Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Back in the magical Borders days of yore, employees used to get a 40% off day once or twice a year.  I spent a fortune there over years’ worth of 40% off days, but one of my best investments involved the ‘Newbery Authors’ series of books, published only occasionally but priced at $2.99.  Forty percent off of $2.99 is a fairly insane price for a book by an established author; I have quite a few of these editions on my shelves, and I opted for one of them for my latest Fourth Book.

Avi is an established author with three Newberys under his belt–one Medal and two Honors.  I read his Something Upstairs in 7th grade English (with Mrs. DiDonato), although whether that was because it was right around the time his two Honor books were published or because he was living in RI at the time and therefore local, I have no idea.  (If I knew where she was now, I’d possibly ask her, because now I’m curious.)  I encountered The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle in college, as well as a few others by him, and I’ve read Nothing But the Truth and Crispin:  The Cross of Lead as part of my Newbery quest.  Avi isn’t, in fact, one of my very favorite authors–his writing style isn’t so much my thing–but he tells interesting stories and keeps you hooked while he’s telling them, so he’s never been a hardship to read either.  The Avi book I just finished, The Good Dog, is no exception.

The Good Dog feels like an intermediate fiction cousin to The Call of the Wild; the main character is a malamute named McKinley, and the plot revolves around what happens in his Colorado community when a wolf comes to town.  Lupin has come down from her northern wilderness to recruit dogs for her dwindling wolf pack.  McKinley is head dog in Steamboat Springs and finds himself trying to protect Lupin from the humans hunting her, prevent his human pup (a fan of The Jungle Book) from trying to run away to live with her, and prohibit a rival, Redburn, from using her presence to take over as head dog.  How he manages it all makes for a consistently fast-paced read.  And while neither the topic nor the style are what I’m normally drawn to, this is a great adventure (and animal) story.  (I’m keeping my copy, because while I’m unlikely to reread it, I really need to up my quantity of “books especially likely to appeal to boys” for the sake of my son.)  If I were teaching, I’d be tempted to use it as an intro to The Call of the Wild, or have my kids read this while I read the other to them, or something.  The possibilities in the shared themes are endless.  Since I’m not teaching, however, I will stick it on the bookshelf in one of the kids’ rooms, and wait for it to be chosen so we can talk about it.

I’ll be looking forward to it.

I’m trying to, at least.  Which means I’m trying NOT to think about how disappointing the BYU/Ole Miss game was (for a BYU fan, you understand), and focusing instead on what we had for dinner last night.  (Dinner being a loose term, in this case.)  I had a bunch of strawberries that needed to be eaten, and I had some canned whipped cream; I considered making up some oatmeal pancake mix, decided to go the easier route and make waffles, and then thought–wait.  What if I made dinner the Family Night treat this week?  Because my friend Britt has this recipe for Brownie Batter Pancakes…

Yup.  That was dinner last night, folks.  I halved the recipe she posted there and used slightly over half whole wheat flour; I also substituated 1/2 c of applesauce for that much of the oil.  That amount fed my whole family right about perfectly (they were filling!).  I also went ahead and cut up ALL of the strawberries I had left, which means that we got to be generous in that department.  Not exactly the healthiest dinner in the world, I grant you, but believe you me–if your team loses in the next week or two, having this for dinner will help cheer you up!

Which, let me tell you what, is EXACTLY what I need right now in the recipe department.  I think this version of Pasta e Fagioli Soup actually caught my eye a few weeks ago; it’s been kind of a crazy few weeks,  however, which is why it took me until last Wednesday to actually make it for dinner.  I have to say, though–it was totally worth the wait.  I wouldn’t have thought such a simple recipe could be so flavorful and lovely, but I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it.  All of my kids ate it without complaint (which is incredibly impressive).  And all I did to finish off dinner was to pull a loaf of homemade bread out of the freezer!

