Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Thankfully, though, it didn’t get me nearly as bad as it did my children. My body did purge itself of everything I ate yesterday, true, but I only had two bouts of throwing up, and the other issue wasn’t as bad, either. Because I ran errands in the morning and then got sick in the late afternoon, however, I never did manage a blog post; on the other hand, I finished reading Tori Sharp’s Just Pretend in the wee hours when I couldn’t sleep, so I’ll just review that today and it all works out, right?

Anyway. I had a faint hope that Just Pretend might prove to be a good gift graphic novel for one of my girls, but because it’s a memoir, the plot flow is a bit disjointed, and I don’t see it being a perfect fit for any of them. They’ll all still probably enjoy it, though–although my middle girlie maybe less so, since the fantasy element is definitively not her thing. Tori escapes from the rough patches in her life by imagining (and writing) a fantasy novel, and with her parents’ divorce, sibling struggles, some friend drama, and a move, she’s got a fair amount to escape. I wasn’t desperately engaged with the fantasy portion of the plot, but then, I don’t read much fantasy anymore; I think fans of the genre will probably enjoy it. I wanted to strangle both of her parents AND her brother as well, but most of that came from my own parental experiences; I’ll be interested to see what my kiddos think. (And if this isn’t the most cohesive review ever, well–I’ve mostly eaten some saltines today, and I got very little sleep last night.)

Bottom line? I think kids dealing with divorce or kids passionate about fantasy writing are the best audience for this one, but it was still a (mostly) enjoyable read for me. Any other opinions of it out there?

I really don’t have the brain power to focus on this review, but guess what? I’m doing it anyway. Not, you understand, out of an excess of zeal or anything; it’s just that Jamie Sumner’s Maid for It was due and not renewable at the library on Tuesday and (clearly) needs to be returned, and I can’t actually bring myself to put it back on hold again just so I can put off reviewing it AGAIN. (After all, it was a read-aloud with my 15-year-old, and we finished it weeks ago.) I was going to do it Wednesday but went Christmas shopping instead, since my youngest was finally back in school after the flu; today my 15-year-old is home for her second day, so I’m available (and desperately hoping no one else will get it).

Alrighty then, folks, here we go. Maid for It has plenty of heart–all of Sumner’s books do–and that heart helps readers through a difficult topic. Remember Dusti Bowling’s Across the Desert? Maid for It also features a daughter struggling with her mother’s addiction to painkillers, only Franny’s mom finally got clean; she’s stayed clean, too, except that when she gets into a car accident (one that isn’t even her fault!), her thigh injury means a prescription for painkillers, and Franny is terrified. Not only is there the danger of her mother falling off the wagon, so to speak; she also can’t work, which means that there’s not going to be money for hospital bills. In desperation, Franny takes over her mother’s housecleaning business on the sly, except that the extra work is about to drown her. Franny manages to arrange help from an unexpected source, but that’s about the time her carefully controlled life starts to seriously unravel.

My 15-year-old and I were completely into this one. She wanted me to read every chance we got–I love it when that happens!–and we got through it in record time. How Franny and her mom find their way through the newest crisis in their lives is a story that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit while tugging firmly at your heartstrings; it’s also a poignant reminder that people are complicated, and their worst is never the sum total of who they are. I highly recommend this one.

In the meantime, I’m praying that the plague stops here and that we can juggle and manage the important parts of Christmas successfully. Here’s hoping everyone else’s households stay healthy!

So–Friday. There was totally going to be a book review, except that I spent all morning puttering (usefully) and helping my oldest and my hubby get out the door to drive to Vegas for a Brad Paisley concert (picking up a friend in Kanosh on the way), and then it was early day and my son forgot there was ultimate frisbee after school and then wanted me to drive him there. I did that and then walked to pick up my youngest, but my son got home early and was feeling sick. I had to leave him to pick up my 15-year-old from school, and when I came back he’d thrown up but thought he was feeling a bit better. (Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.) I decided to cancel piano–yeah, I could have taken just his sister, but I really wasn’t feeling it, and our piano teacher is elderly with occasional health struggles–and he’d thrown up again by the time I left for Costco (we were almost out of milk). I was on the way home when he called me on his sister’s phone, miserable–he was still throwing up, and when I got home it was obvious that he felt wretched. On and on the wretched retching went–always contained, thankfully–while I did copious amounts of laundry from earlier in the week and didn’t get to bed until almost 1. At 3-ish the diarrhea started, and then he came in to snuggle at bit at 5-ish, and I hadn’t actually fallen back asleep by the time my hubby and my oldest got home at 6. (Yes, 6 in the morning. It was a quick trip.) I wasn’t going to disturb my finally-sleeping son, so I gave up my spot in the bed for my exhausted hubby and tried the couch…only I couldn’t manage to actually fall back asleep, and eventually my youngest woke up sometime after 7.

