Playing to my strengths

There are parenting tasks I'm good at, sometimes smugly so. I can talk the boys out of their bad dreams. I can handle sibling squabbles. I can be a stickler for politeness. I can sing songs and read books. I soothe boo-boos and give piggyback rides.

But there are other things that I am just flat-out bad at. Preschool games, for instance. Much like bathtime, playing games like Chutes and Ladders and Memory is one of those parenting things I thought would be wonderful and lovely, but in reality is dull and tedious. I have zero patience for these games. The kids grab and shove, scattering the pieces and my nerves. Their fumbling attempts to count spaces infuriate me as much as their gloating when they win and whining if they lose. I shout. I am sarcastic -- to my 4-year-old, who then says, "I'm just trying my best, Momma." And then I feel about two inches tall and have to apologize for my bad behavior. Five seconds later, I'm harping at him to JUST FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LISTEN. (The 2-year-old already has been banished from the game table for his own good.)

It's not pretty and I'm not proud. I'm trying to be better, but I'm also trying to find things we can do together other than these inane games. When I was in school, I did anything I could to avoid gym class. I was bad at athletics and got sick of the frustration -- for me and for my teachers and classmates. Ironically, one of the things I'd rather do with my boys now instead of these stupid board games is play ball outside. Or blow bubbles. Or draw with sidewalk chalk. Or play with cars. Or play with play-dough. Or draw pictures. Or build with blocks.

There are plenty of things I'm good at as a mom. Chutes and Ladders just isn't one of them.

Fairy words

I had to stop at the grocery after work to get cheese for quesadillas and yogurt-covered raisins so the boys would stop whining about not having any. With just a handful of things to pick up, I decided to forgo the cart and just grab a basket. About 20 feet into the store, I remembered why this was a bad idea: wandering toddlers, slow-poky preschoolers and grabby-handed boys.

But, I am nothing if not determined, so I hustled the boys along. This worked as long as I wasn't looking at anything. The second I stopped to pick out an avocado or check out the prices of shredded cheese, the boys scattered across the aisle, blocking the rush of after-work shoppers. The retirees gave me the wide smiles that so clearly say, "ENJOY THEM! The time goes so fast!" but a grumpy old man practically growled at them and the harried mothers without their kids in tow and young professionals in too-high heels were less than amused. One woman was particularly horrified when Beastie dropped his free cookie in the middle of the produce section, shouted, "MY COOKIEEEEEE!" and then picked it up and ate it. I wanted to say, "Look, he's eaten worse," but figured it wasn't worth the effort.

The highlight of the trip came in the dairy aisle, the end and true destination of our trip. I grabbed the shredded cheese and tried to hurry the boys down the row and over to the registers. A perfectly coiffed mom with tidy children tucked into one of the fun car carts I never let my boys get was perusing the organic yogurt section. As we approached them, Beastie started doing some weird stomping walk and shouting, "DAMN! DAMNY, DAMN, DAMN!" A slow, meandering stomping walk. Loud, pretty obviously profane singing.

First, I tried to ignore him. But when even the perfect little blond children, he in wire-rimmed glasses and a button-up plaid shirt and she in a pristine white cardigan over summer dress, looked askance at my little Beastie, I figured I better do something. I tried to hurry him and, as we walked past the concerned little children and their mother, I said, more loudly than necessary, "Gammy, gammy? Are you singing about grandma?" I'm pretty sure the mother didn't buy it, but it was worth a try.

We finally got past them and neared the end of the aisle, out of ear shot. The Lad still was singing his cuss-word song. I was so focused on him, I didn't notice the store clerk stocking shelves at the end of aisle -- the one we were walking past as I hissed, "We do NOT say that word, Beastie. That is a word for mommas and daddies and fairies."

I notice the clerk then, because he literally spun around and stared at me. He had no way of knowing that cuss words are fairy words in our house because of Tinkerbell's penchant for calling people silly asses. (Incidentally, that's another swear word The Lad has shouted in the grocery store.) Stopping to explain would have taken longer than getting the hell out of the store. My potty-mouthed child, The Boy and I fled.

At least we got the cheese we needed.

Things occupying my brain

I'm a little obsessed with Shalini's new fiction project, Office Crush. It's a blogged romantic comedy. She compares it to one of the serialized stories Charles Dickens wrote for newspapers, but it reminds me more of a 2012 version of Jane Austen. Either way, I can't stop checking the site for updates.

