What’s The Nine-Year-Old reading this week? 

The danger of allowing your Nine-Year-Old to read Terry Pratchett is that her peals of laughter will remind you just how very much you enjoy reading Terry Pratchett yourself. This would not be quite so terrible to endure if my entire Pratchett library wasn’t marooned behind dusty plastic sheeting, but since it is, I’ve been dealing with some serious book envy this week. 

In other news, our Mommyo-Daugther book club is going swimmingly. This week, we read The Secret Garden.  I hadn’t read The Secret Garden since I was a child, and it was wonderful reading it in sync with The Nine-Year-Old. I can see why it’s been her favorite book for 12 months now. 

It certainly opened some parenting doors for me. I deeply appreciated the chance to talk with The Nine-Year-Old about how Mary’s grouchiness and how her instinctive disdain for others complicated her social relationships without having to point the finger to specific behaviors in The Nine-Year-Old. I don’t know where your Nine-Year-Old is, but mine is really working hard lately on figuring out this friendship thing, and like many people, she tends to get a bit defensive when criticized.   

Having an objective way to approach the subject has been really helpful. I highly recommend it. 

In fact, I probably ought to pick another slyly improving book for this week, but given the peals of laughter emanating from our Very Large Red Reading Couch, I think I’m going to request that next week’s Reading Lunch feature a Terry Pratchett book instead.

Your weekly construction update:   

Last week, they upgraded the electrical, ran the behind-the-walls/floor plumbing, waterproofed the shower, and put up the drywall. This week there’s painting and tiling going on. Still to come: above the surface plumbing features, lighting, and cabinetry. The bathroom’s taking shape!

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About Shala Howell

Writer of things ranging from optical network switching white papers to genetic testing patient education materials to historical fiction set in an 1880s asylum. When I’m not scratching my head over pesky characters who refuse to do things how I want them done or dreaming of my next book (which will of course be much easier to write than the current one), my writerly self can be found blogging about life with a very curious Ten-Year-Old at Caterpickles.com, or musing about books and the writing life at BostonWriters.wordpress.com.
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