The Chocolate Touch by Patrick Skene Catling

You may have noticed the influx in book reviews this week. I'm trying to get caught up before my mid-year recap, and I still have a few left to go. Thanks for bearing with me.

We had this book checked out from the library for weeks before we finally got around to reading it. I blame it on Poppy, whose back cover summary pulled in both Aaron and Max, and then we weren't ready to leave her so we moved on to Poppy and Rye. By that time, I considered just handing off The Chocolate Touch to Aaron to read on his own. It looked short and very juvenile, and I was pretty sure it was going to be one of those books I endured for the sake of my kids.

But not at all.

I don't know that a book has ever teased so many waves of uncontrollable laughter out of my kids. I wouldn't have wanted to miss that for the world.

To say that John Midas has a sugar addiction would be an understatement (he and Buddy the Elf would get along famously). It's become such a problem that Mr. and Mrs. Midas are forced to give him a daily vitamin just so he doesn't shrivel up and die of malnutrition.

Then one day, John happens upon a strange coin. And just a few moments later, he sees a candy shop he doesn't recall ever seeing before. He can't resist the temptation and walks in. The storekeeper is very friendly, and when he sees John's coin, he says, coincidentally, that's the only kind of money the shop accepts and and asks if he would he like to spend it on a box of chocolates. John, being the candy glutton that he is, doesn't stop to think about how strange it is that this shop appeared out of nowhere and that it doesn't accept traditional money. He just buys the box of chocolates and then rushes home to tear into it.

He's incredibly disappointed when he finds just a single chocolate in the middle of the big box, but he gobbles it down anyway. And the next morning, the fun begins.

He brushes his teeth and finds his mouth full of chocolate. Before long, his sister finds him squeezing the whole bottle of toothpaste directly into his mouth [insert uproarious laughter from my kids]. He goes downstairs for breakfast, and his mother has never seen him eat such a balanced meal, but it's only because all the food turns to chocolate as soon as it touches his mouth. But what starts out as some amazing miracle soon begins to make John go crazy. His trumpet and his pencil and other items inconveniently change to chocolate. And John is so thirsty, he would give anything for a cool drink of water. He starts to realize that maybe a never ending supply of chocolate isn't such a good idea after all.

My kids' very favorite scene happened when John is walking to school. He's contemplating this new gift of his and begins absentmindedly chewing on the thumb of his glove. Of course, it instantly turns to chocolate. He's still at the beginning of the day, so he happily chews away on more of his glove when he runs into Spider Wilson, a fellow classmate and something of a bully. Spider begins to make fun of John until John demonstrates what happens when he takes a bite of his glove. Then of course, Spider wants to try it for himself. He snatches away one of John's gloves and takes a big bite of it. You can already guess what happens, and so could my boys. The anticipation of Spider's mistake and then watching him spit it out in absolute disgust made them collapse into little heaps of laughter.

My kids had never heard the Greek myth, King Midas and the Golden Touch, and so they didn't appreciate the cleverness of this retelling, but I did. I kept wondering who was going to be the unfortunate person who gets turned into chocolate (like King Midas' daughter). You'll have to check out the book for yourself to find out.

In many ways, this seemed like an expanded version of one of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's magic cures: a child has an unhealthy habit, the magic is in a little, unassuming package that the child happily scarfs down, and the result is the bad habit to the extreme. It doesn't take the child long to see the wisdom in reigning in his desires and doing all things in moderation.

If you're on the fence about reading aloud to your kids, this would be a perfect book to try it out with. It's short, it has some great illustrations, and it's extremely funny. I dare you not to enjoy it.

The Third Time's NOT the Charm

Mike's and my excitement over our Australia trip has been laced with anxiety over how to do it with a baby. Traveling internationally is intimidating enough just as an adult, but add in a six-month old, and it raises the stakes . . . by a lot.

We've been doing what we could to prepare. I tried out a number of baby carriers to find one that was comfortable for me and for Clark (I ended up going with the Ergo Baby because my friend let me borrow hers, but I also really, really loved the Boba). I refrained from sleep training Clark (haha) because who wants to take a baby on a 14-hour flight if that baby refuses to sleep anywhere but his crib? Not me. And a few weeks ago, I decided the fate of this trip might come down to whether or not Clark would take a binky.

