Books

I love books. I love the way the pages smell... the way a bookstore smells... the way the pages feel between my fingers. I love the crispness and newness of a book fresh off the shelf. I love the way all the pages are the exact same size, perfectly bound with a paperback cover. (For some reason, I like paperback more than hardback.... not sure why).

I love the look of different colors and fonts designed on the spins of each little masterpiece on a shelf. We have a bookcase at home that is so full of books that we are starting to stack them on top of the bookcase. And we have rubbermaid tubs in the garage and upstairs full of books, some of which have been read... some have not. In the office, the bottom shelf of our bookcase is dedicated entirely to Kennedy's books. It's easily accessible and each night, she picks one or two books for us to read to her. But even her shelf is full! When we finish our bonus room upstairs, I plan to have some built-in bookshelves to display all of our lovely treasures.

Now here is my problem: reading. Don't get me wrong, I love reading. I just don't have enough time and when I do find a few minutes (that I'm not picking up toys, snuggling with kids, or preparing for the next work day), I can't keep my eyes open. I'm zonked at the end of the day. Magazines are more my speed. I read an article (10 minutes tops) and then pass out. Perfect.

One of my favorite memories from living in Dallas was being in a Book Club. Not every book we read was interesting, but some of my favorite reads came from those days: Comfort Me With Apples, The Lovely Bones, In Her Shoes, Girl With a Pearl Earring.... I do miss having a monthly book club gathering. The group came from different backgrounds, different professions, some of them rich housewives. But we all enjoyed reading... even if we didn't all enjoy the monthly selection. It was enlightening to get together with 10 other women and intelligently discuss our interpretations of that month's novel. Before kids, I could spend an entire weekend day laying on the couch reading. Ahhhhh.....

My sweet husband doesn't love the actual books like I do. He loves reading them. I have never met anyone who loves to read more than my husband. I have read a handful of books this year. He's probably read a dozen or more. He has a few authors he really enjoys reading and they just can't write books fast enough for him.

What's a book lover to do? Maybe I'll get to read more in a few years when the kids are older and pre-occupied with computer games, talking on the phone, etc.

Until then, I guess I'll try to read each night, one chapter at a time.