I didn’t even make significant changes to the recipe (wonder of wonders!).  I substituted small white beans for the canellini beans, true, but that was a practical decision–your basic Utah grocery store doesn’t always stock canellini beans.  And I used canned Parmesan instead of fresh, but that’s only because it was dance night and I was fresh out of time.  I LOVED the fresh parsley on top, and I was generous with mine, but I’m the only one who misses it if it’s not there, so I didn’t bother putting it on the other bowls (again, no time).  I may also have used an extra strip of bacon, but really, who doesn’t want an extra strip of bacon?  (Other than my friend Andrea, that is, because she doesn’t.)  With those minor exceptions, friends, I followed the recipe and adored the result.  My only warning is that the pasta in the soup does what pasta in soup does best–that is, continue to absorb liquid until the leftovers are more of a goulash-style dish and less, well, soupy.  Since that didn’t affect the taste, I wasn’t bothered.

Seriously though, folks.  Add this one to your dinner rotation today!

I just finished reading Sharon Creech’s The Great Unexpected, and while I didn’t realize it was partly about Ireland (nor did I anticipate just how long it would take me to finish it, thanks to my current stage in life), it was.  And I finished it less than a week before St. Patrick’s Day.  Talk about timing!  (Much better timing than El Deafo, which I finished only a day or two before my baby went into the hospital with RSV, spiked a fever, and needed a spinal tap to rule out meningitis.  Did I mention that the main character in El Deafo loses most of her hearing  because she had meningitis as a young child?)

Anyway.  I quite enjoyed The Great Unexpected, although it wasn’t quite what I thought it would be at first.  The dialogue in the opening scene was so entertaining that I started expecting more of a poignant but humorous friends story; as the book progressed, however, it became obvious that it was more poignant than humorous–and more of an ensemble story than anything else.  I wasn’t disappointed, mind you, but my perception of the story certainly changed.  (I possibly feel that my initial expectation might have more appeal for young readers, but I can’t guarantee that, given how very old I’m feeling at the moment!)  At the end of it, I was briefly reminded of Sarah Addison Allen’s The Peach Keeper; the two books share a theme of ‘what women shouldn’t let come between them.’  That isn’t all that the book is about, however…it also does an excellent job of contrasting how people are publicly perceived with who they really are.

Which all sounds rather philosophical, doesn’t it?  And yet The Great Unexpected is really a fairy tale, about more than one pair of friends (and sisters!), at least two boys named Finn, and several strange twists of fate.  The ending is a version of every young girl’s dream come true–mine included!–and the middle involves an interesting mix of characters, very few of whom register on the normal-to-boring end of the spectrum. It’s an enjoyable journey with a satisfying ending; the plot meanders slightly, but it does tie together in a lovely way at the end.  Grab this one and read it in honor of St. Paddy’s Day!

By now you all know about my Newbery quest and how excited I get when the ALA Awards are announced, and while I don’t have goals that involve any other award-winning books, I still like to take a look at some of those titles every year.  One of my favorite other winners this year was Separate is Never Equal:  Sylvia Mendez and Her Family’s Fight for Desegregation, which was both a Pura Belpre Illustrator Honor Book and a Robert F. Sibert Honor Book.  (Googling those awards will get you a more concise description of them than my tired brain can currently provide.) It gives a picture book view of the mid-1940s legal battle that ended segregation in California; I was fascinated in part because of the differences between how segregation ended there and how it ended in the south, and in part because I didn’t know there was segregation in California.  (It isn’t that I necessarily assumed there wasn’t, you understand, but I grew up on the East coast.  I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about schooling in California.)  Interestingly enough, my five-year-old is also a fan, although I would say she’s a bit younger than the ideal target audience.  She wanted me to read it to her again today, and so I obliged at bedtime, when her eight-year-old sister was there as well.  She is a born artist, and so pointed out to me that the illustrations incorporate pictures of real things (as in, the jeans one of the workers wears are an outline filled with an actual picture of denim, and I hope this makes sense to you, because I was up too many times last night to find a better way to word it).  Both of my girls thought that was really cool.  And so, whether you are looking for creative illustrations or a fascinating true story, this book is well worth your time.

