Michael and Ann, the really excellent bloggers at Books on the Nightstand, have challenged their readers to show them their nightstands. At the risk of exposing my slothful ways, I'm obliging them here.
This is an unedited, unstaged view of my nightstand. Note that the lone "grownup" book (David Sedaris's When You Are Engulfed in Flames) is outnumbered by the books I read to my four-year-old daughter every night, including Happy Halloween, Hello Kitty; Little Quack; and Parts. Every night she drags in three new selections from her bookcase. She hasn't mastered putting things back where they belong (my fault, and the bane of my existence), so they pile up for weeks until I do a massive purge and sort, and take them back to her room.
Note also my phone charger cord, which I now unplug every morning because Barack said I should.