A Little of This and That in September

September was a blur. As I sat down to write this post, I couldn't remember anything we did. Good thing I wrote in my journal and took a (very) few pictures so I knew we did do something. A few of those somethings were:

Teaching . . . piano lessons. I took a break over the summer, and when it was time to come back, I realized that I couldn't manage twelve students again. So I cut down my studio by half, and now I'm just teaching one afternoon a week, and it is heavenly. Definitely the right move for our family. Now if I could just get back on a meal planning schedule . . . 

Starting . . . preschool. Once he got over the disappointment that he couldn't go to kindergarten, Bradley was so excited for preschool. For the first time in the history of our family, I'm paying real money for preschool . . . and I don't regret it in the least. He goes three days a week, loves the kids in his class, and loves his sweet teacher even more. It has been perfect for him (and for me too!). It's been another reminder that it's so important to be flexible. I loved participating in a preschool co-op so much . . . . until I didn't, and I'm glad I recognized that and was okay with finding another solution.
  
Coming . . . to a standstill on our "simple" fireplace project. Last month, Mike took out the brick wall, re-bricked around the fireplace, framed the rest of the wall, and put up insulation and drywall. Our plan has always been to put up shelves and cabinets on either side of the fireplace with a mantel in between. But if you know anything about old houses, it is that they are not regular or standard in any way, and our fireplace is no exception. The main problem is that the wall on the left side of the fireplace is eight inches longer than the wall on the right. This means that our original plan to put two cabinet doors on each side is not going to work because the left side is too long. So now we have to decide: do we add something to the left side (cubbies? drawers? another door?), and then do we do the same thing to the other side (except narrower) so it sort of looks symmetrical or do we just embrace the fact that they're not symmetrical and make the two sides look completely different? Help!

Finding . . . myself in a total photo-taking slump. I'm blaming my camera. Clark dropped one of the lenses, and now 85% of the pictures it takes are out of focus. The other lens is for portraits, and since a lot of the pictures I take are not portraits, the results are more blurry photos. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's blurry photos (my apologies for the ones that are in this blog post--my pickings were severely limited). I really would love to take a photography class . . . and a new camera wouldn't hurt either.

Cheering . . . on Aaron at his school's blockwalk fundraiser. He ran/walked a total of 29 laps from 4:00--8:00pm. We calculated it afterwards, and that translated to 14.5 miles! I had no idea he had that kind of stamina in him. His friend, Ezra, beat him by one lap, and sadly, there wasn't a prize for second place, but I think he still felt like he'd accomplished something significant.

Feasting . . . on the fall colors. We went up into the canyon a few weeks ago to check out the changing leaves. Sadly, I think we were about a week too early. The leaves had changed on one side of the road but not on the other, so we didn't see as many colors as we would have liked. We haven't had a chance to get back into the mountains. However, just watching the mountain slowly change color from our front window has been gorgeous enough.

Cozying . . . up during some rainy weather. After two months of virtually no rain, September has had quite a few storms, and I've loved it. Everything just looks and smells so good. The rain is melancholy and matches my current mood as I watch summer fade away. One rainy night, Mike and I had our bedroom window open as we went to sleep, and we could hear the steady drizzle coming down. I was reading The Thirteenth Tale, and this was literally the last thing I read before I closed my book for the night: "I left the window ajar so that I could listen to the rain as it continued to fall with an even, muffled softness . . . It accompanied my dreams like a poorly tuned radio left on through the night, broadcasting a fuzzy white noise beneath which were the barely audible whispers of foreign languages and snatches of unfamiliar tunes." I'm not making that up, and it was a little too perfect for me.

Celebrating . . . the sweetest of five-year-olds. Bradley had been planning and anticipating his birthday for months. Every week he came up with new ideas for activities, cakes, presents, and meals. But one thing always stayed the same: he wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese's. I was not keen on it but decided if he could be that unwavering for so long, we better go. Luckily, it met all of his expectations and hopefully he'll move onto something else for next year. Later in the day, we had a traditional party with cake and family.

Blazing . . . through the first season of The Great British Baking Show with Mike. Some of our dear friends recommended it to us, and we were hooked from the beginning (we even signed up for Netflix just so we could watch it, and we have never had a Netflix subscription). The season begins with twelve amateur contestants. Each episode focus on a different baking technique (pastries, breads, sponges, etc.). There are three rounds each week: a signature dish (which the contestants have perfected at home ahead of time), a technical challenge (where they each make the exact same recipe without any previous heads up or instructions), and a showstopper (where they create something that both looks and tastes spectacular). It is so different from the similar American shows. The contestants are polite and kind and very good sports. The judges offer positive feedback and constructive criticism. And Mike and I felt like we learned so much and had so many things we wanted to try just by watching and listening. It was so fun. Unfortunately, the first season was the only one on Netflix, so now we don't know how to watch the other two. Any ideas? Also, is anyone else obsessed with this show?

Reading . . . a lot more than listening. I can't seem to get through audiobooks anymore. I guess audiobooks just aren't conducive to my current phase of life, which is frustrating because they're such a great way for me to "read" nonfiction and classics.

