Book Review - Wonder by R.J. Palacio

I recently bought a slew of books that have garnered excellent reviews for my kids.  Since they have been devouring them, I figured I should too.  This is my first of a handful of these reviews.

Goodreads Summary:

August (Auggie) Pullman was born with a facial deformity that prevented him from going to a mainstream school—until now. He's about to start 5th grade at Beecher Prep, and if you've ever been the new kid then you know how hard that can be. The thing is Auggie's just an ordinary kid, with an extraordinary face. But can he convince his new classmates that he's just like them, despite appearances?

R. J. Palacio has written a spare, warm, uplifting story that will have readers laughing one minute and wiping away tears the next. With wonderfully realistic family interactions (flawed, but loving), lively school scenes, and short chapters, Wonder is accessible to readers of all levels.




My Take:

This book is funny, real, heartwarming, and it tackles issues all kids deal with at school -- even though most kids' "deformities" aren't as visible as Auggie's.

The reader's first insight into the extent of Auggie's deformities is this:

"I won't describe what I look like.  Whatever you're thinking, it's probably worse."

My 12-year-old son enjoyed and was moved by it.  I'm confident that it will "speak" to my 10-year-old daughter on her level as well.

I loved it.  Highly recommend.

'Nap, interrupted' makes for perfectly imperfect Mother's Day

Published on KSL.com - HERE's the link

Mother’s Day is fantastic in theory but tricky in practice.

First, there’s the problem of glowing tributes to awesome moms everywhere. The tributes aren’t the problem — it’s the discrepancy between those tributes and me.

This year on Mother’s Day, my kids heard about moms who make lunches every day for their kids, show love continuously, wake their kids up in the mornings so they won’t be late, are never impatient, understand their kids even when no one else does, never yell, and always stand on the curb waving goodbye.

Since I do exactly zero of those things and display exactly zero of those traits on a consistent basis, my guess is that my kids felt a little cheated, and maybe even thought about shopping around a little. I wouldn’t blame them.

Next, largely thanks to the mommy media blitz during the first two weeks of May, there was pressure on my kids to come up with gifts that make me cry (ideally, these would be happy tears).

Here’s how the Mother’s Day gift-giving went down at my house this year:

My younger kids gave me hand-written coupon booklets that contained, among other fabulous freebies, vouchers for "a big kiss" and a "floor moping," which I’m trying to swap out for a "floor mopping" on the grounds that I’ve heard enough moping for two lifetimes. But hey, a coupon’s a coupon.

I even shed some tears (the happy kind) when I read, “You are a true friend who dances with me in the sunlight and walks with me in the shadows.”

Susie's Mother's Day nap, interrupted. (Photo: Susie Boyce)

My older kids — well, let’s just say that not everyone caves under media pressure. So I got a verbal “Happy Mother’s Day,” a grunt that translated into roughly the same message, and an extremely thoughtful gift that I will always treasure. Again, I shed some tears (the mixed emotion kind).

And then there’s my poor husband. Talk about pressure. I’m far from the demanding sort, but he loves me and wants to make the day great. As always, he came through with flying colors: flowers, food that I didn’t have to prepare and a hammock for the backyard.

But as much as he tried, he couldn’t control everything. While trying to relax and enjoy my time off, I heard a few whispered threats along the lines of, “Be nice to Mom — it’s Mother’s Day!” and, “I don’t care if it isn't your dinner job today — it’s Mother’s Day!”

Above all, my husband really wanted me to be able to take an uninterrupted nap on my new hammock. I’m still symptomatic from a concussion I received a few months ago in an accident, and I need significantly more sleep than normal. So this nap — in theory — was an excellent idea.

But in reality, the weather was gorgeous and the hammock was both large and brand-new. So it only stands to reason that my 7-year-old would join me on the hammock ... and then, a few minutes later, my 10-year-old. And so on, until all five of my kids were vying for the most comfortable spots on the hammock with me.

When my husband saw his plans for my nap being foiled, I knew he wanted to say, “Get off the hammock — it’s Mother’s Day!” But instead, he recognized the moment for what it was, took out his phone and snapped a picture. He’s a keeper.

We hung out in the hammock together, my kids and I. Since my nap lasted all of five minutes, it wasn’t ideal; and yet, just like my Mother’s Day that hadn't been perfect, it was perfect.

Way too soon there will come a Mother’s Day when I’ll be able to take a completely uninterrupted nap on my hammock. I’m guessing that when I wake up from that nap, I’ll shed a few tears (the melancholy kind).

So for now, bring on the interruptions. I’ll be happy to embrace each one of them for as long as I can.

Cancer: 'May the odds be ever in your favor'

Published for KSL -- HERE's the link
Published in The Deseret News -- May 9th, 2013

Last November, my dad’s recently diagnosed lung cancer metastasized into his bones, making it officially stage 4 and incurable. He was given nine months, give or take. The oncologist explained that the chances of more chemotherapy making even a slight difference to his life expectancy were “in the single digits.”