Now let me give you a little history:

With each of my children, I have diligently tried to get them to like a binky (or pacifier, dummy, soother, or whatever you call them in your neck of the woods). Their reactions have varied from absolute disgust to grudging tolerance, but by five months old, each one was officially done with it.

Clark has followed the exact same pattern as his older brothers. He only ever liked the ugly green one they gave us in the hospital, and when we lost that in September (and the replacement didn't suit him), we just let it go entirely.

But earlier this month, as nightmares of trying to calm a fussy baby in a crowded jet filled my mind, I had the sudden inspiration, I'll just get him to like a binky! That will solve all of our problems.

And so I went to Target and bought every style of binky they had. (Mike was quick to point out that when you buy one package of binkies, it's nothing, but when you buy five . . . well, it can add up rather quickly.)

To (hopefully) save money, I only opened one package at a time. I hoped I would find the style he liked early on and be able to return the rest and recoup some of my investment.

With unwarranted optimism, I sterilized the first set and put one in Clark's mouth. I don't know what I expected but certainly not the tongue-thrusting revulsion I got. I mean, he didn't even try! Chomp--thrust! Chomp--thrust! (And a scrunched up grimace for added effect.) He gave me very clear signals, but I persisted.

Two days later, I sterilized the next style.

Same reaction.

Three days after that, I sterilized package #3.

It was at this point that Mike (who, I have to say, was skeptical (and rather unsupportive) from the very beginning) said, "It's not going to work, Amy. You might as well give up."

And it was true. Clark was flat out rejecting every. single. one. He wasn't even attempting to suck on any of them. It didn't matter if he was happy and calm or distraught and crying. There was absolutely no way I could interpret the forceful expulsion from his mouth as a mild dislike for the style: "Sorry, Mom, if only the nipple were a little firmer or I had some air holes on the side or there was a little dinosaur on the front . . . then I would like it." No, I'm afraid there was never even a hint to encourage me.

So my plan didn't work. But I still think about it longingly every day. There are so many times when it would be so nice to just pop it in and have him suck on it contentedly.

For now, I'll just look enviously at your binky-loving baby, and in a couple of years, when you're desperately trying to wean your toddler from his binky, then it will be my turn to gloat. Just a little.

P.S. The happy ending to this story is that Clark was awesome on our flight to Sydney. I think I only wished for a binky once for all of two minutes during the entire 14-hour flight.

Sweet Irony

Last month I came up with a brilliant idea to help Mike and me go on more dates.

It's called Planning Ahead.

Don't laugh. I'm being totally serious.

The plan looks like this: Mike and I sit down with our calendar at the end of the month and plan out the next month's dates (all four of them) right then and there. We buy tickets or find babysitters or schedule with friends in advance so that when Friday night rolls around, everything is all set up and ready to go. (Rocket science, folks. I think we've about earned our almost 10 years of marriage.)

To help us in our planning (and this is the brilliant part), we give each week a category and base our date around that. For example, one week might be reserved for going out to eat. So when we plan for that week, we immediately narrow down the options because all we have to decide is which restaurant to go to (which is not an easy task, I admit, but it still somewhat narrows our focus).

November is our first official month of Dating 101. So the last Sunday in October, we sat down with our calendar. The kids were in bed. We began to plan. It was all just as I imagined it.

Our first category was "go on a date with another couple." We decided we wanted to see a play at our favorite community theater. We looked at seats for Friday, November 7th, and since we were planning ahead, there were still plenty available. Great! All we had to do was find another couple to go with.

Our enthusiasm started to fizzle after several friends declined our invitation. We didn't buy the tickets, and all week long "Hale Center Theater" mocked me from where we'd written it on the calendar. There's nothing for boosting your morale like failing on the first week.

Thursday evening, I was wasting time on facebook, and I saw that Hale Center Theater was having a drawing for some free tickets. Since we hadn't bought any tickets yet, I decided to enter, figuring that if we actually did win, then we'd have to go.

