Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama.  What does that name resonate for you?  To me it is determination, inspiration, adoration, compassion and no nonsense with flair!  She was not just our First Lady from 2009 to 2017, she is that friend, girl next door with saavy! I do hope that we all realize that this is not the first book that Michelle Obama has been in or written.  The uniqueness about this book it is all her without question and it is Becoming!

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Ever since she first graced our screens and our hearts Michelle Obama has left an indelible and lasting impression on all of us around the world.  Though I have not had the chance to read this book yet, in two weeks she managed to become a international best seller topping 2 million in sales!  She did in two weeks what took #45 over 2 years to accomplish. In her book she invites you to read about her accomplishments, triumphs and tragedies in her life.  She lets us in on what being in the White House is like and being married to Barack Obama,her family and personal stories.  I personally cannot wait for my copy of this book to come and add life to my bookshelf.

Whether you come from a council estate or a country estate, your success will be determined by your own confidence and fortitude.  Michelle Obama

Here is an excerpt from her book!  Make sure to go and get a copy and report it to management if you see her book is not sitting on the shelf along with other noteable authors.  There have been stores reported to be placing her book on the floor and in back corners in the hopes of limiting sales.


At school we were given an hour-long break for lunch each day. Because my mother didn’t work and our apartment was so close by, I usually marched home with four or five other girls in tow, all of us talking nonstop, ready to sprawl on the kitchen floor to play jacks and watch All My Children while my mom handed out sandwiches. This, for me, began a habit that has sustained me for life, keeping a close and high-spirited council of girlfriends—a safe harbor of female wisdom. In my lunch group, we dissected whatever had gone on that morning at school, any beefs we had with teachers, any assignments that struck us as useless. Our opinions were largely formed by committee. We idolized the Jackson 5 and weren’t sure how we felt about the Osmonds. Watergate had happened, but none of us understood it. It seemed like a lot of old guys talking into microphones in Washington, D.C., which to us was just a faraway city filled with a lot of white buildings and white men.

My mom, meanwhile, was plenty happy to serve us. It gave her an easy window into our world. As my friends and I ate and gossiped, she often stood by quietly, engaged in some household chore, not hiding the fact that she was taking in every word. In my family, with four of us packed into less than nine hundred square feet of living space, we’d never had any privacy anyway. It mattered only sometimes. Craig, who was suddenly interested in girls, had started taking his phone calls behind closed doors in the bathroom, the phone’s curlicue cord stretched taut across the hallway from its wall-mounted base in the kitchen.

As Chicago schools went, Bryn Mawr fell somewhere between a bad school and a good school. Racial and economic sorting in the South Shore neighborhood continued through the 1970s, meaning that the student population only grew blacker and poorer with each year. There was, for a time, a citywide integration movement to bus kids to new schools, but Bryn Mawr parents had successfully fought it off, arguing that the money was better spent improving the school itself. As a kid, I had no perspective on whether the facilities were run-down or whether it mattered that there were hardly any white kids left. The school ran from kindergarten all the way through eighth grade, which meant that by the time I’d reached the upper grades, I knew every light switch, every chalkboard and cracked patch of hallway. I knew nearly every teacher and most of the kids. For me, Bryn Mawr was practically an extension of home.

As I was entering seventh grade, the Chicago Defender, a weekly newspaper that was popular with African American readers, ran a vitriolic opinion piece that claimed Bryn Mawr had gone, in the span of a few years, from being one of the city’s best public schools to a “run- down slum” governed by a “ghetto mentality.” Our school principal, Dr. Lavizzo, immediately hit back with a letter to the editor, defending his community of parents and students and deeming the newspaper piece “an outrageous lie, which seems designed to incite only feelings of failure and flight.”