This is What Happens...

...when you leave for ten days and put your husband in charge of watering the flowers.

Here are the texts that were exchanged on the sixth day of my absence:

Me: Have you been remembering to water my flowers?

Mike: I'm happy to report that I did water them before you reminded me. But only barely. 

[Remember, at this point we'd been gone almost a full week with dry, 100-degree weather in the interim.]

Me (clarifying): So they've only been watered once?

Mike: Yes, but it was a really good watering.

Me: Well now water them every day.

Mike: Yes ma'am. They will look better than when you left. Maybe even changing to new colors and types.

I wish I had a before picture because I can assure you, they do not look better than when I left. In fact, I was quite proud of how lush and full the flowers looked two weeks ago since I usually have poor luck with keeping plants alive. Mike said that he actually was going to buy some new flowers and re-plant the pots before I got home, but none of the nearby grocery stores had any.

I can't blame Mike though. We have both come to rely on each other for remembering certain things. For example, he relies on me to remember names, birthdays, pregnancies, family activities, etc. I rely on him for technical information, how to get places, car maintenance, etc. It's one of the beauties of marriage: you work together and become one, and because of that, you don't have to remember as much!

And it's time away from each other, like this last little separation, that reminds us that we really do need each other, want each other, and love each other.

It's good to be home!

Four Facts for Friday

1. A random fact about myself: I have never dyed my hair;  furthermore, I have absolutely no desire to dye my hair. But if I start going grey before the age of 80? Yes, I will dye my hair.

2. A random fact about today: Mike is on his way to pick up the boys and me from Colorado (T-minus 6 hours and counting...). We are more than a little excited. 

3. A random fact about books: I am reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks and am finding it completely fascinating. I seem to have some dim recollection of learning about HeLa cells in high school biology, but science is much more likely to stay with me if there's some sort of human interest connection. I assure you, I won't forget about HeLa cells again.

4. A random fact about my past: When I was a little girl, I thought the two most beautiful names in all the world were Katerina and Teodora. My tastes have since changed. I still think they're pretty names, but I wouldn't give them to my daughters. (Not that I've even had the chance, what with three boys and all...)

KidPages: Three Childhood Favorites

I neglected any mention of picture books in my last post, but my parents' have plenty of those too. The boys and I have been enjoying some of my old favorites.

1. The King, the Mice, and the Cheese, Nancy and Eric Gurney

Not counting this most recent trip home, I had not read this book in probably at least 10 years. In fact, I think it's safe to say I had quite forgotten its existence. (That's the great thing about my parents' owning so many picture books...it seems like new ones resurface every time we come for a visit.)

Anyway, since it had been so long, I opened it with some trepidation. You know what that's like, right? When you have such fond memories of something, but then when you come back to it years later, you realize it wasn't as wonderful as you remembered? I fully expected that to happen with this book.

But it didn't! The nostalgia was thick and heavy in the room, so maybe I'm not the best judge, but I still really liked it. And Aaron and Maxwell really did, too. Unfortunately, the book is out of print, so even if it really is a good book, it is no longer readily available.

In the same vein as There Was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly, the story begins with a king (he wears a turban...where do you think he's from?) who sits down to enjoy his favorite food, cheese. He is displeased to discover that mice have invaded the palace and enjoy his cheese as much as he does. His wise men solve the problem by bringing in an army of cats who do a great job of chasing out the mice, but then, well, then the king is stuck with dozens of cats...can you see where this is going?

The illustrations are simple pen and ink with very little color added which lends itself well to some great  expressions on the faces of the king and animals. 

The story has the potential to fall into a vicious cycle, but instead a solution is discovered which is both clever and agreeable to all parties involved. 

2. The Baby Blue Cat and the Whole Batch of Cookies, Ainslie Pryor

I don't know where my family got this book, but I can't find it in anywhere, so it seems to have come and gone without leaving much of a trace. From what I can tell, I don't know that it was ever even published in the United States, so maybe that explains some of its unavailability. Apparently, there was a whole series about the baby blue cat, but this is the only one I ever knew.

In this particular episode in Baby Blue Cat's life, Mama Cat has just made a big batch of cookies which Baby Blue Cat and his siblings will get to eat...right after playtime. But Baby Blue Cat loves cookies so much, he just can't wait. One cookie at a time, he eats his way through the whole plate.

