Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Today, by noon, my dirty laundry was sorted AND I had laundry in both the washer and the dryer, I made lunches for my hubby and my youngest, took my kids to school, made appointments for their parent/teacher conferences, hand-repaired an article of clothing to wear, diced the rest of the ham I started on yesterday, got the hambone simmering on the stove, made my bed, did 10 minutes on the elliptical, started my scripture study for the day, and managed bits of organizational paperwork. Look at me go! Now, as you can see, I’m catching up here, since I fell behind over the weekend. (It was both a busy and a tired weekend. My son’s Saturday basketball game was at 8:30, and with 9:00 church this year, well–it felt a little rough.)

Of course, now I’m wondering if it isn’t a little ironic that I’m catching up from the weekend by reviewing Gordon Korman’s Slacker…anyway. I bought Slacker from Scholastic once upon a time; I believe it came in a Gordon Korman two-pack, and since I liked whatever it was paired with, I figured why not? Besides, a book about a serious video gamer might just be a good fit for my son.

Fast forward to December, and I pulled it out to consider as a Christmas gift for that very son; I hadn’t listened to very much of it, however, before I decided that I didn’t actually WANT to give it to him. I normally love Gordon Korman–he consistently combines slightly-over-the-top with triumphant feels in a satisfying and enjoyable way–but Cameron Boxer stays kind of a jerk for just long enough that his eventual turn-around didn’t really feel believable. (Plus, as a parent, I found his commentary about his “lifestyle” to be incredibly annoying. If your lifestyle is essentially parasitic and wholly selfish in nature, it’s not something to be proud of. ) I felt sorry for Cam’s sister, I was annoyed at his parents, and–yeah. On the other hand, his frustration with the PAG’s growth was kind of fabulous, the Harvard-obsessed senior was hilarious (in a slightly disturbing sort of way), and the ultimate triumphant feels were pretty great. If my son finds it at school, he’ll probably get a big kick out of it, and that’s cool.

I just don’t need to gift it to him.

Aanndd here you have it, folks! I’ve been promising to review Hope Larson’s All My Friends for at least a week or two, and today is finally the day. I’m just finishing up my English muffin with pear freezer jam, I’ve got the rest of my chocolate milk, and I turned off my light before midnight and slept like the dead last night, so I’ve got relatively high hopes for my powers of concentration. Which is good, because I’m a little conflicted about this one. (Which appears to have resulted in some mild to moderate spoilers, so be warned.)

So. On the one hand, I thought the romance aspect (I’m calling it that for lack of a better term, even though it doesn’t feel quite right) was handled pretty well. Bina learns a fair bit about what’s important in a significant other, and it doesn’t take her so long that it becomes annoying. On the other hand, the music element of the plot–the more central element–irritated me. Bina is FOURTEEN, which I suppose means her tantrum about her parents’ decision regarding a record deal is understandable, but to most parents, it was obviously the right decision. For her not to agree is realistic, but in a middle grade novel I’d like to see more resolution on the topic. Bina lies to her parents about a whole lot of things, but while she does get in trouble, that feels like an afterthought to the “yes, my music’s going forward!” vibe. Where’s her realization that hey, I made a LOT of bad decisions? Kudos to her for realizing she needed to be honest about going on a date with a new guy, but her (admittedly impressive) efforts to organize in order to further her band’s musical career were all on the down low, and she never seems to get WHY her parents’ decision is the right one. That aspect of the plot just seems to end with her tantrum. As a parent, I don’t really want my 13-year-old to feel like throwing a tantrum and then lying a whole bunch is going to end in her parents being really happy for her, even if she gets grounded. (Not to mention that the grounding seems to be more of a positive step towards her goals than not.) Fourteen is so far removed from adulthood–from the capacity to make mature and rational decisions about emotionally charged subjects–that the music story arc, viewed through that lens, is somewhat painful.

I don’t imagine that the painful-for-parents aspect is going to affect how the book’s target audience feels about it, you understand, but that’s kind of the point. That target audience is going to love the book and root for Bina wholeheartedly, instead of realizing that while making her own record definitely mitigates many of the dangers of signing with a record company at such a young age, the better option would have been to NOT LIE ABOUT IT. Her parents are, quite possible, some of the chillest-while still-caring-and-parenting in all literature; why not have Bina eventually RECOGNIZE that? Because a child’s all-or-nothing attitude towards the bumps in the road is real but not accurate, and recognizing that is an important step towards maturity that I would have liked to see her take.

Clearly I feel strongly about this. You’ll have to tell me what you think!

Because there’s plenty to write about, right? And I was (once again) too tired to do it last evening. So yes, it’s an even day, but I’ve got to start somewhere. AND I finished reading Elana K. Arnold’s The Question of Miracles to my 13-year-old last night, so I figure if I just review that today, it’ll be manageable AND I can return it to the library. Right?

Reviewing such a book, on the other hand, poses just a bit of a challenge. Is it a rumination on the titular question of miracles? A chronicle of Iris’s journey through grief? Or a story about friendship? Realistically, of course, it’s all three; Iris is grieving the death of her best friend when Boris enters her life, and even as their friendship develops, she is weighed down by what feels like the arbitrariness of life. Why did Boris live when the doctors were sure he wouldn’t? Why did Sarah die? And, on a practical level, is it okay to make new friends? How do you go on when someone’s death has left a hole in your life? And how do people in Oregon get used to ALL THAT RAIN?

