Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I say ‘of sorts’ because I freely admit that I didn’t read the entire book.  I did go through enough of it, however, to know that it’s not going to be the best representative of its kind.

The book in question is Raising Gifted Kids, by Barbara Klein.  (The cover–front AND back– lists “Barbara Klein, Ph.D.,” but she didn’t impress me, so I didn’t bother.)  Let me share with you a paragraph from the introduction:

Parents can no longer take their roles lightly.  You know that what you do for your children will have an impact.  While previous generations felt comfortable following the old rules of parenting or abdicating their responsibility for parenting to others, this generation has been informed by their own education and the popular press that they must take charge of their decision making to be effective.

I’m not sure where to begin with this.  I had no idea that for centuries, parents have been taking their roles lightly and had no clue that what they did for their children would have an impact.  Silly me!  I’ve been assuming that my parents loved and worried about and prayed for and agonized over me in the same way that I do with my own children.  I had no idea that it took the ‘popular press’ to turn me into that kind of parent.  (And by the way, I’m pretty sure that “this generation” should be followed by the pronouns “its” and “it,” not “their” and “they.”)

Klein goes on to stress how parenting gifted children requires a whole different rule book than regular children, and I just kept thinking–there’s a rule book that works for all non-gifted children?  Really?  I’m certainly prepared to accept that different types of children require different strategies, and since I gave her book a shot, I’m obviously looking for additional insight into one of those types, but the “gifted parents/children vs. those other parents who don’t understand and won’t sympathize with their challenges” attitude was patronizing at best (I want to call it belittling, but it was pretty late when I started reading, so I’m willing to try for restraint).

When I flipped through to get to the specific examples in the book, hoping that those might prove informative, I found passages like this:

Common Reactions to Perfectionism

Your six-year-old son has spent two hours on his homework.  You think to yourself that your child is really obsessed.  But don’t bring this up.

“Good Enough” Reaction:

“I can see that you are disappointed that you don’t have time to complete your work perfectly.  What you have done is good enough.  You will have more time tomorrow.”

By saying this you put the entire problem with perfectionism into perspective.

Undermining Reaction:

“You are becoming a freak about completing this homework!  You are a monster!  I should have your head examined.  Your behavior is going to give me a nervous breakdown.”

This is a guilt-inducing and out-of-control reaction.  As the adult, you need to be in charge of developing your child’s self-esteem–not destroying it.

Seriously.  After pages and pages of those two types of reactions being listed as “common,” I came to the conclusion that this particular book was a waste of my time.  I’ve got four more books on gifted kids checked out; this one, however, is going straight back to the library.  My advice to anyone else looking for books on this topic is pretty simple.

Skip this one.

Remember how my oldest–at 7 1/2–read Charlotte’s Web and wanted to raise a pig for bacon?  (She did love the book, mind you.  It’s just that I find it a bit strange that THAT’S what she took away from it.)  Tonight I finished reading it to my middle, who is (very proudly) 4 3/4.  She was spellbound during the last two chapters, and when I asked her if she liked it, she responded, “Well, I liked parts of it,” and then cried because she didn’t want Charlotte to die.  My poor sweet girlie!

Now I’m looking at what to read to her next with a more critical eye.  Mr. Popper’s Penguins is high up there on the list, but does anyone out there have any other ideas?

As a child, I hated cold cereal–hated it.  On Saturdays I would beg to make breakfast, and my parents would usually oblige.  (We were very specialized in the breakfast department, however.  Muffins and waffles were Mom’s department.  Pancakes, coffee cake, hashbrowns, and poached eggs were my Dad’s.  All of it was from scratch; I helped with both.)  Which meant that on Saturday morning, when my oldest asked me (with a pleading look in her eyes) if we could make breakfast, and then volunteered to keep her brother happy, I caved.  I could see myself looking back at me, and how can you say no?  I hopped onto Pinterest and found this recipe for Strawberry Buttermilk Pancakes with Nutella Syrup and thought–hey!  We’ve got strawberries!  Why not?

Here, of course, is where those of you who know my family well are saying–hey!  We’ll tell you why not!  Nutella will kill your oldest child!