That was about my reaction when my oldest read Sarah, Plain and Tall, and loved it, and wanted ‘the next one.’  I knew that Skylark existed, and so that one went on hold for her, but when further investigation on Goodreads showed FIVE books in the series, I was floored.  How did I not know about this?  Because I love Patricia MacLachlan, and I LOVE Sarah, Plain and Tall.  And now that I know about the other three books, I’ve been getting them (one at a time) for my oldest, waiting until she’s done, and then reading each one before taking it back to the library.  She just finished More Perfect Than the Moon (#4), and so while feeding and burping the baby this afternoon, I took the time to run through it myself.

Here’s my confession–I didn’t love it quite as much as I loved the first three, but I can’t decide if that’s because it wasn’t quite as good or because of the subject matter.  This one is about Cassie, Sarah’s biological daughter, and her reaction to her parents’ announcement that a new baby is coming.  She is determined that she won’t talk to or look at the ‘terrible baby,’ and simultaneously worried that her mama will die in childbirth like her half-siblings’ mother.  How she works through this–during the course of her mother’s pregnancy–might just be every bit as good of a story as the book’s three predecessors; for somewhat obvious reasons, however, the plot was less appealing to me.  The book is still thoughtfully written and enjoyable, though, so I’m going to give it the benefit of the doubt and chalk my reaction up to poor timing.

It happens.

For those of you who don’t know, the women’s organization within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (yes, the Mormons) is called the Relief Society, and they’re called that for a reason.  Members of the Relief Society have been serving others for almost two centuries now; some of that service has changed somewhat in nature, but some of it remains the same.  Case in point–the Relief Society asked me about meals just before I had my baby, discovered that we’d need meals a lot more after my parents left than while they were staying with us, and arranged for us to receive four meals over the course of a week or so, starting with the day my parents drove home to Idaho.  Three of those meals came this week, which was beyond wonderful with Baby Girl in the hospital, and let me tell you something:  bringing over a casserole can sound like a cliche; it can even seem trite in the face of tragedy when the tragedy is not your own.  When your not-yet-three-week-old is in the hospital,  however, and you and your hubby are passing each other like ships in the night to spend time with both her and the kids at home, there is nothing cliche or trite about other woman feeding you and your family so that you have one less worry on your plate.  This is being Christ-like at its best–showing up at someone else’s door, food in hand.  These four women were different ages, in different stages of life, and from different places, but they all volunteered to feed my family in addition to their own for one night.  (Technically, it was five–one woman didn’t sign up but brought me over a spontaneous lasagna.  With home-made bread.)  Being the recipient of such service–which is what the ‘Relief’ in Relief Society is all about–is humbling.

It’s also difficult to write about without sounding sappy, and since my sleep-deprived brain isn’t doing “difficult” very well, I’m just going to leave you with a quote instead.

“God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other in the kingdom… In the Doctrine and Covenants we read about how important it is to ‘…succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.’ (D&C 81:5.) So often, our acts of service consist of simple encouragement or of giving mundane help with mundane tasks, but what glorious consequences can flow from mundane acts and from small but deliberate deeds!” (“Small Acts of Service,” Ensign, Dec 1974, 2).”

That is as true today as it was in 1974.  To the women who served me and my family in the last week and a half–thank you from the bottom of my heart.  I felt my Savior’s love through you.

Last night, after her first bath and some serious trauma removing the oxygen tube circles from her cheeks, my home-from-the-hospital 3-week-old slept from 10:30 pm to 7:30 am.

Seriously.  That’s awesome, right?  I should have woken up amazed and shockingly well rested?

