You know, a legitimate wordsmith, reader, literary soul?
Two things: number one, I got a book reader for Christmas. How exciting is that? My mom just bought it for me without asking, and when I opened it she said "have you ever thought about getting one of those?" Well, not really, because they're so ungodly expensive that I just figured that was not something I would put on any list to ask someone to buy me. But now that I have it, I'm so excited for the possibilities.
It would have helped me avoid the debacle I currently find myself in. The one where I'm sitting at work, alone, for 2 hours because we got 8" of snow and apparently I'm the only person in my office that A) has a 5-speed Mazda that can handle anything, B) didn't make the boss' list of people to call to inform we were on delay, and C) didn't feel like digging around to find the emergency voicemail number to find out for myself.
Also, my secret plan was to escape for 2 hours by myself and read one of my new books (or a tabloid mag) at Barnes and Noble, Starbucks bought with a giftcard in hand. I really mean this was my plan, to show up at work, see if anyone was there, and then backtrack 2 miles to B and N and just enjoy my own company, ALONE, after the hubbub of the past 5 days.
Except that sitting in an iced over parking lot, phoning the bookstore to find out they didn't open until 10 threw a wrench into that plan, so that didn't happen either. Oops. So you get a long overdue blog post, totally on the fly, instead.
*Sidenote: to anyone who was actually reading my "12 Days of Christmas" posts, I do still intend to highlight a charity each week from now until I've run out of places to give my money to. I just assumed that no one was reading it due to lack of comments, and also my life exploded with work stress and Christmas prep all at the same time, so I kind of just lived blog-free for a while.*
But the second reason that proves I am bookworm? My son has my genes. Through and through. After receiving a myriad of presents, most of which light up and sing to him, including a mini 4-wheeler and a life-size tool bench, he cried at bedtime last night over one toy. A Book. My dear, sweet, 16-month old budding wordsmith cried because I would not let him take his new favorite book to bed with him.
It may have been the proudest I have ever been as a mother.
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