Nesting

Throw me a twig if you've got it; I'm nesting. For anyone who is reading this and doesn't know a lot about those 40 weeks that lead up to having a baby, nesting is one of the symptoms. I'm big, tired, out of breath, and wake up 10-15 times a night but still I spend my days with this drive to get "things" in order. Most of my efforts have been vented towards turning our guest room into Pace's "Big Girl Room." I moved furniture, scraped, caulked, sanded, taped perfectly straight lines, and finally painted Pace's new room. I am no great painter, but I took my OCD and applied it with vigor to those four walls. That was my Thurs, Fri, Sat. Then, on Sunday my in-laws came to the rescue. We had six people all painting trim at one time. Do you know how long it would have taken me to paint that trim by myself (or actually paint it while constantly telling Pace, "No, no. Paint is yucky! Don't touch it. Did you hear me? I'm going to pop you...)?! At least 3 days (you see this old house has 3 doors, 1 closet, a huge window, crown molding, and base boards--if you've painted at all you can imagine what a headache all those straight lines would be).

So, I was saved by our family on the painting, but that doesn't mean that my nesting beast has been satisfied. Why can't I just sit the nick-knacks on the new dresser without scrubbing it clean first? Why can't I just hang the new blinds without Windexing the windows? Why can't I just put the bed-spread on the bed without first taking it to the dry cleaners? Why can't I just hang the curtains without ironing them first? I'll tell you why--I'm a crazy, hormonal, lady, who is growing a baby and feels like the world might fall to pieces if I don't get this room just right. The rest of my house is a shambles (at least it feels like it to me), but I have at least got this one room under my control.

I did this same thing with Pace's baby room 2 years ago. It also has 3 doors and a closet, but I decided I wanted to paint stripes on her walls. It was my parents who came to help last time, and I think that I drove my Dad so crazy that he finally sent my mom and I to bed and stayed up most of the night finishing the room himself. My other obsession was the base boards. I'm not sure why, but I thought if I brought Pace into the world without having our base-boards scrubbed, she would surely perish of some mysterious infection she would acquire by her contact with them. Now, think about the physics of crouching down to clean baseboards when you have a watermelon protruding from your gut and your'e toting an extra 20-something pounds. I fretted over it so much that Ashley finally showed up at my house one Saturday and asked me to give her a bucket. She is such a good cleaner and as we both scrubbed those base-boards she helped me to laugh at the permanent grime that wouldn't come off, but at least had been thoroughly Cloroxed.

Well, Thursday is going to be the grand opening of Pace's new room. She has some new pajamas for her new bed, and she acts pumped to move over into her "Big Girl" space. Jeremiah keeps saying, "Pace, where's your new room?" Then, she squeals and runs into it, with her pointer finger waving madly about, and screaming, "Pace's room!" through her squinted-eye grin. I've found myself lingering over her crib every morning since I started this project and trying to savor the last glimpses of her curled up in a sweet little ball with her head securely nestled in a corner of her crib. Why is change so hard? (Talk about a whole nother blog! as I sit here and weep) So, I'll post a picture of her in the new room on Fri morning. Until then, I'll be here cleaning something irrational.

Middlemarch Quote

I just wanted to share a quote with all of you that I haven't been able to get enough of. It's from the book Middlemarch by George Eliot (BTW Eliot was actually a woman who published under this pseudonym). I haven't read the book, but I watched my BBC movie of it and loved it so much that I can't wait to read it. At its heart, it's the story of a woman who has great plans to do something grand with her life. In the world's view she fails, but in another sense she is as successful as any of us could ever dream to be. I heard this quote at the end of the movie and immediately rushed to the internet to copy the exact wording. It's scribbled on a piece of white computer paper and has been laying at various spots in my house, where I find myself picking it up over and over throughout the day to reflect on its beautiful meaning. At first, I thought it expressed the ideal of what any stay-at-home mom was striving to accomplish. However, now I see that it could really express the goal just about of anyone's life... So, without further ado, I'll just let you read it for yourself.

Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

--George Eliot, Middlemarch

I Couldn't Marry the Garbage Man After All

As a young girl, I remember saying to myself that I would marry for love and love only...no matter what. That followed to reason that if I wanted to marry for love and also live a comfortable life, then I better be prepared to provide that comfortable life myself. So, I decided that I would be a doctor, and if I fell in love with the garbage man, then I would marry the garbage man because I would be able to support us. Nice, logical little life plan.

This plan was brought back to my memory by spending Wednesday through Friday of this past week with my sisters at the beach. I talked to them about their relationships (or lack thereof at present in one case), and it made me reminisce about my time when I was so anxiously waiting for that mysterious prince to come. While I was willing to marry the garbage man if that was what God had planned, I also was keeping a running list of all the traits I had in mind for a husband. The list was pretty particular and pretty exhaustive, but I had faith that God wouldn't bring me someone that I didn't think was perfectly created by Him for me. I won't say there weren't days when I had major doubts (especially in high school when all of my friends had "serious" boyfriends but me), but on the whole I believed he was out there.

So then, I go off to college. I think that I've lost my Prince Charming to the wilderness of Montana (and in particular a girl named Lisa Ashby from Bonners Ferry Idaho), and I decide to throw caution to the wind--to date with reckless abandon. Forget that list! There are so many more types of boys than I could have imagined as a young girl, and I wanted to get to know as many as possible. (As I re-read those last couple of sentences it sounds like I went a little crazier than I did. I did kiss a few, but that was about as crazy as it got if any of you are worried.)

There was one boy in particular, though, that hit a lot of the points on my list. One of my friends laughingly said I had managed to find a miniature Jeremiah, if that gives you an idea what he looked like physically. He was also a Christian, but then he had this laid back nature. This, "I'm majoring in Psychology but I really don't know what I want to do with my life right now" outlook on life, and a deep passion for U2 and motorcycles. Now here was a combination I hadn't dreamed up. Maybe, I thought, this is why I've been preparing myself to be able to support myself no matter who I marry. Maybe I need a free spirit to counterbalance all of my endless planning. After some crazy concerts, moonlit motorcycle rides, and vegging out on the couch I began to get restless. Then one morning he asked to take me to breakfast before one of my big ChemE tests so that I would be ready for it. When he asked me I thought it was a very sweet gesture, but I tried to explain to him how precious those last hours before the test were to me. That was when I memorized the sheet I'd been forming the night before of all the equations and constants I might possibly need for my test. He said he understood and promised to eat quietly while I did my cramming, but he couldn't help laughing at how diligent I was. "It is just a test," he said. Suddenly I knew! I knew why I couldn't ever really marry the garbage man, and it really wasn't shallow at all. As a lady, who was passionate about life in general and a career specifically, I simply couldn't marry someone who wasn't as passionate as I was. I couldn't imagine marrying someone, putting myself under their leadership, trusting him with the decisions of our family's future if he had no vigor for life.

I remembered all of this as I observed my sisters--who have all made similar choices in their boyfriends. I laughed as I recognized this pattern, this need for ambition and drive. I know that there have to be people out there who need an opposite, but I have found that I needed somebody different than me in a lot of areas...ambition was just not one of them.

Mr. C

There is something about older people that really touches my heart. We go to a church that consists of a predominantly older crowd, and so I sometimes let my mind reflect on them when I am having a difficult day following one of Brother Jimmy's sermons :) One thing about them that makes me smile is the way that they are creatures of habit. When I look out from the choir loft, I can be pretty certain that Mrs. A and Mrs. B, the little widow ladies who sit by the aisle on the second row on the right, will be hunkered down together and ready to listen. Mrs. A always looks slightly more "together" than Mrs. B and, while she seems to really love her friend, she is always kind of patting her knowingly on the back and leading her around to their next destination when the service is over. I can't help but think that Mrs. A gives Mrs. B a talking to every morning about the disheveled state of her hair at church.

