Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I finished Margarita Engle’s Forest World last night, and let me tell you what–there are some random, unusual-looking species in this world.  Not that I didn’t know that in theory, of course, but the concept of ‘Lazarus species’ is central to the plot, and every time another such species was mentioned, I couldn’t resist googling it to see what it looked like.  (I now know that the Lord Howe Island stick insect is also known as the tree lobster–and I’ve seen pictures!)  This made the book a slower read than it would have been otherwise, but it added enough to the overall experience that it didn’t bother me a bit.

Unlike many of Engle’s books, Forest World is fiction–the story of a family divided between Cuba and the United States but united in a fascination with wildlife.  Since relations between the US and Cuba have finally improved, Edver ends up leaving Miami to spend the summer with his father; there he discovers a sister he didn’t know he had and a world almost unbelievably alien to his own.  (NO INTERNET!)  As he and his sister try to reconcile their different experiences and opportunities (and lack thereof), they end up getting more up close and personal with the world of wildlife smuggling and poaching than they ever could have imagined.  The end result is a tribute to the challenges and rewards of family–and wildlife preservation.  (It’s not as didactic as it sounds, I promise–it’s also a tribute to the kind of ingenuity in the face of scarcity that results in homemade handcuffs).  If you or your child is interested in nature, wildlife, Cuba, or poetic-but-accessible verse novels, give this one a try.

When I put chicken in to marinate on Saturday night (for grilling on Sunday), there were three pieces in the bag that were still too frozen to deal with.  I stuck them in a Zip-loc and stuck that in the fridge, and when Tuesday afternoon came around, I settled down with Pinterest to make those three (small) chicken breasts into a meal plan.

Enter this Cheesy Chicken Spaghetti Casserole.

I knew from the outset that I needed to lighten it up a bit, because GENETICALLY HIGH CHOLESTEROL.  (It stinks.)  I was already skimping on the meat, since I only had so much thawed and I wasn’t going to trouble myself to grab more; next on the chopping block was the 16 oz of sour cream.  I decided that I could probably stand to cut that down in the first place, and to substitute plain yogurt for some of it besides.  (Baked with seasonings, it doesn’t make that much of a difference.)  I ended up using about a cup of plain yogurt and maybe half a cup of sour cream, which worked just fine.  I also used this Homemade Condensed Cream of Chicken Soup recipe from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe, because it’s a slurry that uses no butter.  (I made it with half whole wheat flour, too.)  The casserole itself still had a stick of melted butter–lovely, lovely butter!–and a decent amount of cheese, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been,  you know?  My house was QUITE divided, with my older girls giving it thumbs down and my littles telling me “two thumbs up!”  The former didn’t shock me–the oldest has never loved that flavor profile, and my second is my pickiest eater–but the level of enthusiasm from the others surprised me.  I enjoyed it as well, although it’s a bit different from my usual fare, but next time I won’t skimp on the chicken.  (There will likely be a next time, though).  If you find yourself needing to turn some stray chicken breasts into dinner for 6, give it a try!

I cannot remember the last time a book grabbed hold of me the way Benjamin Ludwig’s Ginny Moon did.  That isn’t to say that I haven’t read some amazing and engrossing books lately–I have–but this one was different.  Ginny is an autistic, adopted foster child who narrates her own story, and she held me from the get-go.  It’s partly her anxiety and her very, very literal outlook on her world, but it’s also her background.  My family was involved in foster care when I was in high school and college, and the level at which those experiences came rushing back as I read astounded me.  Children who remember their birth families, who remember being removed from the homes of their birth families, are torn in a way that the rest of us can’t begin to truly comprehend.  All of my experiences as a foster sister slammed into my added experience as a mother full force; the resulting level of feeling unnerved me.  Being objective as a reviewer may honestly be an unattainable goal.

That being said, I was impressed by this book.  The arc of my feelings for Ginny’s foster/adopted mom was considerable; when my hatred reached its peak, I forced myself to consider my own postpartum depression and what Maura knew and didn’t know versus what I did.  Ginny as a naive narrator is amazing (although I admit, I’ve had a weakness for those since the first time I read Huck Finn as an 8-or-so-year-old), and her autistic voice was pitch perfect to me.  (Not that I have much firsthand experience there, to be fair.)  The setting felt real, real, real, from the woodpile at the edge of the yard by the woods to the Cumberland Farms on the corner.  My friend Britt pointed out that Baby Wendy’s developmental timeline is definitely hinky, which I can’t deny, but that didn’t bother me terribly.  (It took me a bit to figure out why, since after four kids I’m usually irritated by that sort of thing.  In the end, I decided that it’s Ginny’s book, and the details that are off accomplish their purpose all the same.  They tend to be symbolic of Ginny’s restrictions and experiences; what matters is whether or not Ginny is allowed to help, not so much the details of what she does.)

Britt, as part of an adoptive family, was also outraged at Ginny’s adoptive parents’ varying levels of commitment (or lack thereof).  That bothered me as well–seriously bothered me–but coming from a fostering family instead of an adoptive one eased my outrage a bit.  The essence of Ginny’s situation and the events of the book IS foster care, in many ways, and that tends to be just plain messy, with no easy answers (or, sometimes, terribly acceptable ones).

