Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

It feels like most people have heard the incredible Brian Hull singing “Let It Go” in all the different Disney/Pixar voices; if you haven’t, click here and prepare to be delighted.  Tonight, however–thanks to the friend of a friend on Facebook–I discovered Christina Bianco’s cover of “Let It Go.”  Her impressions started off a little slowly for me, partly because I’m not particularly familiar with Demi Lovato, but oh, her Julie Andrews!

I’m just going to leave y’all to enjoy these, because it’s late and I have miles–well, yards at least–to go before I sleep.  Who else does impressions that I should be listening to?

I actually skimmed through Martin Bridge:  Ready for Takeoff! on the treadmill quite awhile ago before passing it off to my seven-year-old; she just finished it tonight, however, and I’m happy to report that she thoroughly enjoyed it.  Martin is a lovable elementary schooler facing elementary school dilemmas, and author Jessica Scott Kerrin manages to lead him to resolutions sans bathroom humor, with a sweet sort of sensitivity that is often lacking in books about boys this age. My second girlie loves the emotionally complex, and this book fit the bill nicely!  She and I are both looking forward to the sequel.*

Bottom line?  Get this one for your 1st-3rd grade boys, people.  Martin deals with a cranky bus driver, a friend’s pet’s mortality, and some sticky friend conflict, all in ways that earn my parental stamp of approval.  I’m getting the first one for my 4-year-old in a year or two.

*For unimaginable reasons, Goodreads doesn’t list these books as a series.  Here’s the link I found giving the order:

http://www.mymcpl.org/cfapps/juvser/title.cfm?id=2725

After I finished Full of Beans a few weeks ago (or thereabouts) I was looking idly through the Jennifer L. Holm titles in our library system, which is where I came across Eighth Grade is Making Me Sick:  Ginny Davis’s Year in Stuff.  Because I have a serious library problem–um, I mean, because it looked interesting–I reserved it and checked it out, and since it was a short, easy read, I finished it shortly thereafter.  AND–on the one hand, I quite enjoyed it.  On the other hand, I didn’t realize that it was a sequel to Middle School Is Worse Than Meatloaf:  A Year Told Through Stuff until after I finished it.  (I didn’t realize that the first book existed until after I finished the second.  Believe it or not, I generally try pretty darn hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.)

That being said, it doesn’t stand too badly on its own, although I’d read the other first if I had it to do over again.  It’s amazing what a good writer can show through grocery lists, notes to teachers, brief text exchanges, hospital bills, report cards…you get the idea.  Ginny’s family is experiencing significant but relatable upheavals, and Holm does an excellent job of conveying what she needs to convey with no actual traditional text.  (It’s not a graphic novel, but it will likely have similar appeal to readers.)  She also stays within fairly appropriate bounds while dealing with real issues, which is an impressive feat in this day and age.

Bottom line?  A good book–one with substance belying its size–for your middle schooler, and one you’ll enjoy as well.

Since my reading time has been limited of late, I figured I’d get 2017’s only short Newbery out of the way; Freedom Over Me:  Eleven Slaves, Their Lives and Dreams Brought to Life by Ashley Bryan is, essentially, a text-heavy picture book.  (Also title-heavy, when it comes right down to it!)  The illustrations are not necessarily my style, but I’m not a student of art, so I can’t offer an informed critique there.  Unfortunately, I can offer a more informed critique of the text, and while I wanted to love this book–I really did–the sad truth is that I just didn’t.  I loved the concept–the concept was certainly worthy of a Newbery–but the execution fell flat.

To be perfectly honest, I loved the concept more when I thought it was a bit more factually based.  I didn’t realize that the only facts the author had to work from were the names and prices of the slaves; he created not only the occupations of each one but the ages as well.  The title was a problem for me here, honestly.  The phrase ‘brought to life’ implies more of a factual basis than Bryan had.  Switching it out with ‘imagined’ would suit me better, because really, isn’t that exactly what he did?

The bigger problem, however, was the unevenness of the writing.  Some of it was fine for the setting, if not as sparely powerful as I would have preferred.  Some it it, however, was frankly jarring.  We aren’t all Mark Twain, so I’m not faulting Bryan for not attempting to write in dialect, but am I really supposed to believe that slaves born in Africa, who learned English as slaves without benefit of any formal education, thought statements like this?

