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    Ähnliche Artikel in unserem Sortiment. Anmelden mit E-Mail-Adresse und Passwort. Die immer wieder neuen und abwechslungsreichen Kollektionen schenken Ihnen, durch die klaren, eleganten Schnitte, ein Gefühl von Freiheit und Lebensfreude.

    These are largely good things. The things we create are a mashup of the people we are. So of course, our geography affects our creativity, too.

    Jane is an illustrator who works with publishers around the world. Her first children's book, "Magic at the Museum," was short-listed for best-illustrated book at the Manitoba Book Awards.

    New routines freak me out. It takes forever for me to adjust to change, so I avoid it at all costs. You can hear in this podcast episode how unstructured my days were.

    I thought I was being flexible, making it easier to change things up depending on what the kids needed. In reality, I was creating more stress for myself and leaving my kids feeling untethered in their days.

    The addition of a third baby plus having my oldest in full-day preschool a few days a week has made it glaringly clear that the status quo is broken.

    No longer can I drift through my days and expect for everyone to be happy by the time evening rolls around. Surprise, surprise! The positive results were almost instantaneous.

    Sick kids? Two weeks away from delivering a baby? Bring on the grocery delivery. Just your average Wednesday?

    But really, the alternative of loading up three kids and dragging them around the grocery store is totally a reason to use a regular delivery service.

    In my head, grocery shopping only took an hour. In reality, it wasted an entire day because we were all so crabby and off-kilter by the time we got home.

    I used to start dinner at because I thought one hour should be plenty of time to get most meals on the table. Every night ended in tears and shouting.

    I now start dinner at and we eat between and And my favorite, we have time to clean the kitchen as a family after dinner rather than my husband and I facing it alone after the kids go to bed.

    There has been much angst over what to do with the kids while I cook. I tried making this their TV time, but the toddler is still more interested in me than Daniel Tiger—flattering, but not helpful.

    By the time we sit down to eat on time! I had a lot of reasons for this, not least of all that I have high sleep needs and none of our kids so far have slept through the night until their first birthday.

    It turns out three kids is my breaking point for a lot of things: getting everyone ready simultaneously, getting any work at all done during the day, finding two minutes to read in peace.

    And so, the early morning ritual so many women swear by has become part of my routine, too. This is less of a routine and more of a commitment to start my days well, even though that looks different depending on the day.

    Nearly all mornings begin with a few minutes of quiet time. Some start at 4 or 5 a. Areas that could still use some more structure include exercise, regular child care, budgeting and bill paying, daily quiet time with the kids, and weekly meal planning.

    Overall, though, things are better than they were. That feels like the best I can ask for with three tiny children at my heels all day long.

    Are there any routines you love? Any small changes that have made a big difference? Let me know in the comments!

    I had a baby, summer happened, and I fell behind on book reviews. But not behind on reading! I'm actually far ahead of my reading goal for The bad news is that I've been less than impressed with some of my book choices in recent months, mostly because I loosened my grip on my deep reading plans while I was in the newborn haze.

    Not every book I've read this summer deserves a full review. Instead, we're going with a star rating and a one-sentence review to keep things quick while I take us through every book I read from May through August.

    This month found me with a weeks-old baby, deep in the throes of sleep deprivation. My reading this month was driven by ebooks I'd purchased on sale for easy one-handed reading while nursing a baby, and much-awaited library books that finally came in.

    I'm already breaking my one-sentence rule so I can tell you that this book is amazing and you won't regret reading it.

    A short read that lays out practical if somewhat aspirational suggestions for parents looking to manage their family's technology use; I especially appreciated the Christian perspective.

    Predictable and fluffy, this book didn't nearly live up to the hype and actually made me feel dumber than I was when I started it.

    Backman once again hits it out of the park with a well-written novel that had me laughing and crying—often on the same page—thanks to an endearing title character that reminds me of my husband.

    June was marked by my return to work after maternity leave and a serious decrease in reading. As per usual, it took me a while to find my new work rhythm after adding another tiny person to the family.

    The two books I read this month took me week to get through, and I owe the fact that I read anything at all to library holds coming in. This month came with a trip to the cabin that resulted in tons of extra reading time.

    I enjoyed the new reading pace, but I let my choices skew too far toward nonfiction for summer. I carried on in my personality framework obsession with this book, which applies the wisdom of the Enneagram to relationships, interactions, and communication with others.

