Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I admit, I’m patting myself on the back for how much I liked this recipe.  I’ve been trying out more crockpot recipes lately, because evenings are feeling busy now that the kiddos are back in school.  When I saw this Slow-Cooker Chicken Curry, I was attracted to the easiness of it but wary of how it was going to taste; my last few recipe tries in the curry department have ended with me wondering how so many spices and extra steps manage to equal such one-noted flavor.  Since I like a taste of sweetness in my curry, I decided that using peach mango salsa (I buy it at Costco occasionally) would be worth trying–and it totally was.  There was a bit of sweet, a bit of heat, and a hint of creamy from the cream cheese, making it the best curry I’ve tried in quite a while.  (Tried making, that is.  I can’t remember the last time I went to a restaurant where curry was even an option.)  And so easy!  I tossed the onion in a pan with a bit of oil for a couple of minutes and added the curry powder to it before mixing it with the salsa and pouring it over the chicken, because why not do what you can to boost flavor?  My son gave it thumbs middle to up, and my hubby also liked it better than he’s liked any curry in a while, so I’m calling that a win.  (My girls ranged from ‘not my preferred flavor profile’ to ‘spicy’ to ‘grumpy three-year-old who gives unreliable feedback.’)  If you’re looking for easy, tasty, and a bit different from the usual fare, here’s your next dinner idea.  Enjoy!

I come from serious gardeners on both sides, believe it or not.  Both of my grandfathers had garden land that was probably bigger than my current lot size, house and all.  My mother LOVES to garden, and both of my siblings are into it as well.

And then there’s me.

Gardening isn’t the only gene that got used up before I came along, but it may be the most practical one.  I’m a fan of eating from the garden, of course, but I stink at proactively planning it, planting it, and sustaining it.  I want to be good at it, yes, but I don’t want to actually put in the work.  I’m not proud of this, you understand, but I’ve accepted it about myself.  (I still try, of course, because GARDEN TOMATOES, but my efforts fall far short of what they could be.)

What does this have to do with baseball, you ask?  Simple.  While I find watching a baseball game to be a dull prospect in the extreme–sorry, Zach!–I’m perfectly happy reading fiction about it, and it’s the same with gardening.  Abbi Waxman’s The Garden of Small Beginnings had me hooked from the beginning, and the gardening tips were every bit as engaging as the rest of it.  Lili’s grief was compelling and real, and yet the book had me laughing more than anything else; Waxman’s snarky, spot-on comments about life and parenthood were priceless.  I cared about the cast of characters, too, although there were perhaps more similarities among them than there was meant to be.  I’ve always loved stories about pulling through the hard patches of life, and this book had that in spades.  If it weren’t for the language I’d be shoving it into the hands of every parent I met, because it really was that funny-yet-thoughtful, but the number of F-words and the several instances of higher-level religious profanity made me wince.  This was likely worse because it was an audiobook, but still.  I know that a disturbing number of people in this word do drop the F-word with a frightening casualness, but I don’t like hearing it.  Couldn’t we all be a little more creative in our vocabulary choices?

Anyway.  If you can deal with the language, this is a take on parenting, grief, and growth (all kinds, including vegetable!) that got me from the beginning.  I just wish I’d stuck with the advanced print copy I won, instead of grabbing the audio so that I could listen while I exercised and did housework.

Tonight a good friend and I got together for a movie night, since her hubby was out of town.  She helped me take grapes off the vine in preparation for jam while we laughed over “Operation Petticoat,” which is one of my favorite old movies ever.  I could quote funny lines from it until the cows came home, so all I’m going to say is–Cary Grant, Tony Curtis, and a pink submarine.  If you haven’t seen it, you’re seriously missing out!

I finished Margarita Engle’s Forest World last night, and let me tell you what–there are some random, unusual-looking species in this world.  Not that I didn’t know that in theory, of course, but the concept of ‘Lazarus species’ is central to the plot, and every time another such species was mentioned, I couldn’t resist googling it to see what it looked like.  (I now know that the Lord Howe Island stick insect is also known as the tree lobster–and I’ve seen pictures!)  This made the book a slower read than it would have been otherwise, but it added enough to the overall experience that it didn’t bother me a bit.