Ultimately, I was emotionally blown away by Ginny Moon.  (I’m SO beyond grateful that I didn’t make the mistake of reading it pregnant–OR with a newborn.)  Some of that is what I brought to the reading experience, but not all of it–not by a long shot.  You should read it, read it, read it.  I just hope you love Ginny herself as much as I did.

Complimentary copy received for review

That’s 3,000-piece puzzle number four, folks, because we are crazy people.  This one would not have been MY choice to open next, but then, I chose the last one and it was harder than the other two put together.  So there’s that.  We’ve done Neuschwanstein Castle in the fall and the winter; this one’s in the summer.  Which means it’s mostly half blue and half green, except for the castle in the middle.  I’ve started the sky.  My hubby’s started the trees.

Yep, we’re crazy people.

Anyway.  My feet hurt and I’m poopered, and my new fridge is apparently getting delivered right in the middle of parent/teacher conferences tomorrow, so I’m signing off.  Goodnight all!

I was expecting Jenny Colgan’s Little Beach Street Bakery to be foodie chick lit, I suppose; feel good and drool-worthy (because I love bread!) but on the fluffy side.  Instead, I found a story that left me thinking about progress versus change, about what kind of changes you ought to be willing to make for those you love, and about what relationships can become if we make the effort to reach out, to be patient, and to forgive.

I also found more language than I needed, particularly for an audio book.*  It’s easier to skip over f-words and serious religious profanity when your eyes can slide over them quickly, but when listening, those particular words get as much emphasis as everything else, and you can’t do much about it.  I’m not saying that at least some of that language didn’t fit the characters, but that doesn’t mean I needed to hear it,  you know?

Overall, however, this was a book that caught and held me.  I stayed up way too late listening to one part of it because I wasn’t going to head off to bed without knowing if anyone had been lost at sea during the storm, and I finished it while putting dinner into my crockpot yesterday morning.  The jacket description gives you a basic summary–Polly’s life falls apart and she ends up renting a dilapidated flat in a seaside town in Cornwall, and while her baking starts out as a hobby (and a self-soothing mechanism), it becomes something else entirely over time–but it doesn’t quite do all of the themes in it justice.  Yes, there are certainly elements of chick lit, but I laughed out loud AND got teary over parts that had little or nothing to do with the main characters.  If you can deal with some language, this is a good read.

*The language in and of itself made this a book I wish I’d read instead of listened to, but if that doesn’t bother you and you’re considering the audio, you should know that the reader’s male voices are frequently a bit creepy, and the hero’s “southern accent” (he’s supposed to be from Georgia) makes Vivien Leigh’s sound like the most authentic one ever uttered.  I suppose it’s tough when the narrator’s British, but for Pete’s sake, listening to Huckle talk was painful.

I’m still surprised and irritated with myself for missing TWO posts in a row without explanation.  I just seem to be getting more distracted in the evenings lately–or more forgetful as 40 looms, perish the thought.  Sadly, I’m not going to post the yummy brownie recipe tonight, either, because it’s late.  I have, however, been trying to spent my daughter’s preschool time doing the kind of decluttering and cleaning up that you never feel you can do with 3-year-old help, and I’ll keep you posted on the progress.  I pulled an entire outfit out of my closet to pass on to my friend’s oldest daughter, so that’s something.  And I’ve recycled old paperwork.  (This sounds so unimpressive, but if you’d seen the DUST on that paperwork…)  We’re done with preschool for this week, but I’ll let you know how things go!  I’ll also try to not so much with the forgetting.  In the meantime, I wish us sleep.  ALL of us–wherever and whenever we are!

Positively Izzy is a companion novel to Invisible Emmie, which I quite enjoyed.  (My girls loved it, which means I’d better get Izzy reviewed tonight and into their hot little hands pronto.)  Emmie is a side character in Izzy; her friend Bri (the brain) and dramatic, somewhat scatterbrained Izzy share center stage.  Their school’s talent show is approaching, and Izzy can’t wait to perform while Bri is reluctantly filling in for someone last minute.  What they do leading up to and during the show is the essence of the story.  Add an Emmie-like twist, and you’ve got a solid graphic novel about stretching yourself and venturing out of your comfort zone (as well as expanding your circle of friends).  I imagine that my (and your!) elementary and middle school girls will love it!*

*There are two bits to take note of, if you like to have conversations with your children about the choices made by the characters in the books they’re reading.  It’s mentioned that one of the girls sneaks out to go to her friend’s house and read the friend’s dad’s dirty magazines; it’s almost mentioned in passing that one aunt lives with her partner and kids.  Do with that what you will.

I generally don’t mean to imitate people I’m with on a regular basis–I really don’t–but if their accents and/or manner of speaking are noticeable, I do it unconsciously.  This is why listening to an 18-hour audiobook that takes place in the South is dangerous; for the last week or two, I’ve been tamping down the urge to twang and yet hearing it come out in my voice anyway when I’m, say, reading to my kids.  And since my linguistic roots are in RI and UT, I doubt anything coming out of me would be anything but annoying to people actually from that part of the country.