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I've plowed through three of the Games of Thrones books -- rather the Song of Fire and Ice series from George RR Martin upon which the HBO series is based. I have not seen the show, but I'm trying to sort that out -- we don't have cable, so I'm looking for internet options -- as I start the fourth book. The books are a bit plodding in the middle (and they're all huge), but they get very good at the end. Also, the plodding almost makes me want to read more. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but Martin has so many plot lines going at once that nothing ever really gets resolved without causing another issue, so you want to keep reading to see how THAT one works out.

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I brought home from Ohio two bags of Jones' Potato Chips. I have half a bag left. I'm rationing what the boys in the house eat. I'm not ashamed.

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This story about forgiveness really was lovely. It was a nice break today. (And stories like this are why you should read a newspaper! You can find more of these stories at www.gangrey.com. /shamelessplugformyindustry) (Speaking of which, not being judgmental but genuinely curious: those of you who said you don't read a local newspaper: How do you figure out who you to vote for in city/county elections?)

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Fiona Apple is coming out with a new album. Of course the title is ridiculous. Of course the first single is gorgeous. My 14-year-old self -- and my 31-year-old self -- are giddy with anticipation. We'll just be over here writing angsty poems. Don't mind us.

---

What's occupying your gray matter?

Lists

I think K did this awhile ago and I loved the idea so here goes. Lists o' things.
Songs I can't get enough of:
1.Without you David Guetta featuring Usher
2. Brokenhearted by Karmin
3. Glad you Came by The Wanted
4. We are Young by fun.
5. Somebody that I used to know by Gotye featuring Kimba - This? This right here is the kid whisperer song. Gizmo actually pushed me out of the way the other morning when she heard it come on Vh1. Pushed her mother out of the way. Both girls stop what they are doing and just stare when the video is on. So my gift to you today is this: If your kids are acting crazy, flip this song on. It will stop them in their tracks.

Books I've read recently that I would recommend:
(I've read about 20 books this year. Not nearly the pace of last year, which is fine by me.)
1. Sisterhood of the Traveling pants series - OK, I know. A little juvenile. BUT, the last one is not, and really it is the best one.
2. The Eternal Ones series - Another YA novel. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a 16-year-old girl at heart. The first one was really good. The second one, not so much.
3. My Name is Memory - I loved this one. Loved it. Reincarnation is my new favorite theme. I'm over vampires. But still haven't moved on from dystopian worlds.
4. Is everyone hanging out without me? by Mindy Kaling. I usually am not a fan of celebrity-written books. I really liked this one. Very funny.
5. I don't have a fifth book to recommend because everything else I have read has been blah.

Books I want to read:
1. Legend
2. Cinder
3. The Pregnancy Project
4. Insurgent (Divergent sequel out May 1, which is next week, how the heck did that happen?)
5. The Happiness Project

Things from Gizmo's 15-month check up.
1. She's in the 95 percentile for her height and head size.
2. She's in the 50th percentile for weight.
3. The doctor noted that she is a little light for her height. When I told him she is a bottomless pit, he then told me we should make sure she doesn't become overweight. Did you not just tell me her weight is low for her height?
4. She is hitting all of her milestones just fine. I'm still a little nervous nelly over her verbal skills but I think it is because I am unfairly comparing her to her sister who was always way ahead of schedule when it came to talking. Gizmo has about 6-10 words that she uses consistently and she's starting to sign eat and more (interchangably, which is kind of funny).
5. Gizmo is so much calmer with the doctor than Peanut ever was. Peanut would scream her head off whenever the doctor came near her. When she was about 2.5, she started shaking when the doctor examined her. She has since calmed down. A little bit. Gizmo just chills. Quietly looks at him, like, "what's up?"

Funny things Peanut has said lately:
1. I want to keep Gizmo.
2. I want to keep you, Momma.
3. When I'm old enough to pick up poop, I want a dog. A Chihuahua.
4. Mommy you smell like beer (and I hadn't even been drinking.)
5. And, OK, she didn't say this but it is cute and funny. Today is dress like something at the circus and Peanut picked an elephant. One that sports a pink bolero sweater and jeggings.

Weekend in photos

Friday night at playground.





Feeding the goats.


After dinner in with friends Saturday night. Good times.


Sunday morning yogurt.


Reading a Christmas book. And, I know it is April.


Fun with chalk while Gizmo naps.





Awake.


Momma's new leg exercises.


Excited.


Momma and baby.


Intense.

