Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I really thought things would slow down nicely after everyone was home from all the trips, but it really hasn’t felt like it! On Monday my oldest had the dentist and my son played at a friend’s house while I took his sisters shopping (by the time I’d dropped him off and come back my oldest was done). We hit a Walmart Neighborhood Market on the way home and I was unimpressed with the prices, and then I made lasagna for dinner. (We were going to have it on Sunday except that we were completely out of lasagna noodles, which is the number one reason we went to the weird Walmart.) Yesterday was a ‘clean up and organize in problem spots’ kind of a day–which certainly needed to happen–and this morning I ran to Ream’s to get pork and potatoes for dinner with my nephew tonight. I did laundry and such before going out to lunch with Britt, and then did a bit more dinner prep while my nephew took my older girls to the temple. After dinner my fantastic hubby took said nephew to the airport and I was a good girl and did the dishes I didn’t want to do, so go me!

In other news, I finished listening to A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking over laundry and such today, and OH MY STARS I LOVE THIS BOOK. (As in, I’m pondering getting it for myself for Christmas maybe?) T. Kingfisher is Ursula Vernon’s not-writing-for-kids name, and while this was a book club pick–I just don’t choose fantasy much on my own–I am so DESPERATELY glad it was. To be honest with you, it gave me quite a strong tribute-to-the-work-of-Robin-McKinley vibe, with its teenage baker wizard main character, her quirky, slightly rambling, real-time narration style, and its pointed way of viewing heroism. (Those phrases in that sentence want to be parallel but aren’t–quite–and I’m open to suggestions, being too tired tonight to actually come up with a solution.) If you can picture something Robin McKinley-ish written with all of the wit and humor of the ‘Hamster Princess’ books, you can picture this book; Mona, a bakery wizard with a sentient sourdough starter, finds a dead body in her aunt’s bakery and becomes slowly entangled in a plot against her city. The thing is, it doesn’t really even feel like fantasy; it feels like a story about incredibly real people who just happen to live in a world where different sorts of things happen–or where some of the same things happen as in our world, but happen differently. (I mean, yes, animating bread is solidly fantastical, but Mona’s just too real, somehow, for that to matter.) Just–go read this book, okay? Because you need this in your life.

Like, now.

I wasn’t expecting to love Sal & Gabi Break the Universe. To be honest with you, I wasn’t even sure how much I was going to LIKE it. Sci-Fi/Fantasy is not so much my thing, after all, and while the Aru Shah books and the Storm Runner trilogy were interesting, I was fully prepared for Sal & Gabi to join them in the “adventurous ride that I listened to because my daughter was interested” category.

And then I loved it. LOVED IT. The thing about Sal & Gabi is that it’s hilarious–and real–and poignant, all at once and beautifully, incredibly so. The saga of the Mami Muertas–Mamis Muertas?–is enough to break your heart, except that then Sal is deflecting bullying by bringing up murdered poultry, all while his insights on life ring solidly true. How often do you get all that in one book? Add to that a main character with type one diabetes–I have a niece that was diagnosed at 4–and the fabulous Cuban Spanish angle, and Gabi’s writing, and Yasmany’s storyline–oh my goodness. This is a book that will take you from a Coral Castle (of sorts) through the multiverse to the NICU, and you’re going to love every minute of the journey.

I can’t WAIT to give this one to my 15-year-old.