Hearing the slaves

singing the songs

Mulvina and I created

reminds me

of the rich musical world

so integral and natural

in African daily and ceremonial life.

Or this?

My work has made this house

a model of beauty and comfort.

I’m loaned to other estates

to design their gardens

and bring style to their parlors.

Or this?

I am thinking

if I were free,

I would acquire my own

acres of land.

I would hire

men and women

from cities and farms

to work and study the land

with me.

Earnings from our labor

would benefit all of us,

the workers.

Those are not the believable voices of slaves.  Even some of those sentiments feel modern, frankly, but the language–the language is that of a lecture given on what those slaves may have thought or believed or known or felt.  Bryan could have created a powerful book using simple language and kept the first person; he could have created a fascinating book using more of the language he used if he’d switched to third person and altered the semantics to make that work.  Instead, he put modern-feeling lectures into the mouths of people who could never have expressed themselves that way.  They could have expressed themselves eloquently, mind–you don’t have to be or sound educated to be eloquent.  They just couldn’t have expressed themselves the way Ashley Bryan imagined in this book.  Ultimately, that problem kept me from connecting with the book in any meaningful way.  I wanted it to be a different–a better–book than it was.

I bought some avocados a few days ago when they were 3/$1 at Ream’s, because as my friend Andrea pointed out–didn’t EVERYONE buy avocados when they were 3/$1 at Ream’s?  (Except our friend Britt, who’s not a fan.)  They’ve been sitting and ripening quite nicely on my counter, and so today I looked over my recipe choices and went with this Avocado, Tomato, & Feta Dip.  (A pause while I gaze contentedly at my Oxford comma and my ampersand side by side.  I took the liberty of adding the former, because her blog is her blog but my blog is mine.)

Mmmm.

I halved the recipe, more or less, but I was fairly cavalier about ingredients.  No red onions in the house?  Eh.  I prefer green onions when I’m eating them raw, anyway.  No cherry tomatoes?  A diced small-ish regular one ought to do it.  Measure the parsley?  Not in MY house.  I did use fresh lemon juice and good red wine vinegar, and I actually measured those.  (Although next time I’ll be more generous with the lemon juice, because when SHOULDN’T you be generous with fresh lemon juice?  Never.)  I wondered about the tortilla chip bit–in fact, I almost just broke out the wheat thins instead–but they worked just fine.  Because when you marry avocado, tomato, feta, lemon juice, and parsley, friends, they’re just so happy together that they don’t really care where they are.  A spoon would have been just fine, too.

I may or may not have eaten the entire bowl myself.

Ok, fine, I absolutely did eat the entire bowl myself–in one sitting.  But only because Britt didn’t want any.

My hubby and I have watched from the beginning; we mourned Kate but ended up loving Zhiva, we suffered through all those episodes about the French arms dealer whose name I’m too lazy to look up the spelling of at the moment, and we grew increasingly tired of Mike Franks (may he PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE rest in peace–FINALLY!).  We like Bishop, although they’ve made her less quirky than she was initially, to everyone’s loss.  Tonight we watched this season’s premiere–yes, we’re behind–and I’m curious to see what my hubby thinks.  I like Handy Manny, honestly.  I’m not so sure about the weird ex-instructor.

Thoughts?

Last night was an exercise in frustration, let me tell you what.  I turned off the light at 11:30, which is a good 10-15 minutes earlier than usual, because I COULD NOT KEEP MY EYES OPEN.  About 35 minutes later I was slowly dragged out of my slumber by my car alarm accidentally going off, my son came in to snuggle at 3-ish, and the almost-2-year-old was up at 5-something.  Needless to say, I didn’t exactly manage to get the rest I wanted; I dozed after church, but that was cut short by, well, screaming.  (From three different children, mind you.  I’ve only GOT four.)

On the other hand, my hubby grilled some tasty chicken for dinner, we ate our $.89/each artichokes and they were lovely, and everyone went to bed well.  AND I had one of those lovely, gleeful surprises when I went to register for SEP conferences with my children’s teachers–the website finally acknowledges that they attend the same school!  This sounds ridiculous, of course, but my kids’ elementary school houses the magnet program for our area (it’s a gifted sort of program). My oldest, with her November birthday and LOVE of new experiences, is in it; my second, with her just-made-the-deadline August birthday and her shy, new-things-are-dangerous personality is not.  And up until today, I’ve had to log in separately to schedule their conferences, because the magnet program and the elementary school were listed as separate schools.  (I did try to open different windows and schedule them at more or less the same time–once.  Only one of my scheduled conferences was actually recorded, as I discovered later.  I was NOT pleased.)  My fellow parents-of-elementary-schoolers will understand why this was such a ridiculously happy discovery.  Oh, and since, insofar as I cheer for ANY pro football team, the Patriots are my guys, the game ended weirdly well tonight, considering.

