Shameful Excess

Last night, I was flipping through channels and came across a show called Outrageous Kid Parties. This show is just another in a long list of TV shows whose sole purpose seems to be to celebrate greed and selfishness and brattiness in both children and their parents. We’ve all seen or heard of (and most likely been disgusted by) shows like Toddlers & Tiaras, Dance Moms, and My Super Sweet Sixteen. And while some of the kids in these shows are pretty unappealing, it’s the parents who are truly heinous.

Outrageous Kid Parties is no exception. The basic premise is that the parents (usually the mother) of a child decide to throw a party for their child’s special day – whether that be a birthday, bar mitzvah, whatever. But the one that I found the most disturbing was a preschool graduation. No, really – preschool graduation party! Perhaps I’m a negligent mother for taking my preschool “graduates” to McDonalds & the like, because this mother spent almost $32,000 on a “Candy Fantasy Party” for her little 5 year old genius. He must be a genius, right? I mean – he graduated preschool! Only the super smart hard workers accomplish that and therefore deserve a party that costs more than most weddings.

I mean – it’s a tough job, that preschool. There’s coloring and circle time and songs and snack time! Oh wait – even the stupidest kid in the preschool gets to graduate. But they still deserve a party for their 300 closest friends! And don’t forget the $8,500 rock climbing wall as a “graduation” gift – every five year old you passes not shitting their pants 101 needs that, right? And professional dancers and an original song and multiple bouncy houses and $1000 of candy and circus acts and a mother that dresses in fishnets and a whore skirt & climbs the rock wall. Or in the case of the 6 year old’s birthday party, horses and petting zoos and a dog show and a specially designed tattoo and a monster truck limo and more professional dancers and a goddamned ferris wheel!

People - this is why the world hates us! I know there are times when I go too far and spend too much on my kids. I think we all do. But a trip to Build-a-Bear or a new Xbox game is a world different from what amounts to more than the median individual income. And in some of these examples, more than the median household income. The excess seen in these shows is disturbing and shameful. So very shameful.

The US economy is in the shitter. The unemployment rate is out of hand. People are losing their houses, their cars, the lives due to poverty. And around the world, famine is killing children - babies! And these people having $30,000+ parties because Junior graduated from preschool is like a slap in the face to all those people.

Of Course

What we said:

"You can go in, but you can only get your feet wet."



























What they said:

"OK - we'll only get our feet wet."


























What actually happened:

























































































































.

Rocky

When the boy was two, we lost our beloved golden retriever, Cosmos. It was a rough time for me, and I was nowhere near ready to get another dog. Mr b, however, kept pushing for it. I wasn’t ready and told him so, but I could see that he was constantly thinking about it. One day, I came home from work and mr b and the boy weren’t home. Not that this was particularly unusual, but that day, I just had a feeling. And then I saw the local newspaper open to the classifieds and that feeling got stronger. A few minutes later, they came home & when I asked where they were, mr b said they had gone to the grocery store. I sighed in relief because my feeling was wrong – I was not ready. Mr b went out to the car to get the groceries and I picked up the classified to throw them away before he got any ideas, and the boy turned to me and said the words that changed my life:

“Daddy got a puppy!”

Admittedly, I wasn’t happy, but then mr b walked in with a goofy, bumbling black lab mix puppy & I couldn’t help but love him. He was a few months old, already and not well-trained (which would be my biggest frustration ove rhte next few years. Mr b had come across an ad by an elderly woman who recently lost a dog and replaced him with a brand new, cute as a button black lab. Well, she soon realized that a new puppy was too much for her (and her remaining old dog) to take, so she gave him up for adoption. And then he was ours. She had named him Boris, which was possibly the worst name for him, ever, so he immediately became Rocky.

Over the years, he turned into a great dog. He was so loving – as a young dog, he would practically try to wrap himself around your head like a turban. And he never outgrew the need to constantly be touching you. He was funny – we’d put him in costumes (like a while polyester jumpsuit – and call him Smellvis) and put things on his head and he’d take it like a champ. He was protective – he’d bark at anyone and anything that came near our house. It could be annoying at times, but I always appreciated it – when there was a rash of burglaries & fraud in the area perpetrated by an Irish Traveler-like group going door to door, he scared them off when they came to his door. He was a love pig, but he sounded like a quivering, snarling, white hot ball of canine terror (Family Dog, anyone?). He was gentle – we often found him curled up with a cat or a kid.