Meeting . . . my blogging friend, Linnae. She's been one of my loyal readers for several years and even guest posted here awhile ago. She and her family travel to Utah rather regularly to visit family, but this was the first time we coordinated our schedules so we could meet. It was absolutely delightful. In spite of being no help when trying to offer her directions, she didn't hold it against me and was just as nice as nice can be. She was easy to talk to, and if we'd had more time, we definitely could have filled it with more talk about books and our families and life. Linnae started her own blog at the beginning of this year, and if she was my next door neighbor, I would definitely have her help me landscape my yard. I love it that she's not just a virtual friend anymore, but a real friend, too. 

Realizing . . . that I don't enjoy shopping for baby girls. Weird, right? Two of my sisters-in-law are expecting baby girls, and we had a double shower for them last week. I was looking forward to actually buying something ruffled and pink, but once I was standing in the store, I was overcome with anxiety. I didn't trust myself to know the difference between what was cute and what was hideous. I don't enjoy shopping in general, and both moms-to-be have very particular tastes, so I'm sure those things contributed to my general misery, but I decided it's a good thing I only have boys because I just could not handle that kind of stress on a daily basis.

Spending . . . time with Mike's parents who came home for General Conference. We always pack these two weeks with tons of family time (this time: a birthday party, family Christmas party, baby shower, couples dinner, Sunday dinner, General Conference, a special family home evening, and our very own one-on-one time), and by the end, I think we're all a little sick of each other. But we just can't help but make the most of this time together.

What fun and exciting things did you do in September?

The Book Blab Episode 9: Reading as a Means to Learning Plus Two Books That Helped Us Learn Something New

Suzanne and I got together a couple of days ago and recorded another episode of The Book Blab, and I'm so happy to share it with you today! As mentioned in our last episode, we had to switch to Google Hangout. It doesn't use a split screen but instead shows the person who is talking at that moment. I didn't love it last month, but this month was even more annoying. I've had a cough for a couple of weeks, and every time I gave even a little cough, the screen switched to me hacking away. Sorry about that! Other than that, this platform seems to be working for us, so I think we'll continue with it.

And now, onto the show! Enjoy!

0:20 - September marks the beginning of a new school year
1:36 - Today's topic: Reading for educational purposes
2:06 - Reading for pleasure vs. reading for information
3:39 - Pew survey says parents of small children do the most informational reading
5:35 - If presented in the right way, nonfiction can be just as riveting as fiction
6:15 - A few examples of books that satisfied a specific educational need
7:30 - Biographies vs. memoirs
8:58 - Self-help books
9:52 - Fictional reading can be educational, too
11:10 - Classic and historical fiction novels are a great way to learn about history
12:52 - The value of writing about literature in a critical way
16:28 - Why there can be educational value to "cotton candy" books
17:45 - The subtle way fiction can actually help you be a better parent, spouse, human etc. and expand your perspective
19:45 - Use reading goals to tackle topics you want to learn more about
21:47 - Two books that helped us learn something new

• 22:06 - Suzanne's recommendation
• 25:38 - Amy's recommendation

28:27 - Conclusion

Books and links mentioned in the show:

A Disciple's Life: The Biography of Neal A. Maxwell by Bruce C. Hafen (Amy's review)
Beethoven by Maynard Solomon (Amy's review)
Baby-led Weaning by Gill Rapley (Amy's review) 
Better than Before by Gretchen Rubin (Amy's review; Suzanne's review)
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (Amy's review)
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy (Suzanne's mentions it in this post)
Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes
Rifles for Watie by Harold Keith
Little Men by Louisa May Alcott (Amy's review)
Middlemarch by George Elliot (Amy's review)
Reading goals (Amy's; Suzanne's)
Being Mortal by Atul Gawande (Suzanne's review; Amy's review)
Honey for a Child's Heart by Gladys Hunt (Amy's review)

What about you? Do you read for information or pleasure or both? What is one of the most memorable things you've learned through reading? 

In Praise of the E-Reader

In the great e-readers vs. real books debate, I have always stood quite firmly on the paper and ink side of things. I didn't own an e-reader (and never read on my phone) and had no desire to acquire one. I loved the feel of a real book in my hands and couldn't imagine that holding a slim plastic screen could ever bring me the same kind of pleasure.

But as life goes, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I had a legitimate reason to want, and even need, an e-reader. That reason was our summer trip to Europe. Mike informed me in no uncertain terms that I would not be able to bring a whole bag of books on the plane. As loyal as I am to paper books, I'm more loyal to just reading in whatever format I can get it, so I buckled and agreed this was maybe an appropriate time for an e-reader.

Mike got me a Kindle Paperwhite for Mother's Day, and I forced myself to read one book on it before we left on our trip so that I didn't have to adjust to it while we were traveling. That first experience wasn't awesome, but luckily, two weeks of traveling followed closely on the heels of it, and I soon discovered a multitude of reasons not only to tolerate it, but to, dare I say it?, love it.

First of all, and probably most obvious, is that it is just so portable. Before the trip, I kept a close watch on  Modern Mrs. Darcy's kindle deals page and stocked up on books that were already on my to-read list. By the time we left, I had a nice little stack . . . except it wasn't an actual stack. I didn't have to agonize over a single book decision before we left. In fact, it was the easiest part of my packing. I just put the kindle in my purse, and I was set for whatever sort of reading mood I found myself in.