    I have respect for this memoir about a father and daughter battling cancer at the same time, but the writing and the author's personality weren't my cup of tea.

    Time-tracking expert Laura Vanderkam is back with an excellent read on being mindful with your time, being present to your own life, and avoiding the trap of feeling busy even when you're not.

    The first in a dystopian YA series, this novel is like The Bachelor meets The Hunger Games —nothing groundbreaking, but a good summer read that has me interested enough to return to the sequel someday.

    August started off with a plague upon our house hand, foot, and mouth virus that set me back on work and other projects all month long.

    I let my incoming library holds dictate my reading habits yet again, mostly because I didn't have time to be more intentional with my choices without letting my library books go overdue or unread.

    I took issue with some of the writing and pacing, but overall I gleaned some timely lessons from this memoir by a Catholic blogger who balances her six kids with her writing and radio career.

    The pacing was slow at times, but it's impossible to overstate how gorgeous the writing is in this incredibly well-crafted novel about the members of a string quartet.

    This collection of essays spoke right to my book-loving heart, from confessing literary sins purposely keeping library books past their due date because you just HAVE to finish them, anyone?

    I received a free copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for my honest review. The content of this Christian book was pretty good on a topic that's not discussed often enough, but it was a classic case of the wrong book at the wrong time as evidenced by the three months it took me to read it.

    I'm dissatisfied with my reading life lately—I haven't quite been reading what I want to. My goal is to read only four- and five-star books.

    I didn't fall too far short of that this summer, but the handful of not-great books were SO not-great that I feel like they dragged down my overall perception of my summer reading choices.

    As I head into fall, I want to be more intentional with the books I pick up so I can make the most of my reading time.

    Maybe I'll even take a library hiatus so I can work through the backlog of books I own and haven't read yet. There's a couple that walks down our street every night after dinner, a boy and girl who are most likely newlyweds.

    They're just a few years younger than I am, still lightened by the weightless possibility that comes in those post-graduation years of your early twenties.

    My husband and I good-naturedly refer to them as Hipster Couple. They resemble each other in the way that long-term couples do.

    They both wear huge plastic glasses and, occasionally, matching fedoras that top their honey-colored hair. He has a signature goatee and a love of both flannel and suspenders.

    She wears only warm neutrals and has the impressive ability to pull off wide-leg pants with confidence. They even have a pair of matching dogs, each of them holding a leash.

    Hipster couple is always touching each other. Sometimes they hold hands, but more often he'll have his arm draped across her shoulders, or she'll have hers circling his waist.

    If the dogs are pulling them apart, they still manage to lean towards each other, as though they're magnetized.

    I have never seen them not talking, not smiling, or not laughing. They're adorable, is what I'm trying to say. I refuse to feel creepy about watching them whenever they pass by.

    For one thing, our house is on a hill with a huge picture window facing the street; it's hard not to notice who's walking along.

    But more than that, I'm drawn to them. It's like watching a rom-com day by day. They make my heart happy every time I see them. More than once, I've felt the urge to snap a few candid photos and anonymously leave them in their mailbox after following them to discover where they live in the most non-stalkerish way possible.

    I think they deserve to see what their love looks like from afar. Jacob and I can't help but comment on them. Mostly I'll talk about how happy they look and he'll talk about how he doesn't understand fashion these days.

    But the other day, we had this exchange. I hope they never move. I hope I get to keep watching them walk by for years and years, eventually accompanied by a pregnant belly, then a stroller, then laughing, smiling, honey-haired children.

    I want to watch this far-away, shining love story go on forever. And I'm not delusional, okay? I know that I don't actually know them, that maybe all of us would look this happy and in love if people couldn't see our screaming fights and our secret fears and the nights we feel so far apart, even though we're sitting on the same couch.

    All I'm saying is, this boy loves that girl, and that girl loves this boy, so much that perfect strangers can see it from their living room window.

    That's the kind of love I'm going to keep believing in, even if it makes me the crazy stalker lady in the house on the hill.

    I used to read out loud to my mom. I was ten, or maybe twelve. The Harry Potter books had become an obsession for me. Was Snape good or bad? Could Dumbledore keep everyone safe now that Voldemort had returned?

