I'm reading a book called "a complicated kindness" by Miriam Toews. I'm half way through.

Maybe it's me, but I just don't get the book. Well perhaps I get it, but I don't particularly enjoy it. And I feel a little guilty because it's supposed to be a good book. It says so on the inside cover. It says "a work of fierce originality and brilliance". I mean it doesn't suck, but it's all about a Mennonite girl growing up and wondering about the outside world. And so far that's it.

There's nothing really 'happening' and I keep waiting for it to get more exciting. It had better... it's due back at the library tomorrow and I have another book in the wings.

I bought this new book on impulse today. All because of the back cover:

"This is what it means to be a mother, I realized. It had nothing to do with being old enough of knowing everything or keeping to a strict schedule. It had to do with loving someone with a love so huge, the rest of the world became insignificant by comparison. No fear I felt would ever amount to anything, compared to what I felt for my child. No task would ever be too hard for me. No one would ever be able to make me feel small. I was The Mama. You don't get any bigger than that."

So there in the middle of the bookstore I was getting all teary eyed and I knew I had to buy the book. It's called "No Mountain High Enough: Raising Lance, Raising Me" by Linda Armstrong Kelly, the mother of Lance Armstrong.

It seems she too was a single mother.

So this other book has another night to get interesting or I'm going to do something I hate to do to any author's baby... just put it back on the shelf.