I usually love the weight and heft of a real book, but sometimes the compact size and lightness of the kindle can be very appealing. For example, I was so excited to read Sense and Sensibility because I'd purchased the Penguin clothbound edition, and it was just so pretty. But the spine was stiff, so it wouldn't lay open very easily (and I didn't want to crack it!), and it was thick enough that it was difficult to hold open with one hand. So I got the kindle edition and read most of the book that way (although I would sometimes switch to the paper copy for the fun of it). As another example, I'm debating including Cheryl Mendelson's Home Comforts on my reading goals for 2017, but it is massive (like, 900 pages massive--who knew keeping your house clean could be such an intense subject?). I knew that I would be much more likely to read it if I didn't have to deal with such an unwieldy size, so when the kindle edition recently went on sale for $3.99, I snagged it.

And can I talk about reading in bed for a minute? Because that was one of the advantages of the kindle I was not prepared for. The first night I read it in bed and didn't have to turn over from side to side depending on which side of the page I was on was like a miraculous discovery. I also love that if I accidentally fall asleep, I don't club myself in the face with a behemoth of a book.

And then there are the "pages" themselves. When I'm reading on my kindle, I do miss rubbing the page between my fingers and absently rifling through the edges and feeling how much I've read and how much I have left. I love the act of turning over the page and dog-earing the corners. And of course, the sweet, aged, sometimes dusty, smell of paper just can't be beat. Reading can be such a tactile experience for me, and I miss it when it's not there.

However, I will say, I've been super impressed with the way the kindle page looks. The Kindle Paperwhite's screen doesn't have a glare, and Mike pointed out that when you go into the sun, you can actually see the page better, just like a real book, not worse like you would if you were reading on a phone or tablet. But it also has a built-in light so that if it does get dark all of a sudden (like if you drive into a 15-mile long tunnel in Norway), you can keep right on reading without missing a beat. I've found that I actually don't need the light turned up much at all to see it just fine in the dark. (And of course, this is another plus for reading at night or when I'm rocking my two-year-old to sleep . . . shhhhh, I didn't just admit that I do that.) So yes, the page doesn't feel the same, but really, essentially, it looks the same.

I'm a very visual person, and one thing that was difficult for me with the kindle at the beginning was that I couldn't flip back through the book to refresh my memory about a particular scene or character. I can often remember the general location (left or right side, top or bottom of page), and so it's fairly easy to find info if I need it again. But of course, with a kindle, this is impossible. This frustrated me so much at first, but I've started to employ two different features that have countered this quite well.

First, I use the highlighting tool to mark anything I want to remember or come back to. This actually works quite a bit better than my traditional dog-earing method because I can add a little note and mention why I highlighted that particular passage (you'd be surprised how often I come back to sections, only to wonder what struck me about them the first time). I also use the search tool to help me find a specific passage. This is especially helpful if I want to reread the first scene with a specific character or if I can't place where I've already heard about a particular object or place. In other words, it doesn't help so much if I'm searching for something about the protagonist, but if it's something that has had only infrequent mentions, it can be a really efficient way to go back.

I know some people really love the statistics that run along the bottom of the kindle page--76% complete, 3 minutes left in chapter, 1 hour 17 minutes left in book, etc.--but I often turn them off because I get distracted by them (plus, the time left in the chapter/book is usually not anywhere close to being accurate, so it's not even helpful). I find that I get lost more easily in the story if I'm not worried about when that darn percent is going to go up again. However, without page numbers or the feel of the pages in my hand, I tend to feel a little adrift without some type of gauge for how much I've read, so I usually check in with the stats when I'm done reading for right then.

I've also become a fan of digital checkouts from the library. As far as brand-new releases go, it's not usually that helpful because you have to wait a really long time for your turn (although, I reserve them anyway and just hope that when they come up six months later, I still want to read them). However, for backlist books, digital checkouts are great because you can usually download them instantly without any need to go to the library and then they automatically return themselves when they're due. What service.

One other thing  I wanted to mention is that I use my kindle for reading and reading only. I don't know how to use the Wi-Fi on it (and I don't want to). I don't have games or apps or anything else on it. When I'm reading on it, my only option is to read. I'm not distracted by anything else, and I love that. My kids have no idea that it has any capabilities beyond holding books, so they know if I'm looking at it, it's because I'm reading. This was something that was really important to me. I didn't want it to just become a kind of tablet, and it hasn't.

Of course, my experience with an e-reader hasn't been one hundred percent positive (and I've mentioned a few minor drawbacks already). The first book I read on my kindle was Heart of a Samurai. The overall reading experience was okay, although it seemed to feel a little more tedious than a traditional book. However, when I got to the end of it, I found a glossary of definitions for Japanese words and a pronunciation guide and a couple of author's notes about the social and economic impact of some of the events. I was so disappointed to find these helpful guides after I was done with the book because it would have been so nice to have while I was reading it, but I didn't even know they existed because I was reading it on my kindle.

But overall, my transition to an e-reader has been smooth and painless and overwhelmingly, and surprisingly, positive. I've learned to embrace both digital reading and traditional reading. I can candidly acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses of both and select the appropriate format for the book and/or situation. And having more options is incredibly freeing.