One of his most prominent traits, though, was that he was nervous. And what did he do when he was nervous? He shits He shit Big. Some examples:

Your son has a friend over. The friend’s dad and sister come to pick him up. The kids start playing Twister. Rocky is nervous about the strangers and shits on Twister.

It’s Christmas morning. There is much squealing and yelling and wrapping paper being strewn about. Rocky is nervous about the excitement and shits on Christmas.

Mr b is picking up the boy from daycare. He takes Rocky along. He stops at the ATM machine and gets back in his work van. While he is out, Rocky, nervous about being alone in the van, ignores the 3000 square feet of floor space in the van, and instead somehow balances himself and shits on the driver’s seat. Husband does not notice as he gets in, and sits on the driver’s seat. Husband contemplates murder.

You are 7 months pregnant (and in high-gagging mode). Your 2 cousins come to visit. They pet and love Rocky. When he walks away, all present get the “who farted?” look. Rocky, nervous about the stock market, shits on said cousins’ feet. Cousins contemplate murder. You contemplate barfing. The boy cracks up.

You are 9 months pregnant, and driving Rocky to the groomer. This is already a trauma, since Rocky is not a Car Dog. He is flailing about, falling down, hitting the dashboard and being a pain in the ass. In the middle of a call to the office, you get the “who farted?” look. Apparently, Rocky is nervous about automobile travel and shits on the passenger seat. Rocky is suddenly in the backseat, crying softly. You contemplate barfing. You decide it’s a fine idea and do so. You call Husband and tell him of your murder plans.

Despite all that, he turned out to be one of the best dogs I’ve ever known. And now he is gone. I miss my loving, funny, protective, gentle, nervous puppy.

The Vacation That Almost Wasn't

The days leading up to vacation were stressful. In fact, the minutes leading up to vacation were stressful. I am a bit OCD when I have stuff to do (not with cleaning the house or anything – just when I have to prepare for something) – I tend to run through the list of things to do in my head over and over and over until I can’t concentrate on anything – including said list. It’s like this every vacation, every Christmas, before every party. I work myself into a complete stressed out frenzy until either a) the event happens, or b) my head explodes. The only cure for this is actually getting everything done, so I usually have all my vacation shopping done at least a week in advanced, and have suitcases sitting out, packed with anything we don’t need a few days ahead of time.

But this year, that didn’t happen. I was busy with work and the kids were busy with their activities – so I didn’t have any free time to get these things done. And mr b works for himself, so he had about one million billion loose ends to tie up before we left, so he had no time to help, either (and let’s be honest, he wouldn’t be much help anyway). This meant that the last few days before we left Saturday morning were insane. I found myself using any free moments to try and get things done. I was running to hellmart & sporting goods stores late at night, doing laundry in between , dragging suitcases out while I cooked dinner. All this made me stressed and crazy. But finally, Friday came and I thought I’d have everything done by early evening, so we could leave at the planned 4:00 am.

HAHAHAHAHA

Nope – instead, mr b worked late, I had to run the kids around, and I ended up packing until 1:30 when I finally had to collapse on the couch for a a teeny bit of sleep. 4:00 quickly turned into 5:00, because after I slept until 3:30, we still had to load up the van. And then 5:00 became 5:30, then 6:00, then 6:30, then 7:00. It was a tense morning, because I HATE being late. It doesn’t matter is the planned time is set by someone else or by me – if I plan on leaving or arriving somewhere at a certain time, any deviation (that isn’t early) makes me crazy. But finally, at 7:00, both vehicles were packed and ready (we had to take two because my car is suckishly small – too small for just our family and luggage, much less our family, The Boy’s friend, the beast dog, our luggage, bikes, outdoor gear, and other various random crap. And the minute we pulled out of the driveway, I started to calm down.

It wasn’t a long drive (less than seven hours – I know that is long to some, but I happen to like road trips) – but with stops to eat, gas up, pee, sightsee at the New River Gorge, and let the beast dog get out and burn off some of that puppy energy, it ended up being about 8 hours. Still not a bad drive, but being cooped up in the car with three kids, no lumbar support, and a raging case of “driver’s knee” (my previously injured from skiing/gymnastics/diving right knee doesn’t do so well when it’s pretty much in the same position for that long and hurts terribly), I was good and ready to get there.