Okay, that’s true.  Which is why I only decided on the recipe after something like this inner monologue:

Hmmm, I like pancakes, and I like strawberries.  Could I make this work with peanut butter?  Naw, that doesn’t really sound that appealing. BUT, on the other hand, that cupboard with the Nutella and the peanut butter–it’s got Biscoff in it, too!  (Okay, it’s Trader Joe’s Cookie Butter, but still.)  Would that be too sweet?  Nutella’s pretty sweet, though.  I bet it would work.  And it’s an easy recipe…  

And so, on Saturday morning, we had strawberry buttermilk pancakes with Cookie Butter syrup.  The kids were fans, let me tell you.  I thought the pancakes were forgettable, because cooked strawberries are never as good as you want them to be, but oh, the syrup.  The syrup!

I may or may not have contemplated–more than once–grabbing it and a spoon and going to town.

It really wasn’t too sweet, not for me, anyway, and the flavor was lovely.  You don’t need butter on the pancakes at all (which makes serving kids easier, which is always a happy thing).  I desperately wanted to bring some to my friend Andrea, who just had a baby (curse you, Celiac Disease!); since I can’t do that, you all should try it instead.

And wish me luck in the fight to resist eating it with a spoon.

After leaving for New Jersey early (EARLY!) Tuesday morning, my hubby is finally home, and words cannot express how happy that makes me. And while I missed him and I’m glad to see him myself–the house feels awfully quiet when he’s gone–I’m even more glad on behalf of the kiddos.  My middle has been weepy at bedtime for several nights in a row–“I miss daddy…”–and the boy, well…let’s just say that last Saturday, when I twice gave him the choice of playing outside with his sisters or staying inside with Mommy, his response both times was “Daddy!”  (At which point I started really dreading the advent of Daddy’s business trip.)

My oldest, for the record, absolutely loves her Daddy, but being in school during the day gives her more of a distraction, and she’s old enough to see “Daddy’s coming home Friday night” for what it is, and thus to wait more patiently.

He almost didn’t make it Friday night, though, delays being what they are.  In fact, I didn’t actually look at the clock when he came in, so I can’t absolutely swear that he made it before midnight.  (In related news, boy, I’m tired this morning…)  But he is HOME, and we are thrilled.  Yay for Daddy!

He was originally supposed to get in around 7:15, which would have been nice but still put him arriving home right around bedtime; knowing that, I specifically planned an afternoon away and dinner with a friend as a distraction.  She proposed we try this One-Pan Lemon Garlic Chicken Pasta, and I was all over that, so we pulled some chicken out of the freezer and went to town.

Except, of course, for a few changes.

The biggest change was the herb; neither of us had fresh basil (it’s WAY too early in the season for that to live outside), and neither of us was thrilled about going to the store, so we cut a significantly smaller amount of parsley off of my parsley plant and called it good.  (To be honest, we both ended up feeling that basil, in the amount specified, would have been overpowering.)  We also couldn’t bring ourselves to use that much Parmesan cheese–don’t get me wrong, we liked the idea just fine, but we were feeling poor.  The proper amount would have been tasty, and better still with the good stuff and not the canned, but some expenses are hard to justify when the majority of those eating are kids who either won’t care or would prefer not.  We just generously topped individual servings, which wasn’t ideal, but hey.  We didn’t garnish with lemons partly because there were not actually lemons to spare–some of mine had been in the fridge for a while and were kind of scary–but that was probably for the best, since my kids don’t love strong lemon flavor.  (Which is tragic for me–I really, really do.)

Other than that whole paragraph, of course, we followed the recipe!  And I liked it.  My friend didn’t like it enough to make it again when her kids didn’t like it, but mine were split down the middle.  (Let’s be honest.  If I rejected every new recipe that my middle didn’t like, we’d be losing recipe options instead of gaining them.)  I liked it enough to try it again, especially since it was a relatively easy one pot meal.  Give it a shot!  Try some steamed broccoli on the side.

You’ll be glad you did.