What do you think? Do you own an e-reader? How and when do you use it? What do you like/not like about it? Please share your opinion!

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

At the beginning of the year, I made a daunting reading goal: Read (don't listen) to something by Jane Austen or Charles Dickens. Some of you probably laughed when you read that goal, especially if you consume most of your classics by reading the hard copies.

But a few years ago, I discovered that I actually enjoyed most classics far more if I listened to, rather than read, them. I can be a little bit OCD when it comes to reading. I'm not a skimmer and hold myself to reading, and understanding, every word on the page. As you might imagine, this habit becomes a tedious problem when reading classical fiction because there are some tediously long sections with big words and complex sentences that actually don't become much clearer on a second or fifth or eleventh rereading. (I'm sure many of you speed readers are literally cringing right now.)

The solution for me was audiobooks. The sections that would have been a hangup for me if I'd been reading now just floated by effortlessly. In fact, sometimes hearing passages spoken out loud actually made it easier for me to understand the meaning and intent. And with the right narrator, the characters magically came to life. It was a win-win-win, and consequently, any classic I've read in probably the last five years has been listened to.

Except . . . it made me feel a little less than a reader--not because I think listening is a lesser way to enjoy a book but because I was purposely avoiding the paper and ink copies. Because I was afraid. And intimidated.

I could devote an entire post to the ridiculousness of my reading habits, but over the past year, I've made a lot of progress with letting go of some of my harsh reading rules. It's been very freeing, to say the least, and I finally felt like I was ready to tackle a classic in this format again.

So that's the long version on the origin of this particular reading goal, and I have to say that I'm quite proud of myself. It took me about a month to read it (I'm a slow reader no matter how you slice it), but I enjoyed it so much, and that's all I really wanted.

You know the story: Elinor and Marianne Dashwood are devoted, but very different, sisters. When their father dies at the beginning of the story, most of the inheritance goes to their older brother, John. You would think and hope that he would be generous with his step-mother and half-sisters, but he is much too easily persuaded by his greedy and stingy wife for that. Determined to get by on their meager living, they move into the small cottage of Sir John Middleton, a distant, but nonetheless generous, relative. The family is quite happy there until the love lives of Elinor and Marianne begin to take a dramatic turn in the wrong direction.

Elinor "had an excellent heart;--her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them." Marianne, on the other hand, "was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent."

I love those two opening descriptions of Elinor and Marianne because they capture so succinctly what the rest of the book fleshes out. We get to know them more intimately as the story progresses, but it doesn't change a single thing about what we learned about them at the beginning.

This review could easily be five different posts if I explored all of the things that made me pause and highlight and think while I was reading.

But instead, I'll just share three short observations and then one slightly longer one.

1. I haven't read all of Jane Austen's novels, but out of the ones I've read, this one was definitely the most passionately romantic. I've become accustomed to long tangents in Jane Austen where the romantic tension all but fades away, but this one stayed pretty firmly fixed on Elinor and Marianne's romantic hopes and dreams and triumphs and agonies, and I liked it.
2. Mr. Palmer is probably one of my favorite secondary characters of all time. His dry wit, his sarcasm, his disgust at his wife's frivolity, and underneath it all, a sort of sensitivity that kind of catches you by surprise. Every time his wife exclaimed, "He is so droll!" I had to smile a little because it was just so ludicrous but kind of accurate at the same time. I wish there'd been more of him in the book.
3. One of my favorite moments in the whole book is when Elinor bursts into spontaneous sobs after finding out that Edward Ferrars is not, in fact, married. Throughout the book, Elinor is the anchor, the voice of reason in the storm, the one who will always be in control. She is, after all, described thus: "Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs." It isn't until that moment that the reader realizes the full toll all those months of composure and grace in the face of adversity have taken on her as the tension all gets expelled in one great round of crying. It's one of the most starkly visceral moments I've ever read.

One of the things that caught my attention early on was Elinor and Marianne's inability to communicate with each other. They each have so many questions for the other ("Are you engaged?" "What communication have you had with Willloughby/Edward?" "How is your heart?" "How can I help you?"), but they evade asking them. When they talk to their mother, it's the same; they hash out the questions they have about the other, but won't touch their own relationships. As a reader, it was maddening and frustrating and even puzzling. They're sisters with a strong bond and love for each other--what was keeping them from being each other's confidante? Why wouldn't they talk to each other?

And then one day, while still in the middle of the book, it hit me. I was about to call a family member, but I couldn't do it. I knew we would spend the entire conversation in an awkward dance, avoiding the subject both of us couldn't stop thinking about. Why? Because the subject we were avoiding was so emotionally charged that even the barest mention of it could act like a spark and send the entire conversation up in flames. It was agony not to say anything, but it seemed better than the alternative.

It was the same for Elinor and Marianne. They longed to know what the other was thinking and feeling and what had transpired behind closed doors and in sealed envelopes, but they didn't dare talk about it for fear that the hurt involved would somehow damage their own relationship beyond repair. It made total sense, and I suddenly realized that it wasn't just a literary device to keep the story moving forward. It was a reflection on real relationships that, solid though they may seem, are fraught with hidden mines, any one liable to explode if given the right trigger.