Questions for you

I mostly try to keep my work off here, but if you read for any length of time, you know that Michelle and I are journalists, as are our husbands. We're both editors now -- my husband, too -- but I was a reporter until a little more than a year ago, and Michelle's husband still is a reporter. And, as Michelle reported here, the two of us and my husband went last weekend to a reunion of the college paper where we all met. That reunion brought together nearly 200 former and current journalists, from the little old lady who was the second female editor of The Post (Michelle and I wanted to put her in our pocket and take her home, she was so cute and feisty) to the college kids just trying to find their first job out of school.

All of that was a long-winded way of saying that the state of newspapers, journalism and media consumption is often on my mind, especially so this weekend as I've come back to my job with all the memories of past newspaper people and the ideas for the future swirling around my head.

To that end, I have a few questions for you:
1. Do you read (in any way, shape or form) your local newspaper? How? How often?
2. What about regional or national news? How do you get it? How closely do you pay attention?

I also have a few more frivolous questions:
3. When you make grilled cheese, do you use butter or mayonnaise on the bread?
4. What Easter candy do you eat first? Last?
5. What's your favorite treat on a bad day?




To be fair, my answers:
1-2. I read our local paper in the process, of course, but also after the fact in a mix of online and in print. I also check in daily online with the major Florida papers, the NY Times and the AP Twitter feed. I also check in pretty regularly to the Washington Post, the major Ohio papers and journalism sites that send me papers all over the country to read best work.
3. I grew up using butter and that's what I prefer. Real butter, not margarine. Tonight, because we were out of butter, I tried mayonnaise, which I think is a southern thing, and it was pretty darn good.
4. PEEPS first! (But only yellow ones) Jelly beans last.
5. Chocolate anything. And permission to ignore everything and just sit in my chair with a book until I feel better.

Overheard

From the bedroom during jammie time:
Daddyman: OH MAN! Beastie, there was poo in there. You have to give me a warning.
The Lad: Warning.

---

From the backseat of the car on the way home:
Daddyman: Since I'm home early, we can play baseball outside.
The Boy: OK, but Daddy, I only want to do pitching tonight. No games, no batting. I need to practice pitching.
Daddyman: I actually think you're better at throwing than batting --
The Boy: Yeah, but --
Daddyman: But you do need to practice catching.
The Boy: Yeah, I'm not very good at it.
Momma (teasing): Oh you're getting better. You catch more than me.
The Boy: Yeah, Momma doesn't catch ANYTHING.

---

On multiple occasions:
Daddyman/Momma (sternly to an ornery child): Who is the boss here?
The Lad: ME!

---

From the hallway, prebath:
The Lad (standing splay-legged): LICK MY BUTT, BRUCIE-DOGGIE!

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It's never a dull moment around here.

Division of Labor

"I want more noodles."

"How do you ask?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeease," The Boy said. "But, I only want PLAIN noodles."

"You're getting sauce. You --"

"I ONLY WANT PLAIN!"

"Excuse me. You'll get noodles with sauce, which is good for you, or you'll get none."

"But," he started to whine before I cut him off. We had just finished an 8-hour day in the car, the second day in our trek back from Ohio. My tolerance for whining, never great, was finished.

"Sauce? Or nothing?"

"FINE. Noodles with sauce ... please," The Boy said, pouting. "Grammy let me have plain noodles."

"I bet she did," I said, scooping up noodles. I watched him hang his head and stick out his chin.

"Boy, do you know what my job is as your momma?" He shook his head. "It's to make you a decent human being. To make you strong and healthy and a good person. Do you know what your grammy and granny Annie's job is? To spoil you rotten."

He grinned and I headed back to the table with the bowl of noodles covered in a marinara sauce that at least let me pretend that we were getting our vegetables after two days of fast food.

"And just think," I said, "there are TWO of them to spoil you and only one of me to boss you."

"Yeah," he giggled. But then his face fell. "But Daddy does it, too."

"True. But you have two grandpas to outnumber him. You'll get plenty of spoiling. And, we haven't even talked about your great grandparents. ...."

He finished his noodles smiling.

Back in time

The student newspaper we worked for in college celebrated its 100th anniversary this weekend with a reunion. I left the husband with the girls and headed back to college. There I met with almost 200 other Posties, including Hillary and her husband. It was a weekend of reminiscing all of the fun and stupid things we did.
I would tell you about some of the stupid things, but I think I will abide by this shirt:

My father actually gave me a short lecture before I left about making good choices and being safe. Hillary's husband's response to that: There are no bad choices in Athens. Only wasted opportunities.

