I’m a born reader.

My earliest memories include laying upside down on a couch or a chair, my feet slung up on the back and my head hanging off the edge, with a book in my hands. Usually it was a Little House on the Prairie book, maybe one of the Babysitter’s Club novels or Sweet Valley High as I got a little older. I read and re-read, I dog-eared pages and brought books in the bathtub. If there is one thing that could define who I am as a person, it is reading. If a wish fairy showed up out of thin air today to grant me one day to do anything that I wanted, I would wish to be alone on a tropical island with a hammock in the shade and a stack of books. And endless Pina Coladas. But I digress.

I have a Kindle, and I have the Kindle app on my phone. It is almost a magical thing, to be able to search for a book and have it to read almost instantly. I love the convenience of my Kindle, and I am very grateful that such a thing exists. But books. In-the-flesh, smelling like paper, turn-a-real-page books are my true love. I recently made a vow to myself that I would read at least one real book a month, and I have been sticking to it. We have a wonderful local bookstore, Next Chapter, and I love going in there and browsing the shelves to pick just the right novel. I tend to gravitate towards historical fiction, with British chick lit taking a close second in my perusals of both real and online bookshelves. But really, I will read anything. From biographies and true life crime to classics and photography books, I have rarely met a book that I didn’t like.

Currently, I am reading What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty. It is at times laugh-out-loud funny and sometimes it has hit me with such a huge dose of Mommy-reality that I have teared up. I won’t give too much away, but Alice is a mother of three on the verge of turning forty who wakes up after a head injury she gets during a Spinning class to discover she has lost the last ten years of memories. She has no memory of any of her children or of the fact that she is in the middle of a nasty divorce. The book touches on a lot of heart-wrenching subjects, from custody battles to infertility, but manages to stay light-hearted and quite funny at its core. I haven’t quite finished yet, but I have a feeling my nightstand lamp will be on well past my bedtime tonight in order to read the last chapter.

In a life hectic with children, a husband, home renovations, school schedules, and a home business, I have found that reading keeps me sane. It is something that is for me and me alone. I choose my books for my own pleasure, and even though they often keep me awake long after I should be catching up on lost sleep, they are the friends who are always there for me. I may not get to vacation in Europe or have a wardrobe full of the latest fashions, but I can open up The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown for a dose of European art and architecture or The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger if I want to get lost in the world of fashion for a bit.

Books have helped me work through problems, taught me new skills, and healed heartaches. Surely I am not the only one, and I would love to form some kind of virtual book club with other moms who love to read.

And please, if you happen to run into a wish fairy, would you send her my way? I’m long overdue for my day of reading on the beach.