After I identified it in that one instance, I saw evidence of it everywhere in both my past and present relationships. There were dozens of subjects that were off-limits in order to keep the peace and maintain a positive, albeit strained, relationship.

I'm not advocating this type of communication, but sometimes it does seem like the better alternative to having the whole relationship crumble. It's better to handle the whole thing with care and hope that at some point, something will happen to make it easier to talk about. This eventually happens in Elinor and Marianne's story, and when it does, things finally begin to work out, which makes a compelling argument for why open and honest communication is so vital.

And now, I'm going to go watch the movie again . . . happy sigh.

What is your favorite moment in Sense and Sensibility? And how do you handle difficult-to-talk-about subjects?

One Mom's Opinion on When to Read Harry Potter

A couple of weeks ago, the boys and I started Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Last September, we read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. And next September, we'll read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Are you picking up on the pattern?

I'm a planner by nature, and Harry Potter is one of those things I've thought long and hard about. I'm not exactly sure why deciding how and when to present this particular series has caused me so much grief. I never finished the series when I was a teenager (I made it to book three), and although I liked the books I read well enough, I definitely never caught HP fever.

So with that kind of apathetic attitude, you would have thought I would have had very little opinion about when and how (or even if!) my kids read the series. But I think seeing the way Harry Potter has become such an iconic figure in the literary world and also such a part of childhood made me realize that I couldn't ignore it. And if I couldn't ignore it, I might as well embrace it . . . and have some control over it.

I was talking to a few friends at the park a couple of weeks ago, and Harry Potter came up. I mentioned that we had just started the second book and that we were just going to read one each year until we finished the series. One of my friends incredulously asked, "So you're not going to read the last book until Aaron is thirteen years old?!" I have to admit that up to that point, I'd never really done the math. I mean, it should have been fairly obvious (there are seven books, and if you start when Aaron's seven years old and only read one each year . . . ), but it wasn't until someone else said it that I realized just how long this plan would take us.

And to be honest, it made me rethink it a little. Was I really going to make Aaron wait until he was in eighth grade to finish a series all of his friends read when they were in first?

But actually, getting older was one of my main reasons for doing the one-per-year plan, so after I got over the shock of thinking about Aaron being so old, thirteen actually sounded just about right. So right now, I'm sticking with my plan, and these are the reasons why:

1. My kids can grow up with Harry.
When the series begins, Harry is eleven; when the series ends, he is seventeen. It's a simple fact that eleven-year-old boys (and their friends) are not thinking about, talking about, or participating in the same things as seventeen-year-old boys (and their friends). And quite frankly, I'm not all that anxious for my seven-year-old to encounter some of those more mature themes. And then of course, the books deal with some really dark, scary, frightening things. No matter how mature a child might be, some wisdom can only be gained by growing up. Reading just one book a year lets that growing up happen in a natural way.
 
2. Fall is the best time to read Harry Potter.
You all know how much I love seasonal reading, and I'm convinced that Harry Potter was meant to be read in the fall. It just feels right to be reading about the beginning of a new school year, Quidditch matches, and Halloween when we're doing those same things in our own Muggle-lives. Not to mention that the whole book is filled with witches and wizards, which definitely gets us in the mood for October. I love traditions, and I like the thought that these books will always be linked to this season for my kids.

3. Reading these books as a family is beyond enjoyable.
Even if I'm not a die-hard Harry Potter fan, I have to admit that these are some of the most fun books we've ever read aloud. And even though I could just hand them to Aaron and let him read them on his own, I wouldn't want to. This is reading aloud at its finest . . . a completely magical experience. We all huddle together, sometimes physically, sometimes just figuratively, and hang onto every word--tensing up when something scary happens, cheering when something good happens, reliving favorite parts, and predicting what will happen next. Plus, I love doing all the voices (even though I'm not very good at them). 

4. There are so many other good books to read.
Since we've loved the first two books so much, I would just hate to feel burned out with Harry Potter. But I'm pretty sure if we read straight through the series, that's what would happen (at least for me). I have so many books on our to-readaloud list. My kids aren't going to outgrow Harry Potter for a long, long time, but they will outgrow some of the other books on my list. I'm not going to devote an entire year to reading Harry Potter and by so doing miss the chance to read some other fantastic books. I'm sure this is partly my own issue since I don't enjoy reading book after book in the same series without a break between, but I also like interspersing our fantasy with other genres.

5. We get to anticipate the next book.
Readers from my generation will remember what it was like before a new Harry Potter book came out: the weeks leading up to it were spent talking about it, rereading all the books that had already come out, and making plans for the book-release party. It was as exciting as Christmas. Personally, I didn't really participate in all the festivities because I wasn't all that interested, but I knew plenty of people who did. If I had to wait for one book each year and grow up a little and read other things in between, what would be so wrong about having my kids read them the same way? After we've read the book together, I'm fine with my kids reading it as many times as they want to by themselves, and I think rereading will only increase the anticipation of the next book. Isn't it so fun to have things to look forward to?