Oh, if only.  And in an exceptionally cruel twist, yes, my two-year-old was up briefly once, but it was my 8-year-old that was up multiple times, for who knows how long at a stretch.  (This sleep-deprived mommy wasn’t coherent enough to figure that out.)  She had woken up with ear pain at 9:30-ish, been given Ibuprofen, and gone back to sleep; apparently the medicine didn’t help nearly as much as one might hope.  At various times in the night she took a q-tip to her own ear (I only learned this in the morning), snuggled with Mommy on the couch, joined Mommy and Daddy in bed for a bit, tried laying down in the living room, and ultimately went back to bed.  This morning she came along with me and her baby sister to the follow-up RSV doctor’s appointment, where she handled getting her ears flushed out like the little trooper she is.  She had ear drops in the afternoon and they were painful; when I gave them to her at bedtime, however, it was a nightmare.  This is a BRAVE girl, mind you.  She handles pain and illness like a little Stoic, and yet these drops hurt her so badly she was sobbing in my arms.  And let me tell you, as I was holding her and trying to figure out what to do, it about killed me to hear her say “It helped when you sang, Mom.”  Because singing when you’re trying not to cry for your child is not so easy.

The good news is that after further perusal of the fine print on the pharmacy papers, I realized that she can sit upright and (presumably) let the drops drain out a bit after 60 seconds, which should help (as should a good night’s sleep).  The bad news is that we’ve got four more days of drops.

Here’s praying that she hurts less tomorrow.

…are not fun places to sleep in.  And my baby girl has RSV, so we ended up at the ER on Sunday night (just before midnight).  My hubby and I have been switching off at the hospital and at home, and our friends and neighbors have been so very kind to help as much as they can; I confess, however, that I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again.  We’re hoping the little one will be coming home tomorrow.  In the meantime, I’m not going to attempt a longer post just now.  Sleep well, folks!

That, sadly, is how I felt last night after finishing Cece Bell’s El Deafo.  Which was doubly sad, because not only was I disappointed in one of this year’s three Newberys, but I was disappointed by the ending after being impressed by most of the book.  And THAT was made worse by the fact that I wasn’t expecting to be impressed by the book at all; graphic novels are not so much my thing, and I’m still bothered that they couldn’t find ONE traditional novel to add to this year’s Newbery winners.  (You understand that I’m not talking about taking any awards away, but for Pete’s sake–they could have just picked a third (or fourth!) Honor book.)

Anyway.  The premise of El Deafo is relatively simple; it’s based on the author’s own experiences of growing up mostly deaf after an illness.  The main character spends a year in a school with others like her, learning the basics of lip reading (among other things), and then heads to a regular public school with a “Phonic Ear” (a hearing aid that picks up her teacher’s voice through a microphone the teacher wears).  She soon discovers that she can hear more than she’s intended to hear through her Phonic Ear, but that only serves as a distraction from her main problem–social acceptance.  She is acutely embarrassed by her hearing aid and cannot bring herself to reach out to anyone around her, let alone talk about her hearing, and so she ends up with friends that treat her differently than she would prefer.  As an adult, of course, you wish she’d just SAY SOMETHING, but I still remember how hard it was to say the important things when I was that age.  Bell does a nice job of taking us through Cece’s friendship blunders, and the graphic novel format actually adds to the effectiveness here, which is not something I ever thought I’d say. For two hundred plus pages, then, the book impressed me.

What disappointed me, however, was the ending.  The story finds resolution in two ways, really, and I was happy with one of those ways–just not with the other.  Both the parent and the teacher in me found the second way undesirable, and the former student in me was left wondering if the situation was really as positive as the author presents it to be.  (I don’t know that I can be more specific without giving definite spoilers.)  It is possible that Bells recognizes some of what I ended up feeling, since she seems to do her best to end that part of the resolution on sort of a neutral note, but I’m not sure how much better that makes me feel.  Like I said–I was impressed by most of the book, but ultimately disappointed.  Take from that what you will.