I've always liked the illustrations: the soft pastels and simple drawings are warm and charming. But in recent readings, I have found the ending to be lacking in both originality and a believable resolution. The story is set up to provide a great moral for kids ("Don't follow Baby Blue Cat's example because..."), but it doesn't follow through. Mama Cat is just patient and loving (which are, unarguably, great qualities for any mother, cat or otherwise, to have), but she doesn't provide any sort of guidance to help Baby Blue Cat learn from his mistake. (I never analyzed the ending as a child...unbelievable, I know...and I came through it unscathed...although I cannot resist warm chocolate chip cookies...maybe I've finally found the reason why!)

Let's move on from the ending, shall we? The real reason I like this book is because it is a great read-aloud.  The words nip nip nip and gone gone gone are repeated many times, and it's easy for kids to join in. Also, there's plenty of suspense and excitement as the cookies gradually disappear.

3. Watch Your Step, Mr. Rabbit!, Richard Scarry
For some reason, this easy reader has almost instant kid appeal. I remember reading it over and over again as a child. And Max found it on this trip (another one of the books that resurfaced), and he and Aaron were completely engrossed through the first reading and have heard it several times since.

The storyline is simple: Mr. Rabbit accidentally walks into a patch of newly poured cement (he's busy reading his newspaper), and the town tries a variety of ways to get him unstuck.

It's another good read-aloud because it asks questions, such as, "Can we push him out?" and my boys love giving the emphatic answer, "No!" Also, there is something so intriguing about wet cement. I can just see the wheels in Aaron's head turning, wondering if it really is possibly to get so permanently stuck by stepping into some cement. Mr. Rabbit doesn't really learn his lesson, so the book has a funny ending which my boys love as well.

The problem with some easy readers is that, in an effort to make them simple, they really just become dumb...dumb stories and dialogue and sentence structure. That doesn't happen in this one; it's simple, yes, but engaging nonetheless.

The thing that amuses me the most about it is that the patch of cement never stays quite the same size or shape from page to page. And why are they pouring a big blob of cement in the middle of the street anyway?

What were some of your favorite books as a child? And have they stood the test of time?

Treasures

I am not the type of person who, when wondering what to read next, peruses the book tables at Costco and buys the latest bestseller. First off, I don't wonder what to read next...that's what Goodreads is for. And second, I don't buy books without having read (and loved) them first...that's what the library is for.

The acquirement of books has been on my mind for two reasons (it seems my thoughts are running in twos today): first, exciting announcement, we're moving next month(!), and the new home has two full walls of built-in bookcases, and second, like I said in the previous post, I'm in Colorado visiting my parents, and they have a couple of rooms filled with books.

As I've tried to decide what will occupy all that space (referring back to the home we're moving into...let us not gloss over that all-important word, moving), I have been spending a lot of time in my parents' attic looking over their 50+ years of accumulated books.

I think you would describe both the bookshelves and the content on the shelves as eclectic. My parents' only requirement for book content is that it must be in line with our family values; other than that, anything goes, and so there are long-standing classics that sit right next to self-published failures. There are books from my mom's childhood, and even ones originally owned by my grandma and great-grandma. There are books that were purchased hot off the press and others worn and tattered from garage sales.

I always have a mixed reaction when I look over my parents' books. My first thought is always, Why are they keeping all these books? Has anyone ever read them? Will anyone ever read them? They're just cluttering up perfectly good shelves. Take this shelf, for example:

This shelf is comprised almost entirely of books my mom purchased many years ago (maybe even before I was born?) at a library book sale. Titles range from Caroline and Her Kettle Named Maud by Miriam E. Mason to Linda's Homecoming by Phyllis A. Whitney. Question: Have I ever read any of these books? Answer: No (although as I was preparing this post, I realized that there actually were some real gems among the old bindings, but of course they were not appealing in any way to a 10-year-old me). It  makes me a little sad to look over some of these titles and to think about the authors who wrote them, maybe imagining great success, but instead they're long forgotten and out of print and the only copies that remain are wedged onto my parents' attic bookshelves.

