Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Tomorrow is my hubby’s birthday, technically, but today was a better day to visit him at work with birthday treats, and so last night I went searching on Pinterest.  Since he’s a S’mores fan, I looked no further than these S’mores Magic Cookie Bars–they seemed like a match made in heaven, you know?  A graham cracker crumb/butter crust, a sugar cookie layer, chocolate chips and marshmallows, and sweetened condensed milk drizzled on top.  What’s not to love?  I got them in and out of the oven before preschool dropoff this morning, thanks to my hubby’s graham cracker crushing skills and some fabulous neighbors who had marshmallows that WEREN’T hard as a rock.  I picked up my youngest from preschool, we bought lunch from an untried place to bring with us (risky, I know, but it paid off), and eventually we sat down with Daddy to eat Doner Kebob Express sandwiches, crinkle fries, and the aforementioned bars.

Sadly, they were my least favorite part of the meal.

Here’s the thing, though.  Part of the problem was that they were underdone–not only was I worried about preschool dropoff, but the recipe warns you to watch carefully.  Do watch carefully–but let them get ALL THE WAY DONE.  The rest of my problem was that they were SO very sweet.  I like sweet, yes, but even with semisweet chocolate chips (I don’t buy milk chocolate) and salted butter, I was wishing for contrast.  Unfortunately, I have no idea how much of a difference another 3-5 minutes in the oven would have made (although I suspect there would have been a difference).  All I can say is that if these sound good to you, and you’re prepared for sweet, make sure you bake them til they’re done!

One of my best friends and I had our two youngest children within three weeks of each other.  I’m thinking it was sometime in the following year that she lent me Tina Cassidy’s Birth:  The Surprising History of How We Are Born, but the truth is, my memories are hazy and she remembers nothing about this at all.  (Which is partly what makes me think it was within a year after having our babies…)  I’m pretty sure she’d found it interesting, however, and was thinking I might as well; now that I’ve gotten around to it (those babies we had are FOUR YEARS OLD, and I’m not sure how that happened), I did indeed find it interesting.  The book focuses more on the western world, certainly, but Cassidy provides enough statistics, anecdotes, and history to fascinate anyone.  I was often riled in the reading–let’s face it, women endured a great deal of pain (which not infrequently ended in death) as a result of supreme stupidity, inexcusable arrogance, and completely misguided ideas–but I was also amazed, fascinated, and even amused by turns.

I will say, however, that I enjoyed the history most; her interpretation of the modern era feels (perhaps unconsciously) skewed towards the “birth is an EXPERIENCE” end of the spectrum.  I didn’t necessarily feel that she referenced my sort of birth experience–she talks about some women having c-sections because they “don’t want to put their vaginas at risk,” but her tone seems almost flippant.  (For those of us who ripped as far as you can rip, who had more stitches after a vaginal birth than after a subsequent c-section, and who wondered at their baby’s 9 month checkup if sex would ever stop hurting again, it isn’t JUST vaginas at risk, and this is not an issue to be flippant about.)  She talks about lactation consultants from La Leche League as women who teach, help, and support breastfeeding mothers;  this is, of course, true in theory, and undoubtedly true of some (perhaps many?), but I know mothers from multiple areas of the country who felt bullied by those consultants (some refer to them as “Nursing Nazis”).  I still wish I’d complained to the hospital administration about one of mine–she gave me completely false information and then informed me, when I told her that what she was doing hurt, that “it shouldn’t!”.  (And NOT in an “oh, let me fix that, then” kind of way.  She also noticeably disapproved of–and subtly disparaged–my very first successful attempts at breastfeeding, which pushed me that much further down the path of postpartum depression.)  Cassidy’s self-evaluation at the conclusion, however, was reassuringly human; ultimately I was far more fascinated than frustrated.  If you’re looking for an interesting (if by no means complete) history of childbirth, look no further.  (And, really, an actual, fully complete history of childbirth all over the world?  Ain’t NOBODY got time for that!)

When I finished Dewey:  The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World last month, the afterward mentioned Dewey’s Nine Lives:  The Legacy of the Small-Town Library Cat Who Inspired Millions.  I found myself interested enough to pin it, mostly because the original book was also Vicki Myron’s memoir, and the afterward made it clear that the follow-up would carry her through Dewey’s loss and fully into her (happy) next stage of life.  When I mentioned this to my friend Britt, she responded with ‘oh, I think I’ve got an ARC of that somewhere;’ we uncovered it shortly afterwards, and since I’d read Dewey recently and was interested, it came home with me.  I finished listening to the audio tonight–because finding on audio books that are taking me forever to get to is helping me sort through my TBR piles–and while I enjoyed it (not passionately, but in a calm sort of way) and I was interested all the way through, I’m passing the hard copy on to my sister.  It was nice–it kept me going on the elliptical and entertained me while I was folding laundry–but I don’t see myself rereading it, you know?  Fans of Dewey will likely enjoy Dewey’s Nine Lives, but it’s more of a cat book and less of a memoir (even if it ends with Vicki in a long term relationship).  Its collection of cat-and-owner stories are touching, you understand, but rather than a true collection of cat tales (so to speak–groan if you want to!), it feels more like Myron’s response to her Dewey fan mail.  It answers questions about what happened next with her; it shares reader experiences that she most connected with.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing, you understand, but it lacks the (fairly) cohesive “story of a small town and its library cat” plot of the original.

