Back when I had all the time in the world to read, I'd never abandon a book without finishing it. Even if I couldn't stand it, I had to get to the end. It was the principle of the thing. I'd started it, I had to finish it. Now, though, with two kids, work, and book deadlines of my own, I have no qualms about giving up on a book that doesn't hook me. For some books, that means hanging in for the first hundred pages to see if something meandering strengthens into something compelling. For other books, the first page is all I can manage. (I am shameless about this impatience: absolute dealbreakers for me are protagonists with folksy, metaphorical names and characters who live in folksy, metaphorical towns – Justice Walker from Perfect, Texas? Sorry, not reading. Precious Beauregard from Truth, Alabama? That goes right back on the shelf.) Nowadays, I admit, I am brutal with my judgment. With little time to read for pleasure, I want to make sure what I'm reading is truly pleasurable. I'm happy to say that Lisa Tucker's Once Upon A Day was a pleasure.
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It’s something I’ve noticed for awhile now. Somehow my son Brooks can remember every cent of allowance owed to him, yet for the life of him cannot recall where he left his uniform when we’re already ten minutes late for a game. Or that I reminded him last night to take his trumpet to school today.Welcome to the world of kid's selective attention. Well, much to my relief, it turns out this is not just my own perception – that kids having a firm grasp of certain things and no recollection of others turns out to be a developmentally appropriate fact of nature.