Unlike many of Engle’s books, Forest World is fiction–the story of a family divided between Cuba and the United States but united in a fascination with wildlife.  Since relations between the US and Cuba have finally improved, Edver ends up leaving Miami to spend the summer with his father; there he discovers a sister he didn’t know he had and a world almost unbelievably alien to his own.  (NO INTERNET!)  As he and his sister try to reconcile their different experiences and opportunities (and lack thereof), they end up getting more up close and personal with the world of wildlife smuggling and poaching than they ever could have imagined.  The end result is a tribute to the challenges and rewards of family–and wildlife preservation.  (It’s not as didactic as it sounds, I promise–it’s also a tribute to the kind of ingenuity in the face of scarcity that results in homemade handcuffs).  If you or your child is interested in nature, wildlife, Cuba, or poetic-but-accessible verse novels, give this one a try.

When I put chicken in to marinate on Saturday night (for grilling on Sunday), there were three pieces in the bag that were still too frozen to deal with.  I stuck them in a Zip-loc and stuck that in the fridge, and when Tuesday afternoon came around, I settled down with Pinterest to make those three (small) chicken breasts into a meal plan.

Enter this Cheesy Chicken Spaghetti Casserole.

I knew from the outset that I needed to lighten it up a bit, because GENETICALLY HIGH CHOLESTEROL.  (It stinks.)  I was already skimping on the meat, since I only had so much thawed and I wasn’t going to trouble myself to grab more; next on the chopping block was the 16 oz of sour cream.  I decided that I could probably stand to cut that down in the first place, and to substitute plain yogurt for some of it besides.  (Baked with seasonings, it doesn’t make that much of a difference.)  I ended up using about a cup of plain yogurt and maybe half a cup of sour cream, which worked just fine.  I also used this Homemade Condensed Cream of Chicken Soup recipe from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe, because it’s a slurry that uses no butter.  (I made it with half whole wheat flour, too.)  The casserole itself still had a stick of melted butter–lovely, lovely butter!–and a decent amount of cheese, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been,  you know?  My house was QUITE divided, with my older girls giving it thumbs down and my littles telling me “two thumbs up!”  The former didn’t shock me–the oldest has never loved that flavor profile, and my second is my pickiest eater–but the level of enthusiasm from the others surprised me.  I enjoyed it as well, although it’s a bit different from my usual fare, but next time I won’t skimp on the chicken.  (There will likely be a next time, though).  If you find yourself needing to turn some stray chicken breasts into dinner for 6, give it a try!

I cannot remember the last time a book grabbed hold of me the way Benjamin Ludwig’s Ginny Moon did.  That isn’t to say that I haven’t read some amazing and engrossing books lately–I have–but this one was different.  Ginny is an autistic, adopted foster child who narrates her own story, and she held me from the get-go.  It’s partly her anxiety and her very, very literal outlook on her world, but it’s also her background.  My family was involved in foster care when I was in high school and college, and the level at which those experiences came rushing back as I read astounded me.  Children who remember their birth families, who remember being removed from the homes of their birth families, are torn in a way that the rest of us can’t begin to truly comprehend.  All of my experiences as a foster sister slammed into my added experience as a mother full force; the resulting level of feeling unnerved me.  Being objective as a reviewer may honestly be an unattainable goal.

That being said, I was impressed by this book.  The arc of my feelings for Ginny’s foster/adopted mom was considerable; when my hatred reached its peak, I forced myself to consider my own postpartum depression and what Maura knew and didn’t know versus what I did.  Ginny as a naive narrator is amazing (although I admit, I’ve had a weakness for those since the first time I read Huck Finn as an 8-or-so-year-old), and her autistic voice was pitch perfect to me.  (Not that I have much firsthand experience there, to be fair.)  The setting felt real, real, real, from the woodpile at the edge of the yard by the woods to the Cumberland Farms on the corner.  My friend Britt pointed out that Baby Wendy’s developmental timeline is definitely hinky, which I can’t deny, but that didn’t bother me terribly.  (It took me a bit to figure out why, since after four kids I’m usually irritated by that sort of thing.  In the end, I decided that it’s Ginny’s book, and the details that are off accomplish their purpose all the same.  They tend to be symbolic of Ginny’s restrictions and experiences; what matters is whether or not Ginny is allowed to help, not so much the details of what she does.)

Britt, as part of an adoptive family, was also outraged at Ginny’s adoptive parents’ varying levels of commitment (or lack thereof).  That bothered me as well–seriously bothered me–but coming from a fostering family instead of an adoptive one eased my outrage a bit.  The essence of Ginny’s situation and the events of the book IS foster care, in many ways, and that tends to be just plain messy, with no easy answers (or, sometimes, terribly acceptable ones).