Needless to say, we were all pretty happy when we pulled onto the road where our cabin was located. In fact, we were downright giddy at the prospect of claiming our rooms, unpacking our stuff and jumping in the river out back on our tubes.

But that all went to shit when we pulled up to the cabin and saw four cars parked in the driveway.

We knocked on the door and the people told us they were renting from Friday to Friday (our reservation was from Saturday to Saturday). My first thought was that we were the victims of the growing vacation scam industry. But I called the real estate after hours line and got a call back pretty quickly. The woman told me it was impossible to have a double booking because of their computer system (and we all know that computers are infallible, right?). She asked us to meet her at the office about 15 minutes away, so we could figure things out.

So off we went, much less giddy and with stress levels rising and headed to the office. On the way there, I got a call from the realty office owner and she said the words that nearly gave me a heart attack on the spot:

“Your reservation is for next week.”

What?

WHAT???????

Yes – we had been sent a confirmation email and after checking it once we got home, it did say that the reservation was for the 15th. And somehow we never noticed (because we already KNEW when our reservation was). But regardless of what the papers said, I know what I booked. And I booked the 8th. In fact, after I booked, I checked the website to make sure our dates were blocked off on the calendar – and they were. The realtor told us that the people in the cabin had made their reservation the week after we did, so that week should not have shown up as booked when I checked. But it did.

Of course, we had no proof of anything, so we were up shit creek. I sat in the parking lot of the office feeling absolutely sick. In fact, I was sick. I puked right there in their lot (and nearly passed out), agonizing over what we were going to do. We couldn’t just turn around and go home only to come back again the following week. But what were we going to do?

Luckily, the realtor was extremely nice and found us another place. Unluckily, we had to pay for it. On top of the already paid-for original reservation. Because she was the owner, she was able to help us out with a large discount and she promised to try and rent out our original cabin for the following week so we could get our money back. We were relieved, not to mention thanking our lucky stars that we just so happened to have a little extra money to take care of it – there are times that we wouldn’t have.

Once we got it all settled, we headed to our new place, which turned out to be much bigger and in a far better location for our needs. We ended up having one of the best vacations ever, and our magic realtor managed to rent the first place to someone else, so it all worked out in the end.

But I am still bothered by what happened. I am not saying that I couldn’t have made a mistake – I certainly could have. A couple of things bother me, though. 1) the booking showing up on the website, even though the people who had it that week supposedly booked the week after us. Also – the week after we booked – the original employee who was helping us suddenly became scarce. I got things taken care of by other agents, but she personally didn’t return my calls or emails. It was irritation, but like I said – things got done anyway, so I didn’t worry too much about it. And the clincher – the employee who seemed to disappear around the same time that the other folks booked “our” cabin? She was related to those folks. So, yeah.

Regardless, we all had a great time and the owner was so sweet and helpful that I would actually rent the second place again. Only if I do, I’ll be sure to talk to the owner directly and go over every single document with a fine tooth comb. Oh – and I’ll get my packing done ahead of time, too.

Blame

All I have been hearing over the past few days is outrage over the Casey Anthony verdict. And I get it - I do. It is outrageous that a woman who most likely killed her child is walking free. I'm outraged, too. But we need to think twice about who we blame. I'm not sure who is to blame. Did the prosecutors not do a good enough job? Maybe. Should we blame the defense? No - they were doing their job. One thing I know - we shouldn't be blaming the jury, and yet that's what I am seeing time and time again.

Having been on a jury for a somewhat high profile, criminal trial, I feel for those jurors. You're puled away from your normal life and thrown into an emotionally charged, high pressure, absolutely exhausting situation and the whole world (or the whole country or state or city or even just the victim's family) is looking to you todo something - to fix it. You might be able to deliver a guilty verdict - the thing everyone is hoping for- but even if you do, it doesn't fix it. The crime was still committed. What was done is still done.

But after a horrible crime, the only thing left to cling to is that guilty verdict - putting the bad guy in prison or on death row. That's a lot of pressure for the average person. It was a lot of pressure for me. I was on a jury for a kidnapping/rape trial. It was exhausting and heart wrenching. You are supposed to be neutral, but it's impossible not to look at the victim and their family and feel their pain, even just a little. You want to do what's right for them, but your job is to do what's right for everyone - what's right for the justice system, and sadly they aren't always the same thing.

