Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

It feels like it’s been a long weekend, folks, so I’m being totally lazy and telling anyone with elementary-age kids to find a copy of Kate Pankhurst’s Fantastically Great Women Who Changed The World.  It’s totally worth your time–I learned things I didn’t know and both of my older girlies read and enjoyed it (I’d give it to my son to read if he weren’t in kindergarten and not quite up to the challenge yet).  Pankhurst’s illustrations are fun and her subjects varied, so there ought to be something for everyone.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fill out a “suggest a purchase” form on my library website so that I can (hopefully!) read Pankhurst’s Fantastically Great Women Who Made History…

I can’t write about soup tonight, folks.  My heart is too full.  (Also, it’s way too hot in my house to even think about it.)  One of my 15-year-old nephews is in the hospital tonight.  He had surgery last night, for severe osteomyelitis, and he’s looking at more tomorrow morning, because osteomyelitis is the kind of serious infection that you just don’t envision a healthy, active 15-year-old having to face.  Family and friends all over the country and more–quite literally from coast to coast, AND in Canada–have been praying for him.  Those prayers are coming from people of different faiths, in different circumstances, and from different backgrounds, and every time I sent another prayer up today–as I was buying milk at Costco, taking my girls to piano lessons, reading to my children, and thinking of my nephew–I could feel that love and faith as a tangible thing.  I texted one of my neighbors from the store today to ask her to pray for him without telling her kids quite how serious it was, and her response was almost immediate.

“Absolutely.  Praying now.”

It was then that I cried.  These are fabulous neighbors, but we both have kids and our conversations are often short and take place across our yards, and yet there was no hesitation there.  It didn’t matter that our faiths are different, or that she’s likely never met my nephew.  I asked her to pray, and pray she did.  What more could you ask of a neighbor?

Okay, okay, so I’m pretty sure the quote actually specifies mashed potatoes, but still.  Who doesn’t love a good “While You Were Sleeping” reference?  And really, who’s not going to love these Parmesan Baked Potatoes?  They’re plenty forgiving–I melted the butter in the pan in the preheating oven, I did a bit extra of the butter and Parmesan and used a 10 by 15 pan, and I didn’t even bother weighing the potatoes, because just filling up the pan with potato halves seemed way easier.  And they really were creamy!  I’m honestly not sure how that works, but I’m not going to question it.  I’d rather just make the recipe again and call it good.

Seriously.  Try these.  They’re tasty and moist and require no condiments to be on the table--and that’s a win in my book.

I was googling other titles by Russell Freedman when the tense used in the author description caught my eye; apparently, I was so distracted by life last month that I missed the fact that he passed away.  Granted, the man was 88 and had suffered a series of strokes, but now he’s gone.   Which means that the number of his books I have yet to read is going to dwindle down to zero, and THAT is a sad thing, indeed.  For those of you who don’t follow the intermediate and youth literature scene, Freedman has been writing well-researched, approachably readable, and impressively interesting nonfiction for the 8-12-ish crowd for decades.  He’s got one Newbery Medal and three Newbery Honor books to his credit, not to mention a slew of Golden Kite awards and too many others to try and list, and the honors are well deserved.  Tonight I finished reading Out of Darkness:  The Story of Louis Braille to my two older girlies, and they were riveted, albeit for slightly different reasons.  (My oldest wanted to know why Braille was a better system than embossed letters and all the relevant details; her sister was heartbroken over the circumstances of the accident that took Braille’s sight.  Both perfect expressions of their personalities!)

So was I.

From how Braille lost his sight and how he dealt with it to the hows and whys of the evolution of his method of reading and writing for the blind, Out of Darkness was a fascinating story of an incredible young man.  (Braille was hard at work experimenting with what became his life’s work in his mid-teens; he died in his mid-40s of TB.)  I can’t really think of anyone for whom this wouldn’t be a worthwhile read, so I’m just going to recommend it to, well, everyone.  Go find it–go read it!  And–thank you, Russell Freedman, for telling important stories in a way that young readers can enjoy.  We will miss you!

By the way, I absolutely meant to post a recipe on Saturday, but the evening got away from me.  My apologies–it’s coming!

We’re not going to talk about how long I’ve had Jennifer Nielsen’s A Night Divided checked out of the library.  It’s always sounded good–hence the constant renewing and re-checking-out–but only recently has my willingness to tackle books over 300 pages coincided with my being in the mood for an ‘escape from East Germany’ sort of story.  Once I started it, however, it sucked me right in.  Gerta’s father wants to leave East Berlin for West Germany and freedom; he and one of his sons go on a brief trip to look for an apartment and possible employment in August of 1961.

The Berlin Wall is erected before they can return.

Gerta, her mother, and her other brother are left in East Berlin, where their lack of freedom becomes intolerable to the young people.  When Gerta catches sight of her father on a platform on the other side of the wall, watching her and pretending to dig, she convinces her brother that tunneling under the wall is the only way to reunite their family.  Digging the tunnel while remaining undetected by the border police and the government, however, is an almost impossible task.  Nielsen does an incredibly job of portraying the strain, the hard work, and the danger involved; be prepared for a fair amount of reading-on-the-edge-of-your-seat.   Some aspects of the plot seem less likely than others, but overall, this is a compelling story with an extremely likable narrator.  I’m thinking middle school and up is the target audience here, but latter elementary students to whom the plot appeals should do just as well.  (And, hey, adults.  Because I certainly enjoyed it.)  Bottom line?  This is a fictional chance to experience relatively recent history (the Wall came down when I was 10).  Don’t miss it!