Although not so much because I’ve missed posts, to be honest with you. Sunday was my birthday and I taught a Sunday school lesson and helped my 12-year-old get ready for Oakcrest–a Monday-Friday church camp for girls going into 8th grade. She was nervous and hadn’t prepped as much as I was thinking she had, so that was an endeavor WITHOUT the power loss that cost me a birthday cake. (One’s family does not prep for a cake that bakes for 45 minutes when no one has any idea if and when there will be electricity to bake it. One fully understands and supports this.) She needed to be at a neighboring church building to tag her luggage at 7, so my hubby took her while I exercised and then I took her to Murray to catch the camp buses on Monday morning. Monday was spent in 1)the craziness of hey, the new dryer I found out about yesterday is getting delivered earlier than I expected AND while my son and I are gone, so good thing we have a neighbor to come be the adult in the house! and 2)hey, my niece and her family are coming in time for dinner before sleeping here for an early morning ride to the airport. I got up at 5:30 Tuesday morning to get them to the airport and then had PTA meetings at 10 and 2; yesterday, thankfully, my hubby took our oldest to summer seminary so that I could sleep a bit more. My son had a friend over in the morning and we went to see my friend Andrea’s new house in the afternoon, and I spent a lovely evening working on a puzzle and listening to a fabulous audiobook. This morning my oldest had the orthodontist at 8:45, my littles had piano at 9:30, and then we headed to a friend’s house for lunch before I left the littles with her and took my oldest to a 2 pm appointment; we got home around 5 so that I could exercise and do a load of laundry before my hubby brought home Panda Express a little after 6. (My absent daughter hates Panda–hence tonight’s meal.)

The reason I HAVE felt sort of guilty involves Jarad Greene’s A-Okay, which my 12-year-old read at school and recommended to me. It’s a semi-autobiographical graphic novel about a boy’s struggle with severe acne, and reading it involved a lot of “dang, acne wasn’t a big problem in my life and that seems so unfair.” (To be clear, when I think about my teenage experience as a whole, I had plenty of my own struggles–that just wasn’t one of them. I got the occasional zit.) Jay ends up on a medication with some unpleasant side effects, which doesn’t help the scariness that is figuring out 8th grade friendships. Add to that Jay’s lack of romantic feelings for anyone, and you have a book that has you wincing on the author’s behalf. (And your own. Because let’s be realistic about how not great the average 8th grade experience is…) Thankfully, Jay does eventually figure things out–mostly–and we’re left with a graphic novel that some kids are going to hardcore relate to. (Others–like me–might not personally relate, but growing our empathy is always a good thing.) Give this one especially to the teenage boys in your life!

While I love that my 12-year-old still wants read-aloud time with me, most of our reads are fiction; our tastes intersect well enough that we never hurt for options there. She tends NOT to love my preferences in non-fiction–she thinks most of them are too sad–but we’ve occasionally managed, say, one of Sy Montgomery’s animal books together. On the other hand, I’ve had Christina Soontornvat’s All Thirteen: The Incredible Cave Rescue of the Thai Boys’ Soccer Team checked out ever since it became a Newbery Honor book, because I tend not to have the brain power for non-fiction at the time of day when I can read, uninterrupted, by myself. It finally occurred to me that since all thirteen were rescued, she might be up for it; I showed it to her and asked, she assented, and off we went to Thailand of an evening.

I have to say, it made an even better read aloud with her than I could have hoped for.* She never wanted to stop when we did, and by the time the dangerous rescue was ready to begin, I ended up having to read aloud for at least 45 minutes to get to an acceptable spot in which to pause. (I was just as caught up in the story as she was, but that’s hard on the vocal chords!) Yesterday, while my littles played with friends, we got the rest of the team out of the cave so that they wouldn’t be stuck in there when she goes to Oakcrest (a church camp for girls going into 8th grade), and let me tell you, we were both fascinated. The fact that the boys were sedated and their wrists and ankles secured with zipties so they wouldn’t drag and scrape–in my 12-year-old’s words, “it makes sense, but it’s still creepy!” The dangers involved made for quite the tale, but we also both loved seeing how many people worked together to help the Wild Boars, and in how many ways. (It’s nice to give your faith in humanity a boost.) I wasn’t particularly aware of the situation at the time–my youngest was still as much toddler as preschooler, and we were at a family reunion for much of the actual rescue–and that made reading about it even more fascinating. Don’t miss this one!

*Apart from all of those Thai names. I’m sure I butchered about 99% of them.