Bottom line?  This is an enjoyable read, but you do have to really care about cats–and be at least somewhat interested in Vicki Myron’s life.  If that describes you, go for it.  If you didn’t care much about Dewey–OR if that’s not what you enjoyed about it–than I’d probably pass.

As a kid, I always needed my daydreams to be technically possible.  Wildly improbable didn’t bother me, you understand–neither did unlikely to an astronomical degree.  As long as the subject was a theoretical possibility, I could lose myself in fantasies starring me, myself, and I doing heroic things, or triumphing over difficulties and disasters, or being swept off my feet by my crush-of-the-moment.

As a kid, I would have loved Andrew Clements.  That’s what his books feel like to me, as an adult reader–daydreams coming true because they are possible, even if they’re a stretch.  I picked up a copy of his About Average at a library sale and then listened to the audio of it while I was doing all the things after returning from Idaho, and it embodies that feel perfectly.  Jordan Johnston is likable, sweet, cheerful, and average; she dreams of being a star in a dozen different ways, and yet she hasn’t managed to make it happen.  Then comes an unexpected chance to use talents she didn’t feel really counted, and finally Jordan gets her chance to shine.  While that’s a beautiful moment (and ending), of course, I found Jordan’s thoughts and feelings over the course of the book to be just as enjoyable as the big finish.  She reminds me a bit of my second girlie, who has an older sister with a)showy talents and b)2.75 years more experience at everything.  It’s hard for a 9-year-old to appreciate the amazingness of her own heart, and it’s nigh impossible to convince a younger sister not to compare herself to her older sister without taking the age difference into consideration.  (I know this from personal experience.)  If you have a child who feels less than, even sometimes, this is a book he or she ought to read.

I’m passing it on to that second girlie now.

After a speedy trip to Idaho and back for the first half of spring break, we’ve been to three doctors in three days.  Twice at the pediatrician’s office (we saw two different people), where my youngest and second oldest got (different) antibiotics for (respectively) badly infected eczema and strep, and once at Primary Children’s Hospital, where a very nice emergency room doctor reassured us that my oldest daughter’s mild concussion (!) showed no indication of requiring a CT scan.

I feel somehow that I should fill in some details, but I haven’t got it in me tonight.

Instead, I give you Andrew Clements’ The School Story, which I actually own (courtesy of an Andrew Clements pack from a Scholastic book order a few years back) but checked out of the library on audio for our aforementioned drive to Idaho.  Topically, it wasn’t the best fit for my (very young) first grade boy, but my 9-year-old was completely enthralled and my oldest was enjoyably distracted from the drive (I’m not counting my 4-year-old’s vote).  It’s really a lovely little book, too–it’s a little bit about writing, a little bit about grief, a little bit about parent/child relationships, and a whole lot about good friends, supportive teachers, and working hard to make dreams come true.  Natalie and Zoe are a lovable team as they work to get Natalie’s mom’s publishing company to publish Natalie’s book without Natalie’s mom suspecting a thing; being along for their ride made ours feel a whole lot shorter.  Mid-elementary school girls are the best audience for this one, but try it with boys as well (after all, it’s by the author of Frindle!).  Read it yourself while you’re at it, because it’s short, just sweet enough, and entirely worth it.

It’s Spring Break for my kiddos, and so I’m taking a break as well.  Family time for us–I’ll see you on Wednesday!

I recognize that, in the scheme of things, that isn’t such a glowing endorsement, but books with (well) over 400 pages take time.  To be perfectly honest, I still wouldn’t have gotten to The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey if I hadn’t found it available to be checked out on audio.  I did, however, and I finished listening to it last night while working on a puzzle, and now I get to pass it on to my oldest, who has been more patient than I would have been in her place.  It’s an excellent second installment in a trilogy, too–Mr. Benedict has organized a treasure hunt of sorts for the children only to be abducted by Mr. Curtain while setting it up; what was meant to be pure fun becomes a race against the clock as the children follow the clues in the hopes of discovering his whereabouts.  There is good characterization, more time spent with supporting characters, and a satisfying climactic encounter with their archenemy; my oldest should enjoy it even more than I did.  (Best of all, the third book is also available on audio, meaning she won’t have to wait nearly as long for the 3rd one.)  If you aren’t familiar with this series, go get yourself the first book today!