    Would Harry beat Malfoy in the next Quidditch match? These were the questions that consumed my brain, and I had no one to discuss them with. My mom isn't much of a reader.

    Despite my badgering, I could never get her on board with reading thousands of pages of books meant for children.

    So when she was trapped in the car with me, usually on our way to my grandma's house for coffee each Sunday morning, I'd read them to her.

    She liked them. Loved them, actually. Soon every Target run was a chance to squeeze in a few more pages.

    I started doing voices and speaking in a British accent. My utter lack of theater skills mean this was every bit as embarrassing as it sounds.

    I introduced my mom to the magic of Harry one minute car ride at a time. I had successfully shared a story that mattered to me with someone else, and I was ecstatic.

    I can't remember how many books we got through before I stopped reading to her. Did we quit after the massive tome that was Goblet of Fire?

    Did the ritual end once I got my first boyfriend and started riding everywhere in the passenger seat of his Chevy Cavalier instead of with my parents?

    Deathly Hallows came out when I was 17, and I'm sure I wasn't still reading out loud by then. Did my mom finish the books on her own, waiting until I had raced through each new release in less than a day so she could borrow my copy?

    Or did she just watch the movies once I stopped reading out loud? The details I can't remember are startling.

    I'm not even This wasn't that long ago. But up until a few years ago, I'd forgotten that we used to read Harry together at all.

    Then my oldest daughter, Hadley, was born. Everyone tells you that reading to babies is good for them, but babies don't have much of an opinion about which books you pick.

    I took full advantage of this. We were a few chapters into Sorcerer's Stone when I started having deja vu. Had I done this before?

    By the end of the first book, I remembered my car readings with my mom. By book two, my non-reader husband was listening in. I was once again sharing the story with someone who would otherwise never have known its magic.

    Hadley is nearly four now, and old enough to be freaked out by things like an evil giant snake living in school walls.

    We made it through Goblet of Fire and her first 18 months of life before I decided it was time to shelve Harry for the time being. Now there are the Dr.

    Seuss books to hold her attention with their neverending rhymes, and Go Dog, Go with that horribly rude yellow dog who never likes the poor poodle's hat.

    Hadley has opinions about her books now, and the ones she most wants to hear are often the most tedious to read. It's hard to bond over phonics and early-reader books.

    I want to share a story with my kids. But stories, real stories, seem to be in a short supply for the under-five crowd.

    So I do what I've always done, ever since I was a year-old tearing through Gone with the Wind and tackling my first Kingsolver: I read up to them.

    Not too long—attention spans are still short. Hidden messages and strong values are always a plus, as are gorgeous illustrations. These books will likely have tearable pages and dust jackets, and the two-year-old will gradually destroy them.

    But that's okay; the story is just as good with some tattered edges. These books have been hard to come by.

    And now there's a new addition to our bedtime rotation, another worthwhile story to fit in between sessions of Cat in the Hat. The Golden Dress by L.

    Barkat checks all the boxes for me. There's whimsy and magic, a beautiful dress any girl would adore brought to life with illustrations so gorgeous, I can't even put words to them.

    There's a dedication to all those who love fairy tales, which had me sold before I even got past the title page.

    There's an impressive use of vocabulary, which I appreciate in kids' books because it encourages research and curiosity.

    I had to look up the word lissome , myself. And most of all, there's a mother and her daughter. A mother's heart laid bare in the seams of a dress, a daughter's slow understanding.

    This isn't a book that teaches manners or how to use the potty or a million other important little lessons we beat into our children's heads day and night.

    The Golden Dress accomplishes something far more difficult: it's a story that shines truth. I have read to my mother. Now I read to my daughters and, when he's older, my son.

    With every word I'm speaking stories into life, hoping that with enough rereads, the most important of our bedtime stories will stick in a beloved childhood memory somewhere.

    And if they don't stick, if they fade and wear away like mine almost did, maybe those words I read over and over again will have stacked up, layer upon layer, into the sturdy foundation that makes a child into a lover of stories.

    I received a free copy of The Golden Dress from the publisher in exchange for my honest review. Follow Share Share Email.

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    By selecting "Submit", I authorize Rasmussen College to contact me by email, phone or text message at the number provided. There is no obligation to enroll.

    OK, Got It. Ashley Brooks Ashley is a freelance writer for Collegis education who writes student-focused articles on behalf of Rasmussen College.

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