Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Last night was my oldest daughter’s show choir performance, which meant that my son got to bed 45 minutes past his bedtime, and my girls, well…number 2 wasn’t up more than 10 minutes later than usual, but my oldest does the post-performance-adrenaline-crash like no other.  There are always tears about something after she performs, and last night was no exception; by the time I got her calmed down enough to fall asleep, she was certainly up a half hour past her bedtime.  And tonight?  Tonight was my son’s preschool celebration, which means that he was up more than an hour past his bedtime, and the girls about an hour past theirs.  (The little one was up late, but she naps.  It’s different.)  Now, I know everyone’s kids have different sleep issues, but let me sum up for you:

1)There will be no sleeping in.

2)There will be weeping, wailing, whining, and (probably) gnashing of teeth.

3)There will be early bedtimes tomorrow, to which Mommy and Daddy will look forward more than anyone else.

4)And then–there will be much rejoicing.

The one year I was in jazz band taught me, first and foremost, that jazz is not my forte.  I truly respect it as an art form, but I’m not terribly good at playing it, and I don’t generally choose to listen to it.  I watched my more talented (and dedicated!) classmates with the greatest respect–you know who you are!–but I had no passion for jazz.  (See below for my best memories of that year!)

That being said, I checked Jazz Day:  The Making of a Famous Photograph out of the library because I’m a complete sucker for historical picture books–and I was not disappointed.  In 1958 an inexperienced photographer gathered together as many jazz musicians as he could for one photo shoot; he had pitched the idea to Esquire magazine, which was doing a story on “The Golden Age of Jazz,” and gotten the assignment.  The most famous of the day’s shots was entitled Harlem, 1958, and it is the story of that shot that Roxane Orgill tells so beautifully.  Made up of poems from the points of view of both musicians and bystanders, Jazz Day is immeasurably enhanced by Francis Vallejo’s illustrations.  The historic photo featured jazz musicians even I’ve heard of–Dizzy Gillespie, Count Basie, Thelonious Monk–alongside musicians that were relatively unknown at the time, and Orgill makes the moment of its capture vividly real.  (She also slyly includes in the book a poem about Duke Ellington, explaining his absence.)  I may not be passionate about jazz, but I am passionate about books, and this one fascinated me.  If you are passionate about jazz, it’s an absolute must read; if you’re not, well–it’s still too good to miss.

My Best Memories of Jazz Band:

1)Learning how to play in 5/4 (thank you, Decoupage).

2)Experiencing the Berklee Jazz Festival and a different side of Boston than I’d seen before.

3)Listening to one judge poke fun at Mr. Neves’ pronunciation of Party Time (Have you gone to the potty today?!) during his audio evaluation of the piece.  (I’m pretty sure there’s a better name for that, but it was lost to me a couple of kids ago.)

I honestly can’t remember how I came across Alexander and the Wonderful, Marvelous, Excellent, Terrific Ninety Days:  An Almost Completely Honest Account of What Happened to Our Family When Our Youngest Son, His Wife, Their Baby, Their Toddler, and Their Five-Year-Old Came to Live with Us for Three Months.  What I can tell you is that as my children have been enjoying Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very  Bad Day–and as they eagerly await the picking up from the library of Alexander, Who Used to Be Rich Last Sunday–I have been enjoying Alexander and the Wonderful, etc., even more.  Judith Viorst is a gifted comic writer and a woman somewhat after my own heart when it comes to worrying, inflexibility, routine–and love of family.  When her youngest son, his wife, and their three children come to live with their parents during some home renovations, she mostly revels in their temporary togetherness; she also, however, worries after her velvet chairs.  How she balances the two sides of her personality is a comic lesson for us all.  Now, in addition to checking out her children’s books for my children, I’m going to have to further explore her adult books as well!

I actually checked Andrea Cheng’s The Year of the Book out of the library because I thought my second girlie might be able to read it herself; it’s under 150 pages, there are illustrations, and the topic seemed accessible.  After reading it, however, I think the emotional context might make my emotionally intuitive 6-year-old a bit upset.  I AM, however, going to stick it on my nine-year-old’s shelf for her to try, because I ended up really liking it.

The Year of the Book introduces Anna Wang, a Chinese-American fourth grader who is having friend difficulties.  Luckily for her, she loves to read just as much as she likes to do anything with friends (the book is sprinkled with references to well-known titles and characters); all the same, she does want things to be different.  How she is ultimately able to resolve some of her friend difficulties makes for a delightful book, although one of her friends’ family problems ups the emotional reading level of it a noticeable amount.   I highly recommend this one–for ages 8-ish and up.

I checked Resistance:  Book 1 out on my daughter’s library card quite a while ago; I thought it might interest her without being too much for a girl who just turned 9 1/2.  It took me a long time to get around to looking at it, of course–doesn’t it always?–but I finally picked it up a few days ago and finished it tonight.  And…

I am ambivalent.

On the one hand, it was interesting, and it wasn’t too much for a going-on-ten-year-old.  The introduction and author’s note did an excellent job of explaining France’s situation during WWII, and the body of the book certainly kept my interest.  On the other hand, the plot seemed slightly contrived, and I didn’t care for the art.  Of course, I will say that fiction about WWII in Europe is always iffy with me because I’ve read a great deal of non-fiction from the time; I doubt the book’s intended audience would have an issue with the plot.  I have no idea how that audience would feel about the art, either, come to think of it.  My problem with it had to do with the characters’ facial expressions–I didn’t feel they expressed nuances of emotion with impressive accuracy.  (Mostly, they just seemed to look either grumpy or surprised, and (in my opinion!) a bit on the ugly side.)

