Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

That’s right, folks.  My parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary earlier this year, and this weekend my brother, my sister, and I are going to celebrate with them.  Yay for family time!

I’m sure you’ll be lost without me, right?  Oh, well.  Until next week, friends–signing off!

1.  I miss my hometown more on Columbus day than any other day of the year.
2. It still irritates me that my kids have school on Columbus Day.  That’s what I get for leaving my hometown.
3. On the other hand, I am grateful my pediatrician was in today.  She gave me several good reasons to hope that my oldest’s stomach pain is still the tail end of the cruel and unusual virus that kicked us to the curb in September.
4. Coming from a small town is pretty awesome.
5. I am blessed in my friends.  And my family.
6. Maybe the baby will sleep through the night for the second night in a row.  Of course, it’s been a month or so since that happened…
7. And on that note–I really need to go to bed.  Goodnight all!

I’ve always been a sucker for the naive narrator.  It’s what I love best about Huckleberry Finn and Red 
Scarf Girl; it creates a buffer for me when I’m reading about injustice or tragedy, so that I’m not crushed by the awfulness of it all.  (It also makes for some beautifully funny moments in literature.)  What I hadn’t thought much about until reading When the Sergeant Came Marching Home, however, is the possibility of certain variations on the idea of “naive.”

When the Sergeant Came Marching Home is told from 10-year-old Donald’s point of view.  His father has recently returned from WWII and buys a farm shortly thereafter; Donald’s mother is excited, his younger brother Pat is looking forward to seeing ducks, and Donald himself is furious.  He was perfectly happy with his life in their apartment, his school, his friends, and his daily activities, whereas the farm is boring and awful and life-ruining (so much so that he’s saving up money so that he can run away to California).  In the meantime, however, life continues, and we see that life through Donald’s eyes.

The thing about Donald is that he’s not really naive; one of his jobs as Pat’s older brother is to explain things that Pat doesn’t understand.  What makes the novel so amusing, however, is Donald’s capacity for self-deception.  Time and again throughout the novel, he assures us of his feelings, motives, and thoughts in a way that suggests he’s convinced himself that he’s telling the absolute truth, and yet there is quite often more to the story or a deliberately ignored point of view.  I’m not sure if this aspect of the novel would have attracted me nearly as much when I was a child, but any parent who’s heard a 3-year-old assure her that “he’s not tired!” when he’s hyper from exhaustion knows that there is much humor to be found in a child’s point of view.

Ultimately, Donald’s view of the world meant that I found far more humor in the book than I had expected; in fact, it pleasantly surprised me in almost every way.  My only issue was that the wrap-up and ending felt slightly awkward to me–I get the impression that Don Lemna found it easier to write the story than to finish it.  The ending wasn’t bad, mind  you (unlike the original ending of “Sweet Home Alabama,” which was so terrible one wonders how they got as far as filming it without realizing how awful it was); it just didn’t necessarily feel like an ending.  It came on a little suddenly and ended a little suddenly, and I was left thinking that another chapter or two bookending the ending wouldn’t have gone amiss.

The slight awkwardness of the ending, however, wasn’t nearly enough to dampen my enjoyment of the book as a whole.  It was funny and touching and thoroughly enjoyable, and once I finished it I put the sequel on hold at the library.  In short, When the Sergeant Came Marching Home is well worth your time.

Alas, I’m talking about the purchased kind.  As much as I would like to be baking, I have apples to turn into applesauce, an eight-year-old whose tummy still hurts, and a baby who has started clawing desperately at her ear again.  (Not to mention various children up in the night most nights.)  I just don’t have much in me, you know?  I still have to grocery shop, though, and I’ve become incapable of passing by a new flavor of something we like.  Without further ado, then–here’s the rundown thus far!

Pumpkin Spice Mini-Wheats:  An all-around hit.  The kids enjoy them and I think they’re pretty good–and they actually have them at Costco as well as Target!