My second reaction (did you think I wasn't going to mention my other thought? I wouldn't have forgotten...I'm thinking in pairs today, remember?) when I look at all of my parents' books is, Oh, I remember that book! I wonder why I liked it so much? What a weird title...what could this even be about? Oooh, I don't think I've ever seen this one before, and before I know it, I've wasted a big chunk of time lost in the variety and the memories. For example:

Here is a collection of books my mom owned as a teenager. In all of her books, she would write her name, the date she received it, and how she came to own it. In The Key Above the Door, she wrote, "Bonnie Jones. Gave to me by Grandma. Was once hers. Oct. 4, 1970." Isn't that cool? A little piece of history right there. And then look at the cover for Sorority Girl! If you want to take an authentic step into the 50's, read that one. It might not be timeless, but there's something special about reading the time period not as historical fiction but as actually being written in the 50's. And then there's Fifteen by Beverly Cleary. I read that book when I was probably fifteen myself, and I loved it so much. I could have died with giddiness when Stan gives Jane his identification bracelet. And I don't know that I ever would have picked it up if it hadn't been sitting on our bookshelves.

I have dreamed of having my own library ever since I was a little girl: a well-lit room with comfortable chairs and pillows, big windows (at least one of which will be a bay window with a window seat), soft lamps, and walls of bookshelves filled with the very best in literature (very idealized, I know; I'm sure I'll become more original if it ever looks like it might become a reality).

When I say "the best in literature," I am not referring solely to the classics (though beautifully bound editions of Jane Eyre and A Tale of Two Cities will definitely hold their own honored places). To me, "the best in literature" is something that I will read more than once, something that I will share or read with my children, something that I will make reference to over the years, and something that has passages I savor and remember long after the book is closed. Those are the books I want occupying my shelves.

Would all of my parents' books pass that test? No, not by a long shot. Like I said, that's what the library is for. But am I irritated with my parents for keeping all the books they have? No...but...I used to be; I wanted to go through and purge all of those bookshelves and leave them with a nice little stack of treasures. But I've changed. Not completely. But enough to realize that this kind of book collecting can be special too.

And after all, isn't it more fun to dig for treasure than to just have it placed in your lap?

Nothing But a Scratch

Last time I checked, I wasn't fluent in Braille, so I need my eyes to read. But sadly, good vision and I have not been too chummy these last fourteen days.

A couple Fridays ago, I woke up, put in my contacts, and went outside to go running with my friend. My right contact was bothering me, so much so that I had to run back inside, take it out, rinse it, and put it back in. It felt much better, and I went on my run without further incident.

Later that day, I was driving home around lunchtime. I could hardly keep my eyes open...not because I was tired but because for some reason they felt dry and seemed extremely sensitive to light.

And from there, things grew steadily worse. I never feared I was losing the ability to see, but if your eyes won't stay open, well, that's just as much a vision impairment as less than 20/20 vision.

On Monday, having been convinced by someone at church that if  left unchecked it could lead to orbital celulitis (which sounds truly frightening), I went to the doctor. He did a quick exam, diagnosed it as a superficial corneal abrasion (i.e., a miniscule scratch) , and said it would heal in a couple of days. I felt a little foolish for going in, but better safe than sorry, right?

And he was right. By Thursday, my eyes were as good as new. And by Friday, I was wearing my contacts again (a new pair). I was scarred just enough by the experience to make me appreciate being able to walk outside without screaming in agony and retreating to the depths of a cool, dark room.

But then on Tuesday, without warning, and after just five days of good vision, all of the same symptoms started reappearing, and by that night, I couldn't even crack my eyelid.

What were the chances, I moaned, of scratching my eye twice in less than two weeks when I've been wearing contacts for ten years without ever a problem? Or was this something worse than a scratch? Would I never be able to wear contacts again? Would I deal with chronic eye pain for the rest of my life?

It turns out the chances are slim to none that you'll scratch your eye again so soon after the first time unless you wear the old pair of contacts again. Which I did. Accidentally, of course. I'm sure you're wondering why I kept the old contacts. I'm wondering that myself actually. I guess I didn't know for sure if the lens itself was defective, so I thought I might be in a desperate situation sometime and need to wear them. Well, now I know I will never be that desperate. I'm donating them to Mike so he can examine them under the microscope (because he's like that), and then they're going into the trash where they should have gone in the first place.

