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I’m still reeling from the Sleepover fallout, so this year for Canada Day I’m just going to share another of my essential book lists.. This one is, naturally, my Canadian Literature list.

Way back when I first started filling up my bookshelves with board books, I started to notice that my own country was woefully underrepresented on those shelves. Not because there are not many wonderful Canadian authors and illustrators out there, but because when you live next to a media giant like the United States, much of your culture tends to get sucked into their gravitational pull unless you make a conscious effort to avoid that fate. So I started making a conscious effort, promising myself and my Diva Baby that at the very least every July 1 would see the addition of some Canadian content to our shelves.

1. Marc Tetro–He’s more an iconic Canadian Artist than a board book writer, but I consider these a real find. The illustrations are wonderfully Canadian, and both The Ladies have grooved on the simple text and concepts in their time. Where Are You From Little Goose? has been a particular favourite through the years.
2. Everybody’s gotta own some Robert Munsch (We’re going to see him in October. Are you jealous? You should be.)
3. Alligator Pie and Garbage Delight by Dennis Lee–wonderfully silly poetry that’s just right for the preschooler set, but not painful for the person who has to read it to them.
4. The Stella and Sam books by Marie Louise Gay–Whimsical art, magical explanations, and a truly beautiful sibling relationship. They are sort of like Max and Ruby, if Max weren’t a jerk and Ruby wasn’t an insufferable prig. These books are filled with gentle magic.
5. Jillian Jiggs by Phoebe Gillman–rollicking text, fun situations that any young child can relate to., and great art with little surprises hidden inside; basically everything a picture book should be.
6.
7. Jacob Two Two by Mordecai Richler–The Hooded Fang is probably the best one, but they’re all fun. They are silly without being ridiculous, and capture the melancholy of always being the youngest without ever condescending to their audience. Richler wrote The Hooded Fang for his own children, and the love he feels shines through the story.
8. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maude Montgomery–I don’t think you can really be a girl–certainly not a bookish kind of girl–and not have been friends with Anne Shirley growing up. Anne is the Canadian Laura Ingalls Wilder. Diva Girl is getting these tomorrow and I can’t wait for her to meet Anne. We’re going to PEI this summer, and I’m sure Green Gables will be on our list of places to stop.
9. Booky by Bernice Thurman Hunter–there are 3 books in this series: That Scatterbrain Booky, With Love From Booky, and As Ever Booky–chronicling growing up in Depression Era Toronto. Booky oftentimes gets overshadowed by Anne, but she deserves her own pride of place.
10 The MacDonald Hall Series by Gordon Korman. Korman’s written a lot of great stuff (including last year’s Canada Day book review), but the MacDonald Hall Books stand out for a few reasons: They are great silly fun, for one thing, and unabashedly Canadian for another. When I was growing up, I think that these were the first contemporary novels I ever read that were set in Canada.
11. Bugs Potter by Gordon Korman–yep, he’s on the list twice. Bugs Potter is quite simply an experience that should not be missed. He’s laugh out loud, tears down your cheeks, pee your pants funny.
12. Tim Wynne Jones
13. Hatchet
14. Crabbe
15. The Fionavar Tapestry by Guy Gavriel Kay–this may be the best fantasy trilogy of all time. If not, it’s certainly in the top 3.
16. Margaret Atwood
17. The Manawaka Cycle by Margaret Laurence–The Stone Angel is simply brilliant; the craft alone is aweinspiring. And The Diviners is quite possibly my favourite novel ever.
18. The Deptford Trilogy by Robertson Davies
19. Timothy Findley

I’ve not traditionally been a fan of the sleepover. As an adult, I mean. As a child–particularly as a teenager–I loved them. As a parent, however, I’ve been lukewarm on the idea at best. Even though it seems like all of Diva Girl’s friends are having them–they’ve been the favoured birthday party theme this year–I’ve been reluctant to allow her to enter this new phase.

