So first things first. My sister in law bought me this fantastic little book called: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Getting Published.

It's fantastic.

And when I am properly published. I mean in print. Than I will have this book to thank for.

And of course Kylee.

But the book as well.

Here is my question. Does the title mean the Complete Idiot. Like an Idiot in the most complete sense of the word. OR. A Complete Guide FOR Idiot's?

I don't mind being an idiot. But a complete idiot??? That seems a little harsh.

I have a confession.

I have a disease.

It's bad. Although it might be classified more closely as an addiction since I'm not physically ill, but said ailment does take me away from family, responsibility and any kind of human social interaction whatsoever for long periods of time.  I think that means it's an addiction.

I just finished reading a book. And by just finished. I mean. I just spent the last 36 hours enraptured in the literary world, ignoring children(Although not entirely, that is of course really hard to do when its just you and them), husband, mealtimes, bedtimes and any other insincere necessity that tried to take place over fiction.

Like laundry.

I am like this with every book I read. (An exception is being made for the previously mentioned Idiot's Guide. I need a good love story to really capture my entire attention.) Every single book.

Even bad books, I'm like just get me to the end.

But this last book wasn't bad. It was very good. In fact, I would say perfect. Well, perfect for me. It had everything I love: a secret marriage, a history lesson, big words, young love, nazi's.

Ok. I don't love Nazi's.  No one does.

But they do make a good story.

And with the help of my children, I pretty much stayed up the entire night reading that good story.

It really is a disease. Something I have to see through from start to finish. And I rarely find any time to put the book down and do some real work.

Yikes.

And last night was a particularly perfect night for me to do nothing but read.

On the way to pick up Zach, besides nearly running out of gas, my phone died. Which was fine because it died only a few minutes away from his work, so when we picked him up his phone was still charged.

A tiny bit.

And then his phone died once we got home. And in the rush from the car to feed the baby to start dinner to handle hungry children neither one of us found the seconds to plug in our battery-less phones.

Meanwhile, earlier in the day I had unplugged the computer and taken it to the kitchen where I could look something up while making lunch.

I had forgotten to plug back in the computer and during the shuffle that also was neglected.

This scenario probably happens to Zach and I at least a couple times a week. It's usually never a big deal and can be remedied by the closest outlet. But last night.

Last night. We were completely unprepared for Country Life.

The power went out. Just as I had finished cleaning up dinner and started the dishwasher.

I heard the soap drop. And then everything was dark. Well almost dark.

Thank God for Daylight Savings Time. It had to have been His idea. A divine revelation for whoever figured out Fall Backwards and Spring Forwards.

But anyways. Without TV. Without Phones. Without Computer. Without even a working clock. And children who go to bed at 7:30. You can imagine the night we were in store for.

Thankfully, I was enraptured in a good book. And Zach is in the middle of mine. (Finally. I tried to convince him to read it before I published it. I said, "Don't you think you should know what I'm putting out there????? What if you should be embarrassed of me??" And he said, "No. I trust you." But now he is reading it. Whew.)

So anyways, we gather all of the candles from all over the house into our living room, saving one for the kitchen, one for each of the bathrooms and one for the hallway so the girls would have a make-shift night light and created light like the old days. Fun fact: We don't own a flashlight! Can you believe that??? I am going to have to go to Wal-Mart this week and fix that. They seem more important now than they used to!

Anyways it was like the old days. The really old days.

We looked like a Christmas Eve Service at a busy Catholic Church. And while we lit them, it was very similar to Mass I think. I said a prayer with each one, hoping that the power would turn back on and turn back on soon and all of our food in the Refrigerator and Freezer wouldn't get ruined. And Zach muttered the whole time about burning down the house, with a turn my direction and statement of, "Careful... Careful.... Not by the curtains!"

But it was very romantic. Us in our own chairs. Reading by candle light. Deciding that we never would have made it had we been born in different centuries. Romantic and Peaceful and Quiet. Blissfully quiet.

The difference between Zach and I is that he can say enough is enough and go to bed, even if he has to sleep terribly because I'm not there with him.

I on the other hand, cannot say good night until I have read at least most of the book and then lay their awake thinking about the rest.

And last night was no exception. At least I had children in a progression to keep me company.

Stryker.

Scarlett.

Stryker.

And when finally they were all asleep with at least three solid hours before I had to get up again, I made my way to my bed and saved the last few chapters for this morning.

Finally, the book is finished. And life can begin again.

Into another set of books. But these are my own and instead of reading, I am editing. And editing is most like scolding your naughty children than the true enjoyment of reading someone elses work of fiction.