Month: July 2014

Books

Summer Reading 2014

I had high hopes this summer for my newly-literate 7 year old, and all the summer reading rewards programs she’d be accomplishing.

It isn’t that she’s not reading.

I’m just not keeping track with all of it. And I’ve sort of stopped caring. The truth is, for everything I complain about when it comes to Eliott, I should probably consider myself pretty lucky that she enjoys school, works independently, and with the exception of handwriting, is probably above average on the relative intelligence scale. I hope she hasn’t spoiled me so much that when it comes to her siblings and homework, I have no will to fight. (Oh please oh please oh please, let me have given birth to only dorky little teacher’s pets like myself.)

Meanwhile, I’ve also taken this summer to check off a few books that have long been on my to-read list. For me, summer reading is mostly about entertainment. Obviously I don’t want to do much thinking, and I also want to feel a sense of accomplishment. More often than not, this means creating a list of library holds on the books that popular movies have come from. And, more often than not, most of these books include the kind of young-adult fiction that carry undercurrents of mind-numbing teenage romance to what might otherwise be perfectly acceptable story lines.

Okay, I admit it. The romance helps.

Book #1: The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky

This book was a little weird, but definitely held my interest. Honestly, I think if I had read it in high school or college I would have felt like I was secretly holding the key to the world in my naive and sheltered little hands. Subjects ranged from popular music, to whiskey, to drugs, and sexual orientation, and because it was all told through the first person perspective of a socially awkward (and way too good with words for his age) narrator, it definitely had a tone of pseudo-intelligence.

A few of my former students chimed in when I posted it on Instagram raging about this books “greatness” and how it changed their lives (and continues to). And I can see where that might be true if I were also still a virgin.

I give this one a my classic “entertaining” stamp. It wasn’t a waste of time, but it certainly didn’t change my life.

Book #2: Running with Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs

I’ve picked up and attempted to read the book more than once, but this time I finally got into it and through it. It took about three days. It was a quick read, and so completely strange, I couldn’t put it down. When I say strange, I actually mean straight twisted. Half of me was thinking, “There’s no way this is true,” while the other half argued with, “There’s no way someone could make this up.”

It was a lot like picking a mildly painful scab. I continued reading, knowing that it wasn’t really going to get better, but not being able to stop. And to be honest, I didn’t hate it. It is a memoir, and I didn’t hate the author/main character. In fact, as easy as it should have been to hate some of the characters, I liked all of them.

It is difficult to recommend this book, however, because it goes down some dark roads and some takes some seriously sexually explicit turns. To recommend this book is a risk in offending someone or opening myself up to a series of judgmental questions. So whatever. Read it if you want to. Just don’t make a personal character judgement on me after you read it if you hate it.

Personally, I liked it.

Book #3: Divergent, by Veronica Roth

Oh man. This one is hard to review. I want to say I liked it. The beginning definitely sucked me in and most of it held my captive interest. It was certainly a new idea (very much in the same vein as The Hunger Games, obviously) and one that was different enough to make me think.

But I just didn’t love the characters. And when I don’t love the narrator, it is hard to say I love the story. And parts of it were tedious and bothersome, though because I’ve been away from a classroom for going on four years, I can’t state specifically how. I think the climax resulting from a conflict not even introduced until the final third of the book might be one place to start. And then, just a ton of rabbit holes for characters who ultimately end up not even making it until the end of the book. Why suck me in to a potential story line only to kill it a few chapters later?

Again. “Entertaining.” Not life changing. I’m a little annoyed that it is an entire trilogy because I certainly don’t have high hopes for the next two getting better as time goes on. This author gives me the sense that the bang! idea she started with was pretty much all she had in her. But I do desperately want to see the movie (and actually think it might be better than the book).

Book #4: Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, by Jenny Lawson

Yes. Let’s.

Oh Lord. I got through about twenty pages of this book and I just had to be done. I had forgotten why/when I put it on my list. It is written by a blogger who calls herself “The Bloggess” and though I don’t actually follow her regularly, I’m guessing there must have been a time when I was finding one or two of her posts relatively entertaining and funny.

To me, this book was like having a person in the room at a gathering who will. not. shut. up. That person who is generally making very little sense, except to assert the obvious desire that everyone be listening to her all the time, no matter what drivel is coming out of her mouth, and no one has the ability nor the courage to cut her off so everyone just sort of shudders every time she interrupts the conversation again. (I actually consciously try to make sure I’m not this girl anymore. I fear there was probably a time when I was.) The book even reads like she was aware she’d be losing her audience and so, mid-sentence or mid-paragraph, she actually types the kind of conversational insecurity that is so common to teenagers and older women who I try to avoid.

