Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

When I started reading Anna Humphrey’s Megabat to my youngest last Friday, I was expecting it to take a while. Yes, the font is bigger and there are not infrequent illustrations, but still, 176 pages of reading aloud usually takes longer than a weekend. Here it is Monday, however, and I just finished it with her. (The cough I kept her home for on Friday has blossomed, she sounds more like a frog than a 6-year-old when she talks, and she’s possibly running a low grade fever.) I read a chunk of it to her yesterday while the rest of the family was at church, and then we finished it over lunch today, because why not? And I thought it was cute. (She says it’s a thumbs middle, although I don’t know that she’s feeling terribly enthusiastic about anything in her current state.) Daniel makes a good regular-kid protagonist, and a talking bat with a wonky way of speaking does a pretty good job of distracting him from the difficulties of moving. A loyal pigeon, a new friend next door, and her (possibly overly) evil younger brother round out the main characters in this simple book. It should appeal especially to animal fans or those struggling with moving, but the font size and illustrations also make this a good choice for the transitioning-to-longer-books-but-still-young-enough-to-be-overwhelmed crowd.

Okay, my sentence length and overall writing in this review leave something to be desired, but it took me forever to fall asleep last night, so I’m just going with it. Have a great day, everybody!

I’ve been putting off my review of The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir for months and months, not because I didn’t love it but because I did and I’ve been struggling with how to characterize it. At this point, however, I’m just going to jump in, because needs must! So, without further ado…

This book was delightful, but in the most substantive way possible. (I’m hoping you know what I mean by that, because it’s now officially the holidays, and explaining it feels too time consuming.) I can’t help comparing it to Dear Mrs. Bird, which is also a debut novel set in England during WWII, but where Dear Mrs. Bird focuses on the young adults of the time, The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir, if anything, focuses on a village. Within that village we have a group of protagonists, including a few children, one young (barely) adult, a widow whose son has just gone off to war, a devious midwife of indeterminate age, and various other adults of various ages–in other words, it’s a story about a community. Some members are thoroughly unreliable narrators, which provides some of the comic relief necessary in any story that deals with war and loss; others are more reliable but still manage to grow a good bit over the course of the novel.

You know what? I think I’m going to leave it there. If I were to try to summarize the various villagers’ stories and how they weave together, we’d be here all day–and at the end of November, ain’t nobody got time for that. Suffice it to say that Jennifer Ryan does an impressive job with the weaving; there’s a lot going on here, but it’s skillfully handled and connected. This is a book that balances tragedy with triumph, heartbreak with humor, and gravity with a solid dose of the absurd, and I’m not sure I can recommend it highly enough. Prepare to cheer for Mrs. Tilling and the members of Chilbury’s new Ladies’ Choir!

Okay, folks. I’m sure y’all noticed that I did other things over most of Thanksgiving week rather than blog–things like make pies, and play games, and eat way too much pie, and spend time with family–and December is a busy month for everybody. Let’s just acknowledge, then, that between now and New Years, posts will not happen with any regular order or consistency!

Anyway. I did, however, finish Dusti Bowling’s The Canyon’s Edge this past week, and it was unexpectedly intense. Nora’s recent past is traumatic enough–her mom died in the same shooting that lamed her father–but when she and her father are separated by a flash flood during a hike in a slot canyon, she must fight her way through the desert’s dangers as well as her own (literal) nightmares to find her way back to the only parent she has left.

Okay, that sounds dramatic, which it is, but it’s NOT overly or melodramatic. It’s taut and raw and hard for a mother to read, and yet the level of triumph in adversity–rather than over–is endlessly moving. I honestly wish I could give this to both of my older daughters to read; neither, however, is currently up to that level of raw emotion. (My older daughter is struggling to regulate her mental health at the moment, and my younger daughter has been anxious since a boy in three of her classes was hit by a car and died on Halloween weekend.) At the moment I’ll have to settle for recommending it to friends and teens who don’t have extenuating emotional circumstances, because it’s completely and totally worth your time.