As great as my plan is, we're already running into little snags. For example, Bradley didn't listen to the first one last fall, but he's listening to the second one this year. He's still quite young (he'll turn five in a few days), and if he continues to listen with us, he's going to get to the more mature books before I'm ready. So I'm not sure what to do. Maybe next year, Mike can backtrack and read the first one to him, and then they can go on from there. And then what about Clark? The timing with the younger ones is just as tricky as with the older ones.

Also, I should probably mention that so far, my kids have been completely fine with this plan. They haven't begged to go onto the next book or continue with the series on their own. If they were chomping at the bit for the rest of the series, it would certainly make things more complicated (and I'm curious to know how those of you with voracious, fantasy-loving kids handle this). 

Of course, reading the books in this long, drawn-out way means that certain key plot twists will almost certainly be spoiled for the boys before we get there ourselves. But I'm pretty sure we crossed that bridge long ago, when Aaron was in first grade and all of his friends were reading the series on their own.  Six-year-olds don't really know how to give the"spoiler-free version."

I'm very curious to hear your opinions on this modern parenting dilemma. When did you let your kids read Harry Potter, and what were your thoughts and reasoning behind it?

The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History by Robert M. Edsel

If anyone wants to know what I listened to over the summer, well, here it is. One book. It's pitiful. And embarrassing. I started it in June and finally finished it a couple of weeks ago.

Some of you are probably thinking, That bad, huh? I guess I can skip that one. But wait! Don't judge too quickly. This had absolutely nothing to do with the book itself. It could have been the most exciting, nail-biting thriller, and it still would have taken me that long because, it turns out, listening and summer just don't go together for me. Or at least, they didn't this summer. Having my four kids around all day meant that there was rarely a quiet time to listen. And when I'm listening to a book, I do require quiet. I hate missing important information, and it's so frustrating to start it up, get back into it, only to have to pause it thirty seconds later (and then back it up fifteen seconds) because someone started talking to me. So, usually, I just didn't even try. And when you're only listening to about an hour per week, a 14-hour book takes a long time.

The reason I picked up this book in the first place was because of our Europe trip. I wanted to read something that would feature some of the places we were going to visit. My goal was to have it done before we went on the trip, but by the time we left, I was only halfway through (see above comment on summer and listening). As it turned out though, I think this may have been the perfect way to read it. Since I had read half of it, it really did make our trip more meaningful. But when we came home and I finished it, it made the book more meaningful. The cities and places had become real to me, and I felt so connected with certain parts of the story. I'll share some specific examples in a minute.

But first, a little about the Monuments Men themselves. In 1944, a special art division was created in the Allied army to locate and recover all of the art that had been damaged, looted, or stolen by the Germans during the last eight or nine years (interestingly, there had never been such a group created before, nor has there been one since). Headed by George Stout, the division was manned by only a handful of men and women with extremely limited supplies and resources. Here's a small taste of what they were up against:

"The museum directors didn't understand the military. The military still wasn't confident this was a good idea. The Monuments Men were only advisors. They couldn't force any officer of any rank to act. They were allowed freedom of movement, but they would have no vehicles, no offices, no support staff, and no backup plan. The army had given them a boat but not the motor. The men in the field, George Stout could already see, were going to have to row, and he had a strong suspicion they would be rowing against the tide. But once you're on the water, he knew, a schooner might just pass. Just get us over there, Stout thought, still not convinced the operation wasn't about to collapse. Just give us a chance."

But in spite of this lack of support and almost no outside direction, the Monuments Men were able to recover the largest art depositories during the war at Althaussee (Hitler's personal collection), the Merkers mine, and Neuschwanstein castle. The amount of art they found was staggering: thousands upon thousands of pieces, from small paintings that belonged in personal collections to huge treasures, like the Ghent altarpiece. I'm not exaggerating when I say that finding these depositories and then transporting everything back to its rightful owners was like something straight out of a crime novel.

On the third day of our trip, on our way to Paris, we stopped off in Bruges, Belgium. It was the most picturesque little village, cut through by shimmery canals and stone bridges and watched over by an imposing Medieval spire. We went on a boat ride, ate some Belgian waffles, and were about to get in the car and be on our way when we realized that Michelangelo's sculpture of the Madonna and Child was displayed in The Church of Our Lady, not more than a few blocks away from where we were then standing.

The Bruges Madonna has an incredible history. It was sandwiched between a couple of mattresses  and smuggled out of Belgium in 1944 by the Germans. Several months later, monuments men Robert Posy and Lincoln Kirstein found it hundreds of feet below ground at Althaussee. When we walked into the quiet church and saw it safely encased in glass, I'd read the first half of the story, but I hadn't gotten to the second half. It was one of those things where, when you see it, you know you are looking at a masterpiece. No one has to tell you. When we got back home and I finally got to hear the rest of the story about how it made it back to its home in The Church of Our Lady, I could picture Mary's tranquil face and the soft drapery of her garment. The story had come to life for me because I'd been in the same room as that priceless sculpture.

When I was recapping the highlights from our trip, I neglected to mention one of the places we visited in Germany because, for me, it was not a highlight.  It was the Buchenwald concentration camp. Even seventy years later, with the inmates replaced by tourists and all of the barracks gone, it was a dark and dismal place. I felt the weight of it, heavy upon me, as we walked over the grounds and through the buildings. The sadness and misery and heartache of so many thousands still pervades every corner of that place. At the time, it hurt so much to be there that I wished we hadn't gone.