Tonight my middle graduated from preschool, in a ceremony that probably couldn’t have differed more from her older sister’s experience if they’d been consciously trying.  This, of course, is mostly because her older sister went to a six-student in-home preschool that was perfect for her.  I fell into it through a friend and former colleague of mine; in fact, my daughter took her son’s spot, since her family moved to Wisconsin over the summer.  (It was actually a two-year preschool, but my oldest was only there for the second year.)  It was very academic, which was exactly what my November-birthday, impressive attention-span oldest needed.

Flash forward two or three years and that option wasn’t available anymore, the teacher being busy having a third child and all.  I was sad about that (not the child, you understand)–I probably would have done a two-year preschool just to keep that teacher–but my friend Andrea recommended I look into a local high school preschool program, where the high school students are the under-teachers as part of a class taught by the head teacher.  I went with that, and while my middle didn’t always love it, it did exactly what I wanted it to do.  I wasn’t worried about academics for my doesn’t-love-crowds-or-strangers August birthday middle.  I wanted her to get used to being away from Mommy, taking direction from someone else, and being part of a group.  That happened, and the fact that she didn’t always love it wasn’t at all a reflection on the program.  She just would have preferred to stay home.

In any case, back to preschool graduation–tonight was loud and crowded, and since my hubby couldn’t make it, my awesome neighbors came and helped with the boy and kept my sanity (mostly) intact.  That saved me.  But my middle seemed to have fun, and my oldest loved it–she loves people–and so we celebrated a (small) milestone in our family’s life.

(And then, when we got home, my son sat on the potty before his bath–he LOVES doing this–and for the first time actually DID SOMETHING IN IT!  I’m not sure he knows how he managed it, but we take milestones of that kind any way we can get them.  YAY!)

Truly, ‘the saddest are these:  it might have been’!  That pretty much sums up last night’s dinner, folks; I thought of Whittier’s words every time I took a bite of these Strawberries and Cream Scones.  I picked them for dinner because my hubby had a doctor’s appointment right after work and wasn’t going to be home until later (and not only are these more my thing than his, but one batch of scones doesn’t feed all five of us so well anymore).  Because of that same doctor’s appointment, however, I decided to shower my girlies while the scones were baking, instead of after dinner (thus maximizing time with Daddy, since he’ll be gone later in the week).  And because I was showering the girlies, I didn’t monitor the scones while they were in the oven, and because I didn’t monitor them, I didn’t notice how brown they were getting until I opened the oven door with less than two minutes left.

Let’s just say that while they weren’t exactly burnt–not exactly–I literally thought about what might have been with every single bite.  Because it was COMPLETELY obvious that they would have been AMAZING if they had come out of the oven about five minutes earlier.  For want of five minutes…but now I’m mixing my allusions.  Sufficeth it to say, you should absolutely try these at home, but please keep an eye on them.

Don’t let them get so brown that only my father would prefer them that way.

I’m referring to the book I finished last night, One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies, by Sonya Sones (yes, it’s really called that). Was it fitting that I finished it right before Mother’s Day–ok, technically very early Mother’s Day morning?  I’m actually thinking yes.  The mother in question dies before the book starts, forcing 15-year-old Ruby to move to the opposite coast to live with her father, who happens to be a famous actor (she is unimpressed).  It’s a book about coming to terms with grief and moving to a new town, and while I could see most of what happened coming quite a ways away, I rather think I was supposed to (or at least expected to).  Ruby is so stunned by the changes in her life, however, that you don’t fault HER for not seeing it sooner.  And she’s an entertaining narrator.  It does deal with some very contemporary teen issues, so I’d classify it as contemporary young adult for a reason, but it’s not explicit and those issues aren’t the primary focus.  Bottom line–I really enjoyed this book.  (I love verse novels.  Their brevity allows them to be poignant without being overwhelming.)  And the mother’s one appearance in the book is what sells me on it being a fitting book to review today.

By the way, I actually picked it up because I’d read another book by Sonya Sones–Stop Pretending:  What Happened When My Big Sister Went Crazy.  I read it long enough ago that I can’t give a detailed review, but I remember it being excellent.  From what I recall, it’s also appropriate for younger teens, although I can’t absolutely swear to it.  You should give it a try.

