It is Family Literacy Day. Which kind of begs the question: isn't everyday family literacy day?

Does a day go by in your family without talking about books or reading? Or at least yelling at your kids to get their reading done?

How many times have you as a mother thought: someone should really invent [fill in blank], life would be so much better and they would make a million dollars.

Well, some moms have gone out and done that and while most are not making a million dollars, they are finding that being a "mompreneur" adds another dimension to their lives that they were craving. And their products are hitting the target market as well as getting lost of buzz. (Check out Candace Alper of Name Your Tunes in People Magazine!).

If I really wanted to mess my kids up I would self-publish some books and leave them lying around the house. One of them would be called "Maggie Goes On a Diet and Becomes Popular", another might be "How To Look Like Barbie" and "How to Exercise to the Point Of Exhaustion So You Can Have a Killer Butt Before The Age of 12".

Luckily, the first one about Maggie going on a diet is ready to hit the store shelves so I don't have do a mock-up of it. You can see the cover here, with a poor chunky Maggie staring wistfully into a mirror holding a too-small pink dress. Poor Maggie.

 

I had a rough couple of years in primary school. My grade three teacher disliked me (who dislikes an 8-year-old?); she had put me in the lowest reading group and routinely yelled at me for my poor handwriting.

Sounds silly doesn't it? The lowest reading group? But it wasn't silly to me - an avid and advanced reader at the age of eight. She chose to focus on the fact that I couldn't do bubble writing with hearts for dots over the "i" and said I needed help. At best it was demoralizing, at worst it made me loathe school and myself.

 The best thing that I can say about my grade four teacher was that she let us listen to "If You Think I'm Sexy" by Rod Stewart while we brushed her long, golden hair.

 

I think that reading is cool again. That's a huge relief to me because I like to be a little cool and I like to read; and I really wanted my kids to love reading it the way that I do. But it is hard to be a reader when the messages all around you are that reading is for dweebs.

I don't think that I could have gotten through my elementary years without Anne of Green Gables who taught me it was okay to love words and be a little different -- and introduced me to my first pretend boyfriend: Gilbert (sigh). The Phantom Tollbooth put images and words to emotions and predicaments in such a real way that I still use the examples.

There is a plethora of choice out there when it comes to books. This list is a great start (we have read almost everything on it) but a knowledgeable bookseller or librarian who will work with your kid to find the right book is indispensable. The  magic that happens when a kid finds "the book" cannot be duplicated by any screen.

So what holds a special place on our bookshelves? (Note: the list changes weekly)

It’s easy to be smug about what you feed your kids – especially for me. I cook from scratch, I don’t buy processed foods and there isn’t any pop in our house. I can without a doubt give the evil eye to the woman who filled up her one-year old’s bottle with iced tea straight from the can.

Or can I?

What is the first treacherous obstacle of parenting? Choosing a baby name of course. Every couple has a strategy or at least someone who feels they made a compromise. And If you ever hit a lull in the schoolyard  conversation, a good topic to bring up? Baby names. Everyone loves to talk about why they named their children what they did and even better is commenting on the weird names chosen by celebrities as well as your neighbours.

Holidays are great, but they are also hard. It feels sometimes like everyone's behaviour is under a microscope. And once that behaviour is being studied -- watch out that's when the labels get applied and when parenting anxieties can grow.

At a low point on our holiday at a relative's cottage last summer I grabbed a slightly browned copy of Liberated Parents, Liberated Children: Your Guide to a Happier Family by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish off the shelves. I knew the authors from their other, better known books, How to Talk so Kids Will Listen & LIsten So Kids Will Talk and also Siblings Without Rivalry. Their parenting style is rooted in a deep respect for the kids and for themselves. And while the language (and the title) is outdated the following excerpt struck a chord with me.

Check it out, it is worth a read.

You know those two women at the school holiday concert. The ones who are chatting and laughing? That's me and my friend. I'm sorry if we are disturbing you, it's just that school concerts -- well, they are bad, and hot and uncomfortable and I always have a squirmy toddler/preschooler on my knee who needs to pee.

I know its sacrilege to diss the school holiday concert. But come on, except for those four shining moments when your child is on stage and the world around you stops, the whole experience is quite painful. And I don't want to downplay those moments when you see your child singing/acting/playing instrument or in my case just mouthing the words on stage. Because seeing your kids on stage, no matter how goofy the song, will always bring tears to your eyes. It's just the rest of the time in the crowded, badly lit gym, listening to other people's children that is so bad. Most parents spend a few minutes during every concert doing the math and come to a similar painful conclusion -- I have at least 12 more in my future.

The thing is the holiday concert is a huge deal around my house because my son Aaron hates being on stage. And I don't mean hate like he doesn't like it, I mean HATE like he can barely cope with the idea of it. He has an irrational fear of performing. And I have told his new school this year, as I told his school last year -- I don't care if he is in it or not, if need be find him another job so he can contribute to the show in another way. Because for a few days leading up to the show his fear starts to interfere with his life.

  I have been lucky enough to be in Jamie Oliver’s hotel room. And I doubt there is a woman (or man) alive who wouldn’t feel a little heat rising when the Naked Chef call you "cheeky" in close proximity to his  bed (even if you don't have a thing for chefs). That was eight years ago and even then, his passion for food was evident but who knew that underneath the rumpled fauxhawk there was a crusader waiting to come out?

Fast forward to the present day and Jamie Oliver is still the same sexy, charismatic, man-child chef. But now the father of three is on a mission to change the way people cook, eat and subsequently live.  And in doing so he may just may change the world. Hyperbolic? Perhaps, but spending time with Jamie Oliver is like that, his passion is contagious even when you are sharing the room with 2300 other fans.