Just. Too high on the word count, and way too low on the intelligence/entertainment scale. I rarely put books down that I know I will never pick up again. This is one of those books. Sorry Jenny. I really did want to support you and promote you, but I just can’t. (Oh, and fire your editor.)

Book #5: The Shack, by William P. Young

This is the current choice for my church women’s group summer reading. We very often do book studies. I very often reluctantly plug through them, and try very hard to have something positive to say during the discussion that I admittedly only attended for the fellowship and the food.

I’m not actually finished reading this book and I’m wondering if I will make it through. It isn’t a terrible book. It really isn’t. It is just terrible for me.

First, I hate allegories. I’m not sure if there is such a thing as a non-Christian allegory (I’ve never read one), but I especially hate Christian allegories. I mean, the very purpose of an allegory from what I recall of 9th grade English (as a student not a teacher – I’d never teach an allegory) is to put a complex or an abstract subject into a tangible and visible form so that it is easier to understand. I guess maybe my problem is that I don’t, and never really have, struggled with the ambiguities of the Christian faith, the unanswered questions about God, or the ability to just accept something for what it is without molding it into a play-doh shape that I can display on my window sill.

I’m okay with going through life asking the difficult questions and never fully answering them.

Apparently, from the looks of the best-seller list, I’m a minority in this thinking. C’est la vie. I’ll chug through it and I’ll keep an open-mind during discussions. After all, I do so enjoy the company and the dessert.

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Books, Confessions, Eliott

Summer Reading

I had high hopes this summer for my newly-literate 7 year old, and all the summer reading rewards programs she’d be accomplishing.

It isn’t that she’s not reading.

I’m just not keeping track with all of it. And I’ve sort of stopped caring. The truth is, for everything I complain about when it comes to Eliott, I should probably consider myself pretty lucky that she enjoys school, works independently, and with the exception of handwriting, is probably above average on the relative intelligence scale. I hope she hasn’t spoiled me so much that when it comes to her siblings and homework, I have no will to fight. (Oh please oh please oh please, let me have given birth to only dorky little teacher’s pets like myself.)

Meanwhile, I’ve also taken this summer to check off a few books that have long been on my to-read list. For me, summer reading is mostly about entertainment. Obviously I don’t want to do much thinking, and I also want to feel a sense of accomplishment. More often than not, this means creating a list of library holds on the books that popular movies have come from. And, more often than not, most of these books include the kind of young-adult fiction that carry undercurrents of mind-numbing teenage romance to what might otherwise be perfectly acceptable story lines.

Okay, I admit it. The romance helps.

Book #1:

Source: http://www.nydailynews.com

This book was a little weird, but definitely held my interest. Honestly, I think if I had read it in high school or college I would have felt like I was secretly holding the key to the world in my naive and sheltered little hands. Subjects ranged from popular music, to whiskey, to drugs, and sexual orientation, and because it was all told through the first person perspective of a socially awkward (and way too good with words for his age) narrator, it definitely had a tone of pseudo-intelligence.

A few of my former students chimed in when I posted it on Instagram raging about this books “greatness” and how it changed their lives (and continues to). And I can see where that might be true if I were also still a virgin.

I give this one a my classic “entertaining” stamp. It wasn’t a waste of time, but it certainly didn’t change my life.

Book #2:

Source: http://www.swotti.com

I saw this movie several years ago. I remember nothing about it, except the scene where Augusten and Natalie decide to bust a sky-light into the kitchen ceiling. I think maybe that was the only similarity between the movie and the book.

I’ve picked up and attempted to read the book more than once, but this time I finally got into it and through it. It took about three days. It was a quick read, and so completely strange, I couldn’t put it down. When I say strange, I actually mean straight twisted. Half of me was thinking, “There’s no way this is true,” while the other half argued with, “There’s no way someone could make this up.”

It was a lot like picking a mildly painful scab. I continued reading, knowing that it wasn’t really going to get better, but not being able to stop. And to be honest, I didn’t hate it. It is a memoir, and I didn’t hate the author/main character. In fact, as easy as it should have been to hate some of the characters, I liked all of them.