There’s good and bad in every day, right?  Here’s hoping for more sleep tonight!

I really meant to post yesterday–I did–but then, well, I forgot.  My 7th grade band director comes to mind–Is there a reason for it?  Yes.  Is there an excuse for it?  No.  Mr. Kane, are you still in my head after twenty-five years?  Most decidedly.

Anyway.  The good news is that the extra day gave me time to finish Gator on the Loose! on the treadmill, and I’m pleased to report that what started out as a preview of a new series for my 7-year-old turned into a fun read for yours truly.  The Carters (and their friends!) are likable and full of personality, and their animal rescue business makes for some lively plot turns.  Keisha is an endearing narrator, and I especially appreciated the author’s explanation of the ending. Ultimately, this is well-researched, delightful fare for the middle elementary schooler; I’m looking forward to the rest of the series.

My family LOVES banana bread.  ALL of them.  And while I’m experimented with different recipes and liked many of them, this Classic Banana Bread is my basic, tried-and-true, everybody-wants-a-second-(or-third)-slice recipe.  I don’t make many changes; I do half wheat flour and half white and I leave off the brown sugar (I just don’t need extra sweetness on top of my banana bread).  I’ve made it with both sour cream and plain yogurt and there’s not much of a taste difference, so I generally go with the healthier option.  OH, and I don’t measure the vanilla.  I just, you know, pour until it feels generous. And EVERYONE LOVES IT.  I used to serve it as our carb for a whole lot of meals when my second was a toddler, because I could get her to take bites of–horror of horrors!–new foods when I was offering bites of this banana bread afterward.  (I’ve made the chocolate variation, by the way–tasty but more work.)

Anyway.  To make a long story short, this is good banana bread.  Try it.

You’ll thank me.

Loathe as I am to admit to such a level of procrastination, I confess–I finished Civil Rights Childhood sometime in November, and I’m just now getting to its review.  How bad is that?  It’d be worse, of course, if I hadn’t taken time off for the holidays, but still.  Two months?  Seriously?

The thing is, I did have a few reasons.  It felt like a more complicated review to write, partly because of the book itself and partly because of its format.  The two months’ wait will, of necessity, simplify the review, but it’s still not an entirely easy one.  I put off reading the book itself for a year because of the font size, because OH.  MY.  GOSH.  My eyes may not be young anymore, but I have friends who wouldn’t have wanted to read that font in high school–it’s evilly small. When I took a good look at the publisher, however, I realized that the font and the general format were likely functions of being put out by a university press.  My dad was a professor at RIC for decades, and I remember some of the travails he went through to get his book published.  He ended up going through a university press as well, and I especially recall him lamenting the size of the maps.

Format aside, I thoroughly enjoyed most of the book.  Jordana Shakoor had a fascinating childhood, and the contrast between her mother’s and her father’s families and situations give her book balance.  I learned things I hadn’t known and gained additional perspective on the issue of race in this country, which I imagine was part of her purpose.  My only real problems with the book are the title and the ending.  Civil Rights Childhood is an acceptable title for a research paper, but for a published book, it’s clunky.  (I tried to think of a better one and couldn’t, but I’m terrible at coming up with titles.)  It’s also not entirely accurate, because while the balance of the book is about Shakoor’s childhood (and the relevant aspects of her parents’ before her), the last 20 or 30 pages morph into something else.  When the Jordan family (Shakoor changed her name as an adult) moved to Ohio, their lives diverged from the main stage of the civil rights movement; her own life becomes more generic (so to speak).  The very end of the book, moreover, reads like a biography of the author’s father, and while his Ohio teaching career and later family life aren’t un-interesting, they belie the title.  Ultimately, though, this was a worthwhile read.  In an ideal world, it would be picked up by a major publisher and Shakoor would work with an editor to make the book a tighter finished product; in this world, however, its good points still outnumber its imperfections.  Get yourself some reading glasses and give it a try!