In the meantime, happy Mother’s Day!  I hope everyone out there who has ever mothered someone has felt loved today; I know I did.  My hubby and girls made me stuffed shells while I read truck books to the boy (“Big rig!  Tractor!  Garbage truck!  Dump truck!  Bus!”), I got coupons for hugs and other valuables that my 7-year-old made at school, hid on her bed, and has been excited about for days, and I talked to my own amazing mother for a few minutes (thank you, unlimited long distance).  It was a good day.  Not a perfect day, since my son spent much of church trying to break the sound barrier with his incredibly high pitched shrieking and my middle was ON ONE all afternoon, but motherhood is never about perfection, is it?  Motherhood is about love and gratitude for and doing the best with what we have.  It doesn’t bother me to do the dishes when I know my hubby and his herniated disk have already pushed it making the main course (standing and leaning are murder on his back).  And while I could cheerfully have strangled my two younger children at several different points today, I love them and I have them.  I have a mother and a mother-in-law who love me and love my kids, and I have a few treasured memories of my grandmothers.  I have also had over the years what every teenager and young adult needs–caring adults who are NOT my parents but have given me time, attention, and love anyway.  (At least one of those will never bear children of her own, but besides her two step-children, there are hordes of women in this world who knew her when they were teenagers and will never forget her influence in their lives.)  I’m not a perfect mother, but I do love my children, and I do my best for them (some days that best looks better than others).  I am just so very grateful for what my Heavenly Father has given me in my life.  May He bless all of you today!

I know all you Fiddler fans now have that song in your head, but seriously.  Tonight my middle liked dinner–and it was MEXICAN FOOD!  Or, if not actual authentic Mexican food, it was certainly southwestern, being my sister’s Green Chile Chicken Casserole.  (She hated the black beans I served on the side, also possibly the corn, but hey.  Baby steps.)  Everyone else seemed to be a fan as well, including my friend’s two children who happened to be there.  Sadly, I can’t just post a link to the recipe, or even cut and paste; my sister emailed me a picture of the recipe card, since she was pressed for time. It was, however, good enough to be worth the effort of retyping it, so here you are!

Green Chile Chicken Casserole

1 1/2 C chicken broth

1 medium onion, chopped

1 C (or two small cans) chopped green chilies

2 cans cream of chicken soup

3/4 t salt

1/2 t cumin

1/2 t pepper

1 t minced garlic

Saute the onion and garlic in a bit of olive oil, then add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil.  Add 1 C sour cream.

There’s your sauce.  You also need 3 cups of chopped cooked chicken, 3-4 cups of grated cheddar cheese, and corn tortillas.

Spray a 9 by 13 pan and cover the bottom with a thin layer of sauce.  Layer tortillas, chicken, cheese, and sauce twice.  Finish with tortillas, sauce, and cheese.  Bake at 350 for half an hour or until nice and bubbly.  Serve with corn, some form of beans (I made these Quick and Easy Black Beans), and/or cilantro lime rice (if anyone else in your family likes it besides you.  If that’s the case, I’m kind of jealous.).

I actually used part Monterey Jack and part sharp cheddar, because if I did that I didn’t have to get out a new block of cheese.  I also used half sour cream and half leftover ranch dip, because I desperately wanted to get it out of my fridge.  (I couldn’t even tell.)  And I used Rotisserie chicken from Costco, because I had it to use.

Enjoy!  My sister should get a prize, since my poor middle has NEVER been known to willingly eat anything of a southwestern flavor before.  I halved it to be easy, but I still have tortillas to use, so I might just make it again.

In other news, I finished Kaye Gibbons’ A Virtuous Woman tonight, and I was actually impressed.  It was an Oprah pick, and it certainly shares a few common Oprah book club traits, but the ending was not as tragic as it could have been.  Actually, since the tragedy there WAS is introduced in the first chapter, it ended up being more uplifting than not.  A love story of sorts, it’s told by the husband and wife in alternating chapters.  I liked both of them from the start; I found the book much more compelling than I thought it would be.  (There is more language than I would prefer, but it’s not contextually gratuitous.)  Are you sensing a theme here? because I certainly am.  I always like a theme of pleasant surprise, though.  Who doesn’t?  My only real beef was that the very end was rather awkwardly written, partly because it wasn’t in either of the two voices.  I can appreciate why the author changed her approach, but it wasn’t as well done as it wanted to be.  It was still a satisfying ending, however, and on the whole, I think I’d recommend this one.