It is difficult to recommend this book, however, because it goes down some dark roads and some takes some seriously sexually explicit turns. To recommend this book is a risk in offending someone or opening myself up to a series of judgmental questions. So whatever. Read it if you want to. Just don’t make a personal character judgement on me after you read it if you hate it.

Personally, I liked it.

Book #3:

Source: http://www.divergentfans.com

Oh man. This one is hard to review. I want to say I liked it. The beginning definitely sucked me in and most of it held my captive interest. It was certainly a new idea (very much in the same vein as The Hunger Games, obviously) and one that was different enough to make me think.

But I just didn’t love the characters. And when I don’t love the narrator, it is hard to say I love the story. And parts of it were tedious and bothersome, though because I’ve been away from a classroom for going on four years, I can’t state specifically how. I think the climax resulting from a conflict not even introduced until the final third of the book might be one place to start. And then, just a ton of rabbit holes for characters who ultimately end up not even making it until the end of the book. Why suck me in to a potential story line only to kill it a few chapters later?

Again. “Entertaining.” Not life changing. I’m a little annoyed that it is an entire trilogy because I certainly don’t have high hopes for the next two getting better as time goes on. This author gives me the sense that the bang! idea she started with was pretty much all she had in her. But I do desperately want to see the movie (and actually think it might be better than the book).

Book #4:

Source: http://www.goodreads.com

Yes. Let’s.

Oh Lord. I got through about twenty pages of this book and I just had to be done. I had forgotten why/when I put it on my list. It is written by a blogger who calls herself “The Bloggess” and though I don’t actually follow her regularly, I’m guessing there must have been a time when I was finding one or two of her posts relatively entertaining and funny.

To me, this book was like having a person in the room at a gathering who will. not. shut. up. That person who is generally making very little sense, except to assert the obvious desire that everyone be listening to her all the time, no matter what drivel is coming out of her mouth, and no one has the ability nor the courage to cut her off so everyone just sort of shudders every time she interrupts the conversation again. (I actually consciously try to make sure I’m not this girl anymore. I fear there was probably a time when I was.) The book even reads like she was aware she’d be losing her audience and so, mid-sentence or mid-paragraph, she actually types the kind of conversational insecurity that is so common to teenagers and older women who I try to avoid.

Just. Too high on the word count, and way too low on the intelligence/entertainment scale. I rarely put books down that I know I will never pick up again. This is one of those books. Sorry Jenny. I really did want to support you and promote you, but I just can’t. (Oh, and fire your editor.)

Book #5:

Source: http://www.inplainsite.org

This is the current choice for my church women’s group summer reading. We very often do book studies. I very often reluctantly plug through them, and try very hard to have something positive to say during the discussion that I admittedly only attended for the fellowship and the food.

I’m not actually finished reading this book and I’m wondering if I will make it through. It isn’t a terrible book. It really isn’t. It is just terrible for me.

First, I hate allegories. I’m not sure if there is such a thing as a non-Christian allegory (I’ve never read one), but I especially hate Christian allegories. I mean, the very purpose of an allegory from what I recall of 9th grade English (as a student not a teacher – I’d never teach an allegory) is to put a complex or an abstract subject into a tangible and visible form so that it is easier to understand. I guess maybe my problem is that I don’t, and never really have, struggled with the ambiguities of the Christian faith, the unanswered questions about God, or the ability to just accept something for what it is without molding it into a play-doh shape that I can display on my window sill.

I’m okay with going through life asking the difficult questions and never fully answering them.

Apparently, from the looks of the best-seller list, I’m a minority in this thinking. C’est la vie. I’ll chug through it and I’ll keep an open-mind during discussions. After all, I do so enjoy the company and the dessert.

Confessions

Prayer Fragments

You know. The kind that come out as barely a mental whisper as my head hits the pillow and my body sighs into the kind of numbness brought on by exhaustion and emotional fullness…

  • Health and wholeness. Hormone balance.
  • Kids who get to know You personally one day and still like You.
  • All the mommies. Sanity. Grace. Creativity.
  • John. Work. Less stress. More hair. No heart attacks.
  • Oh yeah, and thanks. For everything. I love You.
Carter, Confessions, Eliott

Parenting Joy

photo-34

This August, John and I will hit the decade milestone for how long we’ve known each other. We will also celebrate our 9th marriage anniversary. (Wedding anniversary? How do you say that?)

It is a weird and wonderful comfort that exists in living with the same person for so long. I obviously haven’t had it since childhood. And I didn’t get to choose those people.