Saturday the travelers slept until noon and my poor boy’s system just kept trying to purge itself. I did chores and my oldest worked while my hubby took our youngest to see her friend in the Nutcracker, and then he and I got to bed earlier than usual (hallelujah!). Sunday we had a special stake conference with Elder Quentin L. Cook and Sister Camille N. Johnson, which we all made it to except my son, who still wasn’t feeling great. My oldest worked again and the rest of us were having a chill afternoon until my youngest started in with the retching. Have I mentioned the noise? The worst noises of the kind my children have EVER made, and they just went on, and on, and on. I let her watch whatever she wanted while the rest of us enjoyed the First Presidency Christmas Devotional–anything to distract her from the awfulness–but when the diarrhea set in for her, I knew it was going to be an awfully long night. Maxi pads were put to a use for which they were certainly never intended, and there were smells and more retching and changes of certain articles of clothing pretty much all night long. I spent the night on Clifford–our big red couch–but couldn’t fall asleep until after “Inside Out” was over with, and even then it was hard to tell what level of sleep actually happened. (Certainly NOT an impressive one.) She has yet to keep anything down today except for tiny sips of water-when she drinks more she just throws it up, as she did the one saltine she tried–and we let my son go to band this morning only because his concert is next week. My hubby picked him up and brought him home before he left for work, because I didn’t want to leave my youngest and I most certainly wasn’t letting her get more than 20 feet from a bathroom. It’s true he can now keep food down, but all he wanted was a piece of bread this morning, and I sure as heck wasn’t letting him stay for the whole school day on that. (Or eat school lunch, which he didn’t want anyway.) I did enough cleaning and organizing to make a solid difference today, but I’m certainly not bursting with energy (although tomorrow will probably be worse).

On the other hand, last night I did manage to finish listening to Renee Watson’s (pretend the appropriate accent is over that middle ‘e’) Ways to Make Sunshine, which is on the Battle of the Books list for my daughter’s elementary school this year. It’s shorter and easier than the sort of middle grade to which I normally gravitate, but the review that mentions it as Watson’s version of Ramona Quimby feels spot on. Ryan Hart’s family is moving to a smaller house, and that brings the sort of up-and-down changes that bring tribulation to a fourth grader’s soul. She figures out how to deal with them, however, and I’m expecting my own fourth grader to enjoy and relate to this slice-of-life offering for her age group. (Just as soon as she manages to both be awake and alert AND keep food and drink inside of her where it belongs.) It’ll be easy reading for her, true, but that will make it accessible to a wider variety of fourth graders. If you’re looking for a lovely piece of realistic fiction for that age group to go under your Christmas tree, this one is a solid choice.

When it comes to positive, relatively clean women’s fiction with satisfying endings, I find Katherine Center to be a fairly solid choice. Some of her books are less believable than others, sure, but her characters are likable and her stories have depth beyond the romantic relationship. I have, therefore, been slowly working my way through her backlist, and my latest listen is Everyone Is Beautiful (finished today). It was originally published in 2009, which seemed appropriate–it focuses on motherhood, and I had my second child in 2009–and while there were very enjoyable things about it, I do think her writing has gotten better.