Then there's Mr. Harold, who sits with his new bride on the right side, fourth row, nearest the windows. He is one of the few older people who I have been able to actually keep up with their names. You would remember Mr. Harold too because he is a POWERHOUSE. He must be in his late 80's, but he is still the most active missionary in our church. Every year he makes a 2-3 week long sojourn to some remote 3rd world country. Every year I get teary before he leaves thinking that THIS must be the trip that will really take more out of him than he has to give. However, every year my heart leaps when he returns, more invigorated than before he left, to share with us about the hearts he saw open to Jesus' love. He's rumored to have oodles of money, and as I mentioned before, he just recently remarried. She is very pretty, always wearing a new tailored suit, with her blond hair sprayed into bob-perfection, her pink lipstick newly applied, and her pearls resting just below her collarbone. I must say I was leery of her at first--worried she was just out for his money. But I am willing to admit that my first impression was, I believe, wrong. She seems to really dote on him, in a sweet way. They hold hands during most of the service and she usually reaches over to straighten his collar before they stand up to leave. I am glad he found someone who realizes what a catch he is.

There is also Mr. Buddy Dortch, who sits with his wife at almost the back of the church, middle section. His wife is in charge of everything that has to do with food at our church. For this reason, when he, whose wife MUST know a lot about cooking, stopped me to tell me that the peanut butter pie I brought to "dinner on the grounds" was delicious, I found myself blushing with pride. He went on to say that peanut butter was his favorite thing in the world, and he never knew that there was such a thing as a peanut butter pie. In a flourish of new wife who is trying to learn how to cook and can't believe that somebody besides my husband (who is obligated) is actually saying I am doing something well, I made a big fat promise to bring him a whole pie without thinking that I might need to know his name, his address, or something about him besides the fact that his wife was in charge of the food. I have been married 4 years now, so that tells you how long it's been since I felt like a new bride. I have made it so far as to find out that his name was Buddy Dortch, but I still have not delivered that promised pie, and I therefore cringe every time I run into him at church. You see that's another thing I've learned about older people--they take your word seriously and they rarely forget an expected tribute (like a thank you note or a pie). I hate myself!

I could go on about the eclectic group at my church. I could tell you all my thoughts on the man with the oxygen machine that you hear clicking if you sit anywhere near the front middle or the mysterious hearing aid that sometimes buzzes at high pitches during the sermon... but I am sure you are all hoping that I'll wrap up this random, rambling post. I just can't do that, however, until I tell you about the man that inspired me to write this post at all. I don't know his name, but he sits in the middle section, to the left, fourth row--Mr. C. We are an old Southern Baptist congregation, and therefore feel like we're living on the edge when somebody sings with the accompaniment of a guitar instead of our normal piano/organ combo. Dancing is certainly not encouraged, and I feel like a rebel in the choir loft when I close my eyes while we're singing a hymn. So imagine my surprise during the "special music" one Sunday, when I looked out and noticed a certain Mr. C with his eyes closed behind his tinted glasses, bobbing his head with the music, with a huge smile spread across his face. Tears welled up in my eyes at the sight of this sweet man truly worshiping God through our music. Ever since that day, I've learned that I just can't look over at him when we're trying to sing unless I want to lose it. He's always there and always joyful during the music--even when I know it's bad :)

A few weeks ago there was an amp and several microphones set up on stage. I knew we were in for some really special "special music." As Brother Jimmy finished welcoming the guests and saying his prayer, he walked down the four steps leading up to the stage and offered his arm to sweet Mr. C who was making his way slowly towards the pulpit. The congregation became silent as he tried to refuse the help that he obviously needed and tottered up that daunting incline. He made it, however, and took his place in front of one of the microphones as he pulled a harmonica out of his breast pocket. Then, Bro. Jimmy sat down on the amp and picked up his base guitar, and Wade from the choir came down and picked up his acoustic guitar. As this sweet trio started to play an old hymn, I was mesmerized by Mr. C, who seemed to cast off old age like a heavy winter coat, and shine like a teenage boy, sitting on the front porch on a summer afternoon, making happy music for his family after supper. He blew into that harmonica with strength and assurance and his hands slid it nimbly from one note to the next. He purposefully fluttered his hand to create that bluegrass resonance that makes a harmonica seem like such a southern instrument to me. I wept like a baby. It was just so beautiful to see him be transformed by his music.

