Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

You know how those mornings feel–when you feel like you’re going from thing to thing to thing, so you’ve done a lot, except that you also feel like you really haven’t? That’s what a number of my mornings feel like, honestly, and so here’s a list for you (for myself?) of what I did before noon today. (Okay, technically, 12:03. Close enough, right?)

In no particular order, I have:

-made 1.25 lunches

-made and eaten my breakfast while deleting 2 Pinterest emails and working my way halfway through a book email

-brushed my teeth

-made my bed

-did my Spanish Book of Mormon reading

-successfully purchased 2 tickets for tonight’s junior high play over the phone

-finished unloading the dishwasher

-did the dishes, including loading and running the dishwasher, cleaning out both sides of the sink, wiping down dirty counters and the stovetop, and washing by hand the skillet that doesn’t go in the dishwasher

-listened to 2 General Conference talks while working on a puzzle

-sorted my senior’s dirty clothes and put a load of wash into the washing machine

-brought the clean laundry left from my last load upstairs to be put away

-filled my pills

-added two weekly Pinterest goals to help keep myself on track with my gospel study

-knitted two rows on the scarf I’m doggedly making for my senior

-gotten clothes out for my 6th grader, which currently includes finding a long sleeved shirt in the bin of long sleeved shirts that is a)weather appropriate and b)likely to fit her, because it’s that time of year

-said morning prayer with my younger kiddos before the high schoolers left for the bus stop

-texted back and forth to reschedule my knitting appointment

Okay, that might be it. And the question remains–was that a lot? Or a little? Because it feels like a lot of individual things, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything impressive. AND I still have quite a few more individual things left to do today. Which means, I suppose, that I should get going on those things.

I wonder, though. Can a morning be both a lot and a little? Can it be both?

What do you think?

-finished a book for Battle of the Books, including taking notes for questions

-read my random magazine article for the day, plus an extra article for yesterday

-said my morning prayer

I’m finally getting to the review I’ve been putting off, folks, because I’m finally alone in the house–sort of. (Meaning that my oldest, the service missionary, is home sick, but she’s still sleeping AND she’s more responsible for herself than the others, so that doesn’t count at the moment.) When I visited my mother in September after my dad went into memory care, I brought along a stack of juvenile nonfiction, thinking I might read something aloud to her if she was interested and wanting to have plenty of options for her to choose from. Interestingly, she told me she loves being read to, and she picked Sally M. Walker’s Blizzard of Glass: The Halifax Explosion of 1917 for us to read together. It took us most of the visit, overall–we were doing other things, of course, and we moved more slowly through the most devastating parts–but we finished it before I went home.

For those of you (like myself, before reading this book) who aren’t familiar with the 1917 explosion in Halifax Harbour, it was the largest man-made explosion on earth until the detonation of the atomic bomb in 1945. Two ships collided through a series of mistakes/miscommunications, one of which was carrying an incredibly full load of munitions to be used overseas in WWI. Over 1700 people were killed and hundreds were blinded, having been watching the initial fire from their windows when the explosion blew those windows into tiny shards of moving glass. Relief efforts were hampered by a blizzard on the following day, and all in all, it was both fascinating and heartbreaking to read about. Heroic acts and miraculous survivals mingled with devastation and loss, and while (in hindsight) it was perhaps a questionable choice for the time, it was riveting. (Walker’s tone felt occasionally young for the topic–as in, explaining words and concepts in ways that readers tackling such a subject might find condescending–but the topic was gripping enough that moving past those bits wasn’t terribly difficult.) People should read this book–or others on the topic–because this is a piece of history that we should know.

I found myself thinking, in fact, that there should be a class covering the important bits of history that few of us seem to know about any longer, like (among other things) such disasters; then I smiled and shook my head, because my dad taught a ‘human response to natural disasters’ class at Rhode Island College for years, which means that such classes do exist. (Not that a man-made explosion would qualify for that particular class, but you know what I mean.) And then I was remembering my dad.

As for our weekend, I did a good bit of cleaning on Saturday, my senior took my youngest out trick-or-treating while my son went to a friends neighborhood, yesterday was calm and rainy, and I took my middles to a multi-stake fireside with a former member of Vocal Point (BYU’s male a cappella group). Good times!

