I’m replacing it with chocolate, and a handful of my lakehouse, frozen blueberries for a quick mid-day snack.

Turns out, the survival of probiotics through the stomach when they are carried in through chocolate is three times greater than the survival rate of probiotics eaten in yogurt.

Read more about Maramor Chocolates and why they’re so good for you, here.

According to the calendar, we still have some 19 or so days until summer is over. But the onslaught of back-to-school, parent meetings, and the unseasonably chilly weather have set our mind into believing that winter has settled in.  The Labor Day weekend doesn’t help either; we all know it’s summer’s final dance.

In reality, we still have time left, and you might as well make yourself a lemon shakeup and dance. Nothing can put me into the mind-frame of summer like a light and easy summer read. Reading a novel, is what Joseph Campbell once referred to as an escape from ordinary life. And in this time of watching summer come to a close, couldn’t we all use an escape?

The books are here in alphabetical order, so feel free to browse and jump around… I won’t tell, which order I prefer… from best to last… because I just don’t know!

Bird in Hand

Rich. Rich, vivid and intimate. The story begins with a woman, wife and mother, coming to terms with the fact that her very presence took a life.  But something else is amiss; this she knows, but will not name — until her life moves so out of control that she finally names the fear that grips her — yet is holding her hostage. Meanwhile, we are taken on a journey to the past where friendships and relationships were formed, and mistakes were made, leading to a future that can no longer be supported in this life.  Things must change, and they do…

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Vintage)
OK. I have not read this one yet; and this thriller/crime is not usually my cup of tea. However, the friends that are raving about this book are not, I thought, thriller/crime cup of tea books either! So, based on the recommendations of friends, the raving reviews, The Dragon Tattoo is going on my list. (And, why is the word VINTAGE tagged on at the end?)

Good Things
This book made me laugh out loud, all the way through. Although, I did carry a sense of self-identification with Deidre, the suddenly un-employed heroine, who finds herself alone at a friend’s lake house where conditions were so bad that she had to spend her first night sleeping in the car. (Remember my first week at the lake?) Deidre stumbles along, trying to recover financially after her own TV show was cancelled, and ends up making muffins for a restaurant just for the cash. Soon, she finds that love, and an abundant career, were right under her nose, all along. This was the uplifting book of the summer.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
I’m still waiting for this from the library… It must be good.

Nice to Come Home To
Beautifully written story about self-discovery, this story is masterfully written with metaphor, a hint of the novel Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and the belief that we cannot plan for everything. Life sometimes steps in and pulls us into that place where we can dance our way through to the right spot. The author has intelligently placed words in the story early on that lead us to the end… Pru, Flowers and their various names, and eventually peach, without a capital P. You’ll soon discover that there’s more to this story than the sentence you’re reading, Plus, Rebecca Flowers, the author, has her own blog, and came up with a cheap and easy way to feed her own kids; a dinner solution that I think you’ll love.

The Sugar Queen

I love (notice the present-tense use of this word — I’m still carrying it around in my heart) Sarah Addison Allen’s book, Garden Spells, for its blend of magic, gardening and food, and the rally of women supporting each other and themselves. The Sugar Queen is again a blend of magic and food, and the transformation of Josie — who finally finds her voice.  I love Sarah Addison Allen.

The Time Traveler’s Wife
Read soon, before you see the movie.

And there are more… please add to the list…

While the stocks plummet, as we read the details about our close brushes with terror, and as we sit cold and wet from this bipolar spring weather, we need a reminder of grander times; when romance pulsed like a fever; when elegance and luxury enticed the fingertips and the taste buds; when Americans were not afraid to build those grandiose, elaborate dreams.

The World Premiere, BalletMet Columbus of The Great Gatsby, is this Friday, showcasing the story that so ironically parallels our own previous times of extravagance and opulence.  Go get dressed up, have some fun and see this.

The ballet’s saucy energy is evident with the Tango and The Fox Trot, clearly indicating that Jimmy Orrante, the show’s choreographer, has lifted the flirtatious up and off the pages of Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel. Extracting the key elements from The Great Gatsby was Orrante’s biggest challenge.   Yes, of course, he read every word. Without the use of Fitzgerald’s prime tool — words –  Orrante choreographed the novel to reveal the turmoil of the characters, and their life-altering choices. While the era easily lends itself to dance, the characters’ motivations are complex. The ballet centers on the simmering love triangle between Gatsby and Daisy and her husband Tom. Key to Orrante’s interpretation is the influence of the social and economic values of the era, which ultimately lead Daisy away from her love for Gatsby.