The song ended, he put the harmonica back in his pocket, and I felt like we were all jerked back to the present. As I watched him try to refuse Brother Jimmy's arm as he tottered back down the stairs, I felt like I understood why. We, as young people, have a tendency to think (without even realizing it) that old people must surely always have been old. I think our minds want to believe that we are so far removed from being feeble and dependant on others that we class the elderly into an entirely different race than our own. But in reality, Mrs. A and Mrs. B were once young teenage girls, who smiled demurely at young boys and worried about whether their hair-style made them look more mature. Mr. Harold was once a boyhood leader among his peers and may have even stirred up a little trouble. Mr. Buddy Dortch once had girls offering to bake him his favorite pie in hopes of a date for Saturday night. Finally, my beloved Mr. C, could bound listlessly up his front porch steps to kiss his mom on the cheek before he nimbly played her favorite hymn on the harmonica he kept safe in his breast pocket.

Then Some Mornings you Wake Up with a Meat Mallet in your Bed

Having a child makes your life so much funnier. I am not sure you can totally appreciate the humor of other people's children. Or maybe it takes having them to understand the innocence that makes them so inherently hilarious. I just know that before I had kids, I produced many a fake smile at the story of Little Tommy who said "poo poo" in front of special dinner guests, or Little Sally who threw away Daddy's important papers just because she was trying to help Mommy "Clwean Up!" Cute stories, sure, but certainly not enough to make me laugh out loud like their parents were. Now here I am, expecting all of you to think Pace is as funny as I do. If you don't, I suppose it's OK. There is just something too hard to pass up about telling your own child's funny stories.

This first picture was taken over a month ago now. I think you can see that Pace is fully clothed, shoes and all, and standing in the bath tub. I was on the phone and trying to fill the tub up for her bath. She was reaching her fingers out just as far as she could to try and splash herself with water. At some point her equilibrium was stretched past its limit and she went head first into the bath tub! Thank goodness I was sitting right there. She could have broken her neck, or passed out from hitting her head and drowned, or just been so surprised by the fall that she sucked up a lot of water and then drowned....Thankfully, she just scared herself enough to never (at least so far) try to reach down into the tub again. I couldn't resist getting a picture of my little drowned rat.

The second picture happened on a day when Pace was eating her lunch a bit too quietly to suit my taste. I went in to check on her, to find that she had reached up onto the breakfast table beside her, pulled down the brand new package of shredded cheese, and done some combination of eating handfuls and scattering it over herself and the floor like rice at a wedding. There was no poopy diaper for a good day or two after this little incident :)

A few weeks ago, I was having one of those "beyond any realm of normal tiredness because I am growing a life form" mornings. Pace bounced out of bed at 6:30, and I tried to bring her in bed with me. Maybe she'll snuggle quietly, I thought. WRONG. So, though I am not proud of it, I eased her onto the floor and asked her where her baby was. Ten more minutes is all I need, I thought. I'll just stay kind of half awake and I'll still hear if anything bad is happening. Thankfully nothing bad did happen, but Pace did bring me a continuous string of items for my approval. "Book!", "Baby," "Elephant," "Elmo,".... If I repeated the word back to her and followed it with a mumbled "Good girl," it seemed to keep her pretty satisfied. After 20 minutes of this bizarre game, I had been forced into a wakeful state that I could no longer deny. Later that morning, I went to make up our bed and found a meat mallet, lying in the sheets with a big red ribbon tied around it! For a moment I was horribly confused, and then I recognized it as a gift that Lauren had given me after I had borrowed her meat mallet on a couple of different occasions. It must have been one of Pace's little love offerings from the morning, that I had inadvertently laid beside me in the bed. It's days like this I am thankful we don't have a maid! Imagine what kind of kinky bedroom life she would have imagined we lead :)

Then there are all the things she says, that you really need to be able to hear her little voice saying them to get the full effect. Just imagine Pace, with her attempts at perfect pronunciation and exaggerated mouth movements as she forms each word saying things like:

Pace, where does Aunt Alex live?: "Aunt Alex?...Nashaville!"

