Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Really, that’s all there was to say on Friday night, especially because BYU’s rising star of a quarterback broke his leg and is (I assume) out for the season.  Which meant that we lost at home to a team that, well, we haven’t lost to in a while.  The bright spot of the evening, then, was definitely Mel’s Caramel Pear Crisp, which both used up some of my Costco Bartlett pears (they always seem to come ripe all at once) and sated some of my fall dessert cravings.  I made the caramel sauce before dinner, and I used half evaporated milk in it–but ONLY because I had half of the cream that I needed and couldn’t deal with dragging all of the kids to the store just to get more.  The rest of the recipe I followed…well, unless you count letting it sit for 30 minutes after it came out of the oven.  I didn’t even get it in the oven until well after the kiddos were in bed, and with the lateness of the hour and how heavenly it smelled, THAT sure wasn’t going to happen.  I’m sure it would have held its shape more had I waited, but really, who cares about that?  (Okay, pretty much everyone on the Food Network does, but this was my hubby and me.  We don’t.)  I plopped some vanilla bean ice cream on top and went to town.

And OH, it was heavenly.  I generally prefer apple crisp, and I haven’t lost any of the love I feel in that direction, but this was lovely and delicious and delightful and more.  I still want to weep knowing that it’s gone (the girls and I may or may not have finished it off for breakfast the next day. The boy may or may not have contrarily screamed when it was offered to him–seriously, who screams at DESSERT FOR BREAKFAST?–and so I may or may not have taken one for the team and eaten his portion, too.).   Then again, I am going to Costco tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll buy pears.

My Newbery quest and my 4th book rule (the one where every fourth book I read has to be a book I actually own) came together this week, and last night I finished Gary Paulsen’s Dogsong.  (Which means, I think, that I’m finished with Gary Paulsen–at least as far as Newberys are concerned.)  And…

Hmmm.  My thoughts on this one are a bit random, so I’ll start with the obvious; from the first page of the first chapter, it was immediately clear that this was another Newbery to really, really stretch the definition of “Children’s” literature.  I didn’t find it offensive, mind you, but the subject matter of the quotes that head the first two chapters is not exactly material for my 7-year-old.  The rest of the book, I have to say, follows suit. Again, there’s nothing offensive or explicit, but the main character saves the life of a pregnant teenage girl, and his experiences helping her are not exactly fluffy.  I’d say 12 and up, maybe, but you probably want to be aware of the basic plot even then.  Depending on the 12-year-old.

Next thought…while it was well done and yes, affecting, the idea of Russell’s real-life experiences and the ones he dreams about melding at the end was executed a little strangely for me.  If life had just mirrored the dream I’d be all for it, but at one point he’s not sure what he actually does and what he dreams, and that went a little far for me.  Gary Paulsen sells it well–the prose certainly has a dream-like quality–but still.

And the last thought?  The basic plot of the book is this:  Russell is troubled by the modern world and yearns towards the old ways, those of his grandparents’ time.  His father can see this, and suggests he seek help from the old man in the village (there seems to be only one that’s old enough to talk about what Russell wants to know).  Russell moves in with him, learns from him, and then takes the old man’s dogs and sled out (with his blessing) on a ‘run’ north to ‘become a man.’  It’s a simple journey–nothing about the old OR new way of Eskimo life portrayed seems attractive to me, what with the harsh environment and comparative lack of contact with the outside world, not to mention the diet of meat, meat, meat–but when Russell sleeps, he becomes a man from the time of woolly mammoths and lives his journeyings as well.  Eventually, the worlds meld together, and Russell is given the chance to save a life in his actual time.

Okay, NOW for my last thought, which is that the book didn’t go either of the ways I assumed it was going.  I figured that Russell was either going to embrace the old ways permanently and (perhaps) alter his lifestyle accordingly, or that he was going to return from his journey more comfortable with all aspects of his life.  Instead, the book simply focused on how Russell became one with his dogs and the journey (possibly I should have paid more attention to the TITLE OF THE BOOK.)  I didn’t really feel like there was resolution to his restlessness, although I suppose if you think about it, as the book ends he is turning toward at least one aspect of modern life without rejecting any of the old that he’s been living.