The news was heartbreaking. It was as if Dad had been chosen as one of the tributes in “The Hunger Games” and was being sent into the arena to fight, knowing that his chances of making it out alive were negligible. And his only encouragement was the empty phrase, “May the odds be ever in your favor!”

We all understood the odds, and they weren’t even close to being in Dad’s favor.

So what next?

First off, critical medical decisions had to be made. In this case, my dad chose to continue treatments. His decision was difficult for me to swallow initially. I wanted him to discontinue the treatments, thereby giving him at least a short reprieve from suffering. Plus, it would show that he was accepting his new reality.

Instead, Dad went forward with more chemotherapy. Reality was what it was, he figured, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. I could hardly blame him.

Then there are the daily decisions about how to live the rest of your life. As it turns out, these are equally as critical as the medical ones — if not more so. Mom and Dad shined in this department.

For example, we were surprised and delighted when my parents, who still buy gifts at garage sales, booked a Caribbean cruise for the family. They wanted us to have one last awesome, unprecedented memory with Dad.

When Dad’s health fluctuated, we prayed that he would be able to go on the cruise. For us, it became much more than just a cruise — it became a goal.

As a family, we tried to take our cues from our parents’ optimism and traveled from near and far to celebrate Dad’s last Thanksgiving and Christmas in epic style. We made some great memories.

Reality was what it was, though, so other memories aren’t so great. Despair and sadness and wondering why and what if and what’s next inevitably come with such a difficult package.

In the final analysis, though, the laughter managed to outweigh the tears.

In February, Dad’s health was holding up and he was given the green light to go on the cruise. But then four days before we were to board, the very cruise ship we had booked caught fire in the Caribbean. Our once-in-a-lifetime cruise — our last great memory with Dad — was canceled.

Talk about odds.

It was about this time that I felt justified in sending a few strong objections heavenward. Of course, when I read about the unpleasantries the poor passengers on that cruise were subjected to, I quickly retracted my objections. There’s always a bright side — at least we hadn’t boarded one week earlier.

Mom rallied almost immediately and re-booked the cruise (eventually having to re-book two additional times because of repair delays). Barring another catastrophe, our cruise is now set for June. Mom would have been completely justified in yelling at her booking agent and giving up. Most would have.

Instead, Mom persisted. Reality was what it was, she figured, but she wasn’t going to let this cruise go down without a fight. I could hardly blame her.

Three weeks ago, we received news that Dad's cancer is officially in 100 percent remission. His oncologist calls it a miracle.

Time passed. Dad soldiered on. And then came the twist of all twists.

Three weeks ago, we received news that Dad’s cancer is officially in 100 percent remission. His oncologist calls it a miracle. Having never dared hope for that outcome, we are overwhelmed with gratitude for this incredible gift of more time — a gift that most families in our situation don’t receive.

But what if the ending had been as predicted? What if we were attending a funeral for my dad instead of going on a cruise with him? Obviously, it would be terribly sad. We would mourn and we would miss him. And someday — since we know that cancer will eventually claim his life — we will.

Here’s what’s significant, though: Regardless of outcome, I will always be grateful for my parents’ approach to such difficult circumstances. They chose to laugh more than they cried. They chose optimism and faith. They chose not to go down without a fight. They chose hope.

For our family, those choices made — and still make — all the difference. We experienced first-hand that choosing hope is truly the only choice worth making — no matter the odds.

By way of tribute to the millions of families who are battling cancer and other unfavorable odds: Here’s to hope.

Epilogue:

One week after learning of Dad’s remission, Mom received a call from her booking agent at the cruise line informing her that our entire party of 16 will be going on the cruise — for free. It seems that not cussing out your booking agent is another choice worth making.

Book Review - Rules of Civility

Good Reads Summary:  

On the last night of 1937, twenty-five-year-old Katey Kontent is in a second-rate Greenwich Village jazz bar with her boardinghouse roommate stretching three dollars as far as it will go when Tinker Grey, a handsome banker with royal blue eyes and a tempered smile, happens to sit at the neighboring table. This chance encounter and its startling consequences propel Katey on a yearlong journey from a Wall Street secretarial pool toward the upper echelons of New York society and the executive suites of Condé Nast--rarefied environs where she will have little to rely upon other than a bracing wit and her own brand of cool nerve. 

Wooed in turn by a shy, principled multi-millionaire and an irrepressible Upper East Side ne'er-do-well, befriended by a single-minded widow who is a ahead of her time,and challenged by an imperious mentor, Katey experiences firsthand the poise secured by wealth and station and the failed aspirations that reside just below the surface. Even as she waits for circumstances to bring Tinker back into her life, she begins to realize how our most promising choices inevitably lay the groundwork for our regrets.

