A continuation of previous themes.

Belle Prater's Boy is just about the epitome of perfect novels for the 10-14 age range. Although those at one end of that spectrum would love to be included in that group, those at the other would scowl at it. But that fact of childhood/early teens aside, Belle Prater's Boy is PERFECT. By the author I can't seem to stop talking about...Ruth White, the Fannie Flagg of the younger generations, the Robert Harling without the Sally Field and Julia Roberts reminders...this woman can write. Her words drip like butter and honey off a biscuit...her prose draws you in and smacks you upside the head. And then you cry, but in a good way. Love. Her....and can't wait to (hopefully!!) meet her, Mo Willems, Lowell Cunningham, and Merillee Liddiard at the...


The Children's Festival of Reading!

Yes, I'm excited. Yes, I'm nervous my agoraphobia will kick in. But no, I'm not freaking out. Just yet.

And a little side note, of course Francesca Lia Block's Guarding the Moon is blowing my mind right now. That's two parts of my life she's managed to put in a little purple box and wrap up with a ribbon that's so very me. This work, an autobiographical account of very early motherhood, is making all those floaty memories come back of Xander's very first minutes/hours/days/weeks/months here on Earth.

Tales from the Urgent Care waiting room...

Yesterday morning I found myself stuffed into my primary care doctor's Saturday urgent care clinic, after denying for three days that my sore throat was something more than just allergies. Like most Urgent Cares, there were a lot of people waiting for a very long period of time to see one slightly harassed looking doctor. Unlike most Urgent Cares, this was my personal family doctor, and I didn't mind waiting to see him too much...he's a nice guy who makes Romanian orphans feel better in his spare time.



Since I didn't have my son with me (mainly since I left at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to the clinic which is almost a half hour away)...I brought a book to read while waiting so I wouldn't have to thumb through germy back-issues of Women's Day in the waiting room. The book? Francesca Lia Block's I Was a Teenage Fairy. Block's most famous invention was the Weetzie Bat series of books about a teenage witch and her misfit family and dreamy pre-emo Angel Juan boyfriend. I had never read Teenage Fairy and was not disappointed. Rather, I felt transported back in time to about 1995, legs clad in some pair of glittery tights, the glorious angsty teen rising up underneath the still-in-tights-but-no-longer-angst-ridden Chrissy.
I actually enjoyed this book more than the Weetzie Bat books, as they didn't have as much strange slang and colloquialism that always (sort of, not a lot) got on my nerves (a little!) that slung out of the character's mouths. The protagonist, a teenage model named Barbie, is a bit more endearing, and lucky. Her best friend is a Mab, or fairy, or pixie (just don't call her pisky)...the book is charged with (now mind you this is a book geared towards teenagers!) sex and drugs and rock and roll...and speaks truthfully about how disjointed, creative, and still very very young teenagers are.
I read it from start to finish in the Urgent Care waiting room...but when I had to sit in the exam room all it houses were those aforementioned germy back-issue Women's Days...so I looked out the window, massaging my assaulted throat (from a strep test) and looked to see if there were any Mabs out in the parking lot.