as i was sitting on the beach this morning with a bird-turned-sand-flea in my lap and a surf-side monkey in my purview, i had a conversation with the other adults around about good summer reading for moms.

take note: i, myself, was not reading in this moment, just wishfully talking about doing so, which is often as far as my literary interest takes me these days. nevertheless, we came up with a working list of summer reading titles for moms, each of which fits  at least one of the following requirements:

1. self-contained chapters that do not to add strain to one’s poor dwindling memory.
2. brevity, which comes in handy when one drifts to sleep and drops the book on one’s face.
3.  page-turner, which allows the reader to feel successful and be swept into another world at the same time.
4. awakens an old part of one’s self

so, without further babble, here’s the list. feel free to add to it by leaving comments:

mr. darcy and the blue-eyed stranger, by lee smith. this book of southern short stories meets requirement number one, and it has made me laugh out loud at least ten times.

on chesil beach by ian mcewan. this tale of love, sex, and timing scores points for meeting requirement number two. if you drop this book on your face, you will not wake up until the morning.

born to run: a hidden tribe, superathletes, and the greatest race the world has never seen by christopher mcdougall. according to my husband and fiftyleven friends of mine who have read the book, this tale of the mexican tarahumara indians, their running style, and its potential to transform american running fits requirements three and four. all i know is that, inspired by this little gem,  my husband has reverted back to the habits of his high school cross-country days.

the sunday wife by cassandra king. this fictional account of female friendships and the life of a preacher’s wife allows the reader to vicariously vacation at grayton beach. it makes the list for meeting requirement number three.

an altar in the world by barbara brown taylor. for the theologically inclined, this book about finding god in the most ordinary places and experiences will have you looking to your dusty baseboards for signs of the divine. as is true for many of barbara brown taylor’s books, this one meets requirement number one.

the help by kathryn stockett. i might have been the last person on earth to read this fabulous book. i had a newborn when it came out, and it looked so long and daunting! but other mom friends read it and vouched that it meets requirement number three, and boy does it ever. i sped right through this illuminating and provocative story set in 1960’s jackson, and i was sad to say goodbye to the characters at the book’s end.

that’s all for now. feel free to add your own. i’ll probably add a few myself as the wishful conversation about reading continues. who knows… maybe i’ll even get to crack a book myself!

in light of yesterday’s post about the state of my kitchen,

i thought i’d string a few words together about housekeeping.

my parents, sibling, college roommate, husband, children, and friends know that i was simply born without the part of the brain that exhibits concern over the disorder of physical space and provides impetus to clean with tornadic vigor. this is unfortunate for reasons depicted above. i would argue, though, that this weakness is turning out to be a gift now that i am a parent, who is regularly called to tolerate not only my own personal chaos but that of the three other males (and four, if you count the dog), who live in my house.

but some messes, like the one in my kitchen yesterday, are magnaimous enough to defeat even my inner slob. and on those rare occasions, i have no choice but to put on some loud music, go against my very nature, and CLEAN. thanks to these words in barbara brown taylor’s an altar in the world, i am beginning to see that there is a special sort of dignity to be found in scraping smushed strawberries off the floor with my fingernail:

“i no longer call such tasks housework. i call them the domestic arts, paying attention to all the ways they return me to my senses. when the refrigerator has nothing in it but green onions that have turned to slime and plastic containers full of historic leftovers, i know my art is languishing. when i cannot tell whether that is a sleeping cat or an engorged dust ball under my bed, i know that i have been spending too much time thinking. it is time to get down on my knees. after i have spent a whole morning ironing shirts, folding linens, rubbing orange-scented wax into wood, and cleaning dead bugs out of the light fixtures, i can hear the whole house purring for the rest of the afternoon. i can often hear myself singing as well, satisfied with such simple, domestic purpose.

…this is my practice, not yours, so please feel free to continue calling such work utter drudgery. the point is to find something that feeds your sense of purpose, and to be willing to look low for that purpose as well as high. it may be chopping wood and it may be running a corporation. whatever it is, perhaps you will hold open the possibility that doing it is one way to learn what it means to become more fully human, as you press beyond being good to being good for something, in a world with the perfect job for someone like you” (120).

now let’s be honest. i’m not much into ironing, and the bugs in my light fixtures are there to stay. but after yesterday’s (eventual) kitchen cleanup, i could almost hear our house purring. i’ve been trained to look for meaning in sacred texts, good conversation, masters degree programs, and travels to far lands. but there is a lot of truth to be found when i’m on my knees, bringing order out of chaos within the four walls of our fabulously messy house.

[the source for this post can be found on the bibliography page located on the sidebar to your right.]