Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

A couple of Sundays ago I had to come up with a meal plan kind of late in the day; I was looking through muffins recipes to make breakfast for dinner and I found these Good Morning Muffins right before my hubby offered to make biscuits.  (In case you’re wondering, his mother made good biscuits when he was growing up, and he learned how to make them.  My father made biscuits that he enjoyed more than anyone else, and I never felt the urge to learn how.  Therefore, my hubby makes all the biscuits in our marriage, because his are awesome.)  I was all about him making biscuits with our particularly grouchy son, so I tabled this recipe until the next Sunday, when we fed my nephew and I needed a bread to go with soup.

Interestingly enough, my pickier second girlie was a big fan, although it probably helped that she didn’t much care for the soup.  (Potatoes.  Seriously.  What is so objectionable about potatoes?)  None of the other kids seemed passionate about them; my oldest thought they were too orange-y.  My hubby was fine with them and my nephew said they were good (not that a 20-year-old college student is difficult to please), while I adored the streusel (bless the woman for using equal amounts of cinnamon and nutmeg) and wished the muffins themselves tasted more like my mother’s orange rolls (OH, those orange rolls!) and less like orange marmalade.  (Yes, they have a bunch of marmalade in them.  I just don’t love the stuff.  My father does, but then, he also loves mincemeat pie.)  I was hoping the orange juice would lessen the marmalade punch, but it mostly turned the muffins rather a lovely color.  Oh, and the streusel was a very dry streusel.  It didn’t make a difference to the actual eating of it, but it meant that you lost more while eating it.  Which was sad.

Honestly, I’m sort of tempted to try them again with peach jam, and perhaps peach nectar if I can find it; the streusel would work quite nicely with peach, and I think my oldest and I would be bigger fans. (Sadly, the boys in our family don’t care for peaches, which baffles me.)  As it is, if you’re a big fan of orange marmalade, you really ought to give this recipe a try; if not, approach with caution.

Okay, maybe not really.  It would be more accurate to say that it’s the last Natalie Kinsey-Warnock book in the system that’s not a picture book; it’s also the longest I’ve read by her, and the least setting-driven. Which is not to say that True Colors wasn’t quite enjoyable, you understand.  It’s just that in her other books (at least the ones I’ve read!), the setting drives the plot in a lot of ways, while True Colors feels like it could have taken place in any rural community (okay, any rural community that also has touristy summer visitors).  The emphasis here is on identity and relationships.

Blue was a 2-day-old baby when Hannah Spooner found her in her yard; the two have been together ever since.  This summer, however, things feel different.  Blue wants desperately to know who her real mother is, and her quest for information involves her in her community in a new way, while her best friend, one of the summer people, is acting like a completely different person this year.

Blah, blah, blah.  I am struggling to write a summary of this book that pleases me, so here it is in a nutshell:  I liked it.  I liked Blue, I liked Hannah, I liked the people in their community, and I liked the family story that turns out to be Blue’s.  Nadine, the summer friend, made me cringe, but I have to admit that I can see how her life situation is affecting her behavior.  (I would not have been at all understanding if I’d read this in elementary or junior high, mind you.  I just would have hated her.) Bottom line? True Colors is engaging, it moves along, and it’s got depth–or in other words, it’s worth the read.

Remember Babymouse?  As in, Babymouse:  Queen of the World?  My oldest read it in her quest for a report-worthy graphic novel, and while she wasn’t terribly interested, my second wanted to read another one–which is how we ended up with Babymouse:  Our Hero checked out of the library.  I decided to read it before I passed it on, in case she got confused about the plot like she did with the first one; what surprised me was just how much I actually liked this one.

I knew half of my problem with the first book was my inability to relate to the plot, mind you.  The second one, however, reminded me lot of a tween girl episode of “Scrubs.”  Babymouse keeps slipping suddenly into random daydreams inspired by the everyday sorts of things that happen to her, and those daydreams infuse ordinary events with humor.  Missing the bus, having to play dodgeball in gym class, and fighting with your locker are easy situations to relate to; Babymouse makes them easier to laugh about.  (And the final confrontation, by the way, is very satisfying.)

Bottom line?  Again, it’s a graphic novel, so it’s not so much my thing.  On the other hand, if it IS your thing, it looks like the series might be worth sticking with after all.

Okay, I feel a little guilty for reviewing a book I only skimmed through, but honestly?  It’s too funny to miss!  I picked up Attack of the Fluffy Bunnies because we have LOVED Andrea Beaty’s picture books (at least the ones we’ve read–we’re still working on them!); I figured my 9-year-old would get a kick out of it, but I’d go ahead and give it a quick read-through before I gave it to her.  It might be fun, right?

OH.  MY.  GOSH.

Twins Kevin and Joules are thrilled to be at summer camp while their parents defend their title at an International Spamathon.  When their counselors are hypnotized by Fierce, Large, Ugly, and Ferocious Furballs from another planet, however, it’s up to them to save the world from total domination.

I ask you.  Do I really need to add anything to that?  I feel compelled, however, to point out that Beaty’s tone is deliciously entertaining.  Even if this doesn’t sound like your thing–it’s not really mine–it’s totally worth it.  I promise.

