Summer came and went and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland sat on my bedside table waiting patiently for me to return. I’ll admit, I cheated on Alice and read a few other novels. But if it helps, I felt guilty the whole time.
I read The 19th Wife by Eric Ebershoff and enjoyed every word. I was transfixed by the parallel stories of Ann Eliza Young, the 19th wife of Brigham Young and a murder in a modern-day polygamist sect. Ebershoff’s tale combined the satisfaction of reading a mystery with the element of discovery that frequently drives me to read historical fiction.
Just yesterday I finished Julie & Julia by Julie Powell. Powell’s memoir about cooking her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking was neurotic, funny and delightful, like many of my favorite people.
As I closed the last page of Julie & Julia and reached over to rest it on my bedside table, I found Alice waiting for me. The guilt I felt at staring an unfinished novel in the face was a combination of mommy guilt and diet guilt. It was bad enough that I’d abandoned Alice, now I’d been caught devouring another book in her presence.
I picked her up again, turned to my place at chapter eight and fell right back down the rabbit hole. I landed in the midst of a royal croquet match. The Queen of Hearts stomped around yelling “Off with their heads.” 
It was unnerving. I hate to admit it but I was more than a bit reminded of myself as I stomp throughout my house each morning packing lunches, fixing hair, tying shoes and sending my kids off to school. I was distracted from reading by that dreaded mommy guilt. No one wants to find an unflattering reminder of her worst behavior in the character of a tyrannical queen. But to be honest, and my kids will back me up on this, I tend to rush around the house like a short-tempered queen a lot this time of year. Needless to say I was a little bit nicer this morning. I don’t want to give my kids any more materials for their inevitable appearance on Dr. Phil.