I imagine there will be a few more of those this spring, right?  On the next one, you’ve really got to try this delightfully simple White Bean Soup.  It’s an easy, hearty, smoky bean soup that’s finished off with lemon zest, lemon juice, and parsley, adding a brightness that made me want to close my eyes and savor it in appreciation.  (I didn’t, though.  Because kids.  At mealtime.)  I used regular bacon–it’s what I had–and cooked up the whole pound.  Guilt-free snitching, right?  I also skipped the ‘wipe out the pan’ step, because my oldest had to be at a Broadway kids performance at 6, and ain’t nobody got time for that!

Because I was worried about getting her fed and out the door on time, I completely forgot to squish up some of the beans until the end; given how perfectly lovely the soup was, however, I’m guessing that wasn’t a big deal.  Leftovers required a bit of water splashed in, since soup liquid magically disappears overnight, but they were delightful still.  If bacon, lemon, and parsley hit all the right notes for you, you’re pretty much guaranteed to love it.  Make it soon–before it gets hot and the mere thought of soup makes you want to climb into the refrigerator!

Last night was my oldest daughter’s final Broadway Kids performance–she’s been rehearsing with other 5th and 6th graders at 7:30 in the morning (4 or 5 days a week) and after school (for 1 or 2 days a week) for at least a couple of months, and it showed.  The kids sang, they danced, and they were fun to watch, but my daughter about blew me away.  Two different people told me afterwards that she lit up the stage, and it’s no coincidence that they both used that phrase.  She glowed.  She smiled from ear to ear as she danced (and sang, but she was in the half of the group that did more complicated dances), and she danced with her whole body.  She kept her tension and poise all the way through her fingertips (which is partially a tribute to her former dance teacher’s campaign against ‘noodle arms’), and I reveled in the pleasure of watching her.

By contrast, finishing Leah Weiss’ If the Creek Don’t Rise this afternoon did not exactly fill me with warm fuzzies.  It’s not that it wasn’t a compelling and a well-written book, mind you–it certainly was–but Weiss’ tale of the harshness of life in Appalachia in the early 1970s was narrated by a group of people from the same community, and the abuse/explosive husband and his (possibly simple) (mostly) loyal sidekick both had bits near the end.  Spending time in their minds wasn’t exactly uplifting.  Beyond that, however, I found the solution to Sadie’s miserable life with said husband to be a startling one.  (I won’t go further into that, since I avoid spoilers, but I didn’t exactly predict the ending.)  What I will say is that the world Weiss describes for the reader is not easily forgotten.  My one criticism of the book as a whole is that it had trouble making up its mind whether it wanted to be Sadie Blue’s story or the story of a community.  Weiss might argue that there isn’t actually a difference, but the ending makes it seem like Sadie’s story is the main plot; the bulk of the book, however, meanders more as it cycles through different narrators.  It’s true that each one provides a glimpse into Sadie’s ongoing story, but only her situation with Roy sees real resolution.  If that’s what really matters, why do so many of the narrators introduce what feel like subplots that go nowhere?

Then again, perhaps Weiss is laying the groundwork for a series of connected novels?

At any rate, If the Creek Don’t Rise is well-written, thought-provoking, and thoroughly held my attention; it simply focuses on lives that are harsh and messy.  In other words?  It’s a worthwhile read, but don’t expect many conventional feel-good moments.  Go in prepared.

I rarely do this, but I find I can’t properly review Renee Watson’s Piecing Me Together (please pretend there’s an accent on the middle ‘e’ in ‘Renee’!) without quoting two of the blurbs on the back.  Jacqueline Woodson asserts that “Watson’s elegantly crafted novel speaks to the myriad of people who find themselves searching for themselves in the world,” and that is apt; it’s Meg Medina’s first sentence, however, that blows me away.  “A nuanced story about girls navigating the land mines of others’ good intentions, Piecing Me Together will make readers wrestle with every assumption they have about race, economic class, and so-called at-risk kids.”  That phrase–“the land mines of others’ good intentions”–wow.  And she was right–I did wrestle with my assumptions.  I was desperately grateful, however, not to have done so because I felt stereotyped as a white person.  Watson’s skill in portraying conflict and resolution between all sorts of different sources seriously impressed me.

Simply put, Piecing Me Together is the story of a poor black girl on scholarship to a wealthy private school.  The school is predominantly white, but there are also wealthy black girls and poor white girls, and Jade is learning the all important life skill of speaking up instead of giving up.  As her friend Lee Lee tells her, “If you speak up and they dismiss you, that’s on them.  But if you stay quiet and just quit, well–”  What Jade finds as she practices speaking up is that often people mean well but may be looking at things from a different perspective entirely–and that most of the important things in life are going to require speaking up now and then.  (Not to mention the fact that THE IMPORTANT THINGS ARE WORTH IT.)  I do have some doubts about this as a Newbery pick–while not inappropriate, many of the issues involved seemed to be issues for the teenage mindset instead of a child’s–but I have none about it being an award winner.  Watson’s story is going to stick with me for a long, long time.