Bibliomama

"Take hamburgers. Here, hamburguesas are really bad. It's known that Americans like hamburgers, so again, we're idiots. But they have no idea how delicious hamburgers can be. It's this ideal burger of memory we crave...not the disgusting burgers you get abroad." This is a quote from the movie Barcelona which I saw years ago. I only vaguely remember the rest of the movie, but this quote about hamburgers stuck in my mind, and struck me as appropriate for this post idea. Except when I typed it out and really thought about it, it wasn't really appropriate at all. But I liked it as a title so much that I decided I didn't give a rip. What this post was actually supposed to be about was not an ideal hamburger of memory, but a mythic hamburger of imagination. But for me the hamburger is a book. (Bear in mind I'm still slightly feverish). I was wondering if I'd started ordering books in my sleep. Every few weeks, a book shows up in the mail...

She says she's a superhero (we call her Super Orange Laryngitis Girl) but she also does interpretive dance. With her orange silly putty which was a prize from the MS Read-a-thon, which necessitates all clothing and accessories henceforth being orange. Plus the wall, which I painted to order as soon as she got home from school.

It would be somewhat inaccurate to say that today doesn't suck. Angus went back to school, still hacking up a lung periodically, but declaring that he feels fine. Eve has been an unhappy, warm-ish, snotty little heap on the couch all day (except when I asked her if she wanted me to put in Planet 51 or Fantastic Mr. Fox for her, and she stuck her head up and declared "Avatar!") and my throat feels like someone has flaming-arrowed a proclamation of doom to it. On the upside, I did manage to narrowly avoid spraying a bunch of Fantastik with Bleach into my load of darks, after I grabbed it thinking it was Spray Shout. You know those laundry labels that say 'remove promptly from dryer?' Don't they just make you laugh with quiet indulgent affection? Oh yes, you dear little sweater/skirt/delicate lacy slip, I leave everything else crumpled and forlorn in the dryer all night or all day or all the whenever-the-hell-I-feel-like-it because I tend to throw laundry in...

It was a beautiful day today. And we had no plans. This, naturally, sent me into a complete panic. Our general pattern for week-ends all year has been Matt and Angus out at hockey Saturday and Sunday, then showing up tired and napping or watching a James Bond movie, while I do course work or read or clean and Eve colours or plays with the girl from next door. For some reason, my impulse with a day like this is always to try to get together with someone else. The kids like to have other kids to play with, and whenever there's more than two adults I have this hope that margaritas will magically appear. But who the hell is going to be around at short notice on a beautiful Saturday? I made two or three calls (nobody home at the first place, nobody I liked at the second house (kidding, it was the husband), sick at the third house). I faced the fact that we were going to have to do something as a family -- alone. I informed the kids that we were going for a walk at the Chapm...

I wrote my first exam in seventeen years last night, for my first library tech course. I wasn't stressed about the exam itself -- the instructor had assured us that the purpose of the exam wasn't to trick us, it was just to assure that we had met the learning goals of the course, and I knew that I had. Compared to the multiple-page essay questions on magical realism and narrative lyricism in One Hundred Years of Solitude, I was pretty sure this would be a breeze, and it was pretty close. But the actual mechanics of finding the right building and the right room and my exam actually being there and not tripping and losing all of my pens down a storm drain on the way... that I was nervous about. I drove to Algonquin the day before and scoped out the building lay-out -- people I knew were divided into two more or less equal groups on thinking this was a logical and prudent step and thinking it was thoroughly anal and laughable. Don't feel obliged to tell me which camp you ...

I'm playing knowing me knowing you with Shan because hey, free blog post idea (this reminds me of a Jack Handey saying ). 1. Do you have a library card? Yes yes yes oh my loving god a world of yes. If I didn't I would have to sell my body and my children and all my worldly possessions to support my book habit (yeah, selling my body might only get me four pages of a Chicken Soup for the Sociopath's Soul, but my kids are cute). I put books on hold and promise myself I will ONLY check out the books on the hold shelf, and then books leap out at me from the shelves on my way to the check-out computer and the stack of books on my bedside table grows ever taller and shakier. There was this thing for awhile where the library stairs were trying to kill me, but they fixed them. My kids love the library too, but not as much as I do, and honestly they just kind of slow me down so I only take them with me every third or fourth time. 2. To carry on with the theme, would you purcha...