Here’s the thing, though–some of the parts that weren’t my favorite were just hard to read about when you’ve been through some of them yourself. Children do take a toll on a marriage–for reasons beyond what Center’s book (ahem) centers on–and parenting is exhausting, and depending on how those struggles are represented, it can still feel like it’s too soon for those struggles to serve as entertainment. The one thing that legitimately felt like a newer-author sort of weakness was the pacing. When you read a lot you have a pretty solid feel to what the angle of a story arc should feel like, and Everyone Is Beautiful has too long and slow of a buildup paired with a definitely short period of resolution. If I’d been enjoying the buildup more I might have cared less, but again–too soon. As Lanie tries to cope with a significant move for her husband’s career, she realizes that she may have lost too much of herself on the altar of motherhood. Trying to figure how how to get the right amount back–because you can’t actually go back, so there has to be balance and compromise–is her mountain to climb, and there are some consequences before she figures out what the right amount is. The ending is definitely satisfying, however, and that made up for some of my wincing. Some readers might find Lanie’s struggle cathartic, and that does make sense; it just wasn’t so for me.

I really meant to post last week, just like I really meant to post yesterday; last week, however, was all about pies and Thanksgiving, and yesterday I was too tired to do anything that required real thought. (I did dice a bunch of ham, though.) Pie Night requires shopping at the beginning of the week, followed by 24-48 hours of intermittent pie making, followed by packing up pies/pie ingredients/overnight things/Thanksgiving food assignment needs to head up to my in-laws’ house. And THEN there’s the eating of the pies, the prepping of Thanksgiving food, Thanksgiving dinner with family, and games. We did come home Thanksgiving night this year, but between tired kids and the need to decorate for Christmas (I don’t love it when Thanksgiving’s so late), well–it took a lot out of everybody. We were on the road to recovery when my hubby took the middles to Saturday night’s BYU game–a pox on games that start at 8:15 pm!–and then last night I took the older girls to see their cousin play Babette in her high school’s production of ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ (Which I found unexpectedly moving.) So MUCH tired!

Anyway. I certainly need to review books still, but for today, here’s our pie rundown:

Me: This Apple Cherry Cream Cheese Pie, which got overdone. I wish I could taste it at the proper level of doneness–and I wish Utah stores actually sold McIntosh apples.

My Hubby: This Mountain Dew Pie with Doritos Crust. The flavor wasn’t terrible–it had the sweet-salty thing going for it, even if in a strange way–but the tough, rubbery texture of the Doritos in the crust was not enjoyable.

Child #1: This Grape Cream Pie. It was pretty good–kind of like a grape popsicle–but the flavor would have been much better with a homemade crust rather than a cheap store-bought one. On the other hand, she was too busy with schoolwork to want to make one, and I respect that.

Child #2: This Strawberry Lemonade Freezer Pie, which might have been my favorite one of the night. Bright flavors are a happy thing!

Child #3: He made his up. It would have been good if he’d stuck with a brownie layer (from a box mix), a whipped cream layer, and a cut-up candy bar layer, but for a “crust” he got his younger sister to help him pull the colorful bits off of two boxes of Cosmic brownies and then mushed them all together with some milk before pressing it into a springform pan. The gooey result was definitely not my favorite thing.

Child #4: This Homemade Oreo Ice Cream Pie, which was incredibly rich but undeniable tasty.

That was it for our family. Anybody else make any new and delicious pies this year?

I believe I mentioned at some point that Russell Freedman died in 2018; he was a Newbery author several times over with his excellent nonfiction for elementary to middle graders, and he is certainly missed in the literary world. Five years before Freedman died, however, a nonfiction newcomer arrived on the Newbery scene. I found Steve Sheinkin’s Bomb: The Race to Build–and Steal–the World’s Most Dangerous Weapon completely fascinating, and I’ve been (very slowly) working through his titles ever since. I finally resorted to audio (because my life, not to mention my powers of concentration) to finish King George: What Was His Problem?: The Whole Hilarious Story of the American Revolution, and it was–is anyone surprised?–thoroughly enjoyable. (It’s possible that title is an old one and the [2nd] subtitle is actually ‘Everything Your Schoolbooks Didn’t Tell You About the American Revolution’ now, but does it really matter?) It isn’t what you’d necessarily call a comprehensive, history, true–it’s less than 200 pages without the bibliography, and there are occasional illustrations–but it takes its readers through the Revolutionary War from beginning to end nevertheless, and it does it with Sheinkin’s particular brand of humor. The amount of research he had to have done to collect the information involved boggles the mind, but using quotes like “There goes the fellow that won’t pay my master for dressing his hair!” certainly brings out the human (and comic) side of history. If you’re trying to convince someone in your life that history is fascinating, not boring, King George is a solid place to start.