There are a lot of things wrong with our justice system - trials are delayed, courts get mired in ridiculous lawsuits, evidence is mishandled and worst of all (to me) are the completely ass-backward sentences. Many child molesters spend less than a year in prison. Rapists serve about 6 years on average. And yet you commit a monetary crime and the sentence is longer than many murderers serve. Jim Bakker received 45 years for embezzlement. Now, I'm not saying that financial crimes don't deserve a tough punishment - they do. But what does it say about our society when an embezzler gets 45 years and a child molester gets less than one?

So yes - our justice system isn't perfect. But the juries are not to blame. The juries are just doing their job to the best of their abilities. Juries aren't made up of legal experts and psychologists and social workers. Juries are made up of teachers and mechanics and engineers and students and housewives and grandfathers. Some are educated, some aren't. Some have kids, some don't. Some will cry along with the victims, some won't feel a thing. but the one thing they (usually) have in common is that they want to do a good job. They want to do what's right. And sometimes what's right isn't what what they want or feel or what is best for the victims.

At the trial I was on, there were 21 counts - ranging from rape and other sexual charges to robbery to kidnapping. We easily found him guilty on 20 of those charges. But the 21st charge threw us for a loop. It was a weapons charge, and while you would think that the kidnap/rape charges would be more important, this was a big one. This charge meant a HUGE increase in jail time. And I'm sure the victim & her family were disappointed to hear the not guilty verdict on that one charge, we did what we had to do.

Every single one of us felt that he was guilty - that he had had a weapon (a big scary knife). But as a juror, it is your job to take what you feel out of it and base your decision on the evidence. And the evidence wasn't there. The prosecution couldn't prove to us beyond a reasonable doubt that a weapon was used and we couldn't come back with a guilty verdict. It sucked. But it was also the right thing to do.

Our justice system has problems - I know that. But not because the juries aren't trying to do their job and do it right. After hearing all the evidence, the juries are given their instructions, and those instructions are very clear about evidence and testimony and reasonable doubt. And you go into that room wanting to do what is best for the victim, what's best for society and still follow the rules. It's a lot of pressure. And often, outsiders - people who complain about the outcome - haven't heard all the evidence. Or the jury's instructions. And most off all, they are basing their opinion on their emotions - their outrage. Not on reasonable doubt.

When I read news stories about how the jurors in the Anthony trial are being threatened, that the courts have to protect them from possible harm, it makes me sad. Don't blame the juries - they are doing the best they can with what they are given. And while sometimes the verdict isn't what we all want or think is warranted, the system is set up the way it is for a reason. And I for one, believe in it. Because as much as I hate the idea of the guilty going free, I hate the idea of the innocent being convicted even more.

Sometimes you get one

I post a lot more photos of The Girl than The Boy. It's not because of any bias or favoritism, but because it;s harder to get photos of The Boy. Unlike The Girl, who has a spidey sense about a camera in a 50-foot radius and starts posing, he's either off running, or hiding from the camera (because god forbid his hair is messed up - and seriously? He's killing me with the hair.)

So while it's nothing for me to get this from The Girl:



























































With The Boy, I often have to chase him around, only to get this:



























But every once in a while, I get lucky:













































































It's worth all the chasing.

I Smell the Sea!

Since the kids and I are heading out in a few minutes to drive to the beach, I thought I'd share a conversation from a few years back when the kids, my dad and I were making the same trip:

The Boy (In Berkeley Springs, West Virginia): I smell the sea!

Me: Dude – we’re almost 300 miles from the sea, you don’t smell the sea.

The Boy: Yes I do! I smell the sea salt.

Me: No.

The Boy (In Winchester, Virginia): I smell the sea!

My Dad: No you don’t – we’re still 200 miles from the sea.

The Boy: Yes I do!

My Dad: No.

The Boy (In Fredericksburg, Virginia): I smell the sea!

Me: OMG – 100 miles from the sea! You do NOT smell the sea!

The Boy: Yes I do!

Me and My Dad: No – you don’t.

The Boy: Yes I do! I smell it. I know what the sea smells like and that is the smell of the sea.

Me and My Dad: No.

The Boy (coming out of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel): What’s that smell?

Me and My Dad: THE SEA!!!!!!!!!

Cat versus Dog

Dog: "I'm biting you! Woooo!!!"





















Cat: "Go away!"





















Cat: "No really - GO AWAY!"





















Cat: "I'll pound your head!"





















Cat: "I'll bite your ears!"





















Cat: "I'll eat your lips!"






