And there you have it, folks.  Gary Paulsen is a bit of a puzzle for me, because the first book I read by him doesn’t seem to be his typical thing at all; his Newberys, on the other hand, share a common theme or three.  I LOVED my first exposure to him, though, which is why I opted to link Nightjohn to this post.  I can recommend that one to all and sundry–buy it, read it, it’s worth it–whereas Dogsong is not enough my thing for me to rave about it to others.  I certainly respect it, and his outdoors and survival books are worth it if that’s more your style; they just aren’t so much mine.  They are, however, good enough that all three Newberys were worth my time.  I’m glad I’ve read them.

I’m just not sure I’m going to seek out more of his work in the immediate future.

Yesterday was the kind of day that doesn’t go at all like you expect it to, all day long.  As to how it was, well, here’s a bit of a rundown:

1)A lovely woman in my neighborhood stopped by with dinner for us in the morning.  Her son had had shingles at 19, and apparently his misery was memorable.  This is a common thread, by the way; fellow sufferers–or, in more than one case, immediate relatives of fellow sufferers–are very, very sympathetic.

2)My hubby took the littles to the park while my oldest was at dance; he dropped my middle off unexpectedly right as dance was ending, because she had had a bit of an accident.  When she got on the potty, it became apparent that she’d done well only having a bit of one; within 10 minutes, she’d been on the potty again and thrown up on the bathmat.

3)It was a tad chaotic cleaning her up and getting her taken care of while also getting her older sister into bed for school the next morning.  I was settling the oldest, the middle was on the potty, and Daddy and the boy were hanging out when there was a knock at the door.  A family has just moved into our neighborhood from a homeless shelter, starting from scratch; the Young Women leaders in our ward were out with some of the young women (ages 12-18) asking the rest of the neighborhood if they had anything to spare for them.  We scrounged what we could, got the middle squared away in a temporary bed upstairs, and got the boy down (half an hour late).  I also put the bathmat and some towels into the washing machine.  With bleach.

4)I went to switch the wash after the boy was done, and lo and behold! the washing machine had stopped mid-cycle.  It wouldn’t drain.  It still agitates, but it’s also still full of the dirty/bleachy/vomit-y water.  (Ewww!)  My hubby dredged the towels up and I carried them to the downstairs bathtub, where they sat until this afternoon.  (I squeezed the water out as best I could and my neighbors ran them through their washer and dryer.  Bless them.)

5)I sat at the computer to zone before bed and hey, my mouse was on the fritz again.  (This happens sometimes.)  At that point I was kind of afraid to touch anything else.

At first all I could think about was what a HORRIBLE evening it had been–and then I stopped.  Shouldn’t knowing that somewhere nearby was a family starting with NOTHING make me grateful that I’m ONLY out a washing machine for a few days, until we can get it fixed or replace it?  Shouldn’t I be grateful that we were able to take care of our kids, sick and well alike, with only a bit of rushing around?  Shouldn’t I be grateful for a hubby who fixed the mouse, and good neighbors?

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m constantly seeing more items that need washing, because that’s what you notice when you can’t do anything about it.  And yes, it’s driving me crazy.  We are, however, so very blessed.

And I am grateful for it.

It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I could come up with to describe Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library.  The premise is very Charlie and the Chocolate Factory…renowned (eccentric) game inventor Luigi Lemoncello is connected to the fabulous new library in Kyle Keeley’s hometown, and it turns out the extra-credit essay that Kyle forgot to do is his ticket into the grand opening overnight celebration.  Kyle, of course, manages to overcome his memory lapse to end up as one of the 12 12-year-olds who attend the celebration; the event takes a more exciting turn,  however, when they find themselves locked in the next morning, with a set of rules governing their search for a way out.  (Don’t worry.  They have the option to opt out.)  The ensuing twists and turns are always surprising; there is also a bit of a Harry Potter-esque emphasis on friendship and teamwork over ‘every man for himself.’  My favorite thing about the book, though, was Mr. Lemoncello’s sly dropping of book titles into his every conversation.  (Newbery titles abound, but not only Newberys!)  He reminded me–very slightly, you understand–of Robin Williams’ Genie.