Pumpkin Spice Candy Corn:  We’re divided on this one.  I think they’re a little strong in a slightly chemically kind of way, but my kids and our carpool friends mostly enjoy them.

Pumpkin Spice (Golden) Oreos:  Surprisingly tasty, being not too strong yet not too bland.  Sold in a criminally small package for being the regular Oreo price, though.

Fruit Cremes Candy Corn (just pretend there’s an accent over that first “e”):  Weirdly addicting.  I generally don’t enjoy citrus-flavored candy (for me, it tends to be the real thing or nothing), but the Lemon Creme Meringue is good, and I can even handle the Orange Creme.  Strawberries, raspberries, and peaches and creme round out the flavors.  Tasty!

Has anyone out there tried the fall M&M flavors?  Feel free to comment and add to the review.  As a public service, of course!

I’ve always been a sucker for back stories, and so when I saw Winnie:  The True Story of the Bear Who Inspired Winnie-the-Pooh on the library’s website, I ignored the stacks of library books I already have checked out and went to put it on hold.  Luckily for me, it’s actually a picture book–I can generally find the time to read those!–and it’s an interesting and enjoyable read.  I knew nothing about A. A. Milne, let alone the bear named Winnie (short for Winnipeg!) at the London zoo that inspired his most famous creation.  If possible, I knew less than nothing about Harry Colebourn, the WWI army vet that bought Winnie at a train station (I knew A. A. Milne existed, at least).  By the end of the book, I knew something of all three.  Sally M. Walker’s storytelling is simple and straightforward, and her author’s note is nicely informative.  (There appear to be other books on the same topic–one by a descendant of Harry Colebourn, I think–but I’m not into Winnie-the-Pooh enough to seek them out.  This was enough for me.)

According to the dustjacket, moreover, Walker has a good bit of experience writing history for young readers.  When I saw that one of her titles had won the Sibert medal, I looked her up on the library’s website; she has quite the diverse collection of non-fiction to her credit.  One of her other titles is currently waiting for me to pick it up at my local library branch, and I’m looking forward to it.  Stay tuned for reviews on her other titles!

Remember how my friend Britt and I came up with the 4th book plan, so that we’d occasionally read books we own instead of sticking to library books, which have due dates?  She’s thinking about moving and feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stuff in her house, and my library habit has gotten out of control to the point that I don’t have space on my shelves for all the books I’ve checked out; hence, we’ve both agreed to read ONLY books we own for the entire month of October.  (This is going to create more room on my shelf for library books, by the way; I’ll deal with THAT problem another time.)

So far, I’m on my third book.  I started Hyper-chondriac:  One Man’s Quest to Hurry Up and Calm Down, but it had a bit of language, and the subject matter wasn’t something I was dying to go on with; I decided after 20 or 30 pages that I just didn’t care enough to spend the time on it.  (This was on October 1st.)  On the following day I started The Book of Joe, but there was even more language, and the vulgarity did not appeal.  (The premise was funny, but no.)  On October 3rd I started a book I’m thoroughly enjoying, though, so that review is forthcoming; in the meantime, I’ve gotten rid of two books I have no interest in keeping, and this pleases me.  Hooray for October!

When my oldest is reading a book I’ve read, I often ask her how she’s liking it–a lot, a little, or medium.  She has a tendency to move from a little or medium to a lot once she’s further in, which interests me; my sense of the book often doesn’t change much (although not always).  My early impression of Mariko Nagai’s Dust of Eden, for example, was a medium, and that’s how I ended up feeling when I finished it as well.

Dust of Eden is a verse novel about a Japanese-American girl who was interned in a camp in Idaho during WWII. (Historical verse novels are irresistible for me; my friend Andrea knows this and told me about it after picking it up at the library herself.  I picked it up shortly thereafter, and it was a perfect choice when I needed a short library book to read.)  The story is compelling, of course–how could it not be? And I was impressed at the author’s ability to represent different viewpoints among the internees.  I did, however, have an issue with the writing.  Andrea pointed out that the different styles of poems that make up the novel are indicative of a girl in turmoil trying to find her voice, which makes sense.  The eclectic nature of the verse, though, was still a bit of a stumbling block for me.  I enjoyed it, mind you, and I didn’t want to put it down; a different story told in the same format, however, might not engage me nearly as well.  That being said, it was moving and compelling and informative all at once, so if the topic interests you at all, this is worth your time.