While we were known to shut down a bar or two 10 years ago, we had a fun but pretty tame night out (that ended with us walking 1.5 miles in heels. I would not recommend it. But at least we were safe). And somehow I spent 12 hours with Hillary and only managed to get this photo of us together:

These were our people.

What I didn't get a picture of: the ridiculous way the college girls dressed. First, they wore leggings as pants. Then we saw some out at the bar (early in the night) wearing shorty-short gym shorts, T-shirts and rain boots. Later in the night, we saw girls who made Julia Roberts look classy in Pretty Woman. Two girls were wearing dresses so short that their butt cheeks were half an inch from falling out. Another girl's skirt was so tight you could actually see the outline of her belly button. And she was wearing a lace top.

My girls will not be going to college. Or if they do, it will be one with a dress code. And a house mom. And curfews. I'll just transport them back to 1950.

Since I didn't get many photos of Hillary and me or of the scary girls, I will leave you with some peaceful shots of campus:

 This is the building where the newspaper office's used to be. We worked in the basement and it regularly smelled like sewage. The couches were scary. The editors office was the size of a closet. I spent more nights there than I care to count. It was awesome. Now they have some windows boarded up as they prepare to renovate the building.

 Part of College Green. I can't tell you how many times Hillary and I sat near this statue, eating a burrito from a buggy (Don't judge. They were fabulous.) and bitching about the latest drama.

 College Green where Hillary was regularly assaulted by squirrels. You should ask her about her fear of squirrels.

The journalism building. Where it all began.

And we're good

The first time I decided to try to get pregnant, Hillary was six months along and another friend called to tell me she was pregnant. I remember getting off the phone with her, looking at the husband and saying, "I'm ready to have a baby."

Something clicked inside of me. If they were grown-up enough to do it, I was too (I was 27 at the time, which seems silly now that I wasn't quite sure if I was grown-up enough for a baby then. Also, I always joke that my friend's daughter is the reason Peanut is alive.)

Five weeks later, a test at 3 a.m. on the husband's birthday confirmed our life was about to change.

Right before Peanut turned a year old, I had baby fever. My sister gave birth to her second child. Hillary was pregnant again. It was hard for me to wait to have another baby but circumstances weren't right for us. Less than a year later, I was pregnant with Gizmo.

As I've mentioned before, I opted to have my tubes tied when Gizmo was born. The doctor and nurses asked me many, many, many, many times if I was sure, reminding me many, many, many, many times that this was permanent. There is even video of the doctor asking me after Gizmo was delivered, "Are you sure you don't want to try for another?"

My response, "Good Lord, no."

There has only been one time that I questioned that decision and I blame hormones. Days after Gizmo was born, my dad said something about how she was their last grandchild. Something about it struck me as ridiculously sad I couldn't stop crying.

Now? My brother-in-law and sister-in-law announced they are expecting their first child at the end of the year. That first friend (the one whose daughter sparked my need to get pregnant) is pregnant with her third child and another friend is pregnant with her second.

My only thought is this: How wonderful for them. We're good.

My day, my life

We were running behind - as usual. We'd spent the weekend traveling the state, visiting family for the holiday. We were all tired and having a hard time getting back into the routine. I had to stop and get gas before getting the girls to the babysitter's house and Peanut had already putzed around eating and struggled to get dressed.

While pumping gas, I got a Facebook message from a friend who is deployed in Afghanistan. He had helped set up an interview for the newspaper I work for with the commander of a brigade that lost three soldiers in a suicide attack last week. So while I am pumping gas and dropping off the girls, I was messaging him and calling the office making sure we had someone available to do the interview.

Here I am, carrying both girls - one under each arm - with their lunch into the babysitter's (while wearing heels). Peanut didn't have shoes on because she scraped her toe while running around barefoot yesterday. She is very sensitive to injuries so we scrapped shoes (despite the 40 degree weather) to avoid a meltdown. While I carried them, I was getting messages from a war zone.

I started thinking about how I handle the different aspects of my life.

After (almost) 10 years in the professional world, I feel like I handle the stress and pressure much better. Setting up a last minute interview with a colonel in Afghanistan while dropping my kids off at the babysitter seems normal to me. I might get a slightly feral look in my eyes when I'm juggling a bunch of stories, deadlines, responsibilities, etc. but at the end of the day, I can get the job done without too much stress.