My Take:

I read this book because of my friend Katie's review and was far from disappointed. 

The setting is NYC in 1938, the plot is intriguing and poignant, and the writing is masterful -- winsome, wonderful and witty with touches of wisdom woven throughout (too many W's, I know, but once I started I couldn't help myself). Anyone who can turn a phrase like Amor Towels has my respect and high regards.

Some fun words/quotes from the book:

"fab-dabulous"

Speaking of an outfit a girl was wearing: "It clashed with all her best intentions."

"gadzooks"

Speaking of a scrumptious salad: "If I were a country I would have made it my flag."

"bust my bosoms"

"In the manner of a schoolboy for whom no walk home is without its world championship."

“...be careful when choosing what you're proud of--because the world has every intention of using it against you.”

“It is a lovely oddity of human nature that a person is more inclined to interrupt two people in conversation than one person alone with a book.”

“As a quick aside, let me observe that in moments of high emotion....if the next thing you're going to say makes you feel better, then it's probably the wrong thing to say. This is one of the finer maxims that I've discovered in life. And you can have it, since it's been of no use to me.”

“If we only fell in love with people who were perfect for us...then there wouldn't be so much fuss about love in the first place.”

“In our twenties, when there is still so much time ahead of us, time that seems ample for a hundred indecisions, for a hundred visions and revisions—we draw a card, and we must decide right then and there whether to keep that card and discard the next, or discard the first card and keep the second. And before we know it, the deck has been played out and the decisions we have just made will shape our lives for decades to come.”

Being a few decades past my twenties, I wholeheartedly agree with this last quote.

Highly Recommend -- 4.5 stars

The good, the bad: The Teenager

Published for KSL.com -- HERE's the link
Published in Cross Timber Gazette -- HERE's the link

“I don’t want him to be a teenager. He won’t play with me anymore.”

My third child, age 9, voiced this concern when I was putting him to bed after his older brother’s 12th birthday party. Having observed the emotional roller-coaster ride his oldest sister (age 14) had been on in the previous few years, he had a good idea what was coming — and he didn’t like it.

Despite my wishy-washy assurances to the contrary, I knew that my son’s prediction was pretty much spot-on. Honestly, I wasn’t a huge fan of the idea myself.

To be clear, teenagers have tons of fabulous and enviable traits:

• They’re funny. The other day at the dinner table, my 12-year-old son took a firm stand against eating what was on the menu. His 15-year-old brother looked at him sideways and said, “There are hundreds of children in Africa who would take issue with you turning your nose up at perfectly good food.”
• They think outside the box. I walked into the kitchen recently to find my 17-year-old daughter sitting on the kitchen island eating a bowl of quinoa, and my 15-year-old son sitting on the opposite counter eating a bowl of cereal. Apparently, tables and chairs have become too cliché.
• They’re wonderfully empathetic. I can always, always count on one of my teenagers to whisk away the tears or frustrations of their 7-year-old brother. Granted, some of their methods — wrestling, teasing, shooting Nerf bullets — are unconventional (this goes back to thinking outside the box), but it works and is much appreciated. In fact, it’s simply awesome.

These positive, great moments with my teenagers are unforgettable. They leave me feeling happy, hopeful and confident. They leave me thinking how glad I am that I’m a mom.

But as long as I’m being clear, I’ll be honest. Teenagers get a bad rap for good reason:

• They make inexplicable decisions. Like when my daughter, upon being asked to turn off the TV because we were going to bed, decided to make a grilled chicken salad. The chicken had not yet been grilled. The grill was right outside our window. It was midnight.
• They dig in their heels, even when "undigging" them would make so much more sense. Like when my son refused my help on a fairly difficult writing assignment for his freshman English class. I happen to have taught freshman English — plus, I write for a living. I went out on a limb and reminded him of those details about me — in the event he had forgotten. He hadn’t. He wrote the paper on his own.
• They display various degrees of emotional instability. In the interest of protecting my kids’ dignity, I’ll leave it at that. Which reminds me — I need to thank my parents for protecting my own dignity. Karma being what it is, my teenage stories bear remarkable resemblance to my kids’. The biggest difference I can see is that most of my emotional outbursts were made while wearing leg warmers and sporting very big hair.

So I shouldn’t be surprised (yet I sometimes am) when the negative, not-so-great moments with my teenagers are as unforgettable as the positive ones — but on a different level. They leave me crying, losing sleep, worrying and praying. They leave me wondering why I ever became a mom if I’m so bad at it.

I speak only for myself, but suspect that I might not be alone in feeling this way.