As far as a modern successor to the children’s nonfiction throne, then, Sheinkin is a no-brainer. He balances thorough research and an exhaustive grasp of historical context with accessible writing and subjects/points of view that offer fresh reading experiences for kids. (Also for adults whose busy schedules make smaller bites of history at a time more doable.) If you haven’t read anything by him yet, now is the perfect time to start!

Today was supposed to be a commitment followed by time to do household things followed by a commitment; my 9-year-old went to bed with an iffy-feeling stomach, however, and it doesn’t seem to be feeling any better today. I still made a hot dip to take to the school for the teachers’ luncheon, but I’m not likely to be driving the 9-year-old and her iffy stomach to therapy this afternoon (or getting my Trader Joe’s shopping in while she’s there). We’ll see what happens, I guess. The Slow Cooker Cream Cheese Taco Dip I took to the school smelled fabulous, although I didn’t try it before I dropped it off, and today’s load of laundry is in the dryer, so there’s that. I know I didn’t post on Monday like I meant to, but my son was home sick with a cold/cough, and that plus the remains of a scary kitchen and the need to make another pot of applesauce pretty much wiped out my best hours of concentration. Yesterday my oldest and I met with her assistant principal about a 504 for over an hour, which meeting I went to straight from the library. Afterwards I booked it home for lunch and a walk before heading back to the high school to pick my 15-year-old up from an NHS meeting, which was an ordeal because the traffic light was out at Redwood and 54th. She and I went straight to the elementary school from the high school to view the science fair and take her younger sister home, and then there was a break before I had to take her to dance, but still. All the things!

Anyway. The half unfortunate news is that because I managed to finish a graphic novel last night–that’s the NOT unfortunate part–I’m reviewing that instead of one of the other books that’s been waiting its turn.

Sigh.

Still, I’m anticipating Unhappy Camper (by the creators of Measuring Up) to be a hit with both my graphic novel lovers. Sisters Michelle and Claire were the best of friends before Michelle (the younger one) encounters ridicule from the school mean girl about her Taiwanese American heritage; wanting to fit in, she drops everything she can that marks her as different, while Claire holds on to her heritage. Militantly.

Their camaraderie is long gone when their parents decide to sent Michelle to the Taiwanese American summer camp where Claire is now a junior counselor. Neither girl is thrilled, but over the course of camp, they begin to find their way back to each other. Will they make it all the way, despite the obstacles they encounter? Will Michelle still fit in with her school friends? How do you decide who you are–and find friends that accept you that way? And isn’t that what all middle schoolers want to know?

The ending isn’t exactly surprising, it’s true, but there’s a reason this kind of plot is so prevalent in middle grade fiction, and it’s NOT because it’s fantasy. This is a solid story with important messages and an interesting look at Taiwanese culture, and if my 15-year-old were younger, she’d be getting it for Christmas. It’s a bit short for her now, however, and my youngest might be more into a fantasy graphic novel, so it’s just going to get read and enjoyed for a while. If you have a middle school girl who loves realistic fiction and graphic novels, however, Unhappy Camper is a great gift idea.

As in, another book for a Christmas present. Yesterday I finished Arianne Costner’s My Life as a Potato, and I’m thinking it will be a great fit for my son. (At least, I hope so. He’s frustratingly unpredictable, though.) Here are the points in its favor…

1. It takes place in Idaho–where we go regularly to visit family.
2. It’s about a kid who makes an impulsive decision that ends up getting him in trouble. (He should relate.)
3. To avoid getting in trouble with his parents, he agrees to become the school’s mascot for two weeks–which is, of course, a spud. (My son loves sports enough I’m hoping even a mascot’s experience will speak to him.)
4. He wants to be liked–which in the minds of middle schoolers equals cool. (Most middle schoolers ought to be able to relate to THAT.)

Other points in its favor? He tries to keep it secret, but ultimately handles it well. (Was I still annoyed at the deception? Yes, but I’m in my mid-40s and hate that kind of plot. At least he’s way smarter about it than Aladdin was–if it hadn’t been for Robin Williams, I think I would have actively disliked that movie.) His friends are nice people, his family feels real, and the ending is kind of fantastic. Bottom line? My Life as a Potato is relatable, entertaining, and quietly wholesome, which makes for a solid find for middle school boys. If it doesn’t make you laugh at SOME point, you may be broken.