What about Uncle Josh, where does he live?: "Uncle Josh?... York!"

Last night Jeremiah was gulping down water, post work-out, as he held Pace. About half of the water made it in his mouth, and the other half was on Pace and his shirt.: "Shoot, Daddy! Shoot!"

Pace, where's Daddy?: "Daddy work...hopital."

What do we learn about at church?: "Bible!" and whose the Bible about, "JESUS!"

Where's Bebe?: "Home." Where's home?: "Dofin."

Love you, Pace: "Love you, Mommy" (Oh, there is something crazy wonderful about the fact that she can tag your name on after she says "Love you")

Then there's cautious Pace, who approaches all "dangers" very slowly and expects those around her to do the same. Her friend Natalie has a much more adventurous spirit, and when they swing together on the tire swing sometimes Natalie likes to hold on with only ONE hand or maybe even stand up.: "No, no Natalie. Stop it! Stop it, Natalie."

One final thing I'll mention is Pace's new obsession with her babies. Nobody has taught her how to play "mommy," but it is mesmerizing for me to watch her act out things that I've done for her. She says she's "cookin" as she stirs an empty bowl with a "poon". She pushes her babies around in a stroller, but she never forgets to hang her purse on the handle and tuck a bottle away into her purse for the "baby snack." The babies go "night, night," have a "rash," need a "diaper" change, get to "eat dinner" out of what she's been "cookin," have a "spankin" when they've been bad, and most often get brought to me because "baby's cryin'!" There is something so beautiful about seeing her kiss and love her own little babies...right down to tucking their blankie around them so they can go "night, night."

The Maddox Family Does the ZOO!

We have had such an incredible morning! Jeremiah is on call today, but now, since he gets to take "home" call, we have a little freedom to still hang out on these dreaded call days. So, this morning Jeremiah suggested that we all go to the zoo. I was elated! I have been trying to find a time for us to all go together for ages, but it never seems to work out. This morning, however, we made it happen, and the Lord kept any little children from breaking their arms until after we were wrapping up lunch :) (for those who don't know, Jeremiah is on call at Children's Hospital right now). I would also like to say that, hopefully, this blog is going to be a lot more pictures and a lot less typing...which I know that many of you (especially SB) will be thankful for, for a change.

By 10:00 we were entering the gates of the Birmingham Zoo. Getting a family, year-long membership pass was some of the best advice I have ever taken. My friends Lauren and Ashley suggested that I throw out my chincey-ness and fork over the money. Not only do you have unlimited access to a beautiful zoo tucked away in the middle of Mountain Brook, but you can also feel like you are supporting a worthy cause. Besides that, it gives me the freedom to really have fun and not think, "Wow, I just paid $20 to get in here, so we better spend the WHOLE day and get everything we can out of this money." Instead, Pace and I can breeze in, look at just the Lorikeets and leave if we want to. I love that freedom.

We saw the snakes, the flamingos, the alligators, the monkeys, the elephant, the giraffes (including the 2 babies!), the tiger, the sea lions, the zebras, and much much more. I honestly had more fun watching Jeremiah than Pace on this trip! I've already seen her wide-eyed reaction to all of God's crazy creations but Jeremiah's wonderment even rivaled hers. You see, I wondered if I was the only parent who felt like they enjoyed the zoo even more than their child did. After 30 seconds in the snake house with Jeremiah, I knew I wasn't the only one :) He wanted to read every sign and kept going back to take one more look at the giant Anaconda. He saw me giggling at him and asked what I was laughing at. I told him I was just happy to see him enjoy it as much as I did.

The zoo is big, and we didn't see everything, but that's OK, because we've got those year-round passes. We ended the day by splurging on lunch at the snack shop and watching Pace play in the water-park area. She has done it once before, and I will say that to a little girl of her size it could be pretty intimidating. Big kids racing back and forth through water that surprises you by gushing skyward out of little holes in the ground. At first, I walked her up to the play area, and she wouldn't even touch the water, much less let me put her down. I decided to let her just watch for a few minutes and then try again. Daddy took her the second time, and she found her confidence with him standing beside her. He sat down on the ground at the edge of the water area, and she would run in, laugh hysterically as she got sprayed by a couple of jets and then run out straight into his arms. Sometimes, she would just hug him, but usually he got a kiss too. It was just about the cutest thing I'd ever seen. So, enjoy these precious pictures.