During the sneak preview, complete with Pineapple Upside Down cake,  Orrante had still not finalized some of the dance steps, allowing us a brief peek at how this master,  recipient of a Choreography Award from the Princess Grace Foundation, works. While he clearly has his own vision, Orrante pulls on the magnetism of his dancers to create an interactive swirl of romance that allows the dancers, with precision, to show us exactly what Orrante wants us to see.  I can only imagine how memorizing the production will be once the dancers are wearing their glitzy costumes.

Once again, costume designer Rebecca Baygents Turk uses her clever talent of balancing the dancer’s need for movement, while staying true to the glitz of the dresses and stiff tuxedos we associate with the 1920s. Rebecca, I could put you to work making some batman costumes that, finally, do let the kids fly. If anybody can do that, Rebecca can.

You can expect to see a generous sprinkling of what we associate with the roaring ’20s, complete with bootlegged parties, big cars and careless dancing. There’s a bit of nostalgia in the elaborate sets — including Goerge Wilson’s humble gas station.  And most importantly, plenty of seductive, flirtatious, and energetic dancing.

Let the arts do their job; let them transport you this weekend to a different era, and inspire some of your own latent dreams. Get your tickets, here.

There is the agony of chauffeuring the kids from soccer practice to play date, and then there is the ecstasy.

This book, Garden Spells by my new wanna-be-best friend, Sarah Addison Allen , has blissfully-entertained me, via Book on CD as I have transported my kids from points A to B to C to C and D…

Check out this little tid bit from Sarah Addison Allen’s bio page:

Garden Spells, my mainstream debut, didn’t start out as a magical novel. It was supposed to be a simple story about two sisters reconnecting after many years. But then the apple tree started throwing apples and the story took on a life of its own…and my life hasn’t been the same since.

There is one cardinal rule we Moms must never break, for the sake of sanity.  Those kid CDs full of their favorite tunes do not work in the car.  Only in their rooms.

Books on CD can get you through weeks of monotonous carpools. You can usually find a great selection at your library. Of course, the trick is to find a book that entertains your passengers as much as you.  Garden Spells did that by introducing a little 5-year-old girl, Bay, who drank milk with sugar, with her favorite food, Pop Tarts.  Of course, there’s also Evanelle, who thoroughly delighted  my kids because she just  “hates summer.” Little do they know why.

Yes, there were a few times when I did have to shut down the CD because the dialogue got a little, how do we say it, too hot for little ears, but there are pause buttons designed for that exact purpose at your convenience with a push of a fingertip.

Once, at a particularly climatic moment, we were almost home.  I had to bypass my driveway, because I literally “could not put the steering wheel down” and ran an extra errand just so I could hear what would happen next.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that get us through the day.  So thank you again, Sarah  Addison Allen, for the passion you put in my little Volvo.  And also, thank you for the recipes.  Mabye I can work up some spells up of my own.

With the exception of some killer plastic race tracks, mass-merchandise toys have little to offer.  Plastic is full of scary stuff, and the plastic toy will have no life beyond this one to reach to the next generation.

One of my sons has this thing, not just for soap, but for elephants.  We made some together in a clay class we took — they were adorable — but, of course, they were so loved that they’re all broken now.  He keeps asking me for an elephant, so I found him one on Etsy.

Look how smooth and silky this wooden elephant looks, and he, gratefully, won’t break when he’s dropped. This one comes with a small chalkboard, chalk, and a little kid journal for him to write (or dictate) his wild elephant stories. This elephant is one that will be around long enough to make memories between us, and to also survive a generation or two so that his ancestors will be able to read about the great elephant adventures he had while playing on the kitchen floor.  I’m in love.  No plastic, no lead paint, just a nice, soft organic seed oil finish.

I’m also intrigued with this soft-as-velvet-looking wooden egg. With beans inside, it rattles when you shake the egg.  You know how much he loves brown eggs. I’m wondering how this girl from Ohio actually makes these orbs out of wood and makes the whole rattle-thing work — pure genius.

Once, when walking through the plastic-lined toy aisle at Target, I thought my Christmas-ideas were limited.  Now, I’ve found a whole new world of toys. Check out this train. I have to tell you Amy, these are awesome.

He told us everything; he left so much unsaid.

