The Stay-at-Home Mom's Affair with a Juicy Tracksuit

I have a brown one. I have a blue one. I have a turquoise one. I even have the fake ones they sell at the Closet in Sports Arena for $10 a pop.

I admit it: I'm a sucker for Juicy tracksuits. Yes, they are kinda cheesy and lame, and are probably going the way of the Christian Audigier line after Jon started getting his photo snapped in Ed Hardy t-shirts, talking on his cell phone to skanky younger chicks.

Yes, when I think of the Juicy tracksuit, I think of Poway stay-at-home moms with big boobs and collagen lips. (No offense to any Poway moms with big boobs...but the collagen lips, really?) But the thing is, Juicy tracksuits are just...so...comfortable! And, as a stay-at-home mom myself, there is something wonderfully soothing about them.

I can throw one on and not WORRY about trying to match because it ALREADY MATCHES! I can wear one to Stroller Strides, go straight to music class and the grocery store without ever changing clothes. I can wear them with UGGs, flip flops, or tennies.

They make me feel young and spry. They put a little spring in my step. They even make me harbor the secret delusion that my butt is what is stamped across it...JUICY. They are playful and frisky, like the PT Cruisers of lounge wear.

Also, I don't have to suck in. I can even wear them pregnant because the pants ride so low...although I'm for sure stretching out the zip up hoodies!

Although I would never, ever advocate paying full price (hello, $200 for a TRACKSUIT, people?) I certainly have no problem buying them on discount at Nordstrom Rack, Loehmans, and my all-time fav, TJ Max.

Come on, admit it. You know you have one. What do YOU love about your Juicy tracksuit?

Ian's Funky Salami

This is a true story.



My dear husband, after a long day of work, decided to come home last night and cook up one of his famous homemade pizzas. God bless him!



Last night's dish was super doughy and garlic-y, with yummy sauce and delicious salami. Or so I thought.



As I polish off the last slice, Ian turns to me and casually says, "You know, you really need to zip up the plastic wrap better around the salami. It wasn't zipped all the way and it didn't look so good. In fact, I think you should take the meat off of Marley's slice."



Mind you, this is AFTER I have consumed three pieces of pizza with generous portions of the suspect salami. Oh yeah, and I'm SIX MONTHS PREGNANT.



I say, "Are you seriously telling me the salami I've just eaten is BAD?"



"Well, it's cooked, so it's probably okay, but you really need to ziplock the meat bag better," he says.



"What, so this is MY fault?" I ask, now bewildered and panicky.

Ian, "Yes, you need to zip up the meat better. And if it was bad, why was it in the fridge?"



"Dude, if it was BAD, why in the hell did you put it on our DINNER?" I ask.



As if this wasn't bad enough, after we do the dishes--just to rub it in--Ian says, "Let me show you something," and takes the bag of bad salami out of the fridge. Sure enough, it has turned a funky brown color. I start to gag.



"You put this meat on our PIZZA, then SHOWED it to me? Are you CRAZY?" I ask.



"Well, like I said, if you don't zip it up right, it will go bad."



Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Clearly, it was all MY FAULT that my husband served me a pizza with skanky salami on it. WTF???

An Open Letter to Christine's Boobs

Dear Boobs,



I was going through my wedding pictures the other day, and there, snug in my low-cut wedding gown, I saw you! My old boobs! Old friends! How I miss you, old boobs. You were so happy and perky and full of bounce and vigor!



And then...I had a baby. You turned from simply a "nice rack" (as my husband would say) to a life-support system for a newborn infant, delivering nourishment and comfort around the clock. For nine months. And then, when your work was done, you disappeared! Where did you go? Why hath you forsaken me?



Tube tops and strapless dresses--once so flattering and sassy--are now a thing of the past. Even nightgowns don't hang right! Now I don't even THINK about leaving the house without my special Victoria's Secret bra that adds up to two cup sizes (and it does, thank God!)



My husband, well, although he is a self-proclaimed "boob man" and was always your biggest fan, has taken it pretty well. I can see he misses you sometimes, but sadly, not as much as I do.



I wonder, is anyone secretly happy with their boobs after breastfeeding? (And if you are still breastfeeding, don't even think about replying because you still have MILK in your boobs.) And spare me all the "Motherhood is beautiful, my boobs are beautiful because they fed my baby." Boobs, I'm proud that you fed my baby also, but that doesn't mean I'm stoked on your decision to ABANDON me! And, even scarier, now I will have a second baby to breastfeed. What will become of you then?



