Lately, I've developed an increasing appreciation for children's literature. Part of me believes this stems from majoring in elementary education, but I certainly think it has to do with my perpetual preference for simplicity over complexity.

I'm currently reading Loser by Jerry Spinelli. I've always loved Spinelli. I first read Stargirl in 8th grade after a boy told me I reminded him of the protagonist (it's still the best compliment I've ever received!). In my senior year of high school, I read the sequel to Stargirl. It wasn't as wonderful as the first, but it was still a delightful novel. I found this book in my bathroom drawer and immediately fell in love. I haven't finished yet, but I needed to gush. And so, I leave you with one of my favorite passages:

"At this time in his life Zinkoff sees no difference between the stars in the sky and the stars in his mother's plastic Baggie. He believes that stars fall from the sky sometimes, and that his mother goes around collecting them like acorns. He believes she has to use heavy gloves and dark sunglasses because the fallen stars are so hot and shiny. She puts them in the freezer for forty-five minutes, and when they come out they are flat and silver and stick on the back and ready for his shirts. This makes him feel close to the unfallen stars left in the sky. He thinks of them as his nightlights. As he grows drowsy in bed, he wonders which is greater: the number of stars in the sky or the number of school days left in his life? It's a wonderful question."

Lull

It was not my question to answer, of course, but you know how I get. I spout obnoxious metaphors even when they have no business existing.

Spring has always devastated me. It is a season bloated with ideas of hope and rebirth, but I've yet to experience either. The New England Spring is a horrid coquette, at least in the beginning. She showers us with warmth and vibrancy only to revoke them the following day. Spring flutters across closed eyelids and just as we begin to thaw, she giggles and retreats to her corner. We become consumed with the idea of her permanency, but she is as fleeting as a dishonest lover.

Things I love

-Forming a cocoon out of blankets still warm from the dryer.
-Squeezing Max's snout.
-Making my mother laugh.
-Semicolons.
-Finding a warm pocket of air on an otherwise frigid day.
-Falling in love with strangers.
-Seeing babies derive happiness from the simplest actions.
-Alliteration.
-Leaving little notes or pictures in library books.
-Regina Spektor.
-Shadow puppets.
-Spotting the prettiest tree in unexpected locations.

-The Universe (I marvel at all its mysteries & absurdities).

I am terrified of you.

Please don't devastate.
But you will.

Snapshot Sundays

My 5 AM arrival was not well-received...

especially by Max, who gave me the cold shoulder &
refused to cuddle after smelling another dog on my clothes.

I woke up at noon, to a surprising midterm grade.

The weather was much less impressive...

but it did encourage Geene to make delicious soup.

I am NOT looking forward to the rest of my day.

You are so, so stupid.
I hope you know that.

I was at work today, and this little boy came through my line with his father. If I had to guess, I'd say he was maybe 4. They purchased a few bottles of Gatorade. "The red one is for me!" he exclaimed, and I told him red was my favorite, too. Another boy walked by with his mother; he was older, maybe 7 or 8 years old. He spotted a teenager with a mohawk standing behind Gatorade boy and proceeded to point and shout "WHOA! He's cool!" My little buddy's eyes lit up as he tugged on his dad's sleeve. "DAD! He said I was cool!" The dad asked what he was talking about, and he replied "A boy walked by! And he said I was cool! He really did! He said it! Wow!"

My heart broke. It was the cutest thing I have ever witnessed. I wish you could have heard his voice- he was just so overcome with awe and excitement.

For the record, Gatorade cutie was at least a million times cooler than Mohawk boy.
Just saying.