I became more intrigued just as he was jetting off to catch a plane, and the group interview with Nicholas Sparks, author of the book, Nights in Rodanthe, (and The Notebook), was coming to its close. The movie, starring Richard Gere and Diane Lane, opens in theaters September 26, 2008.

Sparks cited Dickens’ famous sentence in literature, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,”  as the epitome of literary efficiency. “I would be considered lightly edited,” Sparks says, because “one of the tenets under which I write is efficiency… efficiency is incredibly important to develop in quality literature.”

He told us everything.
When asked how he is able to write such well-rounded female characters, he said, “I have not the slightest idea.” Although he does have a standard group of answers, all true:  “I had a wonderful mother.  I married very well.  All of the most important people in my life at the present time and throughout my publishing career have been women.”

He also told us how he writes half of a novel, and sends this to his agent, a creating writing major, who does a pretty significant line edit. “She suggests deletions of passages.”  From there, the book goes to his editor, “who fills in story gaps.”  And if you’re wondering about timing, “I could do, for most of the vast majority of my books, a total editing process of less than 24 working hours.” His first book was the same.

He sold pharmaceuticals, but didn’t want to do this for the rest of his life.  He had a wife, kids and a mortgage, and wasn’t interested in climbing the corporate ladder.  “So, I asked, what can I do in my spare time and chase my dream and try to make it? What could I conceivable do?”  He had already written two novels, one at 19 and one at 22. “So when I sat down at 28 I said Okay, I’m going to give myself three chances to write a novel and if I don’t succeed, then I’ll know I’m not cut out to be a writer.”

The first novel, which he wrote over a six month period, was The Notebook.  He says, “It wasn’t as hard, it was more the consistency of putting yourself in the chair and doing it.”  He never missed a day of work, didn’t miss much sleep, and didn’t miss spending time with the family because they were in bed most of the time he worked.  He worked once the kids went to bed at 9, and wrote until 12, and half a day on the weekends.

What He Left Unsaid.
Sparks’ book, Three Weeks with My Brother, was based on his trip around the world, and his twofold struggle.  “I was at a point in my life when I was very, very busy. And the number two, finding a way to enjoy it. And that was really what the journey that I was going through was about.”

“By the time I went it felt almost as it it was a burden to go. And that is a shame because that reflects an imbalance in your life.  And to correct that imbalance took time.”

The answers to the puzzle of how Sparks corrected that imbalance can be found in his book, Three Weeks with My Brother. So, Mr. Sparks, what new revelations can you share with us as the book left your heart? A book that was difficult to write, because of the challenge of  “reliving experiences that I’d rather not get emotionally close to again,” he said. “There were tragedies that struck my family and I needed to go back to those places, to put you back there.”

After he admitted he will take such a trip again, he was asked,  “Has your wife taken a similar trip?”  No, he said.  “Does she plan to?”  Sparks said, “Maybe not three weeks, but without question, she will.”

Will there be a Three Weeks With My Brother Part II? Still, I”m left wondering, why isn’t his wife taking a three week trip, reaping the benefits of the lesson her husband learned about correcting imbalances in one’s life?

Possible? Oh yeah. It’s the only way to eat out with kids. Is it expensive? Around $30. (Not including the wine!), for dinner for six. Plus, you’ll probably have enough left-over for tomorrow’s lunch. Here’s how it works.

• Pick a nice high-ceiling Italian Bistro, with low-light, that you and your husband love. Make sure it has one with a wine list.
• The high ceilings in the bistro cause noise to echo around the restaurant, so if you’re kids are fussy and whinny, no one will even notice. The roar of the restaurant while drown out the noise to even your ears.
• Plan to arrive around 5 or 5:30, before the kids are too tired, and the restaurant is not yet flooded with diners.
• On your way to your table, ask the hostess to drop some of the bar’s bread-sticks on the table to keep the kids busy while you wait for the waitress.
• The table is usually covered in white paper, which is a perfect canvass for the crayons your hostess will give each of your children.
• Keep the flow moving. Know exactly what you want to order when the waitress stops by the first time to get the drink orders. This allows her to get your ticket up to the chef right away so that you can be served quickly. A key to keeping the whole evening low-stress.
• You and your husband can pick whatever you like, so enjoy yourselves.
• Order milk for the kids.
• Toss the kid’s menu. You don’t need it and it’s much more expensive. Instead, order an adult sized pizza with the toppings your kids love. An alternative is to split an adult-sized pasta order — plain, or with their favorite sauce.
• Ask the waitress to bring the kid’s food along with yours. I have never understood the rationale behind a waitress offering to bring the kid’s meal out first. Does this mean that as soon as the kids are done eating, the kitchen crew is coming over to entertain your children while you eat? What will the kids do, if they’ve already eaten, and then they have to sit around and wait for you to eat? That’s a recipe for disaster.
• Instead, ask the waitress to ask the baker for a ball of fresh, raw dough for each child to knead while they wait.
• Soon after the bread dough arrives, a basket of fresh bread, with dipping olive oil, will arrive. The kids will probably fill up on this, while they continue to doodle with their crayons and sip their drinks.
• Before you know it, your entrees are served, the pizza arrives, and you’re thoroughly enjoying your meal.
• Ask the waitress for a box to take home your pizza, which will probably end up being tomorrow’s lunch.

