Today is Tuesday. I know, because this is my first post this week, and according to my Iron Clad Blogging Schedule that means it must be Tuesday, or possibly Monday, but certainly not Wednesday. I know your calendars might say otherwise, but don't listen to them. They are sneaky and devious tricksters that will try to deceive you. It is Tuesday. I'm sure of it.
Now on to Tuesday's post.
We have a book problem.
They're taking over the house, spilling from shelves, piling in corners. Stacked in heaps. We all love them, everyone of us. We can't stop buying them. Reading them. Smelling them. And, yes, books have a smell. A yummy ink and paper scent that promises fabulous adventures. Ahhh, how do you say no to lovely words wrapped in shiny covers?
Kid A and I cleaned out her bookshelves this week in preparation for her move to the basement. (It is almost finished. Woot. Woot.) In the vast stacks, I discovered some of my books. Here is a replica of our conversation:
Me: Hey! Those are mine!
Kid A: I don't think so.
Me: Yeah, they are. You can't have The Death Gate Cycle. Give them back.
Kid A, avoiding eye contact and acting guilty: Can't I just keep them in my bookcase?
Me: Are you kidding? It's The Death Gate Cycle. They're so mine! I need them by my bed to comfort me at night . . . and during the day. Besides, Tracy Hickman hugged me. His sweat is part of my DNA now.
Kid A, laughing: Well, that is true, but you have too many books in your room. I'm just trying to help you out.
Me, pointing at the piles of books on her floor: But this will help you have more room for these in your shelves--Hey! You can't have Inkheart. That's mine, too.
And so it continued until I left her room with a giant stack of books. It was like Christmas, but not for her. Don't feel bad for her either, she got to keep Goose Girl, and Shannon Hale rocks.
I think we need to establish a support group, or go to therapy. Something to help us control this addiction. Nothing radical like book removal therapy, or a forced book relocation. Even worse would be, gasp, shudder, self denial of books. I couldn't survive it.
I'm thinking more along the lines of an additional wing to house the books. We'll call it, The Official Rehab Wing. I'll sign myself up as soon as it opens. Does anyone want to join me?