But if my kids are cranky and I haven't had enough sleep, I crack at home. After having three Easters in as many days this weekend, the kids were overtired. Peanut was pissed about everything and Gizmo wasn't far behind her. After numerous fits, I told the husband Sunday afternoon it was time to go home and got teary in the process. I hate seeing my kids upset. I hate feeling like they aren't listening to me (even though usually I'm the one not listening.)

At work, I feel in control (most of the time). If news breaks, I can handle it. I know what to do as things pop up.

At home, I don't always feel like that. I don't know why Peanut says she wants something and then throws a fit five minutes later when I give it to her. I can't explain to Gizmo in a way that will make her happy that she can't do everything that her big sister can. It is a daunting and frustrating task at times.

Maybe I've just learned to hold it together better at work. Maybe I feel more relaxed at home so that I can show my emotions more. I just wish I could get to the place where stress at home doesn't bother me as much.

Do you handle stress at home and at work differently?

Happy Easter

The best news from the weekend? All on her own, Peanut decided she should leave her pacifiers for the Easter Bunny to take for a new baby. This was Friday afternoon and the bunny made an early stop to get the pacis.

She's asked for them only once.

Happy Easter.

Therapy bills

Let me start this story off with this - we are all OK. No one needed medical attention.

Yesterday, Peanut and I ran to the store to get my parents an Easter flower, something we do every year. As we were walking in the parking lot to get in the car, I was holding the rhododendron  in my left hand and Peanut's hand in my right hand.

All of the sudden, a car backs out of a spot and knocks into my left side (thankfully not where Peanut was). I screamed, dropped the flower and the force of it pushed me into Peanut, knocking her over. This woman clearly was not looking behind her when she backed up. We were nowhere near the back of the cars when it happened so it wasn't like we snuck up on her.

Peanut was screaming her head off like she had been run over. I was furious and scared. People ran over to us after hearing me scream and Peanut crying. Luckily we were all OK. Peanut had a scrape on her knee.

The woman got out of the car and said something along the lines of, "You were walking in the parking lot." (She was obviously upset and nervous and didn't know what to say but really? Not the best thing to say to someone you just hit with your car.)

It took a lot of restraint on my part not to lose it on her. I simply said, "Yes, that is what people do."

After getting Peanut calmed down and in the car (a paramedic who happened to be in the parking gave us both a once over just as a precaution), I grabbed the woman's insurance info (just in case) and drove off shaking.

Peanut woke up this morning, proclaiming that she was going to tell Ma'am and Pa (my parents with whom she is staying today) that she and momma got hit by a car. I called them first so they wouldn't freak out.

So she and Gizmo went to my parents this morning where they watched the movie "Hop."

 Here's IMBD's description of the movie:

E.B., the Easter Bunny's teenage son, heads to Hollywood, determined to become a drummer in a rock 'n' roll band. In LA, he's taken in by Fred after the out-of-work slacker hits E.B. with his car.

I'm putting some money aside for her therapy bills.

This kid

I see other parents posting about their kids on facebook. Their kids are rolling over. Their kids are learning to sit and eating solids. It seems like we were pregnant at the same time. Weren't we? Aren't our kids just a few months apart. Isn't Gizmo their age?

No, not at all. It might seem like she was just born six months ago but I have to remind myself that she is anything but a baby as she passes the 15-month mark. She is barreling her way into toddlerhood without a glance back.

 Screeching because she can.

 Baby-zilla will eat you.

Gulp. Yum.

I can't get over how old she is. Her words are coming slowly (she started saying wub ewe - love you - this weekend) but she leaves little doubt what she wants. She gets in the cupboard and pulls out whatever she wants to eat (which is anything and everything all of the time. Bottomless pit.) 

She puts her head in our laps and sucks her thumb when tired. When you ask her if she wants to go night-night, she goes to her room and points to her crib. We simply put her in bed, cover her up and don't hear a peep until morning.

Gizmo isn't deterred by the fact that she is smaller and younger than her sister. If Peanut climbs up the slide, she tries to follow. If Peanut crawls into the toy box, Gizmo is right behind her. If Peanut is wrestling with Daddy, Gizmo is right in the mix, clobbering anyone who gets in her way. Head butting and biting are her go-to defensive (and offensive) moves.

Already, she knows how to mess with her sister. She grabs Peanut's drink if she leaves it unattended. She tries to eat Peanut's dinner even if she has the same exact thing on her plate. She will take toys away from her and run away. 

Where her sister is shy, Gizmo hasn't met a stranger. We still have to push and prod Peanut to give hugs to relatives. We tell Gizmo and she runs right up to anyone, arms open and up in the air, begging to be swooped up. She waves and cries out "bye-bye."