Having thoroughly enjoyed quite a few of Jamie Sumner’s books already, I was quite looking forward to Glory Be; I wasn’t disappointed, but it was a bit grittier than I’d expected, although not shockingly so. As Glory wanders New Orleans in search of her lost dog, she’s holding a harsher truth and looking for answers in rougher places than any of us would choose for a child. We live in an imperfect world, however, and we often can’t shield our children from the harsher truths; conversely, answers can sometimes be found even in rough places.*

The revelation of Glory’s harshest truth and its resultant effect on her family, however, is at least balanced by the resolution of the foremost conflict in the story. And Glory has people in her corner, which always matters (even when some of those people are, well, atypical). I’ll be rather interested to see how my animal lover feels about this one. (By the way, if you’re wondering why this review isn’t more detailed, Glory Be is a less-than-200-page illustrated verse novel. A more detailed review would seriously compromise the reading experience.)

On the home front, I’ve got a hot date this morning with the oven and the dishes–I’m making treats to bring to my hubby’s work’s Halloween potluck, and while they’re in the oven I will absolutely be wrestling the kitchen into some level of submission. My son is still coughing consistently, my senior is going to be at school for 14 hours today, and my missionary is picking my youngest up from school to join me at the work potluck. I hope you’re all enjoying whatever Halloween festivities you’ve got going on today!

*Which isn’t to say that my parental soul wasn’t screaming inside at some of Glory’s wanderings.

As in, I have yet to find the perfect graphic novel gift idea for Christmas. I did finish Dare You to Dance yesterday, though, and it’s highly probable my girls will enjoy it more than I did. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, really–it held my interest all the way through–but I was solidly a band kid. My girls, on the other hand, have all danced, and while they haven’t done traditional ballet, they know many of the positions; they’ll relate to the topic far better than I did. My real complaint is that Dare You to Dance feels more like a plot than a story, if that makes sense. Girls from all over are attending a summer ballet workshop in NYC, and the main character takes a while to figure out what relationships she’s forming with whom. The girl Gracie chooses to create a rivalry with isn’t exactly cooperating, but she has prestigious (and somewhat mysterious) ballet connections; as for the rest of her class, Gracie isn’t sure (for a while, at least) whom to trust–and not to trust. I just never forgot that it was a plot I was following; I couldn’t manage to get lost in the story. On the other hand, dancers may love a graphic novel about classical ballet, right? I suppose you’ll have to decide about this one yourselves.

In other news, my son went back to school today, but his cough still sounds terrible; my senior is trudging through incredibly long days with her required musical rehearsals; my youngest seemed less anxious this morning, which is fantastic; and my oldest is back at the Hope Clinic, which is one of her most tiring service sites. We are, it appears, edging back in the general direction of normalcy.

I’m sure y’all noticed that I did NOT post on Friday as planned. I had two sick/anxious/sad kids home from school, though, and the day got away from me. Here I am now, however, so let’s do a recap…

I don’t believe I mentioned that my son’s first regular (as in, not jazz) band concert was the 12th, but it was a lot of fun. Fall break started on Thursday the 15th, and in the afternoon the girls and I headed up to Idaho, dropping my son off at his cousin’s house on the way. His dad picked him up there on Friday, they went to the BYU/Notre Dame game on Saturday, and drove up together on Sunday afternoon.

The girls and I, of course, got to Idaho on Thursday evening, and we spent our time with family. We did what we could to help my mom, we spent time with the great-littles (nieces and nephews) and their parents as they flowed into town, we ate salmon, we watched the game (it may have taken a few years off of our lives), and we zoomed our own sacrament meeting for a missionary homecoming before attending my mother’s with all the great-littles’ families.

Monday, of course, was the funeral. It filled my heart to see all of the cousins who drove from Utah and Washington–our family felt so loved. I gave the life sketch at the funeral with just a few thoughts, but my siblings and oldest nephew spoke, as well as a family friend from RI, and listening to their talks was incredibly healing. It gave me back my dad, shifting the real person to the forefront of my memory and moving the shell he’d become before he died to the back. We set up a memory table at the church with all kinds of things from his life, and we visited with family and friends all through the luncheon afterwards. After a few hours of chill time back at my mom’s we had dinner at my brother’s house, and the next day (Tuesday) we all trickled back to our homes.