The Question of Miracles develops unhurriedly–I think it took my girlie more than one reading session to fully engage–but it does develop, and we both found ourselves thoroughly caught up in Iris’s journey. I’d recommend this one to thoughtful readers, ones with big questions–or to anyone struggling to accept the sudden death of a loved one. It was quiet and surprising–that is to say, it developed differently than I was expecting it would–but lovely and thought-provoking; occasionally, it was laugh-out-loud funny.

Read it when you’re in a pondering sort of mood.

My nephew is getting married tomorrow, friends, and so after today it’s going to be radio silence (so to speak) for the holiday weekend; at the moment, however, you get a review. (NOT the review I was going to do Monday night, though, because I want to take more time than I currently have with that one.) I finished listening to Rob Buyea’s newest middle grade novel yesterday, and the sooner I review it, the sooner I can pass it off to my kiddos, right? If you’ve read his Mr. Terupt and The Perfect ________ novels, you’re familiar with Buyea’s style; he favors multiple viewpoints, latter elementary or middle school protagonists, and situations that require both assistance and emotional effort to resolve. The Daredevils, unsurprisingly, is no exception. Told by fraternal twins Waylon and Loretta–whose father is a big fan of classic country music–it chronicles the summer before they start middle school. They’ll be apart for much of the day for the first time, and tough Loretta is worried about her brother surviving without her while Waylon wants to prove his ability to do just that. After a summer filled with fire ceremonies, a surprise new friend, relationship adjustments, and more than one unexpected revelation, they both find themselves more able to make their own way.

I did think their journey felt ever-so-slightly rushed, to be honest with you; nothing was missing, but wow, it moved right along. On the other hand, Buyea’s target audience may appreciate that, and this latest offering delivers much of what we’ve come to expect from him while managing NOT to be overly similar to his previous works. Waylon’s passion for woodsmansy things (yes, I’m doing that with the English language today) might not be as easily relatable to readers as his school stories are, but Buyea’s style still delivers plenty of appeal. Take a look at this one!

I was totally going to review a book today, and yet what I want to say in the review is going to take more concentration and emotional energy than I’ve got right now. I’ve spent the day driving my children to appointments (as well as feeding people and getting them to where they’re supposed to be), my oldest is struggling with her mental health in a way that makes my heart hurt, and I feel like I’m sinking a little under the weight of all of the things I should be getting done. I am therefore putting off the book review to run books to the library drive-through–yes, it’s 10:20 pm, I have reasons–and putting off washing my hair until tomorrow, because I still have my scriptures to read and my shower to take, and my body just kind of wants to sleep. I wish rest to all the parents–and to all the children.

To everyone.

I finished listening to Real by Carol Cujec and Peyton Goddard this week, and it was seriously powerful. It’s inspired by true events–Peyton Goddard lives with a level of autism that left her unable to communicate until adulthood–and if you can imagine a mashup of Sharon M. Draper’s Out of My Mind and R.J. Palacio’s Wonder that is authored by Nellie Bly, that’s my best description of the plot. Nothing Charity does is easy, and as she and her supporters work to advocate for those without a voice, I found myself reconsidering my own impressions and assumptions about those around me. If you want a poignant, inspiring, and thought-provoking read for the new year, look no further.

In other news, I attended my Uncle Rick’s funeral today. He was a good man who loved his family, and listening to his daughter and grandson talk about him brought me back to my own experiences with him. Not all adults are excited to focus on kids, but Rick always made a point to interact with me. He was 92 and failing–I know he lived a good, long life–but he will still be missed.

And I am, as ever, reminded how grateful I am for my family.

This year I officially became the kind of mom who wraps a book for her child for Christmas with her bookmark still in it; not cool, maybe, but my son’s too wrapped up in the Battle of the Books to read it immediately, and it was a busy December. I did manage to finish it a day or two after Christmas, however, and it was EXCELLENT. If you haven’t read Jordan Sonnenblick’s The Boy Who Failed Show and Tell, I HIGHLY recommend it. (Apparently I’m all about the caps in 2023, and I should probably mention that I started this post on New Year’s Eve and I’m just now attempting to finish it, because that’s how I’m rolling at the moment.) I recommend it even more highly for boys with anxiety, asthma, or ADD–and their parents. Also teachers? OR boys who love music, have had school struggles, or have reptiles for pets.

Also to everybody. Because I really did like it that much.

Jordan generally has bad luck predicting which teachers he’ll like and which he won’t, but his fourth grade teacher is bad news from the get-go. She isn’t necessarily unrealistic for back in the day, I’m guessing–the book starts in 1978 or ’79–but she horrifies both the parent and the teacher in me. Jordan isn’t necessarily the easiest kid, partly because his asthma medications make him jittery, but his teacher is seriously terrible, which leads to a series of struggles and changes that end up pushing Jordan into a much better space in his life. What kids are going to love, however, is Jordan’s matter-of-fact, beautifully comic narrating style coupled with his every-kid appeal. I’m expecting my son to love this one…once he finishes the Battle of the Books and starts reading other options again. In the meantime, go check it out.

You’ll be glad you did.