But then, a few weeks later, I was so surprised when I was listening to this book and Robert Posy visited Buchenwald the day after it was liberated. Even though I did not see the horrors he witnessed as he walked through the camp (can you even imagine...), since I had been there, I had the tiniest bit of empathy for what he must have been feeling. And without that experience, I would have passed over that section without much thought. In fact, when I told Mike that Buchenwald was in The Monuments Men, he was incredulous. He had read the book a couple of years ago, but not having that stark and vivid memory in his brain yet, the name Buchenwald didn't actually mean much. For the first time since we'd returned home, I'd found a reason to be grateful we'd gone there (although I felt a kinship with two of the monuments men, Lincoln Kerstein and Walter Hancock, who refused to go in because they didn't want the things they were sure to see there to haunt them for the rest of their lives).

Even places that I hadn't actually seen felt more real simply because I'd seen places like them or been near to them. Now that we're home, there are really only two places I deeply regret not having enough time to see: Mont Saint Michel (an abbey located on an island near Normandy, France--one of the tasks of the monuments men was to restore historic buildings and landmarks, as well as art) and Neuschwanstein castle (completed in 1886 and the hiding place of one of the largest art depositories during the war). I think I regret these oversights so much because we were so close to seeing both of them. They were both on our list of places we wanted to go, but they were both out of the way enough that we just didn't have time for them. If we ever go back, they will be top priorities.

But that's enough about our trip. The point is that, for me, this book did exactly what it was supposed to do, which was to give added meaning and significance to the places we saw on our trip.

One thing I hadn't expected from this book was just how much it deepened my appreciation for art. I would say that up until I read this book, my feelings toward art were, in general, pretty lukewarm. I would look at a famous piece of art and think, What is so great about this? Why does anyone care?

But three things helped change my mind this summer. First, I checked out the book, Art Fraud Detective for Aaron and Maxwell and helped them work through it. Second, Mike and I finished watching the last couple seasons of White Collar. And finally, I listened to this book. And even though I won't say that I understand, or even like, classical or contemporary art any more than I did, I definitely appreciate it more and have a desire to learn more about it. So that's a step in a new direction.

Many of you are probably aware that a film based on the experiences of the Monuments Men was released in 2014. Since I hadn't finished the book by the time we left on our trip, Mike and I decided to watch the movie on the flight over. After we were about forty minutes into it, we turned to each other and asked, "Do you want to finish this?" and neither of us did. It was such a disappointment. All of the names of the key players had been changed, and everything had been dramatized in a way that was not true to the real story. I couldn't help thinking, This story had it all! Excitement, danger, drama, heroism. Why on earth would they have changed it? Feel free to disagree with me, but the book (and the real story) is far superior to what Hollywood tried to do with it.

This review has gone on way too long (but, you see, I've been saving up my thoughts on it all summer!), so I'll wrap it up with one of my favorite stories that really captures the type of people these monuments men were: hardworking, honest, humble, and just so good.

The mine at Merkers was more than just an art depository: it was a literal Nazi treasure trove. There were rooms completely filled with gold bars and jewels and money. Robert Posy was one of the men on the job, and he said,

"At the gold mine, they filled my helmet with twenty dollar American gold pieces and said I could have it," he wrote Alice on April 20th, a few days after emerging from the mine. "I couldn't lift it off the ground. It contained thirty-five thousand dollars, so we poured it back in the sacks and left it. I seem to have absolutely no greed for money, for I felt no thrill at seeing so much of the stuff. Your poem means more to me."

These men (and women) weren't hoping to get rich from the runoff of treasures. Most of them weren't even tempted by it. All of their work and dedication was because they loved their country, they had a deep appreciation for art, and they valued the impact art has on a country's culture and history. 

This is another book I wouldn't mind having in my home when my boys are teenagers. The writing isn't quite as fast-paced or captivating as some of the other similar books I've already added (The Boys in the Boat, Endurance, etc.), but the story is amazing, and you just can't beat a real-life treasure hunt like this one. You just can't.

Thoughts on this book? The movie? Or just the melding of past and present in general?

"The Human Resistance to Change"

This past week, I've been listening to Creativity, Inc.: Overcoming the Unseen Forces That Stand in the Way of True Inspiration. It's by Ed Catmull, president of Pixar Animation, and it has been absolutely fascinating so far. His thoughts on cultivating a creative environment, collaborating with others, and pursuing your dreams have resonated with and inspired me more than I was expecting.

This isn't a review of the book because I'm not even a third of the way through it yet, but I wanted to explore one of the topics I've found most interesting so far.

Long before the Pixar we all know and love was born, Ed worked for George Lucas in, what was then, the brand-new computer department. Ed and his coworkers were developing a new editing process which had the potential to considerably shorten the amount of time it took to edit videos. Unfortunately, the film editors were not the least bit supportive or interested in this new process, and without them, Ed and his team didn't have anyone to actually use what they were working on. In Ed's words:

"They were perfectly happy with the system they had already mastered, which involved actually cutting film into snippets with razor blades and then pasting them back together. They couldn't have been less interested in making changes that would slow them down in the short term. They took comfort in their familiar ways, and change meant being uncomfortable. So when it came time to test our work, the editors refused to participate. Our certainty that video editing would revolutionize the process didn't matter, and neither did George's backing."