A neighborhood friend brought us dinner Tuesday night–so kind, as no one ever wants to cook after driving for hours–and we triaged the unpacking, etc., before getting off to bed. My youngest was so anxious/sad/still getting over her cold the next morning, though, that while she went off to the bus stop, she came back home before the bus came. I had her go to the last few periods of the day–it was the first day of her new elective, and I was afraid that missing the first day would make going back eventually considerably harder–but she missed the next two days with an iffy tummy; her brother missed them as well, except that he caught her cold (or one from someone else at the funeral) and so was simply home sick. (He’s still home today, actually. Because apparently a return to normalcy is not in my immediate future.) On Saturday we buried my dad–I spoke again, as did my sister, and my brother dedicated the grave. I’m grateful for divine help as I spoke, too, because I spent the night before with my 17-year-old instead of writing anything down. (First at her dance performance, then talking to her about her boy issues. It’s been a rough weekend for her.) I did a lot of thinking, though, and I definitely felt blessed. My mother wasn’t feeling well and was unable to attend, but she made it to the luncheon that her siblings so thoughtfully provided. Once again, it touched our hearts to see family and friends and feel their love and support.

Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s very last Primary program–Primary being our church’s children’s organization–because she’s turning 12 next year and so graduating to the youth organization. It was lovely to watch her, and afterwards we took the day to decompress and relax (I dozed off more than once). Which brings us to today…only I still have a child home sick plus a missionary home because her sites are closed, so I suppose this is all I’ve got the concentration for. Signing off!

I tried to call and pay the dentist’s bill over the phone and realized, as it rang, that the office is closed on Thursdays; I called to excuse my sick son from school and no one answered, necessitating a message (I’m always leery of just leaving a message there). I did throw away an expired Sam’s Club coupon book, but now I’m back to reviewing.

I realized recently that I needed to swap out some of my graphic novels waiting to be previewed with others that are stronger candidates for possible Christmas/birthday gifts; unfortunately, in a spectacularly terrible example of timing, I chose Meredith McClaren’s Crumble as the first of those to read. Emily, her mom, and her aunt Gina share a family bakery where they sell desserts with emotions baked in. Emily’s mom travels a good bit, lecturing about the process, but aunt Gina is always there to be with Emily and run the bakery–until she dies in a car accident. Baking bad feelings into anything is against the rules, but baking has always made Emily happy before. Surely it’ll help with this?

Spoiler alert (except not really, because it’s right there on the back of the book): it doesn’t. In fact, it makes things worse in the long run. How is she going to fix things now?

Reading about dealing with a death in the family was really not the way to go this month, but that’s hardly the author’s fault. It does frustrate me as a parent to read about parents who are so wrapped up in their own feelings that their kids are drifting; Emily’s mom is facing significant financial worries as well as grief, however, and so it isn’t fair to judge. They do ultimately figure things out, and that’s the most important thing, right?

On to more cleanup now…

Here’s the deal, folks. I have sick/grieving kids home from school today and one of them is napping in the living room, which eliminates that room as an area to work on (as well as the kitchen, since most kitchen jobs are noisy). My morning project, therefore, is to start working through the backlog of papers and books at my computer that are waiting to be dealt with, and if I’m going to do that, I’ve got to review a couple of the books there so that they can leave the area. I’m planning on talking about the funeral and fall break during tomorrow’s regular post, because that matters more in the long run; today, however, is about immediate cleanup, and so you have this review. (Also at least one other, I hope. We’ll see.)

Elana K. Arnold’s Bat and the Case of the Yips is the 5th book in her Bat series, and it begins with an interesting development–Bat’s dad wants him to try baseball so badly that he tells Bat that if he does, he can start bringing Thor with him on every-other-weekends. Bat wants that enough to agree, and so he joins the team his dad is coaching. He soon hatches a plan, however, to start playing so badly that the team won’t want him, but his dad will still be bound to his end of the bargain. This goes…about as well as you’d expect. Not only is Bat miserable at the lying-without-words, but his friend Israel is obviously upset by his behavior. Bat learns some valuable lessons as the situation gets sorted out; what’s more, his dad has been learning some things about himself as well. This makes for a satisfying ending.

My one real complaint about the book is the same complaint I had about the last one; I want the adults in Bat’s life to try a bit more to explain the feelings of other people to him. I recognize that explaining feelings to a boy on the spectrum can be complicated, yes, but if it wouldn’t work, I want Arnold to spend a bit more time showing that to me. Too many of those adults seem to stop just short of a full explanation that draws parallels between Bat’s feelings and those of the others in his life, sighing and giving up instead. If those explanations are going to fail, well–I want to SEE them fail. Overall, however, Case of the Yips is a nice addition to the series.