Then again, maybe I'm missing the point here. Boobs, I know your job is to have a specific function in our society--mainly feeding a child--and yet we turn you into an object of lust and vanity. Perhaps this is all my fault. You did your job, you fed my baby, I should be stoked on you and not complain about you. I should be happy that--what is left of you--is happy, healthy, and for goodness sakes, cancer-free. I should be applauding you, saying "Go Boobs!"



But still. I miss the way we were.



As a society in general, I know we are too quick to run to the surgeon's office to cure our self-image woes, risking pain, recovery time, and other drawbacks. But...still.



I want you back, old boobs! (Although they wouldn't REALLY be you, they would be part silicone or saline or whatever they use these days.) I want my old body back. And if I can afford it, why not? Or is that vain, fruitless, stupid, or even dangerous?



Boobs, I guess I will just have to wait and see what the future brings. But if you want to come back for a visit...even if it's just while I'm breastfeeding...that's OK with me. I'd love to see you again!



XOXO,

me

Why You Shouldn't Put Pillow Pets in the Dryer

It was a rainy day...which means it was time to spruce up Marley's nursery. I decided that all the Pillow Pets needed a good wash. Bade (her sheep), Panda Bear, Whale (her Dolphin) and Bee all got jammed in the washer for a good suds-ing.

I read the instructions. They said to wash each Pillow Pet separately in a white pillow case and let them air dry. But really...who has time for that? I don't even own a white pillow case. What could happen? Certainly no terrible calamity would befall the Pillow Pets during a routine wash. So into the washer and dryer they went!

They emerged from the dryer looking...not so soft. And a little...singed! Sorta crispy, really. And what was that burnt polyester smell radiating through the garage?

Needless to say, I was devastated to witness Marley's family of Pillow Pets go from soft, plush animals like this:

To frazzled, bumpy, and not-so-soft, like this:

And here's what happened to poor "Bade."

Luckily, Marley was relatively unfazed by it all. "It's okay Mommy," she said, patting my back. "Bade is still soft....a little. He's a little soft."

Anyway, if you have any Pillow Pets, be sure to follow the washing instructions. And for goodness sakes...don't put them in the dryer!

Wednesday is for...Websites I Love!

If you've read my posts on Gilt and Diapers.com, you know I'm a sucker for online shopping. What's not to love? Not only does it help you be beautiful and fashionable, but online shopping keeps you and your house smelling fresh and clean! (Hello, Soap.com.) And as any seasoned shopper knows, the intricate and mystical maze of cyberspace can lead you to deals GALORE! (Who likes a little sprinkle of Ebay with their coffee in the morning? I know I do.)

Since a penny saved is a penny earned, there is nothing more rewarding then scoring a fab deal online, in the comfort of your pajamas and morning breath...no matter what time of day!

And so, I applaud you, the makers of Zulily.com, a freaken GREAT website for scoring amazing deals on stuff for you and your kids. It's kinda like a Gilt.com for babies and mommies. The website features different sales on different days, and like Gilt, the sooner you get there, the better chance you have of adding the choicest items to your cart. (Note: Zulily starts EARLY...at 7am Pacific Time, so it favors the early risers...er...the parents of early risers, because who wants to be UP that early?)

Today I found some awesome organic onesies for baby Holland (since many of Marley's hand-me-downs are poop-stained--I clearly needed them, it's not because they were cute and on sale) and I also got a sassy nursing bra for myself. (Who knew that they actually make sassy nursing bras? Black lace and all? Hello!)

And did I mention most of the stuff is 60% off? Check out the website and subscribe to their emails today. But don't be hoarding all the good stuff in your carts!!!

Sex Education for Girls: Part II

I know, I know...the timing is simply uncanny! On this Valentine's Day, I have decided to continue discussing my worries of raising two girls and teaching them to be sexually responsible. Because as a hormonal mom in her fifth month of pregnancy, it is never too soon to start worrying about this kind of stuff, right?

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As I mentioned in my other blog post, my own sex education was spotty at best. Following what I'll call a strict, La Grange-style, abstinence-only approach, I was assured that having sex before marriage would leave me pregnant, penniless, and ruined forever so no "nice" boy would ever want to touch me.

