Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Really, that’s all there was to say on Friday night, especially because BYU’s rising star of a quarterback broke his leg and is (I assume) out for the season.  Which meant that we lost at home to a team that, well, we haven’t lost to in a while.  The bright spot of the evening, then, was definitely Mel’s Caramel Pear Crisp, which both used up some of my Costco Bartlett pears (they always seem to come ripe all at once) and sated some of my fall dessert cravings.  I made the caramel sauce before dinner, and I used half evaporated milk in it–but ONLY because I had half of the cream that I needed and couldn’t deal with dragging all of the kids to the store just to get more.  The rest of the recipe I followed…well, unless you count letting it sit for 30 minutes after it came out of the oven.  I didn’t even get it in the oven until well after the kiddos were in bed, and with the lateness of the hour and how heavenly it smelled, THAT sure wasn’t going to happen.  I’m sure it would have held its shape more had I waited, but really, who cares about that?  (Okay, pretty much everyone on the Food Network does, but this was my hubby and me.  We don’t.)  I plopped some vanilla bean ice cream on top and went to town.

And OH, it was heavenly.  I generally prefer apple crisp, and I haven’t lost any of the love I feel in that direction, but this was lovely and delicious and delightful and more.  I still want to weep knowing that it’s gone (the girls and I may or may not have finished it off for breakfast the next day. The boy may or may not have contrarily screamed when it was offered to him–seriously, who screams at DESSERT FOR BREAKFAST?–and so I may or may not have taken one for the team and eaten his portion, too.).   Then again, I am going to Costco tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll buy pears.

My Newbery quest and my 4th book rule (the one where every fourth book I read has to be a book I actually own) came together this week, and last night I finished Gary Paulsen’s Dogsong.  (Which means, I think, that I’m finished with Gary Paulsen–at least as far as Newberys are concerned.)  And…

Hmmm.  My thoughts on this one are a bit random, so I’ll start with the obvious; from the first page of the first chapter, it was immediately clear that this was another Newbery to really, really stretch the definition of “Children’s” literature.  I didn’t find it offensive, mind you, but the subject matter of the quotes that head the first two chapters is not exactly material for my 7-year-old.  The rest of the book, I have to say, follows suit. Again, there’s nothing offensive or explicit, but the main character saves the life of a pregnant teenage girl, and his experiences helping her are not exactly fluffy.  I’d say 12 and up, maybe, but you probably want to be aware of the basic plot even then.  Depending on the 12-year-old.

Next thought…while it was well done and yes, affecting, the idea of Russell’s real-life experiences and the ones he dreams about melding at the end was executed a little strangely for me.  If life had just mirrored the dream I’d be all for it, but at one point he’s not sure what he actually does and what he dreams, and that went a little far for me.  Gary Paulsen sells it well–the prose certainly has a dream-like quality–but still.

And the last thought?  The basic plot of the book is this:  Russell is troubled by the modern world and yearns towards the old ways, those of his grandparents’ time.  His father can see this, and suggests he seek help from the old man in the village (there seems to be only one that’s old enough to talk about what Russell wants to know).  Russell moves in with him, learns from him, and then takes the old man’s dogs and sled out (with his blessing) on a ‘run’ north to ‘become a man.’  It’s a simple journey–nothing about the old OR new way of Eskimo life portrayed seems attractive to me, what with the harsh environment and comparative lack of contact with the outside world, not to mention the diet of meat, meat, meat–but when Russell sleeps, he becomes a man from the time of woolly mammoths and lives his journeyings as well.  Eventually, the worlds meld together, and Russell is given the chance to save a life in his actual time.

Okay, NOW for my last thought, which is that the book didn’t go either of the ways I assumed it was going.  I figured that Russell was either going to embrace the old ways permanently and (perhaps) alter his lifestyle accordingly, or that he was going to return from his journey more comfortable with all aspects of his life.  Instead, the book simply focused on how Russell became one with his dogs and the journey (possibly I should have paid more attention to the TITLE OF THE BOOK.)  I didn’t really feel like there was resolution to his restlessness, although I suppose if you think about it, as the book ends he is turning toward at least one aspect of modern life without rejecting any of the old that he’s been living.

And there you have it, folks.  Gary Paulsen is a bit of a puzzle for me, because the first book I read by him doesn’t seem to be his typical thing at all; his Newberys, on the other hand, share a common theme or three.  I LOVED my first exposure to him, though, which is why I opted to link Nightjohn to this post.  I can recommend that one to all and sundry–buy it, read it, it’s worth it–whereas Dogsong is not enough my thing for me to rave about it to others.  I certainly respect it, and his outdoors and survival books are worth it if that’s more your style; they just aren’t so much mine.  They are, however, good enough that all three Newberys were worth my time.  I’m glad I’ve read them.

I’m just not sure I’m going to seek out more of his work in the immediate future.

Yesterday was the kind of day that doesn’t go at all like you expect it to, all day long.  As to how it was, well, here’s a bit of a rundown:

1)A lovely woman in my neighborhood stopped by with dinner for us in the morning.  Her son had had shingles at 19, and apparently his misery was memorable.  This is a common thread, by the way; fellow sufferers–or, in more than one case, immediate relatives of fellow sufferers–are very, very sympathetic.

2)My hubby took the littles to the park while my oldest was at dance; he dropped my middle off unexpectedly right as dance was ending, because she had had a bit of an accident.  When she got on the potty, it became apparent that she’d done well only having a bit of one; within 10 minutes, she’d been on the potty again and thrown up on the bathmat.

3)It was a tad chaotic cleaning her up and getting her taken care of while also getting her older sister into bed for school the next morning.  I was settling the oldest, the middle was on the potty, and Daddy and the boy were hanging out when there was a knock at the door.  A family has just moved into our neighborhood from a homeless shelter, starting from scratch; the Young Women leaders in our ward were out with some of the young women (ages 12-18) asking the rest of the neighborhood if they had anything to spare for them.  We scrounged what we could, got the middle squared away in a temporary bed upstairs, and got the boy down (half an hour late).  I also put the bathmat and some towels into the washing machine.  With bleach.

4)I went to switch the wash after the boy was done, and lo and behold! the washing machine had stopped mid-cycle.  It wouldn’t drain.  It still agitates, but it’s also still full of the dirty/bleachy/vomit-y water.  (Ewww!)  My hubby dredged the towels up and I carried them to the downstairs bathtub, where they sat until this afternoon.  (I squeezed the water out as best I could and my neighbors ran them through their washer and dryer.  Bless them.)

5)I sat at the computer to zone before bed and hey, my mouse was on the fritz again.  (This happens sometimes.)  At that point I was kind of afraid to touch anything else.

At first all I could think about was what a HORRIBLE evening it had been–and then I stopped.  Shouldn’t knowing that somewhere nearby was a family starting with NOTHING make me grateful that I’m ONLY out a washing machine for a few days, until we can get it fixed or replace it?  Shouldn’t I be grateful that we were able to take care of our kids, sick and well alike, with only a bit of rushing around?  Shouldn’t I be grateful for a hubby who fixed the mouse, and good neighbors?

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m constantly seeing more items that need washing, because that’s what you notice when you can’t do anything about it.  And yes, it’s driving me crazy.  We are, however, so very blessed.

And I am grateful for it.