Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Oh, the struggle–I have yet to rethink my posting schedule. On the other hand, I’ve done good work in my kitchen!

Anyway. When I last went to Ream’s I picked up two small pork sirloin roasts, each of them a bit over a pound and a half; on Monday I went to Parent/Teacher conferences at the high school, and so I spent some time looking at crockpot recipes for pork sirloin roasts on Sunday evening. On Monday morning I had to postpone the recipe I’d been planning on because I was out of apple juice and couldn’t face going to the store first thing; instead, I put this Balsamic Glazed Pork Sirloin Roast in the crockpot and hoped for the best; I have to say, I was NOT disappointed. (Although I did have to call the neighbor who was watching my littles so he could send my son over to turn off the crockpot while my oldest and I were at the high school.) Three of the kids gave me thumbs up (or middle to up); the fourth, my sage hater, actually gave it a thumbs middle. And my HUSBAND voluntarily used the glaze! (Balsamic–or any–vinegar is not his thing.) As for me, well–I kept snitching more and more bits of meat to dip in the glaze, because the meat was lovely, but the glaze was out of this world. If you want an amazing crockpot recipe that comes together with a minimum of effort, look no further.

If I weren’t so full right now, I’d seriously go sneak another piece of pork with glaze after just writing about it.

My 12-year-old and I finished reading One for the Murphys aloud together on the same day that she finished reading Fighting Words to herself, and even now I am struck by the contrast between the two. Murphys has an idyllic foster care family, which feels more like a fairy tale than reality, and yet it captures perfectly the dilemma of a deeply flawed parent (hence foster care!) who is, nevertheless, a legal parent. Foster care is an uneasy, difficult thing; it would be lovely if it could end in adoption when a placement works well, and yet it so often can’t. Temporary children and temporary parents and a temporary home–ALL of that takes a toll. Fighting Words, on the other hand, gives us a grittier picture of foster care, but it does lack the element of parental uncertainty.

Both books made me cry.

One for the Murphy‘s Carley Connors is both prickly and lovable in a wholly realistic way, and her relationship with her (first?) best friend is a solid thing to watch; mistakes are made, neither is perfect, but they manage in the end. Mullaly Hunt–or is it just Hunt?–is careful to show that the Murphy family has its flaws, although sometimes they feel perfect. This isn’t, perhaps, a perfect book, but it has heart and humor and raw emotion (my throat was killing me from trying to read the last few pages aloud over the tears); don’t miss it.

And by-the-by, I apparently can’t manage to collect my brain enough to write critically, cohesively, or coherently after 8:00 at night, which is why I’ve missed the last few posts. I’m going to have to rethink my posting schedule. (And in case you’re wondering, I’m posting after 8 tonight because I wrote most of this post this morning…)

I finished Sharon Draper’s Blended yesterday–ahead of my 14-year-old, who’s also reading it!–and while it had some lovely moments, I have to say I foundOut of My Mind to be the better book. It isn’t that Izzy’s not engaging, because she is; it isn’t that anything about the novel is completely unrealistic, although I desperately want it to be. It’s more that for a novel of its size and depth, two complete stories and themes were too much for it to handle. I wish Draper had picked either Izzy’s experiences as a child of divorced parents OR Izzy’s experiences with contemporary racism for her plot; either would have made a successful storyline. Instead, we have a book that tries to blend two complete stories and doesn’t fully do either story justice. (A longer book for older readers might have done it, but Izzy’s voice is too young for that.) There’s also a feeling of ‘well, THAT escalated quickly’ during the crisis point, perhaps because Izzy as a narrator covers a decent amount of minutiae–although that may have been a conscious contrast, considering the topic. Ultimately, there’s plenty of meat in this story, but (in my opinion) it’s a bit too rare. Izzy’s likability makes it no hardship to read, however, and for those who will see themselves in her, it still has the potential to be an important book.

In other news, it’s going to be one of those ‘busy from 3:00 on’ kind of days, and I’m not looking forward to it. I have one child with play rehearsal until 4-ish and another one with dance at 4:20, not to mention feeding ALL the children and getting the older girls and myself to our youth activity on time. Wish me luck!

That’s how long ago Molly Moon’s Incredible Book of Hypnotism came out, folks. I have the ARC to prove it, although at least it’s one from Borders (may it rest in peace) rather than one I requested as a blogger. I finally committed myself to reading it–listening to it, technically–and after a lag of several months, I’m NOW committing myself to reviewing it.

Let’s all pause while I feel pathetic.