If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know how pregnancy can mess with your eating; sometimes, your favorite recipes become intolerable for the duration.  With any luck, though, you’ll eventually be able to make them again, and when you do, there’s that moment of–“Mmmm.  I completely forgot how good this is.”

That’s kind of how I feel about Joan Bauer.  Not that she ever became intolerable, mind you–I just read everything she’d written and then got so distracted by pregnancy and a fourth child that her newest book flew under my radar for a while.  When I finally thought to check her website, I was beyond excited for her latest offering, and what do you know?

She’s even better than I remember.

What I remember was already fabulous, you understand.  Bauer has a gift for creating quirky, likable main characters, and she tells their stories with a near-perfect blend of humor and pathos.  Her books tend to share certain kinds of plot features, true, but they’re so ridiculously enjoyable that it’s never bothered me.  I picked up Hope was Here because it was a Newbery Honor book, and I loved it so much that I went through the rest of hers in short order; Squashed, Thwonk, Sticks, Rules of the Road, Backwater, Stand Tall, and Best Foot Forward.  From there I read Peeled, Close to Famous, and Almost Home as they came out, but as I said, I missed the existence of Tell Me until recently.  I finished it last night.

Tell Me is typical Bauer–a main character with a passion (acting), a loyal and fabulous best friend (Lorenzo), and a community with a purpose (a flower festival and parade).  Where her early novels had fairly black and white characters, however, her later novels have grown in complexity.  The town’s rich, overbearing businessman and his daughter aren’t one dimensional at all; Anna’s parents’ situation is a bit complicated; and what Anna’s trying to accomplish is not as simple as growing a giant pumpkin or winning a pool competition.  Instead, she sees a girl who looks like she’s in trouble, and in the context of the town’s flower festival, she has to decide what to do about it–and how to do it.

I loved watching Anna’s story play out–don’t miss it!  And if you like Tell Me, go back and read more of Joan Bauer.

I promise you won’t be disappointed.

It took a bit to remember why I grabbed Some Smug Slug at the library; it turned out to be so radically different from what I was expecting that my initial impression was pushed out of my mind.  I was hoping, you see, for a picture book my emerging reader could tackle more or less herself–something in the vein of Sheep in a Jeep, for example.  Some Smug Slug sounded promising, so I checked it out, brought it home, opened it, and thought–OH.

No.

The vocabulary in Pamela Duncan Edwards’ book is not at all conducive to being read by a new reader; on the other hand, the crazy alliteration makes it delightful to read aloud, and my artistic daughter LOVED searching for the “S” on every page.  (It’s harder than you think, by the way.)  The slug of the title is heading up a suspiciously shaped slope, and its choice to do so elicits a wide variety of reactions from the alliterative onlookers.  All choices have consequences, of course–and so the book ends.

Honestly?  I think my 8-year-old enjoyed it more than my 6-year-old, and if I were teaching alliteration to teenagers, I’d be all over this one.  I’m not sure there’s a real age limit.  It’s worth a look-see, folks.

And good luck with those ‘S’s.

As much as I think Scarlett O’Hara was, well, a word I don’t like and generally prefer not to use, I’m clinging to the reality of this.  Last night my middles both threw up–again.  For the first time since Monday night.  Tonight my baby girl lost her entire bottle, and kept throwing up a little bit more so that I didn’t dare try and offer her more liquid before bed.  She fell asleep, but what do I do when she wakes up?  Do I give her 2 ounces and hope she keeps it down?  Will I end up in the ER for the second Sunday in a row, with another dehydrated girl?  Is she okay in there?

Can tomorrow be a day of getting better–for EVERYONE?

Please?