When I think of how quickly I used to finish books, I kind of want to weep; four children later, I can’t usually concentrate well enough to read while they’re awake, and so I read a few pages before bed and take weeks to finish just about ANYTHING.

Which makes me want to scream.

It’s my stage of life for the moment, though, and I wouldn’t skip it, because then I’d miss out on my kiddos.  It occurred to me a few weeks ago, however, that some of the books waiting for my attention could be read aloud with some of my kids, enabling me to actually get to some of them before I die.  (No hyperbole here.)  I decided to start modestly with an 80-page (some of which have illustrations) biography that I thought would interest my two older girls, and it’s absolutely working!  They moan when I stop at night, I’m halfway through a book I wouldn’t have had the time to start otherwise, and we get to spend reading time together on a level up from picture books.  (We do that, too–don’t worry.)  I’ll review the book we’re on when we finish it, but in the meantime, wahoo!  Success!  Family time!  All the things!

Now I just have to decide what we’re going to read together next…

My first experience with an author has to be a certain level of excellent to convince me that the next book I see by him or her is automatically worth a read; Bomb:  The Race to Build–And Steal–The World’s Most Dangerous Weapon earned Steve Sheinkin that level of instant credibility handily.  Which is why, despite the not-my-style cover, I did everything I could to get my hands on Abraham Lincoln, Pro Wrestler as soon as possible.  A new series about historical figures quitting history in frustration to pursue other careers, because kids in schools everywhere are claiming history is boring?  If it’s by the author of Bomb, sign me up.  I may not love the cover art, but I imagine its target audience will find it amusing, and the story itself was a fast-and-funny romp from beginning to end.  And I do mean FAST.  Whereas Bomb would challenge the vast majority of elementary schoolers, this new “Time Twisters” series is ideal for second graders or so; older elementary grades are likely to enjoy it, but it’s still far easier than what I typically give my third grader to read, as well as what she picks out for herself.  This first book focuses very specifically on a single event in Lincoln’s life–1860’s presidential election–rather than trying for an overview.  That’s probably wise for the length and style, really–once you got going with Lincoln, where would you stop?–but it will be interesting to see my fifth grader’s reaction (she said she’d give it a try, because it looked funny).  I’ll keep you posted!

We’ve talked about how my hubby gets birthday brownies at work, right–because I HATE MAKING CUPCAKES?  (I’d do it for him if he loved them more than anything else, but luckily he’s a big fan of brownies.)  This year’s offering ended up being these Cheesecake Brownies, which I doubled for a 10 by 15 pan (or whatever that next size up from 9 by 13 is).  And really, what can I say?  They were decadent, they were terrible for you, and they were delicious.  I will say that the birthday boy and I both thought that the flavors balanced better after they’d cooled, but they certainly weren’t a hardship to eat warm, either.  If you’re in the mood for some cheesecake-y goodness married with chocolate-y brownie, look no further.  (And if you’re not, well–we’ll have to agree to disagree.  Certainly your waistline will be the better for it.)

Originally, this post had a different title AND a different, lovingly labored-over opening paragraph.  THAT, however, was before I completed my revisions on said opening paragraph and decided to get the kids and myself out the door to a park; I figured I could finish the post later.  As I headed off to brush my teeth and get my 3-year-old dressed, I did think to wonder if drafts were saved automatically or if I ought to look into doing it myself, but hey, we were only going to be gone a few hours, right?

Yeah.  Guess whose computer somehow turned off in our absence?  That’d be MINE.  Goodbye then, thoroughly-revised-opening-paragraph, because I don’t have it in me to recreate you.  Instead, here’s a recap:  I love me a good memoir, I was thrilled to receive a copy of So Happiness to Meet You:  Foolishly, Blissfully Stranded in Vietnam for review, and I was even more thrilled that it didn’t disappoint.  (I’m not sure why it took me so long to say–essentially–that, but there you go.  We’re more or less caught up now.  On to the review!)

Karin Esterhammer is a travel writer who decided to move her family from LA to Vietnam after getting laid off during the Great Recession.  (I didn’t realize that ‘Great Recession’ was an official name, by the way–you learn something new every day, right?)  There, she figured, they could teach English, live cheaply, and rent the LA home they could no longer afford to live in.

She was sort of right.

Two-plus years later, Esterhammer and her family moved back to the States.  It was a bumpier ride than expected–when isn’t it, really?–but one worth reading about; Karin’s own adventures adjusting to her environment, struggling with the language, and falling in love with the country are interspersed with the incredible life experiences of her Vietnamese friends and neighbors, the difficulties in successfully homeschooling an autistic child, and her husband’s employment roller coaster.  I laughed, I gasped, and (occasionally) I cringed, because that’s what happens with real life, right?  The ending felt abrupt, but no more to me than to the Esterhammers, I imagine; reality is nothing if not lacking in predictably-paced story arcs.  At the end of the day, I was riveted by one family’s experiences and learned a bit of what they learned without ever leaving my living room.  What more could you ask for in a memoir?

I really am, okay?  I was all set to review a book tonight, and then I looked at the load of delicate wash–the one with the fancy dresses with glittery stuff on them–waiting to be done, and I decided that I couldn’t put my girlies off any more (because the glittery dresses sure aren’t MINE).  EVEN if I then didn’t feel like I had the energy to review a book before bed.  (It’s sad that this has to be an either/or choice, but this is the stage of life I’m in!)  And so, instead of you getting a book review, they get clean fancy dresses.  There’s always Monday, right?