I’m not sure whether it was the sun at Bear Lake or sleeping poorly that week, but I have had the hardest time waking up in the morning ever since we got back. (Of course, I could–as always–stand to go to bed earlier.) Here I am, however, finally awake, mostly alert, and ready to review All Summer Long, so that my 12-year-old doesn’t DIE waiting for it. (In my defense, she’s already read it about a million times, but never in COLOR. As in, she read it in black and white, and the library copy we currently have is in black, white, and yellow-orange.) The house is quiet, since that 12-year-old has yet to come upstairs and I sent the littles out to skate and scoot while the temperature is still bearable. (And by bearable, I mean it’s 82 degrees outside, and while 82 in the shade is actually pleasant without humidity, it’s 9:18 in the morning. Ugh.)

So–All Summer Long. Which has been on my list for years now, because it keeps showing up on lists of notable graphic novels and whatnot. Having read it, I can see why it’s on those lists–it does a gentle job of highlighting the changes that come with friendships (especially boy-girl friendships) as we start growing up. We also see Bina dealing with new friendship developments and a family addition while her passion for music becomes more of a force in her life. I confess, the art is not my favorite, but the story is solid and Bina is thoroughly likable; I’m looking forward to the second Eagle Rock graphic novel. In the meantime, how to keep my 12-year-old from reading this on repeat all week long? I promised her older sister that I’d keep it until she gets home from FSY and has the chance to read it herself, which means I can’t just summarily return it to the library.

Ideas?

Well, we made it home from our family reunion–my husband’s side–more or less intact. Less, maybe, because while everyone but my hubby got badly sunburned somewhere, my second girlie ended up with actual, honest-to-goodness heatstroke.

We got to Bear Lake on July 4th and promptly served our assigned meal, of which we had ridiculous quantities of leftovers (I keep forgetting, when planning, that my family and my husband’s family do not eat the same way). We took our big family picture and did some fireworks that night. On Tuesday the 5th we went to a nearby adventure park with a tube slide, a rope course, an impressive zipline, and a few other things; my son had to be dragged there (he was overtired) but loved the tube slide, while my older girls and I did the rope course and my hubby tried the slide and kept an eye on our timid 7-year-old. Wednesday was our day actually at Bear Lake, and that’s where the problems arose. My 12-year-old was out from 9:30 in the morning to about 5 in the evening; she packed a lunch and so was out in the sun all that time, with only a bottle of water (with a flavoring packet inside) and a can of soda to drink. I rented kayaks without realizing that my sister- and brother-in-law owned and brought two, and so my oldest and I brought them at least a mile by water so that they could be very sparsely used; they mostly sat there and cost me a hundred bucks, plus the headache of getting them back over land. My hubby stood too much the first part of the day and was crazy sore, and none of us reapplied sunscreen. So–lessons we learned:

1. (My son, especially) Always have someone else sunscreen your back.
2. Sunscreen might last for the time in between meals, but that’s its limit. If you eat a meal,
reapply.
3. Make sure you get both sides of your legs–thoroughly.
4. Seven-year-olds will happily play in the sand for hours rather than spend much time in a kayak.
5. My in-laws are pretty great.

Once we were all back, showered, and fed I got my 7-year-old into bed, we had shakes, and then we played games. My poor fried 12-year-old was shivering when she went to bed but woke up hot and threw up around 1 am; she went back to bed, but the next morning she full on passed out–fainted–THREE times, twice in my arms. She was given a priesthood blessing, I googled, and dehydration seemed the most likely culprit, and so she sipped water lying down and then sitting and stayed conscious after that. She and my youngest did both throw up on the way out of Bear Lake–it was a very windy canyon and they were overtired and done with life by then–but we stopped at my niece’s in Logan to rest and refill water bottles and cups that had been depleted to rinse the bucket out, and then stopped at Cox’s Honeyland, where my 12-year-old sat in the air-conditioned car and the rest of us browsed. When we finally got home we unpacked the car and then what bags were absolutely necessary, did only necessary things the rest of the day, ate leftovers from the family reunion, and went to bed early.