On Friday, the calender still said "Hale Center Theater," and I was feeling a little glum about it all when Mike stepped up to the task and said, "Who cares if no one wants to go with us? We're going!" Within a couple hours, he bought the tickets, arranged a babysitter, and we were out the door.

We saw Catch Me If You Can, and it was fabulous. Seriously, we love this little theater so much. Everything they put out is top notch. We've seen other productions at bigger, supposedly better, theaters, and we always come back to Hale. In this case, they had about a million costume changes as well as some really spectacular dance numbers.

At intermission, I suddenly remembered the facebook contest and said something like, "Since we're here tonight, I bet I'm going to win those tickets."

You know where this is going, don't you?

On the drive home, I pulled out my phone and checked my email . . . just because I could (the wonders of a smartphone have not worn off yet). This subject line immediately caught my eye, "Congratulations From Hale Center Theater!"

I paused. I thought, You are kidding me. I opened the email.

"Congratulations on winning two tickets to see Catch Me If You Can."

Mike and I just laughed and laughed.

I guess you know what we're doing for our date tonight.

(Just kidding. We gave them away.)

KidPages: Three Silly Christmas Books

Remember how I sent my Christmas cards out the day after Thanksgiving to help myself have a more relaxing December? Well, it didn't work! We're definitely getting in a lot of fun, and I think the boys are getting more excited for Christmas every day, but it's not leaving me a lot of time for blog posts; I have SO MANY either in my head or halfway finished, but a lot of them are connected with Christmas and the holidays, and they'll be just like expired milk if I don't get them out before the 26th! (Sorry, poor analogy, but that's really what it feels like!)

Anyway, we've been reading a LOT of Christmas books around here (surprise, surprise). We have huge stacks from the library, and we've also, like so many of you, been unwrapping one book each day as we count down to Christmas. (Our list of 24 books we're counting down with has been one of the posts I've been meaning to write).

As I already said when I wrote about Thanksgiving picture books, it seems like we have to wade through a lot of so-so ones before we find a few that we really like. There seem to be a lot of Christmas books that are meant to be funny but come across as just being dumb. But here are three that we just discovered this month that had all of us in stitches (hopefully I'll write about some of our new favorite serious ones in a few days--another well-intentioned post).

1. Santa Duck, David Milgrim

On the day before Christmas, Nicholas Duck is thrilled to find a package on his doorstep, containing a bright red coat and Santa hat. Nicholas immediately puts on his new digs and goes in search of Santa because he still hasn't made his Christmas wishes known. On the way, he runs into lots of friends who all start spouting off their wish lists to him! Nicholas is so confused until he remembers he is wearing a Santa hat. When he finally does catch up to the authentic Santa Claus, his sharp and excellent memory prove a huge asset to Santa's busy night.

This really is a silly book. There's not a whole lot in the way of morals and messages; in fact, you could say that Nicholas is kind of a selfish duck, thinking only of making sure Santa knows what it is that he wants for Christmas. But this book made my boys laugh so uproariously that I couldn't help but like it, too. (If you have never heard Aaron laugh, you are missing out. It is truly infectious.) I think their favorite part was when Nicholas was singing "Jingle Bells" like this: "Jingle quack, Jingle quack, Jingle all the quack." I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing their own versions of that for days to come...

2. Merry Un-Christmas, Mike Reiss, illus. David Catrow

You've heard it said that if you had Christmas every day, then it wouldn't be special anymore, right? Well, this book takes that admonition literally.

For Noelle, it is Christmas 364 days each year. Every day, she is given beautiful new presents. Every day, she and her family eat a tremendous Christmas feast. And every day, she doesn't go to school because she is on Christmas break. She can't wait for Un-Christmas, that one unmagical day of the year where everything is boring and normal.

Isn't one of the laws of humor to take something familiar and twist it? That's exactly what this book does, and that's why it's so funny. It takes everything kids love about Christmas (presents and Santa and treats) and makes it seem average and not-in-the-least special, and takes everything from just a plain ol' regular day (the mailman and school and leftovers) and makes it seem out of the ordinary and spectacular.