You are entirely pampered by the staff all evening, and the relaxed atmosphere makes it much easier to play that game of tic tack toe with your child. The thought of going to a fast-food kid-friendly restaurant with greasy fried animal parts is a world away. And, I think you might be surprised to see that not only will the fast-food meal be more calories, but is probably more expensive than this elegant evening out, when you factor in the the amount of food you’re really getting for $30.

Awesome.

When the leaves begin to turn in the Fall in 2008, I will be sending my third boy to first grade. Full-day, for the first time in our lives.

• Gone will be the long hours of play on the floor with his younger brother as they build their wooden train set.
• Gone will be the mindless conversations between brothers over lunch about which cereal bowl holds the most grains.
• Gone will be the friendly ballad, “You’ve Got A Friend in Me,” while both transform into either Buzz Lightyear or Woody.
• Gone will be cape crusaders quest as they fly up and down the stairs with their utility belt to capture the villainous Joker, Penguin, or Cat Woman, as they speed through the house in their imaginary Bat Mobile.

With Mother’s Day approaching, the boys already have a plan in action. They have the perfect gift in mind for Mom, as she assumes her new role as the primary play mate of the youngest brother. We’ll get her this:

Because, around here, everyday is Mother’s Day.

I’ve made a pact with myself, resulting from 12 years of managing child paraphernalia. The only toys I keep are the wooden ones. Everything else, I will give away. Nothing plastic will make it to my attic, where my boys will come home someday with their own children, as I eagerly pull out treasure after treasure and say, “Your Dad used to love to wear his blue Superman cape while he spent hours building this train.” When my boys are men, it will be a pleasure to sit with someone else, who looks like my son did, and hold these same toys, keeping the magic of childhood alive forever.

The toys are the memory triggers. It will be hard to remember, just what they said, just how intent they were, without the actual toy to remind me. I forget so many things as time slips by.

There are exceptions to the “no-plastics” rule. Anything Toy Story related will not make into the box that I give away. Virtually all of these toys are plastic, and in the hands of my son these toys had life in them. He lined them up at the breakfast table while he ate his hummus. This one held a rocket launcher in his left hand, and this one talked. The web of his childhood, the man he would become, was intertwined within the life he gave to this heap of lime-green plastic. I know it is selfish, but packing these toys away to give to someone else, to recycle them, is like selling the soul. No, I can’t give these away.

Andy, in Toy Story, hung on to his toys. The entire movie is built on the romantic notion that childhood can be savored, prolonged, and immortalized if we are diligent to keep the toys around in the rooms where we live.

I am worse with clothes. I’m keeping them; for a quilt I might learn to make some day. That pair of faded blue overalls he wore while playing on the dust-bunny covered floor is more precious to me than any christening outfit could ever be.

Fortunately, two more boys came along just after the first two, delaying the inevitable moment when I will round up all the toys into a box and put them away, or, recycle them. In 12 years, I have yet to face bare floors. As much as the mess overwhelms me, and wears me down, the day my house is devoid of little figures, tiny screws, and battery compartments that no longer stay attached, will be a sad day.

The toys in our house have not been without their own mishaps. There was the day when Buzz was sat up in the driveway, and Daddy rolled over it with his car, and Buzz was smashed to smithereens.  Lost pieces, and things that have been chewed beyond recognition. Still, from what is left, I garnered the courage to roundup a collection of things my children are no longer interested in, could no longer wear, and believed my memories could survive without. I went to the children’s resale shop. They turned me down. “These items,” they said, “were too worn. We can’t sell these.” Rather than hang my head in shame, I walked out with my box and thought of the Velveteen Rabbit, and the day he became real, like the skin horse, from so much love.