As we plug through the seemingly endless list of things-to-do to make a new house feel more livable, John and I have had our moments of dorky old-people-style evenings of nostalgia. Perhaps it started with unpacking a CD case that neither of us had opened in years, and reacquainting ourselves with albums from college and the year we dated. If I ever develop dementia in old age, forget about reading me my life story from a notebook every night. Just play some Pearl Jam or Ben Folds and I feel confident I’ll be able to recall the way my 2004 Hyundai Elantra smelled when it was brand new.

Another recurring conversation of the past few weeks has come in the form of parenting self-evaluations. I’ll arrogantly admit that we speak very highly of our abilities in this arena. Many people mistakenly believe we have been lucky or “blessed” with well-behaved children, which I assume is due to the fact that, in public anyway, we most often seemingly have our shit together.

I would submit however, that it is mostly due to the challenges we face primarily with our first child that the rest are turning out so well.

The other night at dinner (I was gone), Carter told John that her sister locked her in the playhouse that day. It started when the slightly older South Carolina girls from across the street came up with the brilliant idea to bribe Carter into a plastic playhouse that sits in the back corner of our yard. The thing hasn’t been used in over a year and has probably never been cleaned. Right now it houses a bunch of strange broken toys (reminiscent of things you might find in the bedroom and yard of Sid Phillips), various webs and nests, spiders, probably, ants, probably, and God only knows what other nastiness.

Carter enters the small house at the promise of candy, and South Carolina makes Eliott their little henchman in charge of blocking the door. Then, they run away.

Eliott, genius that she is as a seven year old firstborn, proceeds to keep her little sister barricaded in for several minutes, despite Carter’s panic stricken shrieks and cries.

Eliott should certainly know better. But a big huge part of me also entertained thoughts of exactly how to torture South Carolina until they felt as bad or worse as they made my favorite five-year-old feel that day. The sad part is that if we reversed the tables and put Eliott inside the playhouse of doom, her sister would have been biting, scratching, and screaming her way through South Carolina to let her sister out. She probably even would have used some curse words, if I know Carter like I think I do.

Flash forward not even twenty-four hours later. Eliott has since been properly punished by the creativity of her father. We’ve put it behind us. Friday morning I took the kids to church for a community service outreach project where we were making cards and goodie bags to deliver to local fire stations.

Carter spent most of the morning running around with the other kids in her flip flops. When we got in the car to go deliver the stuff, she was complaining of a blister between her toes. My champion mother response: “Suck it up Carter, we’re going to a fire station and you can’t go in there barefoot. I don’t even have a bandaid. And I really don’t want to listen to you whine about it. But I am sorry that it hurts.”

That was the last I heard from her about it. It wasn’t until all of the kids had piled into the back of a fire truck that I noticed Carter was wearing Eliott’s Crocks, and Eliott was schlepping around in Carter’s two-inches-too-short flip flops.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the seven-year-old decides to be a hero for the day.

I almost cried.

Confessions

Things I’m Mildly Excited About

  • The container garden I planted for the explicit purpose of mobility (anticipating the move we actually made) is growing more tomatoes than all three years I planted them in the ground.
  • The garden owl I just ordered from Amazon. Oh. And Amazon Prime and the time it saved me from running around Winston-Salem looking for a garden owl.
  • Season 3 of Orange is the New Black. (So glad I’m no longer in a job where I cannot admit this publicly.) Season 2 had such a slow start and ended on such a high note for me, from Crazy Eyes’ interrogation to successfully predicting the cancer chick plowing into V in the stolen prison van. Genius. It almost warrants a re-watch.
  • Anticipating John power washing the swing set this weekend. Things that haven’t bothered me until they bothered me. I need to actually witness erasing so many months of bird poop.
  • Listening to my oldest child talk to herself in the next room as she plays with her sister’s paper dolls.
  • The Scrabble letters I hot glued magnets to yesterday, which are sitting in a mason jar on top of the fridge.

Keeping it short and sweet today, as I ease myself back into this creative outlet I have so long neglected. Instead of using “my life is mundane” as an excuse, I’m in the mood to celebrate it.

Confessions

We Passed the Half Way Point and I Missed It

My back-to-school supply shopping has officially begun.

You might see me as the kind of mom who prints off all the lists, organizes them, and then takes one trip to Walmart or Target and knocks it out in one child-free evening the week before school starts.

Continue reading “We Passed the Half Way Point and I Missed It” →