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Needless to say, these insightful teachings resulted in some scary close-calls and some supremely reckless behavior when I finally did start having sex...not until my 20s. Because I never bothered to get on the pill. Why? I don't know. It didn't occur to me. I only slept with serious boyfriends, and the pill was for other girls. Promiscuous girls. I was NOT promiscuous. I was a good girl! (Most of the time.)

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Until the dark day when I had to go to Planned Parenthood for the morning-after-pill. (I guess you can say our protection failed...as in, ripped in half.) The nice lady who gave me the morning- after-pill asked me what my current birth control methods were. "Uh...condoms?" I answered.

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"Hmm," she replied. "You know that condoms are only 85% effective, when they are used correctly? And mostly, they aren't."

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"Yes," I replied. I'd heard these statistics before. Hadn't everybody? But I guess I never thought about them in terms of my own peril and demise.

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"Wouldn't you feel better getting on a more reliable form of birth control, such as the pill?" asked the nurse.

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I had no good answer. Because there was only one answer. Yes, I needed to get on the pill. Why hadn't I done this before?

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So thank you Planned Parenthood Nurse for getting me on the pill. For this, I will always have a warm spot in my heart for you.

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Anywho, I am determined to do a better job preparing my girls for the consequences and responsibilities of sex better than my parents did. (Sorry Mom.) Though I don't want to be slipping condoms under their pillows in junior high (Oh God!), I don't want them to be afraid to come to me if they need to talk about sex.

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And I want them to fully understand the negative, dire, and life-changing consequences of having sex...on all levels.

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I asked my friends Susanne and Dan about this. They have a teenage daughter.

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"Marley will be smart, so you should engage her intellectually," said my friend Dan.

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Of course! Engage her intellectually? This I can do! And so, I have devised a fail-proof sex education plan to ensure that my girls will grow up as clean and pure as a first winter's snow. (Okay, so at least they put off having sex for AS LONG AS POSSIBLE, preferably for the rest of their lives, or until I am dead.)

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When my girls turn 13, hit puberty, or start getting invited to boy/girl dances (whatever happens first) they will be charged with a very special assignment. They will have to create a PowerPoint presentation entitled Pregnancy and STDs: Foul Aftermath and Food Stamps. They will have to complete said project and present it to me before they leave the house. EVER.

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As part of their assignment, they must outline in detail:

-The deadliest STD

-The grossest STD (with pictures)

-The most embarrassing STD, or the STD most likely to generate ridicule from others in gym class (with pictures)

-The most common STD

-The different types of STDs that, once contracted, you will have for the REST OF YOUR LIFE

-An overview of the failure rates of all protection.

-An overview of the lifestyle of teenage moms.

-The percentage of teenage moms currently on welfare.

-How much it costs a year to raise a baby.

-First hand accounts of grisly childbirths.

-What the inside of a homeless shelter looks like.

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I am pretty proud of my little plan here. What do you think? Anything else I should include? What else will scare the crap out of them?

Feed Me Fridays: Homemade Applesauce!

So! In efforts to make myself more of an asset around the house, I have been COOKING. That's right ladies...the same person who just learned to cook eggs in the last twelve months is now trying new recipes and baking shit up in the kitchen! With some success, I must say.

So I decided I would feature EASY, RETARD-PROOF recipes every now and then, when I feel like it, because sometimes I won't and I will go buy a burrito instead. And I am truly a cooking retard, so if I can do it...anyone can! Weeeee!

Because I love animals, my recipes (while not entirely vegan) will try to harm as few critters as possible. I also make a great attempt to use local, organically-grown produce from the farmer's market, though I have been spotted buying carrots at Albertsons. Whatever. I'm trying, okay?

Also, I will never put nutritional info of any kind on any of my recipes. If it's good, it probably has some form of butter and sugar, and I'm a firm believer that one must eat everything in moderation!

So here is my first retard-proof recipe: HOMEMADE APPLESAUCE! If you haven't made this before, get ready to laugh because it's so easy it's silly.

Homemade Applesauce

Level of Difficulty: 1. The hardest part is peeling the apples!

Time: Like 30 minutes.

How many dishes you'll have to wash: like 1 saucepan, yo.

Yumminess: SUPER YUMMY!

Recipe:

8 apples--peeled, cored and chopped. I use organic Granny Smith apples from the farmer's market because I like that they are slightly more sour.

1 and 1/2 cups of water

2/4 cup of white sugar

1 teaspoon of ground cinnamon

In a saucepan, combine apples, water, sugar and cinnamon. Cover, and cook over medium heat for about 15 to 20 minutes, until apples are soft. Allow to cool then mash with a fork. Eat!

