I would like to start this post, "Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy." But it wouldn't really make any sense for my purposes. For one thing, I have five children, although one of them died when he was little so as far as current upkeep goes I have four children, so suppose I could make it work and call him Aslan or something. But I grew up with a cat named Aslan so it feels weird and besides, among my living children, if we were to follow along with the Narnian theme, "Lucy" is a boy. He's only 3 months old at the moment so I guess he wouldn't care if he were called Lucy but it just doesn't feel right. So let's just move on, shall we?
Introductions are in order. My name is Abby. I'm a homeschooling mother of five, as mentioned, and today is my 38th birthday. I homeschool because I like to live my life in a way that makes normal people cringe. It's really very easy, though, this homeschooling thing. As anyone will tell you, the kids just practically teach themselves. At this very moment, my 7 year old son is playing Angry Birds (math/computer science) while the toddler explores how many times he can pull the dog's fur before being nipped (nature study/science), the baby stares at his battery-less mobile wondering why the monkeys no longer spin (philosophy), and the 6 year old and only girl plays in the oil diffuser intoning "Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble..." (that's Shakespeare, people, SHAKESPEARE! *pats self on back*). So I figure at this rate they all can look forward to a future of gainful employment with the Ren Faire of their choice. So that's covered.
The question remains, then, as I embark on my thirty-ninth year of existence, "what shall I do with all of this spare time?" And the answer came to me this morning, as in my lively and well-rested state, I stared at my Keurig machine while holding a standard 12 cup coffee filter. A book blog!
Because you see I don't get out much. In fact after a childhood filled with world travel, I haven't ventured out of the state, much less the country in the past decade. The first baby had critical medical needs that were prohibitive to travel and after that I started having the little boogers at an alarmingly rapid rate (see above reason for homeschooling if you need an explanation for that). We get sympathetic and/or hateful looks when we go to our local Chili's. I'm not hitting the Louvre anytime soon. But I have a secret escape. A hideaway if you will. My own little wardrobe that leads to not just one magical land, but thousands. Millions. More than I could explore in a lifetime. I have books.
Books. Wonderful, beautiful, fabulous books. Sometimes I stand in the center of Half-Priced Books or Barnes and Noble (while my children swarm around me like angry bees) and gaze in awe at the shelves, thinking to myself, sadly, "I'll never read them all. Never. Not ever. It's impossible." But in my heart, I know I must try. My hope is that, when I die, God ushers me into this great celestial library filled with every book that was ever written that was worth reading. He smiles, assuring me that I very literally have all the time in the world and nothing else I have to do but read. *sighs happily*
And yet, we don't have all the time in the world. There is no divine hand leading us toward those books that are Turkish delight and those that...well...aren't. I want to read books that are GREAT, that if you only have one book to read while you burn the midnight (essential) oil this should be THE ONE. And it is my journey, my quest, to find them.
So let's talk about books, shall we? Let's discover new worlds and revisit old ones. Let's talk sci-fi, romance, steampunk, YA, chic lit, thrillers, fantasy and all the ones in between. Let's bring a little Xanth into Mundania, add a dash of Neverland, and journey to the other side of the wardrobe. Together.