I love the part in the story when Noelle's mother says, "Guess what we're having for Un-Christmas dinner?" and Noelle and her father excitedly guess, "Meatloaf?" or "Leftovers?" and then give a thrilled cheer when she says, "Even better! We're having TV dinners!"

And I love the picture of the mailman. He totally looks like Santa Claus, but instead he's bringing bills and junk mail, and Noelle couldn't be happier.

My favorite line is at the very end as Noelle's mother is tucking her into bed at the end of Un-Christmas. Noelle says, "I wish it could be Un-Christmas every day." And Noelle's mother says, "Oh, I bet you'd get tired of it after a while." Oh, the irony of it!

3. The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy, Jane Thayer, illus. Lisa McCue

In the same vein as Merry Un-Christmas, The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy takes a classic childhood wish (a boy begging his parents for a dog) and flips it (a dog begging his mother for a boy).

When Petey tells his mother all he wants for Christmas is his very own boy, she says she thinks she can manage that. But after searching all over the city, she comes back with the sad information that "they're terribly short of boys this year." So Petey goes in search of a dog who would perhaps be willing to give his boy away.

This book is sweet because it takes all of the things boys and dogs love about each other (playing fetch, going on walks, etc.) but lets the reader see it through the dog's eyes instead. For example, at one point in his search for a boy, Petey sees a bulldog in a car with a boy. He thinks it would be wonderful to own a boy who had a car so he could for lots of rides. And I can imagine there are lots of boys who wish they had a dog to take on road trips in the car. It has a great ending where Petey gets more than he could have ever wished for.

This book--the illustrations, the text, the story itself--has the feel of a classic Little Golden Book (although I don't think it was ever published as one). It is just heartwarming and cozy and almost makes me forget that the last thing I want for Christmas is a dog.

I hope you're making time for some good reading this holiday season. I'd love to hear about your great finds this year!

Birthday Backfire

Yesterday, Bradley turned one. It pains me to write it, but it's true. Now he's tagging along behind his older brothers, as if being the grand old age of one entitles him to climbing, wrestling, running, and jumping and giving up such babyish tendencies as falling asleep in my arms. What is with these kids and growing up? Enough already, I say!

As part of the birthday festivities, I told Aaron and Max that they could each pick out one book to give to Bradley. (I have an ever-growing stash of books purchased for next-to-nothing that I keep on hand for just such a purpose as this.)

Now, I must confess, I already had it in my head which two books I wanted them to choose: a touch-and-feel puppies book (because Bradley is in love with dogs) and What Does Baby Say?, a board book by Karen Katz (because anytime we read anything by her, Bradley laughs at every page).

And so I tried to rig the book selection.

Um, yeah, you read that right.

See, I wanted them to feel like they were getting a choice...without actually giving them a choice.

So I purposely threw in two other books I knew they'd have no interest in: Guess How Much I Love You (a classic, but not one my boys are enraptured with) and Gossie and Gertie (cute, but easily glanced over). I set out all four books and called Aaron into my bedroom to make his "choice." (Bwahaha.)

Immediately, he went for the book about dogs. "Bradley loves dogs, doesn't he?" I hinted. Aaron moved on. Painstakingly, he went through each book page by careful page.

Suddenly he stopped, in the midst of Gossie and Gertie. "Look! There's a spider!" And he pointed to a teeny, tiny, minuscule spider, a mere dot on the page. I could have smacked myself in the forehead.

Sure enough, five minutes later, he came to me with Gossie and Gertie. "I'm going to give this one to Bradley. It has two spiders in it!" (He found another one later on.)

"Oh? Because Bradley loves spiders?" I questioned innocently. "I thought Bradley loved dogs. Shouldn't you choose the book you think Bradley will like best?"

And this is where the real battle began.

"Well, I like it, and so I'm giving it to him."

"But I just don't know that it's the one Bradley will like. You should think about him first."