(By the way, there’s a sequel called Fluffy Bunnies 2:  The Schnoz of Doom.  It’s a little ridiculous how much I’m looking forward to it.)

I’m not much for New Year’s resolutions, but I am trying to beat back the snacking monster that a couple of (brief) vacations (not to mention the holidays) have unleashed.  I am therefore looking to make meals I particularly enjoy (instead of, say, snacks or treats I particularly enjoy); this is why I am so belatedly delighted with the lemons my friend found for me at an insanely good price.  One of the things I make with lemons–when I make the time to do the chopping–is Mel’s White Bean and Tuna Salad, which has one of my very favorite flavor profiles AND just happens to be healthy!

The best part is, tuna doesn’t have to be your thing.  I eat it, but I don’t necessarily love it.  What I do love, however, is the combination of lemon zest, fresh lemon juice, and parsley (as well as green onion, to add to the flavor party).  I’ll eat pretty much ANYTHING with that flavor profile; the best part is, the beans and tuna are all lean protein (and fiber, for the beans), and so it’s light and fresh and filling and delightful.

I have made a couple of changes, mind you.  Raw onions are not so much my thing, so I use green onions rather than red to make the onion flavor considerably more mild.  Lemon, on the other hand, really IS my thing, so I use two lemons instead of one.  (It’s really hard to make anything that I would consider too lemony.)  And finally, I prefer to use small white beans rather than Great Northern, although Great Northern are fine.  Mel talks about scooping the salad with crackers, as well as a variety of other ways to eat it; me, I just dig in with a spoon.  Either way, it’s delicious, and I love it, and it fills me with joy to know that it’s sitting in my fridge right now!

Reading Little White Duck:  A Childhood in China was an interesting experience; I’ve never before seen Chairman Mao portrayed so positively.  The funny thing is that it’s not at all a political book, but rather a series of vignettes about the author’s, well, childhood in China.  Her parents, however, were both born into poor families, and they benefited from Mao’s policies.  (She does quite a good job at portraying that without taking a political stand, actually.)  If I were teaching, I would have my students read this and Red Scarf Girl:  A Memoir of the Cultural Revolution together; the possibilities for a compare/contrast essay are endless.  (Red Scarf Girl is incredibly compelling, and its naive narrator is perfect for its subject matter.) But I digress.

Little White Duck is another of the graphic novels I picked up for my oldest, and we both enjoyed it.  It’s around a hundred pages and gives you a nice glimpse into a completely different life and culture while still being accessible to grade schoolers.  Bottom line?  Totally worth your time, even if the graphic novel format is still not my first choice.  (If you’re wondering why I linked to Red Scarf Girl instead, it’s because that format really IS my first choice, but I promise–it’s completely a personal preference.)

I picked up T4 at the library because, hey, how could I not?  (If you know me, you know that a verse novel about WWII is pretty much irresistable.)  When I tried to mark it as currently reading on Goodreads, however, I hit a snag; I can only assume that it won’t let you search for currently reading titles until you’ve typed the third character in the title.

This is a problem when the title is only two characters.

I ended up having to look it up in the main search field and flag it from there, and because I was on the page anyway, I took a quick gander at the reviews.  A surprising number of them were definitely negative, which piqued my interest enough that I finished the book with more critical an eye than I would normally use.  (As the book is short and the plot simple, I’ll just say that it’s the story of a deaf girl in Germany and her experiences after Hitler passes a law allowing the state to euthanize the mentally or physically disabled.  It’s short enough that saying much more would just start spoiling it for you.)  For a time I started to somewhat agree with the negative reviews; by the end, however, I concluded that not one of them (at least, of those I read) had enough perspective to entirely back up their claims.

A few of them, of course, were just ridiculous.  Verse novels are a thing, and T4 is a verse novel.  Giving a verse novel a bad review for BEING a verse novel just makes you sound, well…stupid.  (I really can’t come up with a better word, so it’s a good thing my kids are asleep–that’s a bad word at our house.) Quite a few more, however, complained about the language–they had issues with it not feeling poetic. (There were complaints that “hitting enter in the middle of a sentence doesn’t make a poem.”  Lois Lowry is quoted on the front cover as saying “told with spare lyricism and haunting imagery,” and at least one of the reviews took issue with that.  The author opens with a sort of forward in verse, beginning “Hear the voice of the Poet!”, and there were complaints about that.  (I’ll admit, I didn’t think it fit terribly well, but at the end the author mentions modelling it after William Blake’s “Introduction,” the first poem in his Songs of Experience.  Okay.)  Some readers loved it, but overall, the majority seemed unimpressed with the book.

Here’s the thing.  I spent a lot of the book questioning Lowry’s use of “spare lyricism”; I didn’t find the verse as poetic as I wanted it to be.  When I got to the end, however, I read the ‘About the Author,’ which is where you learn that the author is deaf.

Let me repeat that–the author is deaf.  As in, “completely deaf from a birth defect and illness.”  She had a percentage of hearing in one ear during grade school, which made learning to speak and assimilating into hearing culture easier, but she spent years doing most of her communicating with a pad and pencil, and she learned ASL in her early twenties.