Ed labeled this "the human resistance to change." Forty years later, and knowing what we now know, it sounds ludicrous that the film editors would have wanted to continue their painstaking and laborious cutting and pasting process instead of trying something new.

But I get it.

After Aaron was born, I tried three different pediatricians before I found one that I felt comfortable with. There wasn't anything particularly fantastic about her, but she didn't make me feel like a loser of a parent like the others had, so I figured she was probably my best option. As we added more children to our family and gradually moved farther and farther away from the clinic, we stayed with her because it felt safe and familiar.

There were other pediatricians who were much closer, but for some reason, it just sounded so daunting to call a new clinic, find a doctor who was taking new patients, transfer all of our records, drive to a new place, and get acquainted with a new staff and doctor. And what if we went through all that work and emotional effort and it didn't end up being any better? Or even, what if it was worse?!

If it's that difficult to make a rather low-impacting decision (on average, each of my kids visits the doctor once a year for their annual checkups), no wonder it can be almost paralyzing to change something that has the potential to negatively affect your day-to-day life.

To put it even more simply than our pediatrician dilemma, consider the game of Rummikub. This was a favorite of my grandma's, and so she always obliged us by playing rounds and rounds of it when we visited her. Just like any rummy game, you're trying to create groups and runs with the end goal being to get rid of all your tiles before everyone else. The tiles are displayed in the middle of the table, and once they're down, they are free game for anyone else. You can steal and add and reshuffle as much as you want in order to lay down more tiles.

Sometimes it can get rather complicated. For example, you might have just one tile you want to lay down. You start going through the options in your head: If I disassemble that group of 12's, I can put one of them there and one of them there and keep one for myself. Then I can take the 11 from that run over there, etc. etc. In the end, the only thing to do is to try it: start breaking things up and rearranging, hoping that it all comes back together--different, but with your new tile in place.

But there's always the fear that you'll go through all that work and be left holding one lone tile at the end that doesn't have a place to go. And then what do you do? You have changed the board so completely that you can't possibly remember how it all started. Without meaning to, you didn't win the game, but lost it (and ruined it for everyone else).

My parents know exactly what this is like. Earlier this year, they began to consider the idea of moving to Utah. There were a number of factors that pushed them to want to do it but also a lot of reasons to hold back. One thing my mom kept saying was, "Change isn't always better. I like where we live right now. I like my friends, I like my community, I like my house. What if I leave it all and find out nothing about the new place is better?"

There it is, that human resistance to change--the fear that by trying something new, you'll lose what you had, and it will not end up being the better option.

But my parents went for it. They found a beautiful house in the nicest of neighborhoods and bought it. My dad figured out a way to continue with the same job he's had for the last 34 years. They registered my brother for a special school near their new home. They purged their stuff and packed up the rest. They put their house on the market. They passed along their responsibilities to new people. They said difficult good-byes and did things "for the last time." It has taken them almost the entire year to do it all, and they're not done yet.

And I know my mom is worried. What if they've nearly killed themselves with the monumental effort of it all and a year from now, they're still holding that one metaphorical Rummikub tile? What then? They've already gone too far and done too much damage to ever put their lives back together the way that they were.

When put that way, change just sounds awful and scary and like, "Let me stay in my safe little box where I won't ever be disappointed or hurt!" But if Ed Catmull hadn't kept pushing and developing the new editing software, would movies still be where they were forty years ago? I mean, I'm not bashing movies from the 1970's (well, maybe a little), but we've come a long way since then, and I think everyone would agree they'd rather not go back to cutting and pasting the film by hand.

And what about my pediatrician example? I finally decided I had to try another one, not because anything had changed with our current pediatrician (although there was a really mean nurse I was not fond of . . . ) but because it felt like there must be something better. I didn't go into it blindly. I talked to my friends and got their recommendations and then I called the new clinic and made an appointment.

And . . . wouldn't you know it, but we love our new pediatrician. He is a hundred times better than the other one (and let me reiterate, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her). He makes my kids laugh. He remembers our family and how many kids we have. He talks directly to my kids instead of just to me. He's cautious without being overly concerned. He treats me like a partner in raising my kids instead of like he's the one and only authority. Plus, did I mention it takes us five minutes to get there instead of twenty-five?! The only thing I'm sad about is that I didn't have the guts to make the change years ago.

Of course, there's the flip side, which is contentment. The grass isn't always greener, and sometimes you just need to stop chasing the rainbow and find joy and contentment with where you are right now. Just as it takes courage to rearrange all the pieces of your life, it also takes a certain level of skill to be happy and at peace with the decisions you've already made (even, or especially, if one of those decisions left you holding one lonely, mismatched tile).

But contentment should never be the enemy of change. Rather, they should be partners. C.S. Lewis said, "It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird; it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad."

Without change, there is no growth And I don't know about you, but I think growth is kind of the point of this little life we're living.

I would love to hear about the big or little daunting changes you've made in your life and what the results have been. Are you one of the many who resists change, or one of the few who embraces it? How do you balance change and contentment?