ALL of us.

Anyway. Last night I finally managed to finish Charise Mericle Harper’s Bad Sister, which was autobiographical and somewhat difficult for me to read. It was compelling, and being a parent gave me much more perspective, but as a youngest child I was frequently frustrated by young Charise’s behavior. (I can appreciate the face blindness put her in a more difficult emotional place, at least, but still.) Ultimately, however, lessons were learned and karma comes into play. I’ll be interested to see how my older girls like this one…

Today my only son turned 10–double digits!–and what with being out of town and prepping for the holiday tomorrow, we weren’t as prepared as we might have been. Half of his presents, for instance, will be coming this week; he’ll get his birthday meals another day, since today was Fast Sunday; and as of yesterday, I had no book picked out to give him.

I, of course, realized this yesterday.

So. I googled book lists for 4th grade boys–because yes, he’s going into 5th grade, but he’s a summer birthday and a math boy–and came upon Louis Sachar’s There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. Hmmm, I thought. I’m pretty sure that’s available on audio, and I’ve got a used copy I picked up somewhere if I want to flip through the actual book. Serendipitously, it was immediately available on Libby, and so I listened to more than 75% of it yesterday. I was planning on ordering it before I went to bed–I peeked ahead at the last bit to make sure the ending didn’t disqualify it as a good book gift–and then I realized that the used copy that’s been laying around is very gently used, and who needs everything to be brand-new anyway? He unwrapped it this morning–by which I mean he took tissue paper out of the gift bag it was in, because it was that kind of a day–and I just finished listening to it over a puzzle. I got a little teary, because there were feels, and hey presto! the used copy is in my son’s possession and I get to review it now.

The plot is a very familiar one–caring adult helps kid who needs it–but also one that never gets old, provided it’s executed reasonably well. Sachar does–although not in the most realistic way I’ve ever seen–and I think his boy readers, especially, will relate to Bradley’s worries, thoughts, and feelings. If you’re looking for a book for a latter-elementary boy that doesn’t involve bathroom humor–and those can be frighteningly hard to find–this is a solid option. I’ll let you know what my son thinks!

I’ve been focusing on family for the last week up in Idaho, folks–we went up last Saturday, my nephew spoke in church on Sunday (and then started home MTC the next day), and we had time with my parents until another nephew’s baptism on Thursday evening before the drive home. (We got into our neighborhood before 10:30, so that was a win.) The time with my parents was bittersweet–my dad has vascular dementia, and that really, really sucks–but it was time, and that matters.

Next week we’re focusing our time on my hubby’s side of the family, but they’re still my family, and I’m deeply grateful for that. (It’s such a blessing to have married into a family that is now also my own–I know not everyone has that.) In the meantime, however, I finished reading Lupe Wong Won’t Dance a bit ago, and since I’m already thinking about what different sides of our families bring to us, it’s the perfect night to review it. Chinacan/Mexinese Lupe is all set to pitch in the major leagues someday, but she needs straight As in order to meet her baseball idol, and the square dancing unit in PE throws her for a major loop. Add the intrinsic awfulness of middle school, a regurgitated breakfast burrito, an serious best friend fight, coconut-scented malicious shaving cream, and some false front teeth, and you get a story of causes, friendships, and growth.

And square dancing. (Which was part of music class in my elementary school, by the by.)

Remember the book I compared to the most amazing stuffed peppers ever? Lupe Wong is also by Donna Barba Higuera, and since it’s not dystopian sci-fi, I thoroughly enjoyed it. The plot has a bit of a different feel to its journey–I’m honestly not sure I can even explain what I mean by that–but Lupe Wong also feels alive. Whether you read or listen–and the narrator on the audiobook is lovely–expect both laughter and tears; this is a book well worth your time.

