Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

…And it’s killing me. On Wednesday I was at the temple, at the high school to pick up my daughter and take her to the orthodondist, at Ream’s, and at an evening activity. Yesterday was my day this week to NOT GO ANYWHERE, which means my focus was on household chores until long past my limit for coherent writing; on the other hand, I did read to my second girlie, and although I tried to send her to bed before finishing the book, I ended up deciding that I had 15 or so more pages in me–and so we followed Jane through to the end. Which is why you’re getting a rushed (I have to be somewhere in half an hour) review of Jody J. Little’s Mostly the Honest Truth.

If I had to describe the book in a nutshell, I suppose I’d call it a typical first novel; Little has a solid, poignant (if slightly improbable) story to tell, but the execution sometimes suggests a less-experienced writer. I found “G” as a nickname to be slightly distracting, for example, and the legal intricacies of foster care make Jane’s situation a bit of a stretch. On the other hand, the often-painful details of family difficulties and tragedies are both original and all too realistic, and the outcome is hopeful without being too fairytale for its audience. Jane’s stints in foster care (during her pop’s stints in rehab) have been relatively similar until now, but her burned hand and the odd sort of commune she’s currently placed in give her a crucially different experience. And even if I found, say, Leslie Connor’s Waiting for Normal to be a more tightly written book on a similar topic, Jane’s journey is absolutely worth experiencing for yourself.

I enjoyed it enough that I’m about to put Little’s other book on hold.

I’m pretty sure I’ve had Emily Jenkins’ Invisible Inkling on my shelf ever since my son was in–ahem–4th grade. (He’s in 7th grade now.) I recall looking for book lists for 4th grade boys and checking out a few of the most promising titles; Inkling was one of them, only I didn’t get to previewing it until he’d proven himself a picky enough reader that it seemed a lot less promising for him. I still thought it looked fun, however, and so I started it in audio before changing my mind and reading it aloud with my 10-year-old; we finished it on Saturday while she was doing an epically massive sock chore.

The thing is–it’s weird. Not bad weird, mind you, but definitely weird. Inkling is an invisible furry creature that shows up in Hank’s parents’ ice cream shop looking for squash. (Their business is called ‘Big Round Pumpkin: Ice Cream for a Happy World.) Hank is especially ready for a friend, since his very best one recently moved away, and so begins a most unusual story. Inkling’s advice does not always translate well for humans, but he attempts to help Hank navigate life’s ups and downs anyway, and his perspective is definitely more realistic than those of some of the adults in his life. If you’re looking for a quirky school story with a bit of magical realism that isn’t intimidatingly long, give Inkling a try.

My 10-year-old liked it enough that I’ll be putting the next one on hold now.

In the meantime, my oldest graduated from seminary–and spoke at her graduation–yesterday, and afterwards my in-laws and my nephew and his wife came for dinner. Since Friday night was my niece’s graduation party in Davis County, I only had one free evening this weekend. Ah, May…

I’ve been getting frustrated at all the books I haven’t been finishing lately, and yet the evenings have been crazy busy with all of the May things. The days have been busy too, honestly, but yesterday I found myself desperately in need of some downtime, and I decided to SIT AND READ in the middle of the day. (Something I almost never do.) Accordingly, I did just that–I also went to Costco and deleted some emails and such, mind you–which is why I get to review Terri Libenson’s Always Anthony before passing it on to my older girlies later today.

I enjoyed Always Anthony. I enjoyed it MUCH more than Libenson’s last ‘Emmie & Friends’ book, Surprisingly Sarah, as a matter of fact. (I really, REALLY didn’t like the ‘two storyline’ idea.) Anthony is a solid character–basically nice, but flawed in completely relatable ways–and I had plenty in common with Leah, who gets assigned to tutor him in Language Arts. Their burgeoning friendship was actually the biggest stretch for me, but I liked it as a plot line, and all of the difficulties Anthony and Leah face over the course of the novel make for both good reading and good modelling of behavior. I’m looking forward to the next one in the series (which just barely came out, I believe.) In the meantime, this weekend is seminary graduation, I just had brunch with my closest cousin on my mom’s side, and I’ve got both my washer and my dryer going. How’s your Friday?

That’s about it, folks. It isn’t that all the things that are happening are bad–most of them are great–I just hate having something every night and/or day, you know? Last night was the senior awards banquet, tonight is my son’s last band concert AND a ward activity that my hubby and I are partially in charge of, and tomorrow night is my son’s first (last if his team loses) tournament flag football game plus a surprise party that my 15YO and her friend need a ride to…during the game. Not to mention that today is the PTA fundraiser–a fun run. (The high is supposed to be 58-ish and there’s rain in the forecast.) I showed up near the beginning and they were doing okay, so I asked when they had less help scheduled and I’ll be going back to help/help clean up this afternoon. Good times, right?

