Family snippets // Weekend linkage

Ellie is constantly adding to her store of knowledge. She asks "is it?" a thousand times every day, and you absolutely must answer (it's a laundry basket, it's a bobby pin, it's a banana) or she will stand there repeating "is it is it is it" till kingdom come.

Funny thing is, sometimes she is asking to gain information and other times she's just testing you.

Ellie: Is it?
Me: That's toothpaste.
Ellie: Yeah! (Translation: Good job Mommy, you got it right!)

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"What Is Quick?"

This weekend, I finally decided to conduct an experiment. I say finally because I’ve been meaning to write this post for about two months now, and I could just never seem to find the… time. What I wanted to do was to time myself, from a standing start, and see what took longer: a weeknight dinner made mostly with pre-made ingredients, or a dinner made with all real stuff.

"How Ikea Took Over the World."

Ikea printed 217 million copies of its most recent annual [catalog]—which the company claims is the biggest run of any publication of its kind in the world—producing them in a studio in Älmhult, Sweden. For every room setup, there is an Ikea employee standing by responsible for tracking any element that needs to be switched out—making sure that glass products produced in mainland China don’t show up in Taiwan’s catalogue and removing Persian rugs from the one that gets mailed to Israelis.

"Man Does Not Live by Man Skills Alone."

It’s certainly useful to know how to keep a journal, survive in the wilderness, keep yourself fit, plan a date, cook a steak, and do home repairs. But mastering these arts doesn’t make you a real man in the deepest sense. My father taught me how to polish my shoes, tie a tie, and match a shirt to a suit. He taught me how to shave and impressed upon me the importance of deodorant and cologne. He taught me how to look a person in the eye when you shake hands, how to safely handle and shoot a gun, how to look for a job, and how to keep the job you have. But ultimately, he lived a double life, and he left me unprepared for the weightier responsibilities of manhood.

no frigate like a book #6

Today, two for the grown-ups and two for the babies.

Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres

I was actually angry when this book ended, because I wanted it to continue forever. I initially borrowed it from the library but proceeded to purchase my own copy, which-- in these days of responsibility and reduced pocket change-- is an honor reserved for the books I truly love.

It follows a widowed doctor, his sprightly daughter, and the colorful inhabitants of their tiny village through World War II, specifically through the Italian occupation of the Greek island of Cephallonia. The chapters are narrated from a variety of perspectives within the story, so that you get a well-rounded view of what happens.

Bernieres is a marvelous writer, I think, and this book seems to have everything: romance and history, heroism and tragedy, humor and philosophy. I laughed out loud quite often, and mused on serious themes just as often.

Can it be a tad raunchy? Yes. Did that diminish my enjoyment? Alas, not in the least. I grow lenient in my old age.

"I am sorry, Koritsimou," he confided to the corpse, "if we had not been here, you would have lived." He was exhausted, long past the point of fear, and his weariness had made him philosophical. Little girls as innocent and sweet as this had died for nothing in Malta, in London, in Hamburg, in Warsaw. But they were statistical little girls, children he had never seen himself. He thought of Lemoni, and then of Pelagia.

The unspeakable enormity of this war suddenly broke his heart, so that he gasped and fought for breath, and at the identical moment he also knew with absolute certainty that nothing was more necessary than to win it.

One Light Still Shines by Marie Monville

This is a memoir written by the wife of Charlie Roberts, who in 2006 took eight Amish girls hostage in their own schoolhouse, then shot them and committed suicide. (This happened just twenty minutes from my parents' home, in the tiny town where my current midwife practice is located.)

I was away at college when the schoolhouse shooting occurred, so it didn't have as much an impact on me as it might have. The story affected me much more this time around, as I read about it through Marie's eyes and sympathized with her shock, betrayal, and spiritual turmoil. She relates how God sustained her and her children in the immediate aftermath, protected her from bitterness, and demonstrated His love to the world through the responses of the Amish community. It's quite a remarkable story of redemption.

I've read more than my usual share of nonfiction in the past couple months, largely due to my book club. This was January's pick. I don't think I would have chosen this on my own, as it looked too much like "inspirational material" for my tastes. However, I enjoyed it (if enjoyment is at all appropriate for such a topic) and was deeply impressed by Monville's clear and sincere faith. The writing can be a bit repetitive and sappy, I'd say, but a good read overall.

I Love My Daddy and I Love My Mommy by Laurel Porter-Gaylord and Ashley Wolff

I've mentioned the mommy version before on the blog . . . we got the daddy one soon afterwards. I love this pair of sweet board books. They both have beautiful illustrations, right up animal-crazy Ellie's alley. They express a child's affection for his parents with perfect simplicity.

I also take a wicked delight in the non-politically correct portrayals of each parent. ("I love my daddy because he watches over me at night. I love my mommy because she feeds me when I'm hungry.") I even found a review that praises them for originality and realism, but concludes that "Unfortunately, the tendency here to emphasize Mommy as caretaker and Daddy as protector may reinforce sex-role stereotypes." Well, boo hoo.

Family snippets

At six weeks old, Zoe has decided to be a sleeping champion. Thank you Jesus and glory hallelujah. She usually wakes up twice per night, and that is excellent, giving me several looong blocks of uninterrupted sleep. Thanks to her better sleeping patterns, I feel like I've emerged from the "survival mode" period and am entering normal life again. Sometimes, when my lucky stars are perfectly aligned, she only wakes up once. Then I feel like Wonder Woman in the morning.

Not this morning, though. We're all sick, sniffling and sneezing our way around the house. It is a pajama day full of echinacea tea, Vitamin C, and cod liver oil-- which Ellie believes is a great treat, ha. (It actually doesn't taste bad at all, even though swallowing a teaspoon of oil is weird.)

Ellie loves to talk. I mean, absolutely loves it. She narrates her life almost without pause, whether or not she can correctly pronounce the words. She points out when Zoe is finished nursing ("baby done!") and names everything we eat ("peppers! olives! meat!") and tells you what the weather is like ("snow! raining! sunshine!") and talks about what she's doing ("upstairs! downstairs! box empty! orange car!").

It's really funny to see what she finds important, or what she notices about our daily routine. For example, right now she's standing at the front door saying "No package." I had opened the main door to let in more light through the glass on the screen door; Ellie was evidently hoping to find a box on the step. Clearly, I order a lot of stuff from Amazon.