Let me start off by saying that I know my mother isn’t perfect.  We do things differently, and some days the way she does thing is SO different from the way I do that it frustrates me just because (I got the OCD/perfectionist gene from both sides, in case you were wondering).  But my parents have been staying with us since just under a week before the baby was born, and my mother has spent the vast majority of that time (three weeks or so) asking how she can help me.  She has quietly done most of the laundry and almost all of the dishes; she has showered my girls when I’ve asked her to; she has bathed my sick and grouchy son when I’ve needed her to; and she has fed and burped and changed the baby when I’ve needed her to.  She has encouraged me to run errands by myself, she has picked up the kindergarteners from school, and she has run errands for me whenever I have asked.  She is unfailingly patient with my children and incredibly good at working with my two-year-old.  She made sure my hubby and I had a night out together after the baby was born.  I came home from an exceedingly rare opportunity to watch my oldest during her dance class to find my son bathed and my mother cleaning my bathroom counter.  She has set her own alarm so that she can wake up my girlies in time for school and get them started getting dressed, and she has done ALL of this three months shy of her 70th birthday.  And so I sit here, tears running down my cheeks, not CARING that we do things differently, because this incredible woman has done nothing but serve me for close to a month.

My parents leave tomorrow.  And I will be crying then, too.  Because even at 35 years old, sometimes you just really want your mom.

That’s about how reading Unless It Moves the Human Heart:   The Craft and Art of Writing made me feel.  On the one hand, as a teacher, I could appreciate some of Roger Rosenblatt’s discussions; on the other hand, as a writer (but not of fiction), I had a hard time relating to his views on writing.   To be fair, I’ve always known that my approach to writing is perhaps the exception rather than the norm.  Writing may actually be the mystical process Rosenblatt describes for the majority of writers, or perhaps the majority of writers of fiction.  Still, as a teacher, I don’t think he spent enough time acknowledging that his own views on what writing is–and on what GOOD writing is–are not the only views to be had.  (I also had a hard time with how seriously his students took those views…although he absolutely acknowledges that he wrote about the sense of a writing class, rather than the actual words of his students, so perhaps it wasn’t really as bad as it seemed.  Who actually asks a writing teacher, no matter how critically acclaimed, questions like “Where should writers live?” and “Should writers be friends with other writers?”  How are you original enough to be a good writer if you’re looking to someone else to tell you where you should live and who your associates should be?)

Anyway.  My friend Britt picked it for Book Club, and it spoke to her more than it did to me (of course, she DOES write fiction).  And there’s always the effect of post-pregnancy hormones and sleep deprivation to be considered.  All in all, however, I found it interesting…but I wouldn’t have picked it up on my own.  And while it was an interesting read–and it did provide some food for thought–I would have been okay if I hadn’t read it.  I’m also,  you understand, okay that I did.

Hence the ambivalence.

It seems selfish to complain about today, really, because while yes, I have an 11 day old baby, I also have my parents staying with me to help out. Still, my hubby ended up feeling icky the second half of the day, which changed our evening plans, and then my poor two-year-old boy, who’s been coughing up a lung all day, threw up all over my shoulder.  (Although at least we were standing on the laminate.)  And the last thing he ate was about the only food I feed my children but dislike intensely enough that I don’t touch it myself–raw bell pepper.  (I can’t abide bell peppers, but hey, my children like them; far be it from me not to take advantage of a vegetable they all enjoy!)  Oh, the smell!  He was fussy or sleepy (or both) for the rest of the day.

Here’s the thing.  My parents cleaned up most of the mess; the last load of gross laundry is in the washing machine as we speak; and my son, despite two brief naps today, went happily to sleep at bedtime.  It could have been SO much worse, and I know it.  The problem is, of course, that my personality is all about anticipation.  I was DESPERATELY looking forward to going out with my hubby tonight (however cheaply and briefly), and when those plans changed, my personality joined forces with the post-pregnancy hormones and the sleep-deprivation to make it feel like the end of the world.  And THEN there was the vomit, and let’s be honest–if there’s a worse way for your day to be derailed than with unexpected child vomit, I’m not sure what it is.  (I am, of course, excluding injury and real tragedy here.)  And so I say–is this day over yet?

I can’t end on such an overly dramatic note, though, because yes, I KNOW I have help and I am blessed and the day could have been so much worse.  And so I leave you with a quote that is possibly overused but still very, very applicable.

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.”

So said Mary Ann Radmacher.  Goodnight, folks!

Because that, my friends, is exactly when I finished Sarah Addison Allen’s First Frost.  After all,  you’ve got to have SOMEthing to do when you’ve put the baby down and you’re waiting to see if it’s safe to go to bed yourself!  I did doze off many times during the last few chapters, but that is in no way related to the quality of the book (and in EVERY way related to being in the newborn stage of life again).  The important thing is that I thoroughly enjoyed First Frost; it’s a sequel to the author’s first book, Garden Spells, picking up 10 years later.  (And yes, you really need to read Garden Spells first.  It’s my favorite of hers, however, so it’s no hardship.)  The theme of sisterhood is revisited, but it’s joined by an exploration of heritage and what it means to be family, as well as how our decisions (including the decision to decide for ourselves) create our future.

It occurred to me shortly after I posted my review of The Crossover that doing so before I officially announced the baby was not particularly well done; my excuse, I suppose, is that I’m still on Percocet and I wanted to review Crossover before it went back to the library.  We are, however, VERY proud and happy to announce that our newest girlie is safely here.  She weighed in at 8 lbs, 7.8 oz and measured 19.5 inches long, and she is beautiful.  (Yes, I know, I’m her mom.  But she is.)  We’ve been home from the hospital for a few days, now, and the sleep is getting better, which is good (especially since, on our first night home, she didn’t settle in bed until 4 am).  I’m sporting a fabulously purple stomach–I did NOT bruise like this with my other c-sections–and still moving slowly, but that is also getting  better.  In other words?  All is as it should be.