I’m just not comfortable with the idea of her sleeping at someone else’s house. Part of that stems from the fact that she’s only been sleeping her in own bed for a few months now, and part of it stems from the scary world we live in. I don’t have any real concern about the dads and older brothers who might be present during these events, but I have to admit, I feel better knowing that she’s tucked up safe in her bed at night with just me and her sister for company. And the idea of having a sleepover at my house? That’s just a whole new set of terrifying possibilities.

Diva Girl has never shared my reluctance, however. She just knows that she’s been missing out on something fun– something that has begun to take on almost mythic proportions in her mind–and she doesn’t like it. It’s not fair she tells me whenever the subject comes up, which seems to be frequently. The rub is, she’s right; it’s not fair. I mean, there’s really no good reason not to have a sleepover here, other than the fact that every time she mentions it, I start to think of all the work it would entail. (In case you haven’t noticed, I tend towards the Slacker category when it comes to my mommy philosophy.)

Sensing a chink in my armor, she’s been slowly wearing me down. Her room is tidy–perfect for long hours playing with her friend. She’ll be good. She’s got that fabulous new tent for them to sleep in. She’ll be good. And, the capper, it’s Summer Vacation. So, this weekend I took a big breath and an even bigger step, telling Diva Girl that while she still isn’t allowed to sleep over at her friends’ houses, she can invite a friend to sleep over here. To say she was happy would be an understatement. An invitation was immediately issued (before I could change my mind, I think), and plans began to be made for The. Best. Sleepover. EVER!

There will be pizza for dinner and movies and junkfood–candy skewers and chips and maybe even rootbeer! There will be Build A Bears and Groovies and Pollies galore, plus skipping ropes, soccer balls, and bubbles. If they’re really lucky, even the pool. Of course there will be late night giggles and threats to go to sleep RIGHT NOW. Most of all, I hope there will be fabulous memories and another layer to what looks to be a beautiful friendship.

And at least some sleep.

Several weeks ago, a new light appeared in the night sky. Only this new light wasn’t attended by wisemen and frankincense and all that. No, this new star came in the form of an amber colored security light outside my apartment. And it made my bedroom glow like a cheap roadside motel. After one sleepless night, I paid a visit to the folks in the management office and very calmly explained to Steve the Manager why, if they didn’t do something about the bright orange spotlight, I was going to hire a 12 year-old with a BB gun to do it for them.

“We’ve had some windows broken in cars, so that light is an added security measure.”

“But it doesn’t face the parking lot, Steve. It faces my bedroom. And I haven’t broken any windows. Or security lights… Yet.”

“Well, I’ll sure see what I can do about it.”

A month passed. Steve, obviously, was not in a hurry and the temptation to invite my friend Jennifer, her boyfriend John, and John’s air rifle over for dinner grew daily. Every night, I closed the blinds as tight as they’d go, drew the curtains across the window, and then toss a heavy crimson sheet over the curtain rod. And still, the room was haloed in a fierce orange light. You have to been a very seasoned hooker to fall asleep comfortably in that kind of aura. And I’m very new at hooking, you see.

Then the rains came. Last night, I thought we were in the middle of a hurricane. The winds were shaking the windows and doors, and the water was pouring off the roof in thick, dark sheets. Hal, who is ordinarily pretty oblivious to such things, heard the weather slamming the windows and made a beeline for the bedroom. I followed. A few minutes later, as I lay on the bed explaining to Hal about God and moving furniture, there was a pop and the prostitute after-glow vanished. Just like that.

I yipped with glee, rolled over and went to sleep.

This morning, I heard footfall on the roof and looked out to see a maintenance man replacing the whore light.

“Crap!”

In nothing but a wife beater and boxers, I ran outside, down the steps and onto the lawn.

“Hey!” I waved to the man leaning over the roof.

“Yuh?”

“Do you think maybe you could turn that light? You know, so it’s facing the cars and not my window?”

He didn’t say a word, but nodded, smiled and with a flick of his wrist, reaimed the fixture. Done and done. Turns out, Steve’s guys work much more quickly without pre-teen, CO2-powered persuasion. Or um, a bra.

Thank you, ladies.

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