Initially I was going to be firmer and say that Shakti falls into my “this is a bad title but titles are hard” category, but the more I think about it, the less sure of myself I am. So I’m simply going to say that I have doubts about Shakti being the best possible title for this graphic novel, but (again) titles are hard, and I have no idea what I’d pick instead.

I picked up the book last night because I showered early and figured I’d read in bed so I could also go to bed early, only then I got far enough in that stopping seemed like a waste of time. And so I finished it last night, and instead of going to bed early, well–I was on time, at least, and that’s something, right? Shakti is the story of a girl whose family moves to Amherst, Massachusetts (shoutout to Emily Dickinson!), and finds a trio of witches at the middle school. They have all of the teachers under their spell, but Shakti makes friends with the kids bullied by the witches, especially Xi. When the two of them discover the bullies/witches in the woods and realize what they’re up to, Shakti appeals to one of her mothers, a witch herself, to help. Powerful forces can be difficult to control, however, and when Shakti sets more in motion than she intends to, the stakes are suddenly much higher.

I have mixed feelings about this one. I absolutely love what Shakti has to do to fix things at the end–any book that teaches compassion and empathy as essential to conflict resolution deserves to be read–but I was hoping for a bit more resolution with the witches/bullies. Witchcraft is generally not my thing, but I did enjoy the cultural background of their beliefs, and while I didn’t mind the final conflict being over with quickly, well–it was over awfully quickly. Bottom line? This wasn’t necessarily my thing, but it was worthwhile nonetheless.

In other news, my dad’s funeral is Monday–that still feels surreal to say–and the obituary is written. My feelings are still complicated, because in many ways my dad has been gone for a while now, and yet the fact that he died feels at once both the same and radically different. I am touched–moved–humbled by the outpouring of love from extended family and friends.

This is uncharted territory.

Here’s what’s going on, folks–my father’s condition worsened considerably last week and over the weekend, and he passed away this morning. That’s why I missed Friday’s post; it’s also why my posting for the next week and a half is going to be spotty at best, nonexistent at worst. Don’t give up on me long term, okay?

I’d like to write a post about my dad, but it’s not in me right now. I suppose that’s going to have to wait.

I have an intermediate nonfiction title I’ve been waiting to review for at least a week and a half, folks. The problem is that the subject matter is heavier, meaning the review will take more concentration, and I just wasn’t feeling that today. And so, in a spectacularly ‘whatever, it’s not like I don’t know I’m a little odd’ sort of move, I finished up the short graphic novel that I started last night so that I can review that instead. I’m guess I’m feeling a special kind of lazy.

Anyway. Brittany Long Olsen’s The Happy Shop popped up on my radar because of another book by the same author, only for a surpassingly ‘too stupid to share’ reason, I ended up reading this one first. (Last night and today, in fact, as previously mentioned.) I was hoping it might be a contender for one of my youngest daughter’s Christmas graphic novels, but at 140 pages, it’s a bit too short for how quickly she goes through them. She’ll still enjoy reading the library copy, however, and if you’ve got a slower reader who’s drawn to stories about feelings, this one’s an especially good option.

Happy Shop centers around Darcy, whose mom has just moved the two of them to a new country for her dream job. Missing her friends and struggling to understand the accents of those around her, Darcy holes up in her room until her mom sends her out for some grocery shopping. It’s then that she discovers ‘The Happy Shop’, a store that sells happy feelings collected in jars by one of the owners. After accidentally breaking a few of the jars, she ends up working at the shop after school to pay off her debt; it’s then she discovers that the business is struggling. Is there a way for the shop to become successful again–and can Darcy help make it happen?

This really is a lovely little story about feelings and adjusting to change; the art matches the feel quite nicely. Its length does make for less character development than an older reader might wish, but the target audience shouldn’t mind. My one real complaint is that I prefer more concrete resolution from an ending than we’re given. This may well be an intentional, stylistic choice, but I’m afraid I’m too OCD to fully enjoy an implied happy ending–what my daughter(s) will think remains to be seen! In the meantime, it’s a short, cozy graphic novel, something like a mug of flavored hot chocolate on a chilly day. I’m looking forward to the author’s other book(s)!