor’s garbage cans (you’d have to see it to believe it.  I’ve seen it, and I barely believe it);  sibling sleepovers in the basement;  trips to the library;  scout camp;  four-player video games;  movie marathons;  bowling and dollar movies with Dad;  and the unity that comes with being “the older ones” (even though there is a 7-year range in their ages).

If they remember all these things, maybe they’ll forget how many mornings they were forced to eat cold cereal they poured themselves because I was up all night with a new baby and slept in late (or, worse– how many mornings they chose not to eat breakfast because they *coughHannahcough* couldn’t bear the thought of having cereal one more morning), or the places we didn’t visit because I forgot how all-consuming newborns are and still, after 7 weeks, I just can’t seem to get it together to go anywhere further than the public library (and not even the cool one with the puppet theater and the carousel;  and not every week, or even every other week), and– most importantly– just how much  time I spent in the rocking chair, feeding their baby brother.

I hope they see it as a season of growth and independence and bonding and love, and happy memories.  That when we get together for a family BBQ and they are all grown up, someone says, “Remember the summer when Sam was born?” and someone else says, “Oh, YEAH!  That summer was AWESOME!  Remember how we used to…?” and they’ll laugh and giggle and make mental notes to do the same things with their young children.

Except for Hannah, who will still be nursing her grudge against Cocoa Puffs.

(For those of you who wonder, I am exactly 33 weeks and 4 days, and have not gone past 38 weeks with any previous pregnancy.  While my “real” due date is July 1, my doctor is planning a mid-June delivery.)

So, I dreamed I had the baby, but for some reason, I had completely blocked all memories of delivery (doesn’t sound too bad, right?), so I wasn’t sure if my precious baby was a boy or a girl.  The hospital staff teased me mercilessly, and refused to tell me, insisting I’d find out as soon as I changed the next diaper.  The problem was (and really, except for the mystery-gender thing, it would have been no problem whatsoever), they kept taking the baby away to change it, so after my three-day stay, I still wasn’t sure whether I had a boy or a girl.

Then, once we got home, someone (Mom, was it you?) put the baby to sleep, and I figured, no big deal!  I’d have to get up to feed it during the night, and I’d find out when we both woke up whether I could call my baby Sam or Natalie.  Only, we both slept through the night (again, a miracle, if only I knew what to call my newborn!), and during the next day, the steady stream of visitors insisted on changing the baby’s diapers, and found it just as funny as the nurses did that I wasn’t sure of my own baby’s gender.  So, naturally, THEY wouldn’t tell me, either.

I woke up in a panic, and after Kenny finished laughing at my dream recap, I vowed to sneak a peek at my chart when I see my doctor next week.  Then I’ll have the double advantage of knowing for certain this baby’s gender (and keeping it to myself, thankyouverymuch)*, and getting revenge for the mockery.

What do you think?  Boy?  Girl?  (Thankfully, I haven’t had a hermaphrodite dream… yet.) (And Kenny doesn’t find that suggestion the least little bit funny.) 

*I won’t really peek.  Chill, Kenny.