Honestly, though, I’ve put off the reviewing of it in large part because I haven’t been sure what to say. There’s definitely a Roald Dahl feel to Molly Moon, and for the first half of the book I couldn’t manage to actually like Molly, horrible orphanage background notwithstanding. I enjoy watching the oppressed putting their oppressors in their places, but gratuitous public humiliation bearing no direct connection to their bad behavior is not my jam. Molly’s hypnotic rise to fame didn’t do it for me either, but when she starts to see reality and examine her priorities, the story did (eventually) win me over. I’m still not passionate about it, necessarily, but kids who feel downtrodden and powerless–or just lacking in fair opportunities–will probably find it a solid romp, and the ending surprised me in a good way. If the idea of finding a book on hypnotism that enables you to get just about whatever you want sounds intriguing, give this one a try!

I’m posting on track–on a Saturday! Wahoo! And the BEST part is that I’ve had The Cure for Cold Feet on my shelf for ages, partly because it’s a verse novel and I kept thinking that ‘oh, that’s so short that I can read it anytime’ and partly because I kept not being in the mood–anytime. I finally committed myself to it out of sheer obstinacy (and the knowledge that it would free up a spot on my 12-year-old’s library card).

That 12-year-old of mine read Cold Feet‘s predecessor–Izzy Kline Has Butterflies QUITE some time ago. I read it before passing it on to her, and I enjoyed it as well, which is why its sequel has been sitting on my shelf. I don’t know that she’ll care enough about the sequel to read it after so much time has passed, however, and so I’m returning it to the library–because for whatever reason, I just didn’t like it as well. It’s possible I’ve read a few too many middle grade novels in the last year or so that involve a friend being dropped by another friend upon entering middle school/junior high; I’m not saying Cold Feet did it badly, but there’s only so much of that I can take in a given block of time. It’s also possible that Beth Ain’s style of verse feels a bit poetic for its subject matter to me. (There’s nothing wrong with Izzy expressing herself poetically, but I guess it started to feel like too much mental/emotional effort for what I was getting out of it. Admittedly, my age vs. the age of the intended audience is part of the problem…) Perhaps I also wanted more closure than provided? Ultimately, this is a poetically lovely story, and kids with divorced parents who are transitioning into other relationships may find it perfect; I, on the other hand, clearly need a break from this sort of middle grade novel!

Okay, well, it’s obvious that I’m just not as on top of this blog as I used to be–I’m sure my legions of devoted followers are very upset–but I did have a good bit going on in the last week or so. I missed the 1st because I’d posted on the 31st and wasn’t as committed to making the 1st happen, but I was planning on posting on the 2nd, until fruit happened.

You see, we went to Las Vegas last weekend for the BYU-Arizona game–meeting family and staying together in a vacation house sort of place–and on Thursday (the 2nd) I was in the kitchen prepping various foods we were planning on bringing with us. I’d already cut up a cantaloupe and a jicama and grated enough zucchini for two big loaves of zucchini bread (which were in the oven) when I decided to bring the peaches from the dining room to the kitchen to sort out which ones would have to be used before we left. We’d gotten them from our neighbors (who have a tree) in a paper grocery bag, which was still at least half full, and when I picked it up, out fell the bottom and out fell the peaches.

SPLAT.

I love ripe, juicy peaches. They are HEAVENLY. They also, however, leave literal puddles of juice when they fall several feet onto the floor–and the ones that aren’t quite ripe enough to splat ROLL instead. I spent the next hour (possibly hour and a half?) salvaging everything I could in the peach department and cleaning up the floor (plus at least one dining room chair). By then I was behind in my day, and that plus the flurry of “we’re going on a road trip” meant no post before we left for Vegas. Certainly I wasn’t going to post while we were in Vegas, and since then I’ve been unpacking and doing laundry and catching up on some of the missed sleep that comes from staying in a big house with lots of family. (Also planning meals that involve eating the leftovers we brought home with us; we were the only ones with a cooler.) Today, however, I am starting anew. Go me!

At some point in all of the craziness I managed to finish AJ Pearce’s Yours Cheerfully, her sequel to the delightful Dear Mrs. Bird, and I loved it. Loved it! Pearce has a gift for creating a perfect blend of poignancy, humor, and history, and her characters are completely lovable–except for the ones that are deliciously NOT. (There’s a dichotomy there that’s not completely realistic, but it’s thoroughly satisfying, so I find myself not caring.) Emmy, Bunty, Mr. Collins, and their supporting characters are back, and when the government asks media outlets to help recruit women workers, they can’t help seeing the difficulties faced by women in the workforce (especially the factories). What’s to be done about it? Charles is also back–a desk job for the moment–but Pearl Harbor throws him (and Emmy) for a loop, and they must decide what to do about THAT as well. If you want historical fiction with all the feels, AJ Pearce is an author not to be missed–and she’s recommendable to anyone!