Last week, my 12-year-old son — the one who had taken such a strong anti-teenager stance — discovered that there was Nutella in the house. He is keenly aware of my weakness for Nutella. So, he took a spoonful of it and waved it back and forth in front of my nose, chanting, “This will make all your dreams come true!” Eventually, I caved — it was inevitable. As he was walking away, my son laughed maniacally and cackled, “I can break them every time.”

I believe I’ve just been invited to board my third emotional roller coaster.

There will be huge ups, huge downs, serious twists and some surprises. But I wouldn’t miss the ride. It’s sure to be awesome and unforgettable — just like my teenagers.

Book Review: Between Shades of Gray

Goodreads Summary:

Lina is just like any other fifteen-year-old Lithuanian girl in 1941. She paints, she draws, she gets crushes on boys. Until one night when Soviet officers barge into her home, tearing her family from the comfortable life they've known. Separated from her father, forced onto a crowded and dirty train car, Lina, her mother, and her young brother slowly make their way north, crossing the Arctic Circle, to a work camp in the coldest reaches of Siberia. Here they are forced, under Stalin's orders, to dig for beets and fight for their lives under the cruelest of conditions.

Lina finds solace in her art, meticulously--and at great risk--documenting events by drawing, hoping these messages will make their way to her father's prison camp to let him know they are still alive. It is a long and harrowing journey, spanning years and covering 6,500 miles, but it is through incredible strength, love, and hope that Lina ultimately survives.Between Shades of Gray is a novel that will steal your breath and capture your heart.

My Take:

This book captivated me from the first page to the last (I read it in a day).  I've read of Hitler's atrocities, but Stalin's are equally horrifying.  Based on interviews with survivors, as well as writings and artwork buried by those who didn't survive in hopes that it would one day be found to tell the stories of the dead, this book is heartwrenching yet somehow heartwarming at the same time.  It illustrates, one poignant page after another, the remarkable strength of the human spirit.

Highly Recommend! 

Courageous walk through a grocery store parking lot

Published for Motherhood Matters/KSL.com -- HERE's the link
Published for Cross Timbers Gazette -- HERE's the link

DALLAS — Since my brush with death while walking through a grocery store parking lot seven weeks ago, I’ve hit a few rough patches.

Besides navigating my way through lots of aches and even more pains, I struggle with what’s called “diminished capacity.” In other words, my brain can process only so much activity or stimulation before it decides that it’s had enough and starts to shut down.

I’m never quite sure when this might occur, so it’s proven quite problematic — especially when I’m out in public or trying to have an extended conversation.

My doctors say that my brain will eventually recalibrate and return to its normal state. As time wears on, I can see why they use the term “eventually” — it’s nice and vague. I’m beginning to wonder if patience, for all its virtues, might be a bit overrated. At this point, I would choose full pre-accident brain capacity over patience in a heartbeat.

As tough as these issues have been, at least the doctors prepared me for them. The one thing that caught me completely off guard, though, is that I couldn’t get myself to go back to the scene of the accident. Every time I would pass the store, the thought of walking through the parking lot was paralyzing.

For someone like me, who isn’t nervous or panicky by nature, that feeling of dread was foreign and somewhat frightening. It wasn’t rational, but it was very real.

At the five-week point, I decided that I’d had enough of my own wimpiness. I was going to show my kids what being brave looks like. So in a burst of confidence, I put on the shirt I had worn on the day of the accident (sadly, my jeans were rendered unwearable by a zealous paramedic wielding a giant pair of scissors) and drove to the store with my two youngest kids.

Once I parked, I realized that my confidence had been short-lived and I came very close to turning around. But my kids — who understood why we had come — were with me, and the whole idea was for me to show them how to be brave. I climbed out, held tightly to my 7-year-old son’s hand, and we slowly retraced my steps through the parking lot.

Without my son’s smile and my 10-year-old daughter’s enthusiastic words of encouragement, I couldn’t have done it. As it turned out, my kids helped me be brave.

As we entered the store, there were no cheers or balloons or even a cookie to acknowledge my feat. We simply walked through the aisles, filled our cart and went to a checkout line. As he was scanning our groceries, the teenage cashier smiled and said, “How’s it going?”

I smiled back and said, “Fine, thanks.” He didn’t know my full story, and would have been pretty overwhelmed with my real answer. But he was both genuine and friendly, which was enough.

Almost everyone I know has tackled, or is currently tackling, significant challenges: health issues, death or disability of a loved one, divorce, struggles with children, huge disappointments, depression. In other words, we all suffer a form of “diminished capacity” at some point.

When we’re in this diminished state, it can seem almost impossible to walk into a store, or even get out of bed in the morning. It can be so very hard to be brave — especially without help.

I tell myself to make more of an effort to smile, to give words of encouragement, and to hold someone’s hand when they need it. And even though I will rarely know anyone’s full story, I remind myself how important it is to simply be genuine and friendly.

It may not be everything, but there's a good chance that it will be enough.