See how easy that was? I told you!

Here is a link to the recipe and all of the fab reviews if you don't believe me. Please note I doubled the original recipe because otherwise the amount of applesauce created was INSUFFICIENT and I ate it all in one sitting.

Peace out!

Sex Education For Girls: Part I

I am having another girl. I will have two girls, total. That is two weddings to pay for. Two girls to send to dance classes and tumbling. And...two girls to whom I will have to teach about the "birds and the bees."

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Two girls I will have to teach to respect their bodies. Two girls to make sure they don't end up pregnant and on the fast-track to a life of welfare and food stamps. Two girls to make sure they don't end up the class floozy.

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I know, I don't have to worry about this for a while--my girls are two and a half, and in utero. But I will have to do it someday! And with today's sexually-charged pop culture and shows like Teen Mom and Jersey Shore, it seems like promiscuity and puberty go hand-in-hand.

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How will I teach my girls to be smart? How will I teach them how empowered they can be, making wise choices and taking ownership of their bodies and sexuality? Especially given my sex education...or lack of.

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My sex education went something like this: Don't have sex. God does not WANT you to have sex. Don't have sex until you are married. Wait until you are married.

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It sure seemed like God really wanted me to be a virgin. And since I was an awkward teenager, I didn't have any boyfriends anyway.

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So I always found it annoying that my mom read my diary, not that she'd ever admit it. There was nothing juicy to report! But what if there was?

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Just how important was it NOT to have sex? I decided to find out. During my senior year of high school, I decided that I would write a fake, detailed entry about losing my virginity to an older boy who waited tables at the restaurant where I worked. I penned a sordid account (to the best of my ability!) snickering to myself, knowing that my mom would HAVE to admit she was reading my diary then. There was no way she could keep this information to herself! What would she do? It didn't take me long to find out.

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The next day, I drove back from school to find my dad home from work. Howard was sitting next to my mom on the couch. Both of their faces were ghost-white. What had happened? Had my dad lost his job? (Doubtful, since he was self-employed and would hardly fire himself.) Did someone have cancer?

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"Christine, sit down," said my dad in his deep, no-nonsense Howard voice. "We need to discuss something important."

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"We know about you and that boy," said my mom.

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Oh, so that was it! I couldn't control myself. I started laughing. And laughing. For some reason, this seemed to make my parents angry.

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"I caught you, I caught you!" I yelled triumphantly in between laughs. "You read my diary! I KNEW IT. Why are you reading my diary? The whole story was fake. I was trying to see if you were reading it!"

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Oddly enough, Margaret and Howard did not find this humorous at all. After a few minutes of repeatedly reassuring them that yes, I was still a virgin, probably one of the few in my senior class who was, the color drained back to their faces. And what about the whole snooping diary thing?

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I got grounded. For two weeks. For playing "a mean trick on my mom."

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And that was my sex education.

Top Ten Things that Happen when Mommy Doesn't Sleep

You know what I'm talking about. Those nights when sleep just doesn't happen. Maybe your kid is sick. Maybe you're sick. Maybe your baby still isn't sleeping through the night.

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Or maybe, just maybe, your kid is sleeping great, but your husband wakes you up with a gnarly cough every 20 minutes until you can't take it anymore and you give up, go downstairs and get on Facebook. You might go back upstairs in another 20 minutes or so, to find your husband sleeping peacefully. He has taken some NyQuil. You, however, are pregnant and cannot take NyQuil, because such sleep-aids are a major no-no. So you are stuck. Up. Awake. No sleeping.

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And you were already tired to begin with.

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Oh well. Sh-t happens. It's not my poor husband's fault. He has to slap a smile on his face and go sell boats today. My demands are a little less rigorous.

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If I was like most people, I'd probably try to take a nap while Marley is at preschool. Makes sense. But no, not me, When I am over-tired, I turn into a spastic, whirling tornado of energy, incapable of sleep, punctuated by random outbursts of crying and general psychotic behavior. I cannot nap. I cannot rest. I am a menace to myself, my family, and society.

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Here is what I do instead.

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1. Laundry. If there is laundry in the house to be done, today is the day! Onesies get bleached, beds get stripped, and stains doused with Shout. Nothing is safe!

