There's a rule in our house, that for any occasion warranting a present, the gift should be a book. We have what we need and though we covet plenty, we both love books and we want to read, even if I don't necessarily have time. There's also something rather modest and heartfelt about giving a book, and I like that with so many to choose from, giving a book still requires some imagination and effort.
My collection of unread books has been growing since becoming a mother. I blame the sleep deprivation and the fact that some days, I'm still in my pyjamas at lunch time, so escaping into a good book isn't exactly a priority. I didn't think it would be possible but I've managed somehow to finish a novel, and in a reasonable amount of time, too. A Barbara Kingsolver novel of course (The Bean Trees), and I'm already reading the sequel! The irony is that it's because I'm a mother that I am now managing to read, thanks to my sleepy little feeder Max, who lets me kick back with a book while he has his fuzzy evening breast feed. Perhaps I need to stop worrying about the seemingly endless tasks and projects I'd like to accomplish and be happy that at the very least, I get to sit down every day, read a book and then write about it.