Last night I finished reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, and I’m here to tell you, you should really just buy it and read it too.  As in, now.  Go!  Because it absolutely is That Good.  It reminded me a lot of Seabiscuit, actually.  Not that the plots are in any way similar, but both are non-fiction, deal with topics that are on the fringes of my interests, and are magnificently well-researched.  They both tell compelling stories about the underdog, come to think of it.  And I couldn’t put either one of them down.  Holy cow!  Yes, it took a couple of weeks for me to read this one, but that’s only because I had a series of commitments that kept me busy in the evenings.  (And let’s be honest.  Non-fiction takes more concentration than I’ve got when the kiddos are awake!)

In 1951, a young mother died of aggressive cervical cancer at Johns Hopkins.  Before she died, scientists took a sample of her cells, which they were then able to culture successfully.  Henrietta’s cells became the first ‘immortal cell line’, and their availability for scientific research led to innumerable scientific achievements (beginning with the polio vaccine).  Which is a good thing.  On the other hand, her cells were taken without permission and used without the knowledge of her family; when that family found out, things got a little messy.  Rebecca Skloot brings us along for her research ride, exploring scientific legal and ethical issues in detail.  That ride is amazing.  Science has NEVER been my favorite subject, but this book kept me spellbound.  (Incidentally, the unscrupulous in the scientific community have conducted research in some horrifying ways.)  It also posed some fascinating ethical questions that have yet to be answered.

I’m pretty sure more than one person is getting this from me for Christmas.

Yes, I know, that sounds completely ridiculous.  But I’d just bitten into one of these Shredded Chicken BBQ Sandwiches, and while my first thought was along the lines of ‘meh, I’ve got similar recipes that I like better,’ what I heard at the table went like this.  “Pretty good” from my hubby (and believe me, when he says it with that inflection it’s actually high praise).  “Mom!  Why haven’t you made these before?” from my oldest.  “I like them, too!” from my picky middle, who was forced to endure her entire bowl of peas before having a second one–and then pretty much inhaled the second one.)  Silence and chewing from the boy.  Which is why in my head I was saying “REALLY?” and out loud I was saying something like “Wow.  Okay then.”  In a resigned tone of voice.  It really doesn’t seem fair.  On the other hand, if I exert myself to toast the buns like it says to do–something I was completely too lazy to do yesterday–I might enjoy them more.  They weren’t bad.  It’s just that there are a lot of different kinds of BBQ sauce, and I prefer either smoky or tangy.  (If I were from the south, I could probably tell you which type this type WAS, instead of just what it wasn’t.  Oh well.)  The fact remains, however, that this recipe was quite the hit at my table.  Do with it what you will.

In other news:  I’ve started reading to the middle at night while her oldest sister reads to herself.  In the first two days we got through all three of the ‘Pippa Mouse’ books that were mine when I was a kid, and she LOVED them.  Tonight, after reading a library book that’s due tomorrow and not renewable (a last hurrah), we started Charlotte’s Web.  (Whether or not she’s going to want to raise a pig for bacon after we finish is anyone’s guess.)  She sounds like she really likes it, although she was somewhat disappointed at how few pictures there are (the Pippa books have illustrations around the edges of every page).  We’ll see how it goes; in the meantime, now that she’s staying awake longer, she’s stopped waking up at 6:15 every morning.  Which is a good thing.  (Also, I’m enjoying the snuggle time.  Too bad I can’t clone myself and cuddle with her sister while she read to herself.)

And one snack review, because last night my hubby and I demolished the entire bag of Kettle Maple Bacon potato chips that I’d bought so hopefully.

Meh.  They weren’t bad, so they get a thumbs middle, but they mostly tasted like BBQ potato chips.  Every once in a while there was a faint accent of maple or bacon, but overall–meh.