This book is a whole lot of fun; it keeps you guessing (mostly because of the sheer number of different puzzles and riddles involved); and it’s very easy to read.  Part of me really wants to give it five stars; the other part of me is struggling because it’s not the perfect fit for me, either topically or stylistically.  The thing is, neither of those things are anyone’s fault but mine.  It’s a good topic, and the writing style is perfect for contemporary, approachable works of intermediate fiction; it just so happens that I prefer historical fiction, with either a more formal or a more poetic style. That’s my thing.  On the other hand, I’m glad I stepped out of my box to read this one.  It was worth it.

Okay, I’m starting off with a disclaimer.  I wanted to post yesterday, and I’d be posting a longer post today, but the sad truth of the matter is, that I HAVE SHINGLES.  And it HURTS to sit at my computer.

(By the way, everything you hear about shingles being painful is, sadly, true.  Grrrr.)

I am, however, counting my blessings:  1)My hubby is taking very good care of me.  2)I have NOT the gag reflexes that two of my best friends have, which means I can swallow the huge blue pills (read:  biggest freaking things I have ever seen in my life) required to eventually stop having shingles.  (Hmmm.  I was going for 3, but I’ll have to think some more on that one.  And by the way, I originally started this paragraph with “However, I am,” and then I changed it, because despite the fact that Mrs. DiDonato’s sophomore English class was 21 years ago–am I REALLY that old?–I am still incapable of NOT neatly tucking in my howevers.)

Anyway.  To celebrate Saturday morning, since yesterday was kind of crazy even with no school, I decided to make breakfast.  I even persevered in my design after the fighting between my girlies, probably because the boy slept in and that made for a better morning regardless. (Not a good night’s sleep, necessarily.  I was up at 2:30, 3:30, 4:30, and 5:30.  Although to be fair, a LOT of people within the range of that thunderstorm were awake at 4:30, and the boy fussed at 5:30.)  Of course, it helped that these Chocolate Banana Muffins were easy and used up all of the dying bananas on my counter!  And OH, my, they were good.  They do have a lot of sugar in them for a breakfast bread, but I used a cup of whole wheat flour to a 1/2 a cup of white, and they were so good that way that I’d probably do even more next time.  At least that’s fiber, right?  And hey, it’s SATURDAY.  Which is why, despite the painful rash and fighting girlies and less-than-ideal night’s sleep, the day started off mostly right.  These muffins were moist, and chocolate-y, and banana-y, and soft, and delightful.  The salty creaminess of ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter Light’ (dubbed the best tasting comparatively heart healthy butter substitute by my father after his heart attack) just made the whole experience that much better.  I didn’t even bother sprinkling the sugar on top (like we needed MORE sugar for breakfast!), and believe me, no one missed it.

These are good enough that I made them even when I realized that the power flicker last night meant I’d have to restart my computer and sign back into Pinterest to find the recipe at 8 in the morning, so please.  Do yourself a favor.  Scare up some dead bananas and go make these as soon as possible.

I promise you’ll be glad you did.

…Except that this one, as my sister pointed out, was more like a shepherd’s pie.  And I liked it!  My friend Andrea actually pinned this Hashbrown Hamburger Casserole with Veggies and Cheese recipe for me to look at, and I liked the idea of it for a couple of reasons.  The first, I suppose, was that it didn’t have the insane amounts of bad-for-you things in it that the lovely breakfast casserole I’ve been dreaming of did; the second was that it was a more complete meal.  I fudged a little on the 2 cups of frozen veggies, but mostly because I didn’t have any frozen mixed ones and I was NOT going to the store today.  I found a partial bag of frozen peas and carrots that my hubby bought in his “my family’s out of town and I’m going to experiment with ham fried rice” period, but I topped it off with a (drained) can of corn.  (Yes, I know it’s weird, but I have a sneaking fondness for canned corn.  Canned green beans I can take or leave, and canned peas are an abomination, but canned corn I can get behind.)

Anyway.