I got so tickled at these last couple of pictures. I took her swimsuit off because I was trying to get her ready to go home, and she begged to go in the water one more time. I let her run out in her swim diaper, but I didn't notice she had a pretty severe wedgie. This picture doesn't do it justice, but there was one cute little hinney running through the water :)

I May Not Have Been Blogging but I HAVE Been Reading

If you aren't a reader, then you are going to want to skip this post altogether. I, however, have grown from a person who loves to read to a voracious reader who can't seem to feed my hunger enough. I read on the elliptical, at night while Jeremiah studies, while I eat lunch, while Pace plays in the backyard (I am sitting out there with her :)). I sometimes even devote an entire hour of Pace's precious nap time to a book that I simply can't put down. Let's just say that I never allow my life to have a dull moment, because there is always another book out there just waiting to become my friend.

The biggest dream I have for our home one day is for it to have a beautiful library, filled with antiqued copies of books that have sprinkled some amount of impression on my heart. Dark wood, deep window seats filled with pillows, overstuffed leather couches with throw blankets draped over their arms, book shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, a big fire place, windows that look out over the countryside, and (most importantly) a ladder clinging to the bookcases that slides around the entire room. Ohhh, how I want to go there right now!

I decided that if I'm going to fill a whole library with books I've read, then I better get reading AND collecting these antique books slowly over time. I have already seen how quickly my mind forgets some of the dear friends it's met on its journey through a book's pages, so I want to keep track of a short summary of each.... I want to have a way to jog my memory when Pace asks me, one day, whether this book or that is a good one. So, one of the things I am going to try to do is keep a record here. These are the books I've read since (I just looked back at the last blog entry) the first of March, when I told you about the secret garden. Hopefully, you may find one or two that you'd like to try yourself :)

Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens: Jeremiah gave me a set of antique Dickens books for Christmas this year. I decided I needed to make a dent in them, so I started with Oliver Twist and then moved on to this novel. Honestly, it's not high on my recommendation list. I think a boy would probably like it better than I did, but there was more fighting than love story and that just doesn't suit my taste. Dickens, however, is such a master of description! In my own writing I find that that is what I lack the most, so this book was a very good learning tool.

It is set in 18th century England during the Gordon Riot, which were riots led by Lord George Gordon protesting against giving rights back to Catholics in England. We see the bitterness of these revolts through a love story between two people whose families are on opposite ends of this debate, a young man who joins the troops after losing in the game of love, and a handicapped young man named Barnaby Rudge who is naively pulled into the swelling tide of the riots. One of my favorite things about this book is the relationship between Barnaby and his mother. She so poignantly portrays the fact that there is something especially sweet about a handicapped child... What other boy, at the age of 25, would still lay his head on his mother's lap while she strokes his hair and reads him stories?

All in all, it is a moving story, with many ironically laughable moments. If the Lord ever gives us a child with a disability, I would definitely want to re-read this book. Otherwise, one reading was plenty.

Heidi by Johanna Spyri: After Barnaby, I was in need of a simple children's story! This fit my needs perfectly. Set in the Alps, Spyri tells a sweet story of a little girl with a heart filled with love. She transforms a hardened grandfather, a roguish young shepherd, an invalid old woman, a sickly rich girl, and a grieving doctor all by the way she loves them.

I will also say that all the descriptions of the cheeses, handmade by her grandfather, then toasted over the fire...served with scraps of bread and fresh milk in the cool mountain air...left me craving these items so much that it was all I ate for lunch for many days. I went straight to Publix from the gym one day, just to purchase some round cheese block that I could toast and a fresh baguette of white bread. I WAS in the first trimester of pregnancy, but you may want to go on a diet before you start this one.