Just–cross your fingers that my unpredictable son will really like it, okay?

Yes, I know this post should have happened yesterday. But yesterday morning, after taking my 4th grader to school, hopping on the elliptical, and doing your basic get-ready-for-the-day-personal-hygiene, I drove my hubby to the oral surgeon’s, waited with him in the waiting room for a frustrating amount of time (because why tell us to be there at 10 instead of 10:30 if we’re just going to sit there until 10:30 anyway?) picked up library holds once he was sedated, waited until he was done and ready to actually leave, and then left him in the car while I picked up his medications before we finally headed home. And since we all know I struggle to write coherently unless it’s relatively early in the day, well–you get recipes.

To begin with, I needed soup for that hubby of mine AND I had some leftover baked potato, so I searched out this copycat Outback Steakhouse Baked Potato Soup recipe. I used evaporated milk instead of cream and more of that than actual milk, I think–I was really low on actual milk–but other than that, I more or less followed the recipe, and I thought it was solid. The same holds for this Cinnamon Spice Applesauce Bread with Honey Butter recipe, which my family demolished for breakfast this morning. Neither one is necessarily a “you must make this recipe immediately” recipe, but both are definitely “if you’re looking for a recipe for such-and-such a thing, try this one” material. I used plain yogurt instead of sour cream and half canola oil, half melted butter, since I didn’t have coconut oil; beyond that, I pretty much followed the recipe, and I was kind of sad that I had to ration my breakfast portion so that my youngest and my hubby also got enough. (I didn’t actually bother making the honey butter.) If you’re looking for a cozy meal, this would be a solid combination.

In the meantime, now that I’m home from Costco and have eaten lunch, I have a list of things waiting for me to do. Hopefully you’ll get a book review tomorrow!

I’m going to use that as an excuse for missing Friday, folks, although it’s probably not a fully accurate one. I did make two kinds of applesauce late last week, however, and I did have a PTA meeting on Friday morning, and I was thrown off my game by my hubby’s dental misery. (He’s off to the dentist for his root canal now, since he was too swollen last week and they sent him home with amoxicillin instead.) Saturday felt full–doesn’t it always?–and yesterday I took the kids up to dinner in Clearfield again since my hubby’s two California brothers and their families were in town. It ended up being a celebration of BYU’s close win over the University of Utah late Saturday night, about which Utah’s athletic director promptly mouthed off with an astonishing lack of class. (He’s been hit with a public reprimand and a $40,000 fine, which should tell you all you really need to know about the whole thing.)

Today, of course, is Veteran’s Day, formerly Armistice Day, and so I’m (once again) sharing John McCrae’s In Flanders Fields to mark the 106th anniversary of that Armistice. Because History.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

On a different historical note, I finished Kathy MacLeod’s graphic memoir Continental Drifter this afternoon, and it stirred up a lot of feelings. MacLeod’s father is American and her mother Thai; she lived most of the year in Bangkok, but spent multiple summers in Maine while growing up. Quite the contrast, right? And of course, therein lies the problem–when you belong to two such very different places, it’s hard to feel like you truly belong in either. Kathy speaks English at her school, watches American shows, and loves American food, and yet when she goes to summer camp in Maine her fellow campers have trouble seeing past her differences. Like many kids–like me at that age–she wants too desperately to fit in to be able to celebrate her differences, and so once again she feels other. Is this what her whole life is destined to be like?

OH, the feelings! Maine is my happy place, and so I was both jealous that Kathy got to be there and upset for her that her experiences were so mixed. (In my experience, Maine is pretty white.) I also, however, felt pangs of empathy–my friend Kim and I were frequently called by each others’ names because of our red hair, which was a rarity in RI, and my own parents’ Utah upbringings marked me as different in a myriad of ways. Being half Thai, of course, is a far more visible and sizable difference, but I still felt a kinship with Kathy. Her family’s vibe, however–for want of a less trendy word–is a bit different from mine. Our family was physically affectionate and spent far more time together, although her dad and mine have some notable similarities, and our extended family is much bigger. Still, though–all the stirred up feelings.

Ultimately, I think I found the reading experience meaningful, although there is that pesky memoir difficulty of less resolution in the ending. How young readers feel about it, however, is likely to depend a great deal on personality.