Ultimately, I was emotionally blown away by Ginny Moon.  (I’m SO beyond grateful that I didn’t make the mistake of reading it pregnant–OR with a newborn.)  Some of that is what I brought to the reading experience, but not all of it–not by a long shot.  You should read it, read it, read it.  I just hope you love Ginny herself as much as I did.

Complimentary copy received for review

That’s 3,000-piece puzzle number four, folks, because we are crazy people.  This one would not have been MY choice to open next, but then, I chose the last one and it was harder than the other two put together.  So there’s that.  We’ve done Neuschwanstein Castle in the fall and the winter; this one’s in the summer.  Which means it’s mostly half blue and half green, except for the castle in the middle.  I’ve started the sky.  My hubby’s started the trees.

Yep, we’re crazy people.

Anyway.  My feet hurt and I’m poopered, and my new fridge is apparently getting delivered right in the middle of parent/teacher conferences tomorrow, so I’m signing off.  Goodnight all!

I was expecting Jenny Colgan’s Little Beach Street Bakery to be foodie chick lit, I suppose; feel good and drool-worthy (because I love bread!) but on the fluffy side.  Instead, I found a story that left me thinking about progress versus change, about what kind of changes you ought to be willing to make for those you love, and about what relationships can become if we make the effort to reach out, to be patient, and to forgive.

I also found more language than I needed, particularly for an audio book.*  It’s easier to skip over f-words and serious religious profanity when your eyes can slide over them quickly, but when listening, those particular words get as much emphasis as everything else, and you can’t do much about it.  I’m not saying that at least some of that language didn’t fit the characters, but that doesn’t mean I needed to hear it,  you know?

Overall, however, this was a book that caught and held me.  I stayed up way too late listening to one part of it because I wasn’t going to head off to bed without knowing if anyone had been lost at sea during the storm, and I finished it while putting dinner into my crockpot yesterday morning.  The jacket description gives you a basic summary–Polly’s life falls apart and she ends up renting a dilapidated flat in a seaside town in Cornwall, and while her baking starts out as a hobby (and a self-soothing mechanism), it becomes something else entirely over time–but it doesn’t quite do all of the themes in it justice.  Yes, there are certainly elements of chick lit, but I laughed out loud AND got teary over parts that had little or nothing to do with the main characters.  If you can deal with some language, this is a good read.

*The language in and of itself made this a book I wish I’d read instead of listened to, but if that doesn’t bother you and you’re considering the audio, you should know that the reader’s male voices are frequently a bit creepy, and the hero’s “southern accent” (he’s supposed to be from Georgia) makes Vivien Leigh’s sound like the most authentic one ever uttered.  I suppose it’s tough when the narrator’s British, but for Pete’s sake, listening to Huckle talk was painful.

I’m still surprised and irritated with myself for missing TWO posts in a row without explanation.  I just seem to be getting more distracted in the evenings lately–or more forgetful as 40 looms, perish the thought.  Sadly, I’m not going to post the yummy brownie recipe tonight, either, because it’s late.  I have, however, been trying to spent my daughter’s preschool time doing the kind of decluttering and cleaning up that you never feel you can do with 3-year-old help, and I’ll keep you posted on the progress.  I pulled an entire outfit out of my closet to pass on to my friend’s oldest daughter, so that’s something.  And I’ve recycled old paperwork.  (This sounds so unimpressive, but if you’d seen the DUST on that paperwork…)  We’re done with preschool for this week, but I’ll let you know how things go!  I’ll also try to not so much with the forgetting.  In the meantime, I wish us sleep.  ALL of us–wherever and whenever we are!

Positively Izzy is a companion novel to Invisible Emmie, which I quite enjoyed.  (My girls loved it, which means I’d better get Izzy reviewed tonight and into their hot little hands pronto.)  Emmie is a side character in Izzy; her friend Bri (the brain) and dramatic, somewhat scatterbrained Izzy share center stage.  Their school’s talent show is approaching, and Izzy can’t wait to perform while Bri is reluctantly filling in for someone last minute.  What they do leading up to and during the show is the essence of the story.  Add an Emmie-like twist, and you’ve got a solid graphic novel about stretching yourself and venturing out of your comfort zone (as well as expanding your circle of friends).  I imagine that my (and your!) elementary and middle school girls will love it!*

*There are two bits to take note of, if you like to have conversations with your children about the choices made by the characters in the books they’re reading.  It’s mentioned that one of the girls sneaks out to go to her friend’s house and read the friend’s dad’s dirty magazines; it’s almost mentioned in passing that one aunt lives with her partner and kids.  Do with that what you will.