On the other hand, I love my kiddos and I’m grateful that they have activities and interests. It’s just–hectic. How’s your month of May going?

Barenaked Ladies released “One Week” while I was in college, and it was pretty pervasive. (Also “If I Had $1000000,” although that came out before I got to college.) I was all set to say that ‘it’s been one week since you looked at me’, except that then I realized it’s been more than that. Yeesh. In large part, I’ve still been trying to recover from being gone; last week was also PTA convention, however, and since I’ve agreed to be president next year, going most definitely mattered. On top of that, my son had a game, my oldest had some rough mental health days, my 15-year-old had a dance to go to and needed to try on dresses in Clearfield, and then–I crashed. What can I say?

On the plus side, my oldest is doing better, the dance is over (and she looked lovely!), my son won his game, and we voted to amend our bylaws. Go us! We had a quiet Mother’s Day at home and a dear friend of mine came to visit this morning; once she left I threw my dark towels in the washer and my lunch on the stove.

It’s almost ready, by the way. And I’ve been taking bites of my apple as I write. I’m going to focus on my food, then, with a simple thank you to all of the important women in my life.

You are loved.

Last week my 5th grade teacher, childhood next door neighbor, surrogate grandmother–I could go on, but last week, Jean Beattie Bernard slipped into the next life, and so my sister and I went to RI for her funeral. The viewing was hardest for me, the graveside for her, but we spent time with the Beattie/Bernard clan and other friends from our childhood, we ate some seafood and some Italian food, we walked along the Cliff Walk–and then we left and came home. My hubby and my kiddos held down the fort in my absence (although the kiddos could definitely have done more after school), and since I’ve been back I’ve been trying to catch up on all the things that need doing. I ran the dishwasher twice in the first 24 hours, I’ve unpacked my carryon and switched out my travel purse (cleaning out my regular purse in the process, because it only made sense), I helped with the last bit of Teacher Appreciation week, saw my 15-year-old’s dance concert, and went to the district art show with my oldest to see her two honorable mention pieces, and so on, and so on…

Anyway. On my last night in my hotel room, I decided to go ahead and finish–as in, read the lion’s share of–Dragonbreath #5: No Such Thing as Ghosts, which has been sitting on my shelf for an embarrassingly long time. (Truly a case of so many books and so little time.) I read reviews saying it was scary and not for younger readers, and maybe that’s true; my youngest read the first few ‘Dragonbreath’ books a couple of years ago, I think, and this might have freaked her out a bit then. At 10, however, she should do just fine, and Ursula Vernon’s trademark humor is still plenty evident. Danny and Wendell end up trick-or-treating with their sort-of friend Christiana (who once brought a sheep brain to school, which was cool, but is so skeptical she doesn’t believe Danny is a dragon), and when the school bully goads them into knocking on the door of a haunted house, well–everybody gets more than they bargain for. Readers who struggle with scary stories might want to skip this one, but it’s totally worth everyone else’s time!

When I was a kid, I loved the soundtrack to “Fiddler on the Roof.” I sang along with it all, loving the humor of ‘Matchmaker, Matchmaker’ and ‘Tevye’s Dream,’ and while I only really liked the first half of the movie (the second half was “too sad”), I managed to enjoy the music without thinking about the context/deeper meaning of the song lyrics. When I got older and took more history classes, of course, that shifted; I still sang along with and loved the songs, and they still brought me some of the uncomplicated joy they had when I was a child, but the uncomplicated joy came from the nostalgia of childhood. By the time I was married and saw my sister-in-law’s high school production of it–she played French horn in the pit–I answered her complaint about why the ending had to be so sad with the observation that for Eastern European Jews of the time period, the ending is actually about as happy as it got. I thought I was appreciating the musical as an adult.

And then I had children.

The thing is, unless you’re a parent–or truly responsible for raising children–you can’t fully appreciate “Fiddler on the Roof.” Suddenly, ‘Sunrise, Sunset’ becomes the lynchpin of the story, you’re understanding Tevye and Golde in entirely new ways, and both ‘Matchmaker’ and ‘The Home I Love’ break your heart. Ultimately, ‘Fiddler’ is a parents’ musical in a way few other shows are, and experiencing the music as the mother of teenage daughters is a whole new experience.