The Shuttle by Frances Hodgson Burnett: Yes! this is the same lady who wrote The Secret Garden, but this book is for adults. Don't let the title turn you off, because before NASA, a shuttle could be a lot of things besides a rocket ship. In this novel, it represents the steamliners that carried people "quickly" between England and America. This is a story of love between two cultures, and the differences/similarities between British and American society. Here is a quote from The Shuttle, which encapsulates the novel's feeling on the subject of England:

"What could be more natural? We belong to it--it belongs to us. I could never be convinced that the old tie of blood does not count. All nationalities have come to us since we became a nation, but most of us in the beginning came from England. We are touching about it, too. We trifle with France and labour with Germany, we sentimentalise over Italy and ecstacise over Spain--but England we love.... Why are we not unconsciously pathetic about German cottages and Italian villas? Because we have not, in centuries past, had the habit of being born in them. It is only an English cottage and an English lane, whether white with hawthorn blossoms or bare with winter, that wakes in us that little yearning, grovelling tenderness that is so sweet. It is only nature calling us home."

Oh, don't you LOVE that! The heroine of this novel is a strong and extremely wealthy American girl, who has the sweetest relationship with her father and sister. There is an evil villain and plenty of love to go around. There is even a dear old gardener who will remind you of the one you loved in The Secret Garden. I would have to say that this is a must read!

Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons by Lorna Landvik: As you can tell by the title, this one was quite a departure from what I had been reading. It was our latest book club selection, and a fun, girly summer read. It begins in the 60's with a group of women who all live on the same street and start a book club...sound familiar Crestwood Literary Society?? :) We see not only the bond between women friends, but also the deeper issues that many have in their lives and how these problems change as they progress from the 60's to the 90's.

St. Elmo by Augusta Evans Wilson: Wilson is a female, Southern-American writer from the mid 1800's. It was so refreshing to read a beautifully written novel--reminiscent of Jane Autsen--set in the countryside of Georgia instead of distant England. To hear some of our own dear towns (like Chattanooga) referenced instead of an English town that I've never heard of, was very fun. I also knew springtime and summer in a southern landscape, instead of just depending on the writer's ability to describe it to me accurately enough.

Besides all that, this is yet another great love story. Sometimes I wonder how long it will take for me to get tired of the same scenario: female character, torn from the one her heart truly loves by insurmountable odds, who eventually finds a way of overcoming the odds for the sake of true love. The character's class, situation, love interest, and setting changes, but the underlying story is still the same. I will say that the heroine in this novel refused her heart just a few chapters too long for my taste, but there were many twists and turns that still surprised me. I would recommend this novel for any Jane Austen lover, especially if you're from the South.

(I need to also mention that there were A LOT of references to Greek mythology in this book that went so far above my head that it wasn't even funny. I don't now whether to tell you not to be discouraged when you're reading because if you're stupid then I'm stupid too, or whether I AM stupid and desperately need a course on mythology :))

The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis: The last book in the Chronicles of Narnia series, and the only one that Jeremiah and I had not read together. I read this aloud to him on our beach trip, and anybody who would read this book, will also have read the others in the series. Therefore, I know I don't need to express the importance of reading this one before you die :)

The Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling: I actually listened to this book on CD while I did laundry and other housework over the past month. Just getting prepared for the new release in July!

The Little Minister by J.M. Barrie: Finally, the book I just finished! Set in the small villages of Scotland during the 19th century (I think), we hear the controversial love story of the village minister. The Scottish brogue of the locals is hard to follow at first, but you get used to it. Soon you even enjoy it. It was abundantly clear to me that this was a love story told by a man. Barrie maddeningly leaves out the details of some of the heart fluttering moments. However, there are some fun twists and iconographic characters that make this book worth reading. My favorite quote from this book came right at the beginning:

"So was man created, to hunger for the ideal that is above himself, until one day there is magic in the air, and the eyes of a girl rest upon him. He does not know that it is he himself who crowned her, and if the girl is as pure as he, their love is the one form of idolatry that is not quite ignoble. It is the joining of two souls on their way to God."