"Then why was it in the pile?" And Aaron fixed me with a hard, probing look. I was caught. Why, indeed? Aaron continued, "It's my choice, and this is the one I choose."

Much as I hated to admit defeat to a four-year-old,  his reasoning was beyond argument. You cannot imagine what a kick Mike was getting out of this whole episode. Every time he walked past me, he gave me a knowing smirk. He was delighted at my being caught in my own trap.

I showed the three remaining books to Max and held my breath. Bless his heart, he immediately chose the one about puppies. At least one boy in this family thinks like me.

Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos

I like to put things on hold at the library. And I exercise this right quite...um...liberally. What this means is that my hold list is usually maxed out at 25 items. It also means that almost without fail, items I've been waiting for for a long time all converge on the library at the same time and leave me completely swamped.

As soon as I found out that Dead End in Norvelt won the 2012 Newbery, I reserved the audiobook. But wouldn't you know it? After waiting for six weeks, it came at just the wrong time. I returned it without listening to a word. I put it on hold again. After waiting for another several weeks, it arrived with another pile of long-awaited books. I took it back.  By the time I reserved it for the third time, the post-Newbery rush had died down, and I received it immediately when I had plenty of time to listen to and enjoy it. And it was the perfect summer read, so I'm glad I waited anyway.

Set in the 1960's, Dead End in Norvelt is about 12-year-old Jack Gantos, who is grounded for the entire summer due to the accidental firing of his father's gun AND the purposeful mowing down of his mother's plot of corn. The grounding is only temporarily lifted anytime he has to help his rheumatic neighbor, Miss Volker, write up the obituaries of the "original Norvelters" as they pass away. Besides that, his father is building an airplane and some angry, revenge-hungry Hell's Angels are setting homes on fire, so even with the grounding, the summer isn't too dull. But when the old ladies start dying with increasing frequency, the whole town begins to suspect that things are not as innocent as they seem...

Turns out, although heavily fictionalized, this story is built on a foundation of truth. According to an author interview I listened to, Jack really did live in Norvelt, one of Eleanor Roosevelt's project towns. He really did have epic nosebleeds. And there really was a Miss Volker, although she had a different name. I wish the interview had been longer. I would have loved for him to go through the story piece by piece separating the fact from fiction. Then again, maybe knowing what wasn't true would have made the book lose some of its appeal.

When this won the Newbery, I heard titterings of disappointment all around the internet. No one expected it to win. And, once it surprised everyone and did win, many thought it was undeserved. I know there were some strong contenders among the favorites, but after finishing this book, I had no trouble giving it my whole-hearted, two-thumbs-up approval as a Newbery medal winner. Here are some reasons why:

• Jack exhibits tremendous character growth. The story begins with him making some stupid decisions that lead to unpleasant consequences. As he helps Miss Volker, learns more about the history of Norvelt and history in general, and spends more time with his parents, he becomes kinder, more sensitive, smarter, and more independent. In the final scene, during a critical moment, he has the choice to either do something stupid again or make a more mature decision. I think many 11- and 12-year-old boys will be able to relate to Jack's decisions, and hopefully, man up and make the right decisions themselves.
• The book is full of history: Jack reads about it in his bedroom; Miss Volker tells about it in her candid way. It's interesting and exciting, and each event has a point and moves Jack's story forward. I love it when learning doesn't feel forced. And it doesn't feel forced here.
• It's funny. I guess some people think a funny book shouldn't win the Newbery, but why not? I love reading a book that makes me laugh out loud. And there were a lot of those moments in this book. 
• For example, when the whole fleet of Hell's Angels come roaring into town, Jack gets really nervous and starts doing jumping jacks and shouts, "Welcome to Norvelt! We are a friendly town." I don't know why, but this scene struck me as incredibly funny.
• One more example: Jack's nose bleeds whenever he gets nervous or scared or sick about anything. This leads to many funny scenarios, not the least of which occurs when Miss Volker operates on his nose (twice). In the middle of one of the procedures, the phone rings, and she answers and says, "Make it fast. I'm in the middle of a nose job." Maybe you have to be immersed in the story and intimately acquainted with Miss Volker for that to be funny, but I laughed.
• There is mystery and suspense and danger. I have to admit I didn't love the ending. I thought there were some unmet expectations that were never adequately explained, but overall I liked this aspect of the story.