I used sharp cheddar cheese because I prefer the flavor, and I actually followed the recipe from there!  I thought it was tasty; my girlies both gave it a thumbs middle; and the boy, well, his attitude improved over the course of the meal.  (Never mind that it took Veggie Tales Silly Songs on my kitchen computer to get him to eat.)  The texture of the hashbrowns on top of a shepherd’s pie-style casserole was especially enjoyable for me; I think I might prefer it to the traditional mashed potatoes.  My hubby even enjoyed it, so what’s not to love?  If you want to experiment with something like a shepherd’s pie, give this one a try.

As you may have guessed, it was an EXTREMELY busy weekend–kind of.  Which means that we were mostly out of town and had several different things planned, but I still had time to finish a book.

Let me explain.  On Friday evening my nephew got baptized in Davis County (about 45 minutes away)–by the way, our faith baptizes at 8 (or when you’re ready, if that comes later)–and so I packed up the kids and the car to stay the weekend before heading up that way.  There was a sundae bar at my sister-in-law’s afterward, and then my girlies slept over at a cousin’s house while the boy played for a while before being caught for bed.  This later than usual bedtime, combined with no nap the day before, resulted in his very first night terror at 2:45-ish Saturday morning (NOT ideal when sleeping in a house with two visiting-from-out-of-state families staying over, plus some extra cousins).

Have I mentioned that I hate dealing with night terrors?  Because I really, really do.

Anyway, the next day I had a thing back in Salt Lake, and so my in-laws kept the boy while I went there and my hubby took the girlies to what turned out to be a very, very hot football game.  We stayed with my in-laws again Saturday night, because on Sunday the dedication of the new Ogden Temple was broadcast (at three different times) in lieu of regular church, and since you have to be 8 to attend, we tended one nephew while my hubby’s brother went with their parents, and then they tended various underage grandchildren while the rest of us went to the next session.  And then there was linner (lunch/dinner, of course!), and birthday cake and ice cream for my oldest niece on my hubby’s side, and then we hauled the kids and all of our stuff home to try to get them in bed on time and things (mostly) unpacked before the night got away from us.  (It’ll be a close call, but we’re giving it our best shot.)

Anyway.  You see where it was busy but I still had time?  Football games are long, and I was back at my in-laws’ house with the boy by the time it actually started.  We hung out all afternoon and early evening, and between that and the time I had after the kiddos were in bed, I got to finish John Boyne’s Stay Where You Are & Then Leave.  (By the way, John Boyne is the Irish (noticed that after I started the book) author of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, which has been on my list for quite some time.)

I actually picked this one up because the title caught my eye, but I checked it out of the library because L. M. Montgomery’s Rilla of Ingleside gave me a lasting interest in WWI.  (My 10th grade teacher helped me out with that, I have to say–it’s because of Mr. Bowes that I know, more or less, how WWI started and why.)  And I have to say, I did really enjoy it.  The writing style was completely different than what I was expecting, although interestingly similar to the style of the other Irish author of intermediate fiction that I’ve actually read.  Once I got past the shift in expectations, though, I found the story and the characters engaging.  There is one scene that seems rather far-fetched–what are the chances that a lower-middle-class 9-year-old would meet Prime Minister David Lloyd George and be in his company when the boy’s mother approaches him and speaks to him?  Without being noticed by said mother?–but I’m inclined to be forgiving, maybe because you don’t see a lot of fiction about the First World War nowadays.  Or perhaps it’s because the way the characters in the novel deal with shell-shock echoes, probably purposefully, the way the world is dealing with depression at the moment.  (I believe I’ve mentioned that this is a personal issue for my family.)  Either way, if WWI interests you, the book is absolutely worth picking up.  (Although I warn you–reading the last third of a book on that topic just before bed might give you some less-than-cheerful dreams.)

Let me preface this by saying that I LOVE rice pudding.  Love it.  I know a lot of people who don’t, but I’ve always been a big fan.  (Provided, of course, that there are no raisins involved, because in my world, that’s just wrong.)  My Dad used to make it when I was growing up, and I was always excited about it.  Which is why I decided to try this Quinoa Pudding, because really, I was hoping I’d get what I love in rice pudding and more protein as well.

Yeah.  It didn’t work.