Such was the recreational hazard that came with listening to Annie Barrows’ The Truth According to Us, a novel of Depression-Era West Virginia, but I didn’t care, because I LOVED the voices. (I’m glad I listened to it rather than reading the physical book, and that’s a rare feeling for me.  Try the audio if you can!)  There were several, almost like a radio play, and it totally worked–especially since bits and pieces of the story are told in letters.

Aannyywwaayy…if you’re wondering why I haven’t gotten around to talking about the plot yet, it’s because I can’t decide what’s a spoiler and what’s not.  In a book that’s well over 500 pages, do events from, say, 100 or so pages in count?  This book is about the daughter of a wealthy senator who gets booted out to support herself on a WPA job, as well as the family with whom she boards–only it’s really more about the family than it is about her, except that it’s more complicated than that.  I’ve seen Willa compared to Scout Finch, and the comparison isn’t terrible; the rest of the characters are really just too hard to describe without giving anything away.  What I can say about The Truth According to Us is that I stopped counting the number of times I laughed out loud, but there are depths of pain to balance out the humor.  The ending is satisfying but surprising, or at least it was for me, and the story will stick with you long after you’ve reached the last page.   Read it, listen to it, whatever, but it’s worth experiencing either way.*

*There is some language–just so you know.  

I’ve been purposely skipping over The Girl Who Drank the Moon for months.  (It’s been on my shelf since shortly after it won the Newbery Medal, of course, and that was over 18 months ago.)  I’d look at the spine without enthusiasm and think–it’s long, and it’s not really my thing anymore, and I’ll just pick something else right now, because I was so sure I wasn’t going to love it.

Yeah, I was SO wrong.  As wrong as I was about Holes and Maniac McGee, both of which I put off reading because I didn’t think I’d terribly enjoy them.  The Girl Who Drank the Moon sucked me in on the first page and had me fast by the fifth.  It had the jump-into-a-frank-conversation-among-major characters vibe that Robin McKinley’s books do, but Barnhill’s style is wholly her own.  Girl/Moon weaved smoothly among related and converging stories, and it did so in such a perfectly paced way that it didn’t suffer one bit from being read in small increments over a longer period of time.  (Do you know how RARE that is?)  Every step built the story, moving it forward to completion, but not one left me frustrated and impatient for this or that plot piece to resolve.  (Also an incredibly rare occurrence.)  The characters were well- and compassionately drawn, the resolution felt perfect–I seriously just LOVED THIS BOOK.  Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that way about a fantasy author I’ve never read before?

So.  Just read this book, okay?  It’s got a witch, and a swamp creature, and a Simply Enormous Dragon (or is he?), and there is sorrow and hope and loss and joy and a particularly handy pair of boots.  Think, perhaps, of the heart of The Tale of Despereaux and the unexpectedness (and some of the humor) of The Princess Bride, but a story all its own, and you have an incredibly deserving Newbery Medal winner that is also well-loved by its intended audience (yet another comparative rarity!).  Who could ask for anything more?

My just-turned-9-year-old has been begging to read Raina Telgemeier’s Drama for probably a year; she checked it out of her school library this past week, and I promised I’d preview it and make a decision as soon as possible.  (I’ve been putting her off because I knew it was a bit different thematically than Telgemeier’s other books.)  I’ve been slogging through it all weekend, and hallelujah!  I finished it this morning.

My decision, of course, is to hand it off to my two eager older girls; there’s nothing in it that warrants keeping it from them.  I did talk with them both about it, because one of its major themes is being gay as an early teenager.  The jist of the conversation was this–it’s absolutely true that you’re still a regular, normal person when you’re gay; it should never affect how you’re treated by the people around you.  In our faith, however, we don’t believe in acting on feelings for the same sex, because we believe doing so severely limits our ability to carry out our purpose upon this earth.  We believe that we are here to become more like Christ ourselves and to help others come to earth and become more like Christ as well.  A big part of that is forming families and having children.  That doesn’t mean that we’re snotty and tell those who disagree that we know better; it means that we are comfortable, ourselves, with what we believe, we act according to our beliefs, and we respect the right of everyone we meet to do the same.

That said, as much as I’ve enjoyed Telegemeier’s other books, I’m pretty ambivalent about this one.  The actual theater bits–everything related to the play itself–were a blast.  The I-like-this-boy-no-that-boy-no-the-other-boy, not to mention the I’m-acting-weird-because-I-feel-a-certain-way-but-haven’t-expressed-it, were incredibly, spot-on junior high for me, but I AM 39 YEARS OLD.  I DON’T WANT TO BE BACK IN JUNIOR HIGH.

Seriously.  Very true to the period of life, GREAT for the intended audience, but not anywhere I want to be.  Telgemeier’s other books dealt with themes I could still relate to; Drama is fairly stage-of-life specific, and I am just so DESPERATELY glad not to be in that stage of life anymore that reading about it was okay at best.  Surely I’m not the only one with no desire to revisit that time of life?

Anyway.  There you have it–and now my girls will have it.  Let’s just hope I don’t dream about being 12 again tonight…