And since I rarely give my kids books that I haven’t read–if we’re going to own something, I like to be sure it’s worth owning–there’s going to be some mad reading and listening going on in the next couple of weeks. Last night I finished listening to Rodman Philbrick’s Wildfire, which I was hoping might suit my 9-year-old son; it was a thrill ride and a half, but I’m afraid the emotional context and development is going to be a bit beyond him still. Think of it as an older version of the “I Survived” books–he loves those, but he’s a very young fourth grade boy who prefers math to reading, so I’ll hold on to Wildfire for another year or three (depending). Sam and Delphy make for great protagonists and a Maine wildfire an impressive villain. At least one review mentioned a damsel-in-distress aspect, but I didn’t see it that way; both kids contribute skills and grit to their eventual escape. Their partnership grows into friendship without any element of romance, which is wise on Philbrick’s part; adding that in would have been a distraction. (And in case you’re wondering, I just decided to embrace my love of semi-colons today.) If you have a latter-elementary student who loves adventure, this is the book, especially if said student has been enjoying the “I Survived” books for a couple of years; I’m looking forward to my son reading it when he’s old enough to get more out of it than he will now. In the meantime, on to the next gift contender!

My oldest turned 15 this week, folks–FIFTEEN.

I am not ready to have a child with a driver’s permit.

On the other hand, that incredible, 15-year-old girlie of mine has also been having some health issues, and trying to ease those has consumed a fair amount of my mental energy of late. Today, however, I’m reviewing Kayla Miller’s Clash, which I pushed myself to finished yesterday so that my 12-year-old could get her greedy little hands on it. (Little being part of the expression, since she’s slightly taller than her newly 15-year-old sister…although that’s not exactly a Herculean feat.) Kayla Miller’s books about Olive tend towards the cozy side of middle grade graphic novels; the conflicts never get raw, and Olive always has a healthy level of love and support. In Clash, however, the new girl in Olive’s class takes advantage of Olive’s friendly overtures and is downright mean to her in a sly, always-subtle-when-in-front-of-other-people sort of way. Her reasons for her actions and the resolution of the conflict felt too cozy for Nat’s level of meanness, at least to me; I’m a parent, however, and a parent of girls who have had these sort of clashes on occasion. I do think that even the intended audience might find the ‘everybody seems to get along in Olive’s grade’ idea unrealistic (laughable?), but on the other hand, there’s something to be said for showing kids better ways to socialize and deal with conflict than they’re probably experiencing in real life. Ultimately, this is likely to appeal to its intended audience and Olive’s eventual actions are worth emulating; I just don’t think it works as well for parents.

Have a good day, y’all!

For those of you who are singing Whitesnake in their heads right now–you’re welcome. I hope you enjoyed that trip down memory lane! For those of you who are rolling your eyes at my flakiness yet again–yeah, I know. But we’ve had various things going on here, and sometimes mental energy and concentration are hard to come by, you know?

Anyway. Flagging mental energy notwithstanding, last night I finished reading Kelly Jones’ Sauerkraut aloud to my 12-year-old, and I can’t bring myself to let it sit around the house for another week when I could review it tonight and bring it back to the library tomorrow (Tuesday being my current library day). If my review reflects tired, less-than-stellar writing, well–I feel like there’s a lot of that going around lately.

On the bright side, however, my girlie and I both got quite a kick out of Sauerkraut. HD is a thoroughly likable protagonist, and his African-German-American heritage makes for an unusual but fabulous mix. His parents are good, solid parents–we need more of those, in and out of literature–and Eli is the kind of friend I wish more kids had at that age. (Asad, of course, is a typical younger brother. Which is both good AND bad!) More than anyone else, however, it is Oma who steals the show–the ghost of HD’s great-great-grandmother. Her obsession with sauerkraut and her yearning for her family complicate HD’s life at times, but that only makes her character and the ending more delightful. This is a story about heritage, about family and why it matters, about friendship and personal goals and accomplishments–and about sauerkraut. (Also about various other German foods, but mostly sauerkraut. Have I mentioned that I quite enjoy good sauerkraut?) If you’re looking for a Christmas book for a middle school boy who likes computers and his extended family, Sauerkraut is an excellent option. (It’s also a fabulous read if you want to alternately laugh, cry a little, and hit your nearest German deli on the way home.) Enjoy!