Enter Katherine Applegate’s The One and Only Family. Because as Ivan and Kinyani prepare for and experience parenthood, I think young readers will enjoy their story. I think older readers will get a kick out of it as well. But until you have actively parented–for an extended period of time–you’ll never fully appreciate the whole of it. (My hubby was in the room for much of the audiobook, and he and I were reacting in similar ways–very parental ways.) It’s a lovely story and a meaningful one, with some poignant musings about freedom and circumstance, and it’s hard for me to imagine anyone not liking it, although I’m quite sure a few someones won’t. (I’m especially looking at YOU, ridiculous people who give verse novels bad reviews on Goodreads because–essentially–you don’t like verse novels.) Those readers who encounter it as children, however, should be prepared for a whole new appreciation of it when they have children of their own reading it.

As for President Nelson? One of his most famous quotes is that “the joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” “Fiddler on the Roof” quite deliberately (I imagine) retains its focus on history and anti-Semitism as a cultural and historical statement, and it’s a powerful musical because of that. Those experiencing it feel the pain and grief of Tevye’s family–indeed, of Anatevka as a whole–and such experiences are both memorable and valuable. The One and Only Family focuses, ultimately, on hope and possibility–Applegate’s reasons for doing so are beautifully laid out in her author’s note–and because of that, its power brings far more joy.

My in-laws are in China and my parents live out of state, which means that we made our own Easter dinner yesterday. It was a joint effort, and we also spent a lovely hour before church watching Easter messages and reading scriptures together. I wanted to do more this past week, honestly, but it was a crazy week, and I struggled. Friday was my two younger girls’ dance recital, and one or both of them had dance the three nights leading up to it; my son had football practice on Tuesday and Friday and games on Thursday and Saturday. My oldest worked on Saturday as well as yesterday, although my hubby and our youngest did bring her a plate of dinner at work and met a bunch of her residents during her lunch break.

Also, some significant cleaning and organizing happened, which is another reason I failed to post on Friday.

Anyway. I hope you all had good experiences celebrating the holiday. We are so grateful for our resurrected Savior!

That’s one of the things that my current Easter study guide talked about recording, and as I’ve been listening to Coyote Lost and Found–because the audio narrator is good enough to be experienced in her own right–it brought up Covid. It’s uncomfortable to be grateful for something that was so hard for so many, but Covid brought a very specific blessing to my life, and that blessing has remained.

And I am grateful.

How has the Lord blessed you?

To be fair, I’ve never loved plots that involve a character who has something she needs to say and yet can’t manage to just spit it out already; that said, both the mother AND the daughter drove me crazy for the middle of McCall Hoyle’s The Thing with Feathers. (Maybe it’s divided into sixths, and parts 3/6-5/6 made me nuts?) The beginning is poignant but promising, involving homeschooled, epileptic Emilie facing public school under orders from her therapist. (I know it’s better to say “person with epilepsy,” and I do actually understand why, but I couldn’t resist the siren song of parallelism.) She’d much rather not, but her epilepsy and her dad’s death have made her more of a hermit than her mother can allow, and so into the breach she goes.

Luckily for Emilie (not my favorite spelling of that name, btw), she’s drawn in despite her resistance, and is paired for an English project with the unrealistically incredible Chatham, who also (of course) needs tutoring to keep his place on the basketball team. (He’s gorgeous, kind, athletic, a continual volunteer–sure, he’s got some life reasons to be that kind, but still…) She develops friendships with some of the ‘lit-mag’ people as well, and things seem to be looking up–or WOULD be, except that of course she doesn’t want anyone to know about her epilepsy. Add Emilie’s unwillingness to communicate to her mother’s spectacular failures in that department, and you’ve got a parent failing to tell her child a few (mostly one) exceptionally important things while that child avoids being her real self to everyone she’s meeting. (I also want to complain about her self-absorbed wallowing and ludicrous assumptions about everyone around her in comparison to herself, except that I have some unpleasant memories of being like that once upon a time. And I didn’t have epilepsy or a dead dad to serve as an extenuating circumstance.) I was gearing up for a fairly negative review when Emilie finally had her epiphany. Thankfully, the ending fixed (exceedingly quickly, I might add) most of what was annoying me, and while the best parts happen awfully fast, it’s a positive read in the end.

Especially for teenagers, who just happen to be its intended audience.

Anyway. Today’s a ‘catch up at home’ sort of day, and so I’d better get back to it. If you need a clean read for your teen with a significant romantic element and some deeper things. give The Thing with Feathers* a try!

*Point to ponder–there are a surprising number of contemporary novels that feature Emily Dickinson’s poetry as part of the plot, and I’m torn between acknowledging the incredibleness of some of her lines and hating on her dashes…which may be ironic, as I’m no stranger to the double dash, but Dickinson’s dashes make me shudder.