And as for me, my eye is finally close to normal (for the second time)...this blog post is proof of that since there's no way I would have been able to stare at a computer screen for this long two days ago.

In other news, the boys and I are in Colorado for a 10-day stay with my family while Mike finishes his dissertation. (And let me tell you: riding in the car for nine hours without being able to read...well, I'd use words like "torture" and "agony," but that might be getting a little too dramatic. )

Emily of New Moon by L.M. Montgomery

I remembered only two things from my first reading of this book: 1) Emily's cold nights in bed with her austere Aunt Elizabeth and 2) cutting bangs for herself against Aunt Elizabeth's wishes. Now, after having read it a second time, I find it amusing that those were the two things that stuck with me. They are not particularly important to the plot, and even as I was reading it, nothing else stirred or came forward in my memory...not even the mystery surrounding Ilse's mother or Aunt Elizabeth and Emily's relationship eventually coming to a head. Memory truly is a sporadic and flighty thing.

When the story begins, Emily's father is dying of consumption. After he dies (I don't consider that a spoiler since it happened in the first 20 pages), Emily is sent to live with her proud, tradition-loving Murray relatives. Between Aunt Elizabeth's stern dislike, Aunt Laura's sweet and sensitive concern, and Cousin Jimmy's unquestioning love, Emily finds plenty of material to write about on any scrap of paper she can find. (Aunt Elizabeth doesn't believe in having too much paper around.) And then to spice things up, there's also a visit to the unconventional Aunt Nancy, a near-tragic fall down a deep ravine, and a disturbing scandal surrounding the disappearance of Emily's best friend's mother.

Of course I couldn't read this book and not compare Emily to my beloved Anne Shirley. There are three Emily books, and I only ever read this one, whereas I read the entire Anne series plus several re-reads, so it is only natural I suppose that I would be more attached to Anne. That said, Emily is very easy to love and shows some definite similarities to Anne: a  strong, and sometimes overactive, imagination, orphaned, and a desire to write and create. But where Anne is dramatic and emotional, Emily is dependable and somewhat defiant. Anne can fly into a quick temper, but Emily's emotions seem to run a little deeper and last a little longer. And although Emily loves to hear the Wind Woman outside her window, she doesn't give luscious and charming names to every flower and brook the way Anne does. I don't think Emily could ever replace Anne for me, but I'd still take her as a friend.

In true L.M. Montgomery fashion, the story is full of delightful descriptions and memorable characters. I especially love her minor characters...those ones that flit in and out of the story but that leave a marked impression because they are so brilliantly described. Take Father Cassidy, for example. He takes part in just one chapter (save for a couple of brief references later on), but I couldn't forget him because of this image: "Emily thought he looked just like a big nut--a big, brown, wholesome nut." It's not flattering, but it's also not unflattering. It simple and perfect. In addition to that though, Father Cassidy is memorable because he has a distinctive voice ("Don't be afraid of the B'y. He eats tender little Protestants sometimes, but he never meddles with leprechauns.") and he encourages Emily in her talents. I won't bore you with analyzing every single minor character, but just know that Montgomery is just as vivid with all her characters.

Oh, and she has such a wry sense of humor. For example, after Aunt Laura piteously asks Emily what she was thinking, Aunt Elizabeth advises sarcastically, "I think it will be better if you do not ask that child what she is thinking of." I think I used to miss a lot of the subtle humor when I read these books as a child, but now it is another reason why I love L.M. Montgomery so much.

And she also has some great one-liners...those times where she says just the right thing in just a few words. Take this description about Cousin Jimmy, who lives with Aunt Laura and Aunt Elizabeth because he fell in a well when he was a boy and was never the same since: "Whatever was missing, it wasn't his heart." Doesn't that just make you love Cousin Jimmy? And you haven't even read the book!

One last thing that I loved about this book were the chapters that were composed entirely of Emily's letters to her father. In these sections, the writing switches to first-person by Emily, where we get an inside look into how she feels about life and certain events/people. I loved having most of the book told in third-person with the occasional snippets told in first-person. Seeing Emily's character from two angles and perspectives really fleshed her out for me and made her more real.