Dog: "Still biting you! I'm biting your leg!"





















Cat: "BAD DOG!"






















Cat: "I kill you!"






















Dog: "You don't scare me! I'm biting your butt!"






















Cat: "OWWWWWWW!"






















Dog: "Now I'm eating your arm! Delicious!"






















Cat: "Go! AWAY!!"
Dog: "Uncle!"

Signs of Summer

Academic awards!





































































Soccer is over!



























Mini Golf!



















































































































End of the year luau party!

Stoopid

Apparently I am a big copycatting copycat because every time burghbaby writes a blog post, I find myself thinking – ooo yeah – I can talk about that, too! But since a recent post was about childhood stupidity, she doesn’t mind me copying her. I think it’s because she likes to hear how stupid I have been. And I have been spectacularly stupid.

While I never used a Slip n Slide indoors like burghbaby, I did use one on a hill. With a rubber raft. And baby oil. And because we lost the pegs that hold the plastic slide down, we figured big rocks and bricks would work. Needless to say, one of the other participants ended up with a bloody, broken face.

And then there was the sled riding down a giant hill in the middle of the street. We’d go all the way to the top of the neighborhood and WHEEEEEE down 5 blocks to the bottom, risking our lives the whole way – particularly at every intersection, since not all of them had stop signs.

Or the time my friend Carol and I found some un-exploded firecrackers and decided to set them off. We were about 7 at them time. Stupid enough as it is, but one of them didn’t have a fuse. And being raised by a MacGyver kind of dad, I figured I would just make one, instead. So I stuffed a dried stem in there and lit it. And you know what? A dried stem doesn’t have the same slow burn as a firecracker fuse. It immediately burned down and exploded in my hands. I didn’t have feeling in three if my fingers for an entire month. I never told my parents and suffered in silence because I was afraid to get in trouble.

But my stupidity peaked –as it generally does – in my teen years.

Evidenced by the time My friend Tee and I decided to shoot her brothers bow in the house. Inside her parents tiny 12x12 bedroom. The arrow embedded in their headboard was not easily explained.

Or the time we had a (comparatively) warm day in January when there was about a foot of snow on the ground. And we decided to lay out. In bikinis. On the roof. That was covered in snow. Which led to talk of swimming in the summer. Which led to getting out the baby pool, hooking the hose up to the sink, and running it out the window and filling the pool with hot water. Which led to the idea that it was like a Jacuzzi, but that it needed bubbles. Which led to adding more hot water and a bunch of dish soap. Which led to hives. Luckily, it didn’t lead to hypothermia or pneumonia.

Bu the perhaps the biggest boneheaded move I ever made was when Tee’s sister B and I decided we wanted to play with some sparklers. But it was hot outside, so we thought we’d do them inside. After burning a couple, we started getting all science-y and wondering about the “coating” and how it worked. So we crumbled several of them, piled it in a glass ashtray (one of those fancy ones from back in the day) and lit it. It was pretty cool. Especially the part where it burned so got that it melted the freaking glass.

But it doesn’t end there! In the excitement of the melting ashtray, we somehow managed to drop a regular burning sparkler and not notice until it burned a several inches long, black scar into the thick, red living room carpet (did I mention that we were doing this in the middle of the newly redone living room?). We were dead and we knew it. But how are we still alive to tell the story, you ask? Remember I told you I was raised by MacGyver? Well, I came up with a solution. First, I got a razor – not a razor blade or anything, but a disposable Bic – and shaved off as much of the burnt carpet as I could. This left a slightly browned indent. Next, I got a red crayon that matched the carper perfectly, heated it a little and colored over the burn. And somehow it worked! There was a slight depression, but not really very noticeable. We were hoping it would buy us enough time to be able to play stupid when we were questioned, but the questioning never came. Despite Tee’s father’s eagle eye and her mother’s obsessive cleaning, no one ever noticed. We told them about it years later, when we were grown and they were redecorating the room again and they were shocked that they never knew. They did, however, bring up the arrows in their headboard…

Sadly, these are just a small sampling of my childhood stupid moves – I could go on for days with the rest. So tell me – what was the stupidest thing you did as a kid?

Reading is Fundimental

I was an early reader – like seriously early. As in: a toddler. These days, with all the crazy baby reading programs and all that crap, it doesn’t sound like much, but in those long gone days of no pre-school and kindergarten being basically play time, and general laid-back learning plans, it was definitely well out of the norm.