Bottom line?  It absolutely held my attention, but I didn’t love it; since graphic novels aren’t my thing, however, I hesitate to deliver a strong verdict either way.  I’m afraid it’s up to you when it comes to this one.

Once upon a time, back when my sister lived in New Jersey, I borrowed a few books from her house.  (This was at least five years ago, and yes, I did ask.)  I read two of them in a somewhat timely fashion, but two more have been sitting on my shelf, waiting to be read, ever since.  Fast forward to a month or two ago and my oldest niece is looking at my bookshelf.  I sheepishly point out the books I borrowed from her mom years ago, and, taking a closer look, she says–“I think I bought that one myself, with birthday money or something; that explains why I never got around to reading it!”

Oh, the guilt.  I basically stole my poor niece’s book when she was only a tween (or thereabouts)!  And so, in a belated attempt to put it right, I moved Cameron Dokey’s The Storyteller’s Daughter up to the very top of my reading list, and I finished it over lunch today.  When my parents head out to Colorado to visit my sister, I’ll send it with them; maybe Macy will even have time to read it before she leaves on her mission!  That’s something, right?

Yeah, still with the guilt.  Anyway.  I don’t read as many fairy tale re-tellings as I used to, and I have to say, The Storyteller’s Daughter made me wonder why.  (Okay, it’s probably because I read more non-fiction, but still.)  Cameron Dokey weaves a web of words that beautifully showcase her chosen tale; her writing style is perfect for a series entitled “Once upon a Time.”  I didn’t know much about “The Arabian Nights,” but no matter.  All that I needed to know was there.  Shahrazad (the Persian spelling of Scheherazade), the storyteller whose life depends upon her skill, is a quietly strong heroine, and the king she marries is successfully portrayed as an emotionally wounded man who must be healed for the sake of his kingdom.  The stories Shahrazad tells remind me stylistically of the fairy tales I read in my childhood; they entertain in and of themselves while furthering the story of their teller.  In the end, it’s almost hard to label the book’s genre–fairy tale?  Folk tale?  Fable?  Love story?  I’m honestly not quite sure.  What I am sure of, however, is that this is a book to be read and relished by fans of all of them.

As much as I love history, I usually hate reading about the Civil War.  I don’t know if it’s because of the level of slaughter, or the animosity within a nation, or the antiquated ideas about medicine; what I do know is that I usually avoid literature about the Civil War at all costs.  I enjoyed the first of Nathan Hale’s Hazardous Tales enough, however, that I wanted to read the sequel before passing it on to my daughter, and to my surprise, I enjoyed Big Bad Ironclad immensely–its topic notwithstanding.

In Ironclad, Nathan Hale is back at the gallows, telling stories about the future to delay his hanging.  His chosen topic? Ironclads in the Civil War, which I didn’t know existed.  I did know that the North blockaded the South, and that blockade runners were the result, but ships with iron plating–nope.  The book does a fabulous job of telling their story and tying in some of the exploits of Will Cushing, a larger-than-life figure about which I’d actually like to read more.  Hale’s illustrations make me smile and his text makes me me giggle, and in a book about ANY aspect of the Civil War, that is an impressive feat indeed.

To be perfectly honest, most of my family didn’t love this Creamy Spinach Tomato Tortellini as much as I did.  My oldest has issues with the cheese filling (she’s the sole anti-Provolone member of the family, and she’s iffy with stronger cheeses in general), my next is the pickiest, and the boy said he enjoyed it but ate slowly.  (To be fair, he may have just been not so hungry.)  The baby-who-is-really-a-toddler-now enjoyed it, though, and my hubby isn’t much of a pasta person, so I wasn’t counting on him loving it anyway.

Here’s the thing, though.  It’d be nice if everyone had loved it, but even if not all of them did, easy recipes are still lovely.  I’ve been keeping frozen tortellini from Costco on hand, and we usually have spinach for my hubby’s smoothies, and everything else is something I can grab from the pantry.  (Well, okay, Parmesan is a fridge ingredient, but it’s ALWAYS in my fridge.  I subbed evaporated milk for the half and half, though, so that was pantry all the way.)  And I liked it!  The basil could have used a bit more time in with the tomatoes to taste a little less, well, pantry-ish, but sometimes speed is just as much of a selling point as anything else.  I enjoyed this enough to make it again, and since I do the vast majority of the cooking, well…

Oh, I did one-and-a-half the recipe to work with the size of the Costco package of tortellini, by the way.

Just so you know.

My mother and I don’t always eat alike, but we are both nuts about lemon.  We like it strong, we like it sweet OR savory–really, we love it, and we love it with just about anything.  Now, since I left for Women’s Conference ON her birthday, I managed a cake for her but not a dinner (I was too busy getting ready to go–and getting the kids ready to have me gone!).  Last night, however, I made up for that.  It was my parents’ last night in Utah and they ate here with us and my nephew and his girlfriend; we had pork chops with rhubarb stuffing, watermelon, English cucumber, and lemon basil carrots, which my mother and I LOVE.  No one else at my house enjoys them, so I reveled in the dual opportunity to a)spoil my mother and b)eat them myself. What’s not to love about that?

Sadly, if the recipe is available online, I have no idea where; thankfully, it’s a short recipe to type!

Lemon Basil Carrots

1 lb carrots, peeled and chopped

2 T butter

1 T lemon juice

1/2 t garlic powder

1/2 t basil

Cover carrots with salted water in a saucepan and cook until tender; drain them and add the rest of the ingredients.  Heat through until butter is melted and all ingredients are combined.

Easy, right?  And I’ve always used dried basil and bottled lemon juice, because that’s what we used growing up and they taste divine that way.  (I love a recipe that uses pantry ingredients.)  Make these for the lemon lover in your life!