This was just a wonderful summer read. Since I never read Emily Climbs or Emily's Quest, I'm looking forward to finishing the Emily trilogy.

Bringing Up Geeks: How to Protect Your Child in a Grow-Up-Too-Fast World by MaryBeth Hicks

I've done it. I have cracked the code on my parent's parenting philosophy. They might not know it, but they practically followed this book to the letter. In fact, if they wrote a parenting book, it would be this one, so I guess they can cross that off their to-do list.

I thought about how to go about writing this review. Should I summarize each of the points? Share my favorite quotes? Or wax philosophical? But really, I couldn't escape how eerily familiar the whole book was to my own growing up. I could see myself in every single geeky characteristic. And so, I thought, why not discuss the book through some personal comparisons?

But first, a definition: According to MaryBeth Hicks, a geek is a Genuine, Enthusiastic, Empowered Kid. In the introduction, she says that geeky parents raise children to have "good characters and strong values." They do not raise them to be popular (although being popular does not automatically exclude them from being a geek, but it is highly improbable).

And now, to expose my true geeky nature, here are the ten characteristics of a geek:

1. Geeks are Brainiacs
I was homeschooled. Need I say more? I'm pretty sure homeschoolers would fall under the "geekier than geeky" category. In my home, there was a natural, near-constant emphasis placed on education. Just as an example, my dad enjoyed having us give "One-Minute Talks" around the dinner table where he (or someone else) would give someone a subject that they would then have to talk about for one minute. So, check, definitely a brainiac (which, by the way, just means that  you enjoy learning, not necessarily that you're brilliant). One of the things I really enjoyed about this chapter were the eight kinds of intelligence that MaryBeth Hicks discussed. It really opened my eyes to the multitude of ways a person can be smart.

2. Geeks are Sheltered
When I was living at home, we had a strict rule: Only G-rated media. No exceptions. Harsh and rigid? Maybe (my parents have bended a little bit in recent years), but it was meant to weed out the bad without having to do much weeding (some good was lost with it, but nothing that we couldn't live without). I am by no means advocating this rule nor am I condemning it. I am just stating it like it was. Regardless of whether you agree or not, I think the point is that we had a standard and we stuck to it religiously. Every family should know what they will or will not allow into their home.

3. Geeks are Uncommon
I'm not going to lie. I felt this one, and it hurt just a little. I could tell I was different. I couldn't join in on conversations with my peers because I either didn't know what they were talking about or didn't care. Part of me wanted to hang out at Wal-Mart (remember, I'm from rural Colorado...that was the only cool hangout for miles around) or be asked to prom, but the other part of me knew that even if I did, I would still feel isolated. Looking back, I realize that some of my interests that contributed to me being "uncommon" (sewing, playing the piano and organ, etc.) have actually helped me to be more successful as an adult. Which is why, even though it hurt, it was probably worth it.

4. Adults like Geeks
Oh my goodness, I can't even tell you how much adults loved me. They all wanted me to either be their daughter (or granddaughter) or to marry their son (problem was, the sons did not feel the same way because...well, because I was a geek). Since I was homeschooled, I probably spent more than the usual amount of time with adults, and I honestly could carry on great conversations because I just viewed them as older, wiser friends. I was also polite and wrote thank-you notes, and adults love that.

5. Geeks are Late-Bloomers
Okay, this is hard to admit (but it definitely proves this point): I played with dolls well into my teens. Yes, it's true. My mom didn't encourage me to be interested in make-up or dating, and so I hung onto my childhood. (But that's not to say I didn't have make-up and dating in my peripheral vision; it just wasn't front and center and all-consuming.) So while I was mature in some ways, I came into other parts of adolescence rather slowly. (Now admit it...those of you who have daughters now, aren't you glad you get to play with dolls again?)

6. Geeks are Team Players
My family is not a sports family; we are a music family. This means that while only a few of us played on baseball and soccer city leagues, we all played a musical instrument, no negotiation. But even without the sports emphasis, I think my parents still instilled the value of being a good team player: competing with dignity and grace, trying your best, and pulling your share of the load.