She'd rather be naked and cries when she has to get her pajamas on after bath. She smiles and stomps her feet when excited, which is 90 percent of the time. In the morning, she talks to herself, until we come in and get her. There she stands, in the same place every morning. Hands on the rails, smiling and screeching with excitement.

When she hears music, Gizmo does her own signature dance, that can be best described as "drop it like it's hot." She bounces her little booty up and down, stomps her feet, claps a little and starts all over again. Peanut usually yells out "shake your booty, Gizmo!"

Maybe at some point I will accept that my baby is not a baby anymore.

Off topic: Books

I read 28 books this first quarter. I reread The Hunger Games trilogy because of the movie and loved it even more the second time around. I'm not saying it's great literature, but it's damn good storytelling and I cared about every one of the characters. That's about how I feel about the Song of Fire and Ice books -- that's Game of Thrones, if you've seen the HBO show -- in which I'm currently engrossed.

A lot of the rest of the books were less than great, so I'm not going to go through all of them.

What I'd recommend
Faith, Jennifer Haigh: Best of the quarter. This is the second of Haigh's books I've read and both have left me thinking about them for months afterward. The first one, The Condition, I didn't even particularly like, yet I couldn't get it out of my head. This one I really loved. It's about a Boston priest accused of pedophilia and how his siblings deal with the fall out.
Devil in Pew No. 7, Rebecca Nichols Alonzo: This is a memoir of growing up as a preacher's daughter. The wrinkle is that someone is trying to kill the preacher.
When She Woke, Hillary Jordan: I didn't like this novel, a dystopian retelling of The Scarlett Letter, as much as Jordan's debut, however, she's a good storyteller. Her writing feels very real, though in this case, I think because of the device of the plot, some of the characters seemed more like caricatures.
The Language of Flowers, Vanessa Diffenbaugh: Kind of generic chick-lit, but the writing was nice.
 Devil All the Time, Donald Ray Pollock: This is one of the most disturbing books I've ever read -- and I've read American Psycho. If you're squeamish, don't read this. But if you've got a tolerance for gore, this book is tightly written and haunting. As a bonus, the author's story is interesting: he's a laid-off factory worker turned author.
False Friend, Myla Goldberg: I don't know if this was good so much as it was interesting. The whole book explores what you remember versus what other people remember and what really happened.
Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, Helen Simonson: This love story about older people is very sweet. The humor is very dry. It makes for a nice mix.

Meh for me -- but maybe you'll like it
The Wilder Life, Wendy McClure: I had such high hopes for this memoir about trying to track down the "real" Little House sites. I loved the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I used to act out my favorite parts of the books. I want to travel to the home sites just like this author did. But the thing is, the author's not very likable and the writing isn't that great and the whole thing just left me wondering if I could've done it better.
A Grown-Up Kind of Pretty, Joshilyn Jackson: The basic story and characters were good here, but it's nothing deep and a stupid and unnecessary plot device -- trouble coming to the women in the family every 15 years -- just irked me.
Elegy for Eddie, Jacqueline Winspear: This is a novel about Maisie Dobbs, a woman detective in WWI and post-war England. It's one of the later books in the series, and perhaps Maisie is more sympathetic in the war years, when her story begins. In this one, she's sort of a controlling prig, and that ruined the book for me despite a decent mystery.
Diary of a Mad Fat Girl, Stephanie McAfee: This one has a great back story: Author self-publishes an ebook and has such a great response, a publisher picks up the book. It's a so-so book. This is not literature that stands the test of time; there are too many pop culture references and silly plot twists. But it is a satisfying little beach read. 
A Stolen Life, Jaycee Duggard: I read this in a couple hours because I couldn't resist. It's disturbing, not so much in the details, but in how detached she is from the horrors she survived.
Flight of Gemma Hardy, Margot Livesy: Oh, here's another set of high hopes crushed -- or at least deflated. This is a retelling of Jane Eyre, one of my all-time favorite books, by an author I've enjoyed in the past. This is just so-so. The plot doesn't translate well to modern times, I don't think, what with the age difference between Jane (Gemma here) and Mr. Rochester and the whole locked-in-the-attic wife.
Object of Beauty, Steve Martin: I hesitated on where to put this book. Usually, I find Martin's books too slow and this one was no exception. But I really enjoyed the subject matter -- the world of art dealers -- about which I know nothing and didn't care to learn before reading this. I still don't want to learn about it, but it was interesting while I was in the book.

What are you reading these days?