2. Swiffer. Something about Swiffering makes me feel accomplished, even though I'm not really accomplishing anything, because the Swiffer family of products is completely ineffective on our white linoleum floors. But then again, it does leave that pungent, "Hey, look at me, I just cleaned," highly-toxic odor.

3. Go look on my DVR list of recorded shows and purposely try to find shows that I wanted to watch that my husband has deleted. I send him an email with a subject line "DELETED" and name the shows he has erased with a nasty note.

4. Random outbursts of crying. Are we out of raisins? Oh, despair!

5. Impulse shopping and returns. I'm sure we'll all agree, nothing's better for the economy than a tired mom armed with a credit card!

6. Drive around aimlessly in search of food. None of the vast edibles currently in our home will suffice. I need something special to eat, but I'm just not sure what. And driving while pregnant and sleep-deprived is a fun and safe activity for all to enjoy! No blinker? No problem!

7. Start stubbing my toes on any and all furniture in my midst. Cry.

8. Stalk ex-boyfriends on the Internet and try to determine if their girlfriends or wives are prettier than me. If they are, cry.

9. Write dark and weird poetry.

10. Realize that I am the luckiest person in the world to have such a beautiful daughter, and amazing husband, and wonderful life. Cry.

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OK, what weird and psycho things do YOU do when you are sleep-deprived?

The Scariest Thing about the Happiest Place on Earth

This week we had the once-in-a-lifetime experience of taking Marley on her very first trip to Disneyland. Needless to say, she loved it........................................................................................

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Our first stop: Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion, Daddy & Mommy's favorite rides, respectively. I know, I know, we're pushing the scary-factor here with a 2-year-old, but considering Marley's favorite movie is Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas and the only souvenir she wanted in our early visit to a Disney gift shop was a wristband with a skull on it, I thought we'd be OK. Besides, we knew these rides could be a little intimidating for a toddler, so we prepared her accordingly.

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We gave her this primer.

Mommy: "Hey Marley! Do you like pirates?"

Marley: "Yes, I like pirates!"

Mommy: "Do you want to go see some pirates right now?"

Marley: "Yes, let's see pirates right now! RIGHT NOW!"

Mommy: "Okay! Now remember, this ride might be a little scary, but we'll be holding your hands the entire time. If you get scared, just wave and say, 'hi pirates!'"

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Repeat same conversation, then substitute "pirates" with "ghosts" for the Haunted Mansion.

It worked like a charm. Aside from the very first plunge down the tunnel at Pirates, Marley didn't freak out at all. She even broke into a few phrases of "Yo ho, yo ho...a pirate's life for me!" She didn't flinch at the spooks and specktors inside of the Haunted Mansion, even when our ride got stuck for a few minutes.

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Whew, now that we had those rides out of the way, we could go to FantasyLand with it's pink castle and fairy princess rides. They'd be so mellow and relaxed that we knew she wouldn't get scared.

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Not so fast.

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Have you been on any of these rides lately?

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I don't know if you've ridden on Snow White (excuse me, I should have known by the name, "Snow White's Scary Adventures") or even "Pinocchio's Daring Journey," but hello! It's like they are trying to scare the crap out of your kids!

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Case in point: the description of "Snow White's Scary Adventure" from the Disneyland website.

"Venture into dark forests, dank dungeons, dark mines and slippery cliffs as you relive frightful moments from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. You're never really safe from the watchful eye of the evil queen!" Frightful indeed. Dank dungeons? Snow White is a freaking cartoon people...lighten up!

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Needless to say, the ride lived up to its name. (Not that I knew this going in.) Complete with said scary and frightful moments, including loud special effects, it gave me the willies, though Marley seemed reasonably unfazed. (True, I was experiencing low-blood sugar and feeling intensely guilty for taking Marley on something easy that turned out to be scary, but still!) It's like buying your kid a Strawberry Shortcake doll and opening it up to find a fake bloody hand inside. Yeah, it's fake, and your kid might still want to play with it, but it's not what you were expecting.

Pinocchio's Daring Journey had to be better, right? A little. Still, Ghepetto's toy shop was creepy and weird, full of all sorts of scary-looking toys, and again I felt a pang of guilt when I saw Marley's brave, wide-eyed face in the eerie light.

