Don't Even Think About It, Lauren Henderson

Starting in the late 1970s, my whole extended family gave my grandparents (the heads of a family of nine children) a week on Cape Cod. I use the word "gift" loosely, as we ultimately all joined them in this small cottage for a week of family frenzy. Summer after summer, we returned to this same cottage that, eventually, began to feel like our own. Nothing changed about the cottage (until it practically tumbled into the sea, but I'm ignoring that part), except what books you'd find on the shelves. The titles were rarely anything a 12 year old would recognize and fell heavily in the Rosamunde Pilcher and WWII varieties, neither of which held my interest. Every summer, however, once I depleted those in my own stack, I'd find at least one book that could help pass the time once the sun went down and the card playing started. There's something to be said about books you choose simply because they are there for the taking as opposed to books for which you have some set expectations.

Brendan reading on the deck, 1980 or 81, Dennis, MA

This little vignette has little to do with "Don't Even Think About It", other than it was within my reach early yesterday morning when my daughter finally fell back to sleep after a long night of being sick. I didn't want to risk waking her by leaving to grab my book from the other room, and this was what was available. By the time my daughter was in a deep sleep, I was halfway through, and managed to finish all but the final pages before my younger boys woke up. (Have you realized now that I am the world's most finicky sleeper?) Other than the presence of air conditioning and adult responsibility, it was just like those summer nights on the Cape. Well, almost. Honestly, I really have nothing to say about "Don't Even Think About It", other than the fact that I read it. I apologize in advance for the next book on my log, because my daughter didn't sleep well last night either.