I just finished reading The Book Thief, a beautifully written (remarkably beautiful) book by Markus Zusak about the experiences of a German girl growing up in Hitler's Germany. I cried numerous times throughout the book-- real tears, not a mere lump in my throat or moist eyes with no drips -- but increasingly so as the book drew to a close and the ultimate fate of the characters that I had come to love was being revealed. Once I finished the book, I blew through half-a-dozen tissues crying not just for these fictional characters, but for the real people who inspired the story. The last time I cried so much from a book was Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt -- about McCourt's difficult childhood growing up in Ireland. When reading such books, it is impossible for me to not imagine myself in such situations, which gives me a much deeper emotional response than I would otherwise have at the mere facts of the story.

Last week was No TV Week for my youngest daughter's grade (third). Each child had to sign a contract committing to no television, no computer (except for homework), no iPods, and no games played on handheld computer devices from Monday through Thursday. The reward was no homework for a week.

When was the last time you had a big laugh? I mean REALLY big. Not just a chuckle where you barely break a smile and your teeth don't show. I mean a where your face hurts from smiling, and you have to hold onto a table so you don't fall off your chair.