It totally looks like I ripped that title off from Tracy , but I didn't. We just have similar immature and slightly foul-mouthed sensibilities, and she's quicker off the post than I am (ha). My bff who I'm convinced I should have met when I was five because she would have made that whole anxious-childhood-miserable-adolescence thing infinitely more enjoyable (and good on fate for finally rectifying the error) Pam has bestowed the Honest Scrap award on me. I've seen this one around, and honestly, I'm confused by it. It's not for scrapbooking blogs? There's an arm holding a hammer. It's for people who are good at hammering..together...scraps of...knowledge or something? Anyway, it's from Pam and it's an award, and either of those two is more than good enough for me. And my little hammer. The Honest Scrap Award Rules say that I must: 1. Brag about the award. 2. Include the name of the blogger who gave you the award and link back to t...

BEFORE: HALFWAY THROUGH (WHEN I ALMOST THREW IN THE TOWEL): WTF?: AFTER:

One of these I left out of the originaal Stupid Things post. The other one grew out of the post, a beautiful organic flowering of stupid-fruit from a stupid-tree. Stupidity breeds stupidity, I guess. Maybe I should write a post about smart things and see if that helps. Stupid thing number six: When I got home from the student conferences I was sweaty and hot so I went up to take a quick shower. I showered and got out and washed my glasses carefully and dried them and put them on and freaked out because OH MY GOD I COULDN'T SEE ANYTHING I'VE GONE BLIND I HAVE BRAIN DAMAGE EVERYTHING'S WAVY AND DISTORTED. Or wait, maybe I already have my contacts in. After I posted, I got a funny comment from Amber saying she pictures my kids with accents like Charlie and Lola. I can't even describe how funny and sweet I found this, so I responded, at some length. I closed the email box and there was the post with another comment. From another Amber. And I thought oops. Did...

Okay, I did bolt my oatmeal down before dashing out of the house this morning, so they weren't strictly speaking all before breakfast. Midway through the second term of school, my kids' school does something called student-led conferences instead of parent teacher interviews (well I dunno, maybe the parents with really bad kids still have to have an interview. Kidding, just kidding!) You go in and they present a portfolio of their work and talk about what things they could have done better on and what things they're particularly proud of. If the kid is nine and a boy, he probably does most of it in a rapid, barely audible monotone and if the kid is seven and a girl she probably does it in a very loud and animated fashion, with frequent punctuating bursts of laughter. It's all very enjoyable. Stupid thing number one: I was in a hurry this morning, but I'm trying to eat well right now so I was determined to have my oatmeal and blueberries at eight-ish rather ...

This is the face of a boy who thought he was out of the play-offs after his team lost 2-1 to the first place team on Saturday, then found out they got to play one more game against the same team on Tuesday night and then beat said team 6-1 and therefore now advances to the division play-offs: This is the face of his mother who just realized hockey isn't over for the year after all: * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qwGgeE41uY_eG97ECbKtkwuNuXf3Qta00sSJc4tdCeM0BJBj-KkWKz2-oW8olIJIESRAn3amF6ZJkcaJr8K_xOt5iMJIwIWrkBlew8VE3F6SUkwWEJsGxOh3fENhfJdku6cxsW3ehLPl/s400/monster2.jpg) is where I found the angry monster picture)

I've been too blissfully gin-soaked, sun-burned and laughed-out to blog all week-end. We've been hanging out at my Mom's house with my sister and brother-in-law and my niece and nephew. Here are a few of our Easter episodes: Eve decorated eggs and painted egg cups (Angus was going to help but he got the chance for a sleepover at his friend Noah's and deserted us unceremoniously). Eve loves my sister, because she braids her hair and buys her gorgeous girlie clothes and takes her out to buy lipstick. My sister loves Eve because my niece is a total tomboy who will never ever consent to have her hair braided, or wear girl clothes or makeup. Isn't genetics interesting? And of course, what's Easter without a little basketball (what? What do YOU wear to play basketball?): A little two-on-Daddy/uncle action: A little hockey (because who doesn't long to go sit in an arena on a 27-degree Easter Saturday?): A little tetherball in one'...

We watched Hairspray for a family movie night last week. We watch it quite often, Eve especially. One night while Angus and I were out, Matt was desperate for something to watch with her that didn't involve fairies or barbies, so he stuck it on. Eve loves anything with singing and dancing, so she was all good. Of course, it's not without its parental pitfalls: "What's a Negro?"; "Why can't the white people and the brown people dance together?"; "What's sintegration?". Sometimes I'm more surprised by things they already know (at one point Michelle Pfeiffer's bitchy bleached-blonde character pulls the padding out of a young dancer's bra -- Angus: "what was that?" -- Eve (dismissively): "just some fluff to make it look like she has boobies" -- Me: sputtering inarticulately). It's funny with kids. When they're very young they find almost nothing surprising because they know nothing to begin ...