And now a word about the audio:

Although I wasn't reading great reviews about the book itself, I was hearing only glowing reports about the audio version of it. Jack Gantos himself narrated it, and everyone said it was just phenomenal. So, knowing that the format of a book can make or break my experience with it, I knew I had to go with the audio.

There's something about having the author read his own words that casts them in just the right light. Jack Gantos isn't an exceptional reader per se (it's not like he use a wide variety of accents and voices like some narrators), but he gets the inflections just right...exactly like he heard them in his head when he wrote the book, and that counts for a lot. For example, when Jack (the boy) goes over to Miss Volker's at the beginning of the story, she has her hands in a boiling pot of wax. She's talking to Jack but her voice is strained and tight and chopped up because she's in so much pain because of the heat. Jack Gantos (the author) chopped up the words just right to give it the right effect. I just felt like having him as the narrator helped me get to know the characters on a deeper level because I saw them more through the eyes of the one who created them. I can't recommend the audiobook highly enough.

I read a review on Goodreads that said an award-winning novel shouldn't just be entertaining or humorous but that there should also be a "universal, worthwhile theme and dynamic characters who grow and change from their experiences..." This reviewer said Dead End in Norvelt lacked those two elements. With all that I just said above, I guess you know I disagree. I felt like the point of the book was something along these lines:

Don't just learn ABOUT history; learn FROM it; let it influence your decisions and change you. Don't make history repeat itself.

I think Jack (the boy) did just that, and Jack (the author) described it perfectly. Seeing that change made the book not only worth it for me, but also worthy of the Newbery it garnered.

LibraryPages: Lost and Found

Have you ever lost a library item? Then maybe you can commiserate with this sad tale...

We do not own a lot of DVDs, so we usually check out a few me-approved, family-friendly shows each week. (I'm very picky about what I let my boys watch, but I do let them watch a little something every morning while I get ready for the day.) On one such week about eight months ago, among our other selections, we picked, Shaun the Sheep: One Giant Leap for Lambkind. I checked it out and stuck it in the library bag without a second thought.

That weekend we went on a little trip to the family cabin. I brought along a few DVDs so the boys would have something to watch in the car, but they chose other things instead of Shaun.

So it wasn't until we'd had it almost a week that I finally cracked its case. And when I did: EMPTY.

I was completely puzzled by this. Was it ever in the case? I always check the cases before checking them out, but I honestly couldn't remember if I had this time or not. Maybe the case didn't snap securely, and I'd lost it on the walk home, but it didn't seem likely. Maybe Aaron or Max had opened it when we got home, but I certainly never saw them.

I started with the most obvious answer and went back to the library. I asked them if the DVD was still there, but it wasn't...at least not in the files. I was bummed with disappointment since that meant it was fully my responsibility, but I didn't have the faintest idea where to look.

Nevertheless, I gave it my pluckiest effort: I  searched under the couches, coffee table, and entertainment center. I looked in the car. I asked Mike's mom to look at the cabin. I enlisted the help of Mike, Aaron, and Max, and we scoured the bedrooms and every possible and impossible corner and cranny.

I renewed it twice to prolong the chances of it miraculously turning up but finally admitted defeat and paid for it.

A couple weeks ago, we got "new" living room furniture (new being defined as someone else's old furniture). This included an armoire to replace our entertainment center. Mike lifted up our bulky, heavy, not-flat-screen TV, and there lying in the dust was a DVD, shiny side up.

Instantly my mind flashed back to October, and I knew without looking what would be on the other side.

Sure enough, there was Shaun the Sheep: One Giant Leap for Lambkind, which until that moment I'd never seen in living person but only in my dreams. At last I knew who the culprits had been, but it no longer really mattered.

Instead I said, "Well, look, kids! A three-year-old scratched up library DVD that is now our very own! Merry Christmas!"