The difference between the baby readers of today and the baby readers of my day is basically that in my day, if your baby could read, it was because your baby was a natural reader and not because crazy parents were already thinking about Harvard. My mom will tell anyone who listens that while she read to me every day, I taught myself to read. She says that started reading early because I was a messy eater. See, whenever I sat down to eat, my mother – trying to keep me from getting breakfast all over her clean house – used to line the table and under the chair with newspaper. So while I ate, I would “read” the paper, asking my mom what this word and that word were. Eventually, I went from “reading” to actually reading, and I haven’t stopped since.

I was the kid that would be on the silver or gold level SRAs while my classmates were on the yellow or brown. I was the kid who took a book with me everywhere (I still do). I was the kid who had special permission at the library to check out more books than was generally allowed because I devoured them. I was the kid whose aunt and grandma would rush to the store the very day a new Trixie Belden was released, because I couldn’t wait another minute. I was the one whose reading teacher bought her books for Christmas because she wanted to share non-curriculum books with a student she knew would appreciate them (and btw, I am still in touch with that teacher and still sharing books).

It’s funny, though – anyone you would ask would tell you that reading is a great thing. And yet, reading gets no respect, as far as hobbies go. My mom was proud of my reading abilities and yet I can’t even begin to count how many times I heard, “Get your nose out of that book!” People who read a lot often get labeled bookworms or nerds or antisocial (because they would prefer to read than socialize).

I myself have been reprimanded for reading at family functions, accused of avoiding people. I have heard people make comments about myself and others reading in a restaurant or other public place when alone, saying that people who do that are insecure and they use their book as a barrier so they don’t have to interact or to hide their embarrassment at being alone. Maybe some people do that, but maybe – you know – they just like to read!

And then there are the defensive non-readers. The people I have previously described are just a bit clueless, I think, but these people are annoying! Here’s the thing – read, don’t read – unless you’re my kid, I don’t care. Be who you are and own it! I know a lot of people that look down on crappy TV. I am not one of those people. I love crappy, trashy, awful TV shows and I don’t care who knows it. It doesn’t mean that I am not smart or don’t know how to do other, more productive things. But defensive non-readers don’t get this. Instead of having the attitude of hey - don’t like to read, but that doesn’t make me an idiot, they instead act like idiots and put down people like me – people who do read.

I’m sick to death of being insulted by the defensive non-reader. They don’t outwardly insult readers (because like I said – anyone would agree that reading is a good thing). Instead, they drop passive-aggressive insults. Mainly, “Oh, I don’t have time to read!” I can’t tell you how many variations of this I have heard over the years. And yes – I do know that it is hard to find time to read. But we all make time for the things we want to make time for, whether it’s reading, or pedicures, or girl’s night out, or shopping, or going to a movie. And while it isn’t the actual words I & don’t & have & time & to & read that bother me – the tone with which they are said will get me every time. That and the little extras:

Oh, it’s nice that you read. I don’t have time to, though!

I don’t have time to read – I’m just too busy!

I don’t have time to read – I like to spend time with my children!

I don’t have time to read – I work!.

Please allow me to respond:

Fuck you. I’m busy, too, and I read. I also love to spend time with the kids. Sometimes we spend it reading. I work, too. And have a long commute. And two busy kids. And a house and cars and dogs and a cat and fucking hermit crabs and a family who is constantly having parties and friends who I get together with occasionally and a computer I’m addicted to and on and on and on with all the things you do, and guess what? I still read!

If you don’t read, I don’t think I’m better than you or smarter than you, but give me the same respect. If you don’t read – I don’t care. But I sure as hell am done being insulted by the implication that my avid reading means I am somehow lesser than you as a wife, mother, employee – whatever. And also? Fuck you.

I recently had several people (on different occasions) react like I am insane because I mentioned that The Girl wanted a nook (like mine) and that I was considering buying her one. Finally, by the third person, I was done smiling and biting my tongue. When I got the “A nook? That’s a lot of money to spend on something like that for a seven year old!” I responded with, “PS2 - $200, PS3 - $350, wii - $200, xbox - $300, PSP - $150, Nintendo DS - $150, ipod touch - $300+ – that’s a lot of money to spend for a child to pretend to kill people and play angry birds. There is no amount of money that is too much to spend to keep my child reading.”

Doesn’t anyone remember those old 70s commercials? Reading is fundamental.



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