Book Crack
Sounds vaguely nasty, doesn't it? Book crack. In my world, the meaning is clear. It's the book I open when I've finished reading to the boys, the lights in their room are off, their voices are down to a whisper and the odd giggle, and I've turned off the heat and crawled under the covers to read (I've developed climate control stinginess as I've become my father). But that's not the crack part. Because the crack on the chin from the iPad when I fall asleep does not book crack make. No, it's the butt crack of dawn that shines through the window when I finally turn off the kindle (really, the facial bruises from the iPad suck) and debate getting up to write, or snuggling down for an hour, maybe two if I'm lucky and don't have something to shower for that morning. Because it's always with a frown at my own self-indulgence, and a smile of satisfaction at the experience of reading a GREAT story that defines true book crack. And of course, b