Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

My wonderful Uncle Shane–who prefers not be to addressed as “Uncle”–came this morning, which means that we are now wired for a dishwasher AND a garbage disposal. Hooray! That’s one more step in our ongoing sink saga.

In other news, we tried “Mr. Beast Burger” for dinner tonight–decent burgers, but the fries were too spicy for at least four of us. Afterwards, when the younger kiddos were showered and our 6-year-old was tucked into bed, I finished reading The Impossible Journey to my 11-year-old. Funny story about that book–I had it checked out for my oldest, who read another Gloria Whelan book in school and then read Angel on the Square because she wanted another book by her. It sat on my shelf first, because I wanted to read it, dang it!, until long after she’d lost interest*; my 11-year-old’s teacher, however, read Angel on the Square aloud to her class this year, and I jumped at the chance to read its sequel together.

The Impossible Journey focuses on Katya and Misha’s children. When their parents are arrested by the Soviet government, Marya and Georgi stay with a neighbor at first; ultimately, however, they set out to find their parents in Siberia and join them there. It is a long journey, and while they are lucky and it turns out to be successful, Whelan shows us enough of life in Russia at the time that it’s not all smiles. My sensitive girlie wanted to quit after our first session; I had to peek ahead and assure her that they found her parents to get her over that first impression. It didn’t take terribly long to sweep her into the story, however, and she was plenty insistent on reading as much as possible each time! Whelan’s writing is not the stuff of legends, exactly, but there’s a need for accessible historical fiction for the average reader, and she definitely helps fill that need. This is worth reading, especially since stories for children about Russia’s difficulties aren’t exactly legion. My girlie is solidly committed to the next book in the quartet, so stay tuned…

I know I was due for a post yesterday, but our plumber friend had the time to install our new sink last night, and while dinner was about feeding my niece, nephew, and great-nephew as well as my own kiddos, after dinner became all about the sink. It’s now installed–yay!–but awaiting an adjustment to the new disposal to prevent leakage; that disposal will also not be operational until we get wired for the dishwasher, which is currently plugged into the disposal outlet. (When we moved in, the house had neither but was wired for the disposal; I cared WAY more about the dishwasher. And still do.) Unfortunately, due to the pipe arrangements underneath, the disposal is under the big side of the sink, not the little side, which is what I was hoping for. So sad! Such is life, however, and the bigger concern is the whole “my-sink-is-sagging” issue that I’m not sure how to fix at the moment, lacking the immediate funds for new counters and cabinets. Moving on from THAT…

I did manage to finish Becoming Brianna today, which has taken an embarrassingly long time. I enjoyed it, too, although I wish I remembered Just Jaime a little better. Libenson’s “Emmie & Friends” series combines relatable middle school problems with expressive art, and Bri’s struggle to prepare for her bat mitzvah feels real. The friend and parent frustrations are perhaps less believable, but they further the plot and bring it to a satisfying conclusion, and that’s sometimes what matters, right? (Also what matters is that I finally finished the book, since Truly Tyler just came out.) Middle grade girls should for sure enjoy the first books in this series; I’m not so sure about middle grade boys, but perhaps the newest installment will change that. Happy reading!

I’m not feeling too guilty about missing on the 22nd, because I ended up taking the kiddos to Clearfield to see my two nieces in “Seussical Jr.”, and they were in two separate shows. They were fabulous, honestly–it was a pleasure to see them. Unfortunately, I didn’t actually process the fact that it was going to be outside, so I was doubly grateful that my sister-in-law had sunscreen with her. (I also took my littles off to the side after intermission, because I’d rather sit on concrete in the shade than on a bench in the sun. I really loathe the sun.) We roasted during the 2:00 show and then I was grateful to borrow a jacket from my mother-in-law for the 7:00, since the sun had disappeared. Such is life! Between the songs stuck in MY head and the ones my 11-year-old has been singing and finding on YouTube, we’re going to be remembering the experience for quite some time.

Anyway. Today I made jam, because NPS had 2 lb packages of nice-looking strawberries for $1.50 apiece, which is unreal. (Especially for this year. I haven’t even seen strawberries below $2/lb before this past weekend, and that’s unusual.) Tomorrow? Perhaps I’ll buy ricotta and there will be strawberry ricotta muffins! In the meantime, I’m poopered. Goodnight all!

