So back when, I made a commitment to read at least one book a month. And I’m doing it! Sometimes by the skin of my teeth, and sometimes with glorious aplomb. Here’s what I’ve read so far (since May, to be exact). (And considering that I only read one book—Lucky Man by Michael J. Fox—in the six months prior to my commitment, this list is pretty impressive, thankyouverymuch.)

*The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver. An old favorite, although I think I love Poisonwood Bible more. And her book of essays is fab.

*Free to Learn by Peter Gray. The most perspective-changing book I’ve read all year. Maybe ever. If I had to choose one book for everyone to read, this would be it.

*Shanghai Girls by Lisa See. I got bored halfway through. There’s a brain-scarring rape scene that I wish I hadn’t read. Interesting storyline but long and teetering on tedious.

*The Fault In Our Stars by John Green. Fun (if you call “crying your eyes out” fun, and I do) and fast. I have no interest in seeing the movie. (Feel free to convince me otherwise.)

*Natural Born Learners by Beatrice Ekwa Ekoko and Dr. Carlo Ricci. Some good ideas. Glad I read it. Nothing amazing.

*The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Brilliant and engaging. The perfect Pleasure Read.

*Carry On, Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton. Some new perspectives, but over all her stuff is getting repetitious.

*Home Grown by Ben Hewitt. Slow, thoughtful, meandering. Lots of nature talk (not my thing), but a rewarding look at an alternative worldview. (Though I think I prefer his sharp Outside article and his shootin’-the-breeze blog.)

*Still Alice by Lisa Genova. For the first time, I feel like I have a handle on the monster that is Alzheimer’s. The book is sobering, educational, and easy to read. It reminded me of Flowers for Algernon.

*Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls. Not as good as The Glass Castle, but still good.

*The Death Class: A True Story About Life by Erika Hayasaki. In which a reporter follows a college professor who teaches her students (her class has a three year wait list!) about death. Fascinating concepts. Challenged me to think more directly about death.

*The Astor Orphan by Alexandra Aldrich. Boring as heck.

*Love’s Executioner and Other Tales of Psychotherapy by Irvin D. Yalom. A renowned psychotherapist delves into his doubts, questions, and personal idiosyncrasies (he spares nothing) as he relates to his patients. The details got boggy, but I slogged through. And I’m glad I did! It’s those very details that gave me a better handle on what good therapy is all about (or at least what it’s all about according to Yalom).

*Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?: A Memoir by Roz Chast. A graphic novel about caring for aging parents. Raw, harsh, ugly, and ultimately, profoundly beautiful. (I had no idea that a graphic novel could be beautiful.) My son read it and said, “I hope you guys die fast.” My mom is reading it now and she says it’s “sublime.” I’m recommending it to everyone I see. Everyone. READ IT.

And for the 2014 Grand Finale: here’s my current stack of reads:

It’s a little ambitious but I blame NPR. They did this nifty book of the year thing and so of course I had to immediately hop on the library’s website and put a bunch on hold.

This same time, years previous: flat and marshmallows.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (12.23.13), toasty oatmeal muffins, self care, Christmas pretty, middle-of-the-night solstice party, turkey in a wash basket, and lemon cheesecake tassies.    

I have been stressing over all the Christmas baking on my to-do list. Even with just the basics, it’s a daunting list. My days are already full with kids’ studies and routine household maintenance—I can barely summon the energy to add the time suck that is baking projects.

Then a couple nights ago, my husband took the kids to the church supper and I stayed home. (He skips church to burn things down, so I figured it was okay to skip church to bake things up.) With everyone gone and the extra time saved by not having to do supper prep and clean-up, the stage was set for a cookie baking evening. I poured myself a glass of wine, fixed a plate of cheese and crackers, and proceeded to roll, cut, bake, and ice my way into a sweet stupor. I listened first to John Cleese on Fresh Air, then the rest of a TED Radio Hour on courage (favorite quotes: “Freedom doesn’t exist if you don’t use it,” and “I can collaborate with my opponents to become better at what I do”), and then plunged into Serial. It was just the fix I needed.

The next day, however, in a misguided attempt to maintain momentum, I tried to replicate the evening of yore. I pulled up the next episode of Serial and started pounding out the recipes: fudge, peppermint bark, candied orange rinds, crack, etc. But every time I dared to actually start listening, a kid would appear. The audacity! One sweet girl actually wanted to talk to me and help cook—bless her heart—but I. just. couldn’t. I needed to be alone whydidnooneunderstandthat! To make matters worse, the fudge got too dry, the white chocolate chips didn’t melt properly (NEVER USE GHIRARDELLI WHITE CHIPS FOR MELTING BECAUSE THEY WON’T), and I felt ill from all the tasting. I was getting borderline ragey.

So I went for a walk. That helped. And then I ate a bushel of spinach for supper.

But two days later and I still feel bad for all my badness. It’s one thing to want the kids to leave me alone when they’re little and messy, but it’s quite another to want them out of my hair when they are actually able to help. Plus, they want to be with me. How cool is that? How dare I turn them away?

In all fairness to myself, I got my period the next day. That afternoon I wasn’t exactly at my hormonal best. But even so, I can do better. I can mind my manners and smile and be kind dammit.

Thank goodness there’s such a thing as Making Restitution.

PS. Photos brought to you by the Irrelevancy Board and the Department of Just Because.

This same time, years previous: how to have a dunging-out date, the quotidian (12.19.11), peppernuts, chocolate-dipped candied orange rinds, and walnut balls.