I should admit that my feelings on quinoa are mixed; I’ve made things I liked with it, but I often don’t enjoy the strong taste of the leftovers; I also sometimes struggle with the smell of it cooking.  (There was a quinoa/stomach flu incident a year and a half ago as well; it’s not something you want to be throwing up.)  What this recipe taught me, however, is that I probably shouldn’t try to eat quinoa in sweet recipes.  In my opinion, the stronger flavor lends itself much better to savory flavor profiles (although that strong flavor just increases when you’re eating leftovers, and I don’t love that for savory, either).  As for this specific recipe, well–if you like rice pudding and the taste of quinoa itself (a lot!), this might be the perfect recipe for you.  I, on the other hand, will not be making it again.

We went to Sunday dinner at my in-laws’ house tonight, so I opted to bring banana bread and dessert.  (Everyone else lives pretty close, and we have a 45 minute drive, so volunteering for the soup seemed impractical.  And why bring rolls when I made TWELVE DEAD BANANAS into banana bread yesterday?  Besides, it worked out–there was enough of everything.)  I looked up desserts last night, and I opted to go with these Fudgy Toffee Chocolate Chip Cookie Bars from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe, because what’s not to love about THAT description?  And let me tell you–nothing.  There’s nothing not to love.

(Unless, of course, you count the crumbliness of the crust.  Do not be tempted to melt the butter in the pan in the pre-heating oven and toss the graham cracker crumbs in to mix them there.  It didn’t affect the taste, but they needed to be eaten on plates.  With forks.)

I do have to warn you, though.  They are totally delicious, and perfect for a get-together, but before you make them for just your family and have them sitting around your house all day, take a good look at the ingredients.  Because the bars have three layers, it’s easy not to realize just how much TOTAL there is of, well, many very delicious things that rack up the calories disturbingly quickly.  Then again, they’re pretty darn good–they got a thumbs up from the vast majority of the crowd–so do it if you want to.  Like I said–at least you’ll die happy!

I love fresh peaches.  Love them.  And my husband?  He does not.  (Neither does the boy, actually.)  For this reason, mostly, I’ve never gotten into the habit of doing much with them when they’re in season–after all, it’s dangerous to make a dessert that I’m going to eat the vast majority of, and I’ve yet to acquire a canner and do any actual canning myself.  (I do freeze tomatoes and applesauce–separately, you understand–and I have hopes of canning once I’m out of the toddler stage.  I don’t do well undertaking prolonged projects when the danger of interruption is high.)  My neighbor, however, has a couple of peach trees in his yard, and this year he had a bumper crop.  I haven’t done as much with them as I’d like (although when my parents were visiting, we consumed rather a lot of them with Breyers Natural Vanilla ice cream), but I was looking through recipes the other night for a new breakfast bread to try for dinner (it was that kind of day), and I saw this recipe for Peach Streusel Muffins. Normally I would have had to pass it by regretfully, wishing I had  peaches on hand, but this time I thought–hey!  I know a guy!  I know a guy who’s actually trying to get rid of fresh peaches!  SCORE!

And so we had peach streusel muffins for dinner that night.  I pretty much followed the recipe, too, if you don’t count being casual about things like salted/unsalted butter.  I did sub in some wheat flour–I looked at the ingredients and decided that was the only way I could justify serving those muffins for dinner–but that’s pretty much it.  (They would have been lighter and fluffier without it, certainly, but I needed there to be a bit more substance to them.  Ah, well.)  The girlies were definitely fans, no doubt about it.  The boy, on the other hand, picked each and every peach out of his muffin before he ate it and refused to touch them, no matter what inducements were offered.  (Grrrr.)  My hubby said they were okay, which was probably high praise.

And I?  Well, my hubby liked them because “they weren’t strong peach,” and that was exactly my problem.  I LOVE FRESH PEACHES.  If I’m going to go to the trouble of peeling and chopping them, not to mention the trouble of making and adding both a streusel and a glaze on top of the muffins, I want the muffins to TASTE like peaches.  They were good muffins, yes, but the streusel and the glaze were the best part about them.  The peaches were a background note, and I wanted them to shine.

Of course, if you have your own peach tree and peaches are coming out your ears, so to speak, it’s worth it.  I mean, they were yummy.  But if peaches are a bit more of a treat to you, I’d look for a recipe that showcases them more.  Then again, it’s always up to you!