How does being deaf affect how one writes poetry?  What is lyricism in a silent world?  How does “speaking” (I have no idea what the proper term is) ASL affect one’s use of written language?  (I know it’s a more blunt language than spoken English, for example.)  A few of the negative reviews pointed out that the book is a bit agenda-y–the characters are less well developed than the issue–and they’ve probably got a valid point.  The ones that complain about the style of its poetry?  Unless the reviewers also happen to be deaf, I don’t see how they’re fully equipped to judge.  (I certainly can’t bring myself to criticize the language.)  I don’t know that the book is amazing, but it’s interesting, and clearly told, and it offers an unusual perspective on the Holocaust.  I’d still call it good.  As for you, well–you’ll have to decide for yourself.  Ultimately, however, I think it’s worth your time.

I rarely have half a large container of ricotta in my fridge.  Stuffed shells and traditional lasagna require a whole one; baked ziti uses 15 ounces, so I buy a 15 ounce container for it.  I’ve tried a few new recipes lately, however, and once used 15 ounces when all I had was a 32 ounce container–hence, half a container.

The problem with half a container, of course, is that it’s open.  Sealed ricotta can last; open ricotta, not so much.  Since I already have baked ziti in my freezer, I went in search of another recipe that used 15 ounces; I ended up with this Simple and Meaty Skillet Lasagna, which called for less.  More cheese is always better, right?

Here’s the thing.  It was pretty good, especially for how easy it was (my oldest broke the noodles, and I think she had fun); the extra ricotta, however, was too much for me as is.  If I had mixed the Parmesan in with it, or added chopped fresh parsley?  It would have been another story, I think.  As it was, the dollops of straight ricotta were a bit overwhelming.  (Using the amount it calls for, mind you, would likely be perfect.)  My other issue is a very weird, it’s-not-the-recipe-it’s-me thing–I’m weirdly fond of the dryer pasta at the edges of baked pasta dishes, and the texture of the noodles in this was uniform.  I’m guessing this will be a good thing for most of you, but I missed the dryer bits.  On the other hand, it’s hard to overstate the appeal of an easy skillet meal; I’ll likely tweak it and try it again.  I’ll let you know!

You know how when you’re pregnant you make lots of easy meals, because hey, you’re tired and you feel icky and it’s what you do?  And then you have the baby, and you make lots of easy meals, because hey, you’re tired and you’ve got a baby and (in my case) three other children, and it’s what you do?  And THEN your baby is teething, and you make easy meals, because OH, the fussy evening baby, and then one day you think–if I make one more of these easy meals we’ve been having for the last two years, I’m going to SCREAM?

The problem, of course, is that my baby is still teething, and so I still need easy meals; I’ve just gone out in search of a new crop of them.  And THAT, my friends, is why we had this Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup Bake for dinner last night.  I was in the mood to try something not only new, but different.  And it was.

Now, if you ask me, it was also weirdly delicious.  My picky second girlie and my cantankerous 3-year-old (the one that announced on his way to the table tonight, “I don’t like dinner, I don’t want dinner, I want lunch”) both liked it as well, which was also weird; neither of them is known for loving new recipes. My hubby said it was okay, but he doesn’t really care for tomato soup (you do have to be okay with tomato soup to like it).  My oldest girlie, on the other hand–the one who generally LOVES to try new things–HATED it.  It’s true that she started out the meal in a bad mood, but still.  She thought it tasted too much like ketchup, and she doesn’t like ketchup, and there it was.  I can’t remember the last time she put up such a fuss about dinner.

Assuming, however, that you’re okay with tomato soup (it doesn’t have to be your favorite thing ever, mind), you should totally try this recipe.  (With Campbell’s, by the way.  I used a can of Campbell’s and a can of Western Family and tasted them both, and there was a noticeable difference.)  The bread is actually more chewy and toasty on top than soggy, if that’s a concern, and the butter and the cheeses are lovely.  The thing that really made it amazing for me, however, was the bread.  The recipe says sourdough, but as much as I want to, I just don’t like sourdough.  I’ve tried, and it’s really just not for me. I went to Costco on Monday, however, and while there I spotted the two-pack of roasted garlic and Parmesan bread, and I thought–hey, that could be really, really good in that recipe.

I was not disappointed.

Try the recipe–with Campbell’s–and use the roasted garlic and Parmesan bread if you can possibly find it.  I’m telling you–weirdly delicious.

I grabbed The Big Wet Balloon because it looked like my six-year-old could read it and might enjoy it, not because I was expecting to love it.

Then I read it.

Do you have an older or younger sister–or daughters next to each other in age?  Because if you do, you need this book.  It was lovely.  Watching the two sisters interact–the older one explaining to and encouraging the younger one, and the younger one so focused on her sister–was a delight.  I don’t know that my daughters were quite as affected as I was, but really, they wouldn’t be.  (They still enjoyed it, you understand.)  The Big Wet Balloon inspired the same feelings in me that my daughters did at bedtime tonight, when they announced that the older is going to illustrated books that the younger writes.  And what’s not to love about that?