In case you’re wondering where I’ve been–because I really didn’t just flake–my hubby and I took the kiddos to see Dude Perfect live in Boise this past Friday. (We’re all fans–some of the kids are hardcore–and while DP still hasn’t come to Salt Lake, Boise’s last minute addition to this year’s tour worked out quite nicely!) We spent some time with family on Saturday, made my cousin’s baby’s blessing Sunday morning, and drove back to Utah in time for Sunday dinner with my in-laws. (A quick trip, I grant you, but we packed it full!) Yesterday I spent time on the phone trying to fix some house issues, time trying to organize basic chore lists for my kids, and time with friends trying to process the idea of going gluten- and dairy-free for a month to see if it helps my oldest with her current tummy issues. (I was feeling overwhelmed.) Today I tackled laundry mountain, hit the library–and finished reading Truly Tyler while waiting to pick the littles up from school. Wahoo! My second oldest hounded me for it for weeks until I let her read it before I was finished (to make up for her missing school for her Covid test); now that I’m finished, I’m sure she’ll do a quick re-read before it goes back to the library. (I think my oldest still cares about Libenson’s “Emmie & Friends” as well, but I guess we’ll see!) In the meantime, I’m relieved to be done trying to read a 300-plus page graphic novel in bed with my little-kid-hands–it’s not so bad when you’re in the middle of it, but the beginning and the end put the weight in my hand off-balance enough to be uncomfortable. (First world problems…)

It was a fun addition to Libenson’s series, though. Having a boy as one of the main characters was a fun change, and the dynamics among family members, fellow students, and teammates felt authentic. Trying to balance friends in different groups is a challenge that teaches important skills, and deciding whose opinions to value and why is vital to the growing up process. Emmie is definitely a main character here, and she and Tyler’s friendship journey should have widespread appeal. This is a solid middle grade graphic/illustrated novel about valuing friends and finding the right balance in life–definitely give it a try!

When I saw Amy Timberlake’s Skunk and Badger available on audio, I thought I had a slam dunk for our next trip to Idaho. After a half hour or so, however, people wanted to listen to music instead; I thought perhaps that the style of humor was less accessible for my 6-year-old and turned on my Spotify playlist. When we tried it again on the way home, however, and the reaction from my kiddos was the same, I had to accept that it wasn’t going to be the perfect road trip fare I’d been hoping for. (I found it funny!) There aren’t enough illustrations to make the lack thereof on audio a dealbreaker, but for whatever reason, my kids were not enthralled. Since I was enjoying it enough to finish it on my own, though, I have to conclude that the undeniable humor in the story has more of an adult appeal. Rock-absorbed Badger and friendly Skunk make a solid ‘odd couple’, and I very much enjoyed Aunt Lola (even if hers was a solely epistolary role). The chickens were an odd addition, but then, the book was unapologetically odd all around. It’s an entertaining sort of odd, however, and so I’ll leave you to decide for yourself whether it’s worth your time.

On Saturday, a group of boys mostly from my daughter’s middle school were trick or treating and started across a crosswalk. They had flags, and the northbound traffic had stopped for them; a southbound car didn’t see them in time and hit the two boys in the lead. One of them died this morning; one of them is stable but still in critical condition. My daughter had multiple classes with the boy who died; the boy in the hospital is the bassoon player in her school band. I can only imagine the devastation of the families, friends–and the driver.

I know that the Atonement of Jesus Christ will cover all of their devastation and grief; it will be a long road, however, and we will be praying for them. GoFundMe pages have been set up for both Karl Finch and Spencer Wall, if anyone is looking for an act of kindness during this month of heightened focus on gratitude.

I’ve been giving my children extra hugs all day.

I finished listening to Finding Esme while cutting apples for applesauce this morning, and while I really am at a loss as to how to review it, I also need space on my library card–which means that rather then let the reading experience settle for a while before evaluating it, I’m rushing in regardless.

Wish me luck.

To begin, I am SO VERY TIRED of illustrators who create a cover for a book without any sense of what the book’s really like. You’d think Esme was a book with a spunky, inquisitive heroine who goes off in search of adventure, based on the cover, and that’s not at all how it feels. (Seriously, people. Tone. It’s not just for English majors.) Esme is gritty, grieving, and emotionally somewhat lost; she and her best friend are both struggling with difficult family situations and poverty, although Finch’s struggles are more stereotypical. Enter a mystical southern element–Esme’s grandmother can find things that are lost, things people are looking for, and Esme has started to feel that same gift within her. Add friendship difficulties, some moonshining, various levels of tragedy, and a slew of different kinds of people to deal with (and learn from), and you get a mix of a few too many themes in a single book that’s frequently heartbreaking and less about the found dinosaur bones than one might suppose from the description and first line. I’m not saying there isn’t a followable plot thread–there is–but it’s bumpy with varioius additions and subtractions. If you like poignant (although slightly scattered) stories involving difficult families, Finding Esme may be for you; if you’re looking for a tightly woven or adventurous story, probably not so much.

Your call.