Is it ‘the more things change, the more they remain the same’? That’s how I felt about Victoria Brown’s Minding Ben, a novel that my friend received an ARE of and, when she stepped back from blogging, passed on to me. First picture Anne Bronte’s Agnes Grey. (Haven’t read it? I’ll save you the trouble–being a governess in the 19th century sucks. That pretty much sums up the book.) Then add in a few 19th century novels about the urban poor, racism, classism, and gender politics. Top it off with a dash of A Tale of Two Cities–the uncaring rich bit–and set it all in 1989. Make your governess a West Indian babysitter (her preferred term), add way more F-words than I ever want to experience, and you’ve got Minding Ben in a nutshell. Is it interesting? Disturbingly so. Is it compelling? Painfully. Does it make you think about all of the things it’s talking about? Absolutely. Is it enjoyable to read? Unfortunately, less so for me. I couldn’t situationally identify with any of the characters, and while the West Indian accents were beautifully done and immeasurably enriched the audio version I experienced, the F-words did quite the opposite. Whether or not you opt to read it is your call, depending on whether the idea appeals.

I’m passing my copy on.

Sorry about Sunday, folks–the book that’s waiting to be reviewed had too much language for me to want to go there on the Sabbath. As for today, I’m just too poopered. This morning Britt came over and we put on a movie while she crocheted and I did some living room cleanout. (By the way, if you haven’t seen “Undercover Blues”, it’s an old favorite. Make time ASAP!) I drove kids around during the afternoon, and then I had to move things in my basement since my in-laws were bringing us a trickle-down dresser. I moved a few things back after they left–I’m going to actually go through the things, so it’ll be a slower process–and decided to dedicate one shallow drawer of the newly acquired dresser to our patterned duct tape collection (my oldest LOVES to make things with duct tape). In the process of emptying the overflowing drawstring bag into the drawer (not to mention corralling the loose escapees) I found at least four rolls that were down to the last bit of tape on the roll–as in, the last bit that’s taped to the cardboard and not at all functional for its intended use. Apparently it would have fit more nicely than I’d realized in the drawstring bag if the literal garbage had been removed earlier…

Sigh.

Ah, well. I think I’m designating a yarn drawer next. Have a good night all!

I received an ARC of Claire Zorn’s Protected sometime in 2017.

I finished it in the last week or so.

I’m not proud of this.

I’ve been through this before, however–children, power of concentration, an effort to catch up, etc.–and so all I can really do is express appreciation for the ARC and review it honestly. And so…

Protected is, essentially, a story about bullying and a story about grief. Hannah was bullied relentlessly almost upon entering high school, right up until her sister died and it–stopped. Her mother is drowning in grief and depression; her father is drowning in the aftermath as well, except that he is also trying, trying, TRYING to do what he can for what is left of his family. (In case you hadn’t guessed, Hannah’s mother isn’t my favorite character.) They have support–Hannah’s maternal grandparents and an empathetic neighbor–but their family’s journey back towards life really begins when Hannah starts seeing the school counselor. (Other counselors–therapists?–have failed to connect and help in meaningful ways.) Those sessions and an unexpected new friendship finally set Hannah on the path to healing, and that path is really what Zorn’s book is about. I’m generally fascinated by the paths we take to healing and wisdom, and Hannah’s story is a painful but moving one. In fact, I’d probably recommend it to the older teenagers in my life if it weren’t for the language; I’m quite sure that the cultural differences between the US and Australia are partly the problem, but oh, I did not like the number of F-words. I’m not saying teenagers in Australia don’t talk that way; heck, I’m not saying that teenagers here don’t talk that way. (I’m also not saying they do, mind you. A great deal depends on the teenager.) I’m just saying that the F-word seriously impedes my enjoyment of a story, and it was sprinkled throughout the book with enough regularity to be a problem for me. If that’s a deal breaker for you, skip this one; if it’s not, it’s a completely worthwhile read.*

*One more relatively minor complaint–Hannah’s level of naivety is clearly intentional for the sake of the plot but occasionally stretches believability. I found her ignorance of leg shaving, in fact, to be completely unbelievable for a competitive swimmer with an older sister like Katie and a television (are the ads really that different in Australia?) in her home.