7. Geeks are True Friends
As Aaron gets closer to going to school (still more than a year away but coming too fast for me), I've thought a lot about friends. I've realized that if he can just find some great geeky friends, he will be happy. As with most things, it is so much easier to do (or not do) things if you're not alone.. I had a few really good friends growing up (that are still my friends today), but I felt like the geeks really came out of the woodwork once I went to college (or maybe it was just because the ratio of geeks to non-geeks increased significantly).

8. Geeks are Homebodies
I already admitted that I never hung out at Wal-Mart. And it wasn't because I was somewhere else with my friends. It was because I was at home with my family. Dinner as a family was a priority (when else could we do our one-minute talks?!). Supporting each other by attending recitals or T-ball games was required. And doing activities together as a family was expected. Was I akways happy about this? Definitely not. As the oldest of eight kids, it was extremely embarrassing for me to go places with my family. The ten of us were not inconspicuous by any definition of the word.  And being inconspicuous was all I really wanted. But you know what? I survived. They were happy events then, and they're even happier events now, and doing those things built strong bonds of friendship that have outlived the embarrassment.

9. Geeks are Principled.
Oh boy. I know I matched this one. I had a reputation for speaking my mind, obeying the rules, and standing up for my values. My conscience pricked very easily (it still does), and I often apologized for my tone of voice or a perceived implication. I turned down many a movie invitation because of the aforementioned family standard. And my sense of right and wrong was very black and white. In the book, MaryBeth Hicks said: "Experts counsel that parents should avoid criticizing children at all costs because it makes kids feel bad about themselves." And then she quotes Betsy Hart who said, "Well no doubt. This used to be called developing a conscience." With all of the current emphasis on raising a kid with a high self-esteem, I really appreciated the reminder that feeling bad about your actions is not only healthy but essential to becoming a personal with high morals.

10. Geeks are Faithful
MaryBeth Hicks makes the distinction between spirituality ("an intimate relationship [with God] as expressed through personal prayer and contemplation") and religion ("the expression of faith in a structured way"). Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of both. Without turning this into a religious discussion, I will say I am very grateful for the strong foundation my religion has provided. My parents instilled their beliefs into me, but those beliefs became my own as I acted on my faith and discovered things for myself. My testimony and trust in my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ has anchored me and given my life purpose and meaning.

As I read this book, I realized there were two aspects of my upbringing that made me incredibly geeky: first, that I was homeschooled. (I don't think you could be homeschooled and not be a geek.) And second, I'm a Mormon, which means there are certain standards already in place which naturally lead to a more geeky lifestyle. So, I loved it that MaryBeth Hicks neither homeschooled her kids nor was she a Mormon (she and her family are Roman Catholics). This was so refreshing for me...to look at the geeky lifestyle from a completely different angle and to know that it can work in many different ways.

It reminded me of a friend I had when I was 17 and 18. His mom wanted me to marry him (naturally...see #4), but he actually really liked me too...probably because he was just as geeky as myself. But although I considered him a friend, I never liked him like that. I remember my inner turmoil over it...was it impossible to have high, geeky standards and be socially adept?

And the good news is, no! Just like MaryBeth Hicks and I are both geeks even though we come from very different backgrounds, I found a geek that I fell madly in love with. Mike is geeky in all of the important ways but without any of the social awkwardness. Which is to say, there are many different ways to apply the geeky lifestyle to you and your family. (And also, in my friend's defense, I lost touch with him, but I'm guessing he outgrew some of his awkward geekiness. To a certain extent, most geeks do.)

And finally just a few technical thoughts on the book itself: I really didn't like all her references to "experts say..." without actually giving concrete sources. (She has a bibliography in the back, but I prefer things to be cited within the context they were given.) Also, she frequently said, "I'm no expert, but..." and it just rubbed me the wrong way. I loved  that she wasn't an expert but wished she hadn't referred to the fact so often (but maybe she felt the need to reiterate that point so other people wouldn't criticize her for acting like she had professional expertise. I guess you can't win.)

And finally, if you're going to pay someone to design a cover, I would hope they could turn out a better result than this. The subtitle especially bugs me. Just my opinion.

All in all, this is a parenting book that I would recommend. If nothing else, it will make you think about why you're doing what you're doing, and if it's really leading to the kind of results you want.

But even if I hadn't read this book, I think my kids would still have been doomed. With Mike and me as parents, we'd be hard pressed to raise anything but geeks.