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Thing is, I feel like with the more adult rides like Pirates and Mansion, you are prepared. You go in knowing your kid could freak out, and for good reason. But I didn't expect to take Marley on fairytale-inspired rides that could turn into the stuff of her future nightmares. What's worse, unlike the sophisticated "scariness" of some of the more adult rides, these ones come right down to the kid's level, scaring the crap out of them in terms that they understand. Ghostly hologram of a lady dancing...not so scary. But a cartoonish evil queen giving a blood-curdling scream at deafening volumes and scaring the hell out of Marley's much-beloved dwarfs (who she affectionately calls "Hi-hos")...well, that hits a little closer to home.

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I get it. Fairy tales are dark. Most Disney movies are dark. You need a balance of good and evil in any worthwhile story. You can't understand light if you don't understand darkness.

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Don't get me wrong, we had a great time at Disneyland...I just didn't expect to get into an inward dialogue on the dichotomy of good and evil at the "Happiest Place on Earth."

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I am happy to report that the Alice in Wonderland ride was much better, and the rest was smooth sailing.

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My friend Claudia took Luca, Marley's best friend, to Disneyland around this time, and explained her experience. "Luca was OK with all the rides, he didn't get upset, but I could tell that on some of them he was a little...uncomfortable. We liked 'It's a Small World' the best."

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My sentiments exactly. :)

Have you read any good books lately?

People ask me this all the time.

See, in anticipation of never having a quiet moment to myself AGAIN after I birth my second child in June, I have cloaked myself in a READING FRENZY. Since everyone knows I read so much, I get people asking me, "Are you reading anything good?" Most of the time, the answer is, "Why yes, I am!"

So I thought I'd feature some super awesome books on my blog from time to time. To make things easy, I'll rate them on some important criteria.

Style. First of all, the book must be easy to read. It must engross you in its story from the very first page. If the book contains too much unnecessary detail, Dickens-esque run-on sentences or weird words I have to look up in the dictionary, I'm going to get distracted (because I'm already sleep-deprived) and I will throw the book in ANGER and pick up the nearest Us Weekly, or OK Magazine, which is even better, because it's mainly pictures, as my good friend Alicia pointed out. Capiche? (Note, the above is a great example of a run-on sentence.)

Steam Factor. Not really of primary importance, but it's nice to know from the get-go if the book is going to be steamy or not-so-steamy. Come to think of it, I haven't read any really good steamy books lately. Hmm. Go figure.

Gross-out Factor. Does the book feature violence or icky situations? If so, I will let you know. I couldn't stand anything cringe-worthy in my first trimester, so I will warn you here.

Story. Does the story captivate on deep levels and catapult the work to book-club levels? Did it make me think, or merely entertain? Or is it more of a beach read?

Beach read. But I sure loooove me a good beach read! These books are lighthearted and funny and easy to put down and pick back up after a dive in the ocean. They can also be read while drinking pina coladas and/or getting a poolside massage.

Length. Duh.

Overall awesomeness. Really, how awesome is this book? I will tell you.

And if there are any more criteria you'd like me to include, please let me know. Anyway, whatever, blah blah blah, here is my first book recommendation!

Little Bee by Chris Cleave.

Thank you Charlotte from my Book Club for picking this book! I love this book because it transported me to another place from the very first line. It is eloquent, beautifully-written, but in a very accessible, easy-to-understand way. This book tells a series of unique events stemming from a violent act on a Nigerian beach from two different perspectives--a poor African girl named Little Bee, and a posh magazine-editor mom in the UK. The book tackles how both women deal with tragedy and loss, and ultimately come to grips with their lives. I'm not going to say much more because I think it would ruin the book, but trust me...it's amazing.

Style: 9/10. Loved the style! Easy to read, sucked me in at hello! And soooo beautiful. I wish I could write like this guy.

Steam Factor: 2/10. Not really steamy, but that's okay!

Gross-out Factor: 7/10. There are some violent moments in this book that are hard to read. This book deals with death. It deals with tragedy. Brace yourself accordingly. But...it does so with a beautiful overtone of optimism and elegance. It won't depress you. This book is populated by survivors. Little Bee's narrative is like a blinding light of hope.

Story: 9/10. Holy moley, did this book get me thinking. You can't help but thrust yourself into the story and think....what would I do? And could I find the strength to do it? It raises some very interesting questions about human nature, and how one brief decision--made in a split-second--can change the course of many lives forever.

Beach Read: 6/10. Hmm, not really, but it was easy to pick up again after a long day or putting Marley down for a nap because it was so awesome.

Overall Awesomeness: 9/10. I love me some Little Bee!

Anywho, I hope you read the book! Anyone else got any good recs?