Anyway.  I don’t stay awake enough to type for very long right now, so I’ll close this by giving a quick shout-out to The Princess in Black.  This (fairly) new chapter book offering by Shannon Hale is the perfect length to read to my middle (provided it’s a longish reading session).  The story is fun, the illustrations are fun–she loved it, and my husband and I both read it to her more than once.  If you’ve got a 4-5-year-old and you’re looking for another read-aloud option, this is a good one.

As much as I’d like to be back to normal, of course, I’m still sporting an amazingly purple bruise on my stomach, and I only managed two hours of sleep in my bed last night.  That said, however, I did finish Kwame Alexander’s The Crossover while in the hospital, and I really enjoyed it.  It is a book built on basketball, yes, but the plot is more coming of age than anything else.  (I was actually looking forward to it anyway; a college friend of mine reviewed it on her blog, Gator Book Chomp, and she was impressed by it.)  I will say that I wasn’t quite expecting it to end up where it did, but that was in no way a bad thing.  The description made it clear that the twin brothers’ changing relationship was a major part of the plot; the catalyst for some of that change, however, was more complicated than I’d realized.  (It also struck some interesting nerves with me–I could relate to different parts of the plot in different ways.)

Anyway.  It’s a verse novel about twin brothers who are both basketball stars; saying more might just spoil it for you.  (Saying more coherently might also require more sleep than I got last night.)  To sum up, then:  I liked it, and it probably deserved its Newbery (even if, as usual, it’s quite a stretch to call it “children’s” literature.)

I’ll be taking a break for a bit, because I’m having a baby today!  Wish me luck!

When I first started at Borders, I spent a year or three grabbing up every free book available to me (as well as buying a good many books just because the price seemed too good to pass up).  Somewhere in my ten year stint there, of course, I figured out that wanting to read books and needing to own them were not the same thing (also that any living space is at least somewhat limited in its capacity to store all of the books you can acquire for little or nothing as a bookstore employee).  Some time in those first few years, however, I saw an arc (advanced reading copy) of Uncle Boris in the Yukon and Other Shaggy Dog Stories; the topic itself didn’t jump out me, but the author did.  I remember, during my YA Lit class in college, having to choose books to read in a number of different genres and share our experiences with the rest of the class; someone in that class read a book by Daniel Pinkwater, and he went on and on about how hilarious and wonderful he was.  Oh, hey! I thought.  Daniel Pinkwater’s supposed to be really funny!  And so I took the arc.

Since advance reading copies, by definition, come before the book is actually out, that had to have happened around 2001; I haven’t gotten around to choosing it as my book to read until now.  I have to say, though–I’m honestly glad I did.  (And not just because I can now pass it along to someone else.)  It starts out bizarre, in a ‘wow, your family life was insanely dysfunctional’ kind of way, but as it settles into its main topic, it becomes an enjoyable little bit of humorous memoir about dogs in Pinkwater’s life.  It meanders a bit, but after all, cohesive plots are often not the strong point of memoirs; this one is funny enough that I didn’t particularly mind.  If you like memoirs OR dogs, this book is worth taking a look at.  (And if you’re itching to read it, you can comment and I’ll get it back from my friend Brittany when she finishes it and send it on to you!)

I was contemplating what to write about tonight, since I am plenty tired and haven’t tried any new recipes since the pancakes (or finished any books since Saving Lucas Biggs), and I decided I ought to officially announce on here that come next week, regular posts will not so much be happening for a while.  My 3rd c-section is scheduled for Tuesday, and since c-sections come with a four-day hospital stay, well, I won’t be saying much next week.  And after that?  Well, I will then have four children at home, and I imagine that will require some adjustment (this is me understating, by the way).  I would like to try and keep up, mind you, but I’m not crazy enough to think that’s going to happen right away.  For now, then, I’ll post at least once more before the baby’s born, and we’ll just see where it goes from there.  In the meantime, suggestions for baby girl names will still be considered through Monday…

Every other Wednesday my oldest has a church activity from 5-6 and then dance from 6:15-7; this means she has to eat whatever leftovers we have in the fridge (or, if all else fails, a deli meat sandwich) for dinner at 4:30.  Which means, of course, I’m down a good eater for dinner–AND I have to start dinner knowing I have to leave the house to take her just before five, and then be done eating in time to take her from one to the other.  (My hubby then picks her up while I bathe the boy.)  You can probably appreciate the need for an easy meal on these nights, right?  (If you can’t, well, I can’t imagine why you’re interested in this blog.)

Anyway, tonight’s pick was these Apple Pie Pancakes with Vanilla Maple Syrup, which I enjoyed–but which also need some tweaking.  I did love the flavor, although I messed with the spices a bit (I’m just all about more nutmeg flavor, and so I lessened the cinnamon and cloves some to make up for it).  I doubled it but stuck with one (large) apple (out of pure laziness, to be honest with you, but they were apple-y enough, overall), and I used half whole wheat flour because this is the Pregnancy of Craving Fiber!  These are predictable changes for me, however, and I wouldn’t say they NEEDED tweaking if these were the only things I wanted to change.  What needs to change next time, however, is the leavening.  I admit to using 1% milk instead of whole, but that shouldn’t have made the batter all that thin; I’m thinking the recipe really wants buttermilk instead (at least partly), but to do that it possibly needs some baking soda instead of all baking powder, and I need to research how to change the proportions properly.  (And yes, I am aware that altitude may be a major factor here, since the blogger lives in San Diego.)  In the meantime, the flavor truly was lovely.  If any of you know how to make them a bit fluffier without messing with that, please share!