Bookworm

Oh, the pleasures of a SAHM (stay-at-home mom) are many. Lately, I have found back to my biggest passion, my dearest hobby, my driving force: Words. Reading. Within two months, I have consumed more books than all of last year. I don't really have much more spare time for indulging in reading (why is this, I hear you wondering, you're a SAHM now!), but I don't care pushing off bed time because I don't need to get up for work. I do need to get up -- to get Yair ready for school, to argue over the Spider-Man outfit to wear, the breakfast to eat. Even the diaper is an issue now. Mick Mouse and Minny Mouse are accepted, Pluto is out, refused. Taken off. Thrown away. He'd rather wet his pants. Don't ask me how we ever get out of the house in the mornings, but we do. Eventually, we show up at school, a few minutes late only, nothing to speak of. Spider-Man enters the room, throws me a kiss, waves good-bye -- and off he goes, ready to play. While I need a strong cup of coffee because last night's book was all too captivating, the hours of sleep spare. You see, there is no pressure to function a hundred percent because there is a project to finish, a deadline to meet. It's just life. I read my book and retreat to bed when my eyes refuse to remain open any longer. I don't have the time, but I don't care about the consequences. So I'll go about the day with weary eyes, a dull head. Who cares? I read Elizabeth George's "What Came Before He Shot Her," Irene Dische's "Grossmama packt aus," and Khaled Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns." The latter I just stashed away, determined to get "The Kite Runner" as soon as I get the chance. My next reading, however, will be Harry Potter. The last one. I have the feeling I'll need tissues (again).