It's my Birthday and I'll do what I want to
Mybirthday was this week, and as much as I love celebrating- thelaundry waits for no woman. I have a ton of chores and not a lot oftime for writing, so I've decided to rerun an oldie Idid for my blog tour. As you can imagine, most of my birthday gifts werebooks. You can find the original article here.
It'stwo o'clock in the morning and I'm in hiding. Some girls mightbe in a club, sparkly and shining, pumping fist to a thumping rhythm.Some girls might be drunk, in the back of a police car, hunched overand groaning- mascara running lines down their face. Some girls aredoing things they're going to regret in the morning, walking homewith heels in hand.Smartgirls are asleep.Iam not a smart girl. I am not asleep. Remember when you weretwelve and your mom would say, "shut the light off!Close the book! Go to sleep!" And you would ask, "just onemore chapter, puh-lease?" Thatwas me for as long as I can remember; except now I'm all grown up. There is no mom forcing me to close my book.
However, I ammarried.
Hence the hiding. My husband doesn't understand theobsession. Book obsession. My drug of choice. Thereused to be interventions now and then. He would find them under thebed, behind the couch, stuffed in a closet. He would box them up andinsist I donate them to a new home."Newhome?" I would ask redundantly. "This is their home."Iremember having my first baby, her birth day. She spent most of thetime sleeping or eating. Ispent most of the time nursing or reading. It was heavenly. Igot through three books that day. My mother visited me in thehospital. My daughter was asleep in her crib and I was in the middleof rereading Matilda. "You know," she said, "you'renot going to be able to read as much with children." Myhusband looked relieved and I just scoffed at her. I have threechildren now, and I read as much as ever. It's the sleep I'vehad to give up.
It's two o'clock in the morning, and I'm prayingthe light from my iPad doesn't give me away.
It's two o'clock inthe morning, and I'm in hiding.
-Laura
It'stwo o'clock in the morning and I'm in hiding. Some girls mightbe in a club, sparkly and shining, pumping fist to a thumping rhythm.Some girls might be drunk, in the back of a police car, hunched overand groaning- mascara running lines down their face. Some girls aredoing things they're going to regret in the morning, walking homewith heels in hand.Smartgirls are asleep.Iam not a smart girl. I am not asleep. Remember when you weretwelve and your mom would say, "shut the light off!Close the book! Go to sleep!" And you would ask, "just onemore chapter, puh-lease?" Thatwas me for as long as I can remember; except now I'm all grown up. There is no mom forcing me to close my book.
However, I ammarried.
Hence the hiding. My husband doesn't understand theobsession. Book obsession. My drug of choice. Thereused to be interventions now and then. He would find them under thebed, behind the couch, stuffed in a closet. He would box them up andinsist I donate them to a new home."Newhome?" I would ask redundantly. "This is their home."Iremember having my first baby, her birth day. She spent most of thetime sleeping or eating. Ispent most of the time nursing or reading. It was heavenly. Igot through three books that day. My mother visited me in thehospital. My daughter was asleep in her crib and I was in the middleof rereading Matilda. "You know," she said, "you'renot going to be able to read as much with children." Myhusband looked relieved and I just scoffed at her. I have threechildren now, and I read as much as ever. It's the sleep I'vehad to give up.
It's two o'clock in the morning, and I'm prayingthe light from my iPad doesn't give me away.
It's two o'clock inthe morning, and I'm in hiding.
-Laura
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