Louisa May and Me

My childhood was not one that could be described as easy or carefree, but there were some great things about it. One of those was that both my parents read to me. A lot.

Even after they split up when I was just 3, they kept reading to me, whether I was in the countryside with my dad, or in the city with my mom. They both shared their love of language and stories and imagination. (Of course, that shared love of literature meant I didn't understand why some books were off limits. When my mom told me I couldn't read Upton Sinclair's The Jungle because I was only about 8, she later caught me reading it in the living room closet with a flashlight. But that's another story, one that also includes the books Jaws and Rosemary's Baby.)

Another, less gruesome, less graphic novel that made a big impression on me was Little Women.

My mother read to me every night, but for some reason I tend to remember the books my father read to me more. Maybe it's because I spent less time with him, or because he always tackled big books and classics. He especially loved reading series.

He read me a lot of Mark Twain, The Hobbit and the Ring Trilogy, and everything we could get our hands on by Louisa May Alcott. I just loved Little Women. Of course, I identified with the headstrong Jo and her writer's ambitions, but all the girls were charming in their own way.

Once, an older cousin had me and another girl cousin come visit her in the Boston area. We took a bus together, talking the whole way. When we got there, she took us to Orchard House, the Alcott's home in Concord. I still have the pictures from the house we toured. I still remember being amazed at the real story of their lives, that Louisa never married; the kindly professor just something she dreamed up for Jo. That she did have a real life who was artistic - her drawings on the bedroom walls were right there for us to see - under glass!

Later, I read previously unpublished books by Alcott, such as A Long Fatal Love Chase, one of her "blood and thunder tales," a gothic, sad, romance much like the ones Jo is always making up in Little Women.

Last week I was sifting through some children's books at the Salvation Army (the recession has made this my new favorite place to shop) and came across a book I'd never seen by Alcott: An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.

As I read the sweet story it made me long for simpler times, for baking things from scratch with my daughter, instead of always being in a rush and using pre-made mixes and pre-made dough. But it also made me think about what I liked about her stories so much. A lot of it had to do with the happiness of the large family. In this story there are eight children! The back of the book is also filled with some great recipes for things like "Louisa May Alcott's Apple Slump" and "Aunt Dotty's Jam Cake."

I guess that big family feel, and a bustling kitchen, are two other things I had when I was growing up. There were four of us kids, but I had to wait a long time for siblings. I was 8 when my first sister came along, and 20 when my last brother was born.

Did I mention that between the four of us there are three different fathers? It's true. But we never used the term "half-sister" or "half-brother" when talking about each other. We were family, and sometimes when we were together, snuggled on the sofa watching Sci Fi movies and just hanging out after dinner, it was the coziest, best feeling in the world for me. I felt like I belonged.

I think Louisa felt that way too about her family, her sisters. It's something that has been making my husband and me very sad - that so far our efforts to expand our family haven't been successful. But maybe it is like my childhood - it just won't be "perfect" but there are a lot of great things about our life.

Like looking forward to reading Little Women to my little girl. And having her cousins over to make cookies from scratch.

This is an original New Jersey Moms Blog post. Theta Pavis is a poet, journalist and editor. When she's not reading she's turning store-bought cookie dough into "home baked" cookies with her kid. If she wasn't a writer she would be a pastry chef.