Funny in Farsi: a Memoir of Growing Up Iranian in America by Firoozeh Dumas

I'm rarely not in the mood for a memoir. I like reading about the experiences of real people in their own words. Maybe that's why I'm such an avid journal writer myself (I like being able to read my own memoir whenever I want) and also why you should hide any personal writings you don't want me to read (one of my brothers used to hate it when I read his letters, but really, if they were out in plain sight, what did he expect? The temptation was just too great).

Firoozeh Dumas said that when people found out she was writing a memoir, they would ask, "What in your life are you writing about?" Firoozeh said, "It is true that most people write a memoir after an achievement. I, however, skipped the achievement part and moved straight to the memoir. This is because I truly believe that everyone has a story and everyone's story counts." I agree completely. That's not to say I would read anyone's personal anecdotes, but I do believe there is much wisdom and perspective as we relate through our similarities and differences.

Firoozeh Dumas moved to the United States from Iran when she was 7 years old. (And with a name like Firoozeh, you know she is 100% authentic.) The book is written as a series of stand alone essays, each chapter telling a different story. Her father loved America, but there were still many moments where the two cultures clashed in sometimes sad but mostly funny ways.

It is meant to be funny, and, don't get me wrong, it is funny, but some of the humor felt a little forced or contrived. For example, this sentence: "If worrying were an Olympic sport, my parents' faces would have graced the Wheaties box a long time ago." For some reason,that just felt like she was trying to think of something creative and funny, and that was what she came up with. It just misses the mark. Contrast that with this line: "Should Time-Life publish a Do-It-Yourself Guide to Medical Procedures, my mother and I will be leaving the country." Of course I'm taking both of these quotes out of context (this last one was in reference to the fact that her father was always trying to be a handyman, using his 14-volume Time-Life set as a reference), but the point is that for me, some of the writing really was funny while other attempts were only worthy of a courtesy laugh.

Criticism aside, the stories are memorable, heartwarming, and, yes, funny. For example, there's one about her money-making attempts as a young teenager; there's another about her father taking advantage of every free sample in America; there's another about her miserable two weeks at summer camp. Through these stories, Firoozeh reveals a universal truth about life:

"Sometimes if you give something thirty years and if no one was hurt, some of life's less shining moments can be quite funny."

We never like to go through horrible vacations or irate neighbors or expensive car repairs, but they sure make for great stories later, and this is true regardless of whether you're Iranian or American.

However, a few of the chapters do touch on the serious. There's the extremely intelligent aunt who, because of cultural restraints, never gets a formal education...a bright mind wasted because she was a woman. There's also Firoozeh's father, who worships all things American but still loses his job because of social prejudices and distrust against Iranians. And there's Firoozeh herself who marries a Frenchman against the wishes of his family and experiences the heartache that comes with hatred and tension among family members. For me, these stories stand as a reminder that some hurts don't go away even when we look at them through rose colored glasses, and we must therefore by careful what we say and how we treat others.

When Firoozeh was asked why politics didn't figure more prominently in the book, she said, "One of the biggest problems I have faced as an Iranian in America is that no one knows much about Iran except what is on the evening news. Politics has grossly overshadowed humanity in the Middle East and I wanted to write a book that would shine the light on humanity." This was one of the most refreshing aspects of the book. We have attached such inaccurate stereotypes to Iranians (and other Middle Easterners), and now I have a different view of a group of people I knew very little about.

If I was writing my own memoir, I think I would have a hard time writing about the people I loved best. I would want to present them in the most positive light, but if I cut out all of their weaknesses or their annoying habits (because we all have those!), then I would have eliminated the very things that would help endear them to other people.

And it is this, setting aside everything else I just talked about, that made me love this book. Firoozeh's father was one of the most prominent characters in almost all the stories, and I loved him...not because he was the kindest, most perfect father, but because he ate ham even though it was a forbidden food, and because he yelled at Firoozeh when he was trying to teach her how to swim, and because he never would admit to making a mistake. As hard as it must have been to paint her father in a less-than-perfect light, it was those very flaws that made the story real and believable, and oh, so funny.


I checked out a copy of this book from my local library.