Hello again…hello. (Thanks to two of my Idaho roommates and the Idaho boy one of them married, I have a smiling fondness for Neil Diamond.) It’s true I missed two posts there, but it does feel like I filled the time purposefully. The day before Father’s Day we did chores and then had a family outing to NPS before our Saturday night movie; on Father’s Day we feted my hubby, I taught a Sunday School lesson, and we went up to my in-laws’ for dinner; the next day the kids and I went to Logan to visit my niece and her newly-two-year-old. That night my girls were both anxious about leaving for Girls’ Camp the next day, and I wrote a 5 1/2 page letter to my 12-year-old about her fears and what she could do about them. (I also wrote a brief note to my 15-year-old and got to bed later than I wanted to.) They left the next morning–Tuesday–and I’ve been taking my littles where they need to go AND working on cleaning out my son’s room with them both(his little sister’s stuff being mostly still in there).

Last night we went back up to Clearfield for birthday pizza and cake, and then to Draper and then Centerville today (not to mention a sojourn at the bank for PTA purposes in the morning). Tonight, however, my son is having a cousin sleepover of sorts at Grandma’s house, and so I managed more time for other things; this included completing a second journey through Sarah Ruhl’s Smile: The Story of a Face, which I received an ARE of sometime last year and first listened to last November. It embarrasses me that I haven’t written a more timely review, especially since it’s such a lovely book; its depth and the power of Ruhl’s ruminations, however, made the prospect of writing this review intimidating. (To be completely honest with you, I’m tackling it now mostly because it’s a convenient time for me to pass it along to my sister to read, and I don’t pass books on without reviewing.)

I suppose Smile is a memoir–it says so on the cover of at least one edition, as well as in at least one of the back-of-the-book blurbs–and yet it also manages to be both deeply introspective (as opposed to simply narrative) and culturally profound. Ruhl made me think about our society’s view and treatment of a woman’s smile; she made me hurt with empathy for motherhood’s more difficult moments; and she did it in a contemplative literary fashion that avoided actual meandering. (Her profession shows there, of course, playwrights of necessity knowing how to make their individual–and collective–words count.) It took a second journey through it to feel like I could review it, and even now I find it difficult to describe. Ruhl herself, near the end, notes that Smile is a book in which “a woman slowly gets better,” and yet–and yet. After finishing it again tonight, I feel as if a woman whose friendship I valued wrote me a letter encouraging me in my own journey by sharing hers. (I am also humbled by the virtuosity of her intellectual AND emotional expression.) This is a book worth having in your life, and Sarah Ruhl is a woman whose voice contributes–in a truly positive way–to our society.

I feel like it should have. I don’t know if it was Covid or just a nasty something, but my hubby and I have been sick all week, as have (to a lesser degree) my 15- and 9-year-olds. I’m feeling close to better at this point, but you can still hear the lingering effects in my voice and the occasional cough. (I’m using that as an excuse for missing Wednesday, by the way.) As a result, our activities have been somewhat curtailed this week.

This morning, however, we thoroughly cleaned and vacuumed the living room, which is why my littles are downstairs taking turns playing Minecraft at the moment, my big girls are sorting clothes and watching “Psych” in the living room, and I’m taking the opportunity to review Anne Perry’s The Cater Street Hangman, which I finished listening to last night. (We actually inherited a mass market copy from Dieter, which is why I was listening to it in the first place.) Here goes, then…

First of all–and Britt, who’s read several more books in this series, assures me this isn’t an isolated incident–there is NO falling action here; you find out the killer’s identity in the last three pages, and the scene in which you find out is the final scene. (I’m apparently too big a fan of more than superficial closure to enjoy that style, but you do you.) Secondly, the book dragged a bit for me. Tension, unease, and unravelling relationships seem to be its primary focus, and yet the relationship that is supposed to be, um, ravelled doesn’t really develop at all. It just sort of–jumps. I imagine part of the problem is first-book-in-the-series syndrome–it’s working on setting the stage–but it still left me wanting more. I suppose if you want a psychological family drama that ends with the unveiling of a murderer, have at this one; for me, I’d rather have watched it on tv and had it take no longer than an hour and a half.