This is my pile of books to read. I keep it next to my bed. There are a few others in the queue scattered around the house, but I’m too afraid to put them on the pile because I have a very real fear that it will fall down on me as it is.

The Sarah Vowell up front is the one I’m currently reading. Zach had pulled it out to read, but I accidentally started it before he had a chance. (He had another one he was thinking about, so it wasn’t too terrible of me.)  Other books in the list are a couple of Ayelet Waldman Mommytrack mysteries, a Jasper Fforde book about a woman who can go inside the stories in books, a probably depressing but hopefully good Joan Didion book, a book about discipline and some other random stuff.

Earlier this morning:

“Mama, do you know Winnie…Winnie the Pooh? Do you know his brother?”

“His brother? Who is his brother?”

“The boy! What is Winnie the Pooh’s brother the boy called?”

“Oh, you mean Christopher Robin?”

“Yes! I am Christopher Robin!!” he says running out of the room.

One second later he’s back. “And you are Christopher Robin’s Mama!”

And all morning he has called me Christopher Robin’s Mama…..