It kind of blows my mind that when kids hit a certain age they go through a phase of getting night terrors or nightmares. On Monday night, the Big Yam woke up screaming and crying at 3am and it was tragic. He was saying stuff like, "Baba...light!" and "Mama, help me!" (Seriously, is your heart breaking? Mine did.) When he's gotten upset in the past, I generally just give him squishes and then run through the list of people who love him, "Mama loves you, Baba loves you, Nana loves you, Poh Poh loves you," etc. Recently he's started doing it himself, except it sounds like "Mama lalloo, Baba lalloo...." Super-cute, right? Well I noticed that not too long ago he started adding his own peeps in to the mix:
That's right. Dora loves you. Boots loves you.
He sometimes includes Map and Backpack too. Man, the allure of that little Latina is impossible to resist! Every kid goes down the Dora the Explorer rabbit hole. I know that J sometimes lets the kids watch a bit of TV while she's getting lunch ready but I'm not fussed about it. He doesn't get it at home and the lady has to get lunch ready! I'm glad he's getting his popular culture there and not asking for it with us. The other night the Dotytron was watching old Buster Keaton movies with the Big Yam and they were having a blast.
Tuesday night's dinner of braised tilapia with chorizo (which actually wasn't chorizo), arugala, and tiny gem tomatoes from my CSA with orzo. So good!
Tonight is Academic Book Club. We read Richard Ford's Canada. This book was THE WORST! I was literally angry loud-flipping through pages on the TTC and doing a dramatic sigh as I speed-skimmed the whole thing because I was so mad that I was wasting valuable reading time with this dreck. You will find that my opinion is not shared. Jane Urquhart wrote a glowing review of this for The Globe and Mail (assuming you put any credence in The Globe and Mail's culture reviews - I do not), and The New York Times was similarly favorable. They were taken with the writing style and the richness of the language and the voice of the protagonist - all of which were things I abhorred. The story is told from the point of view of 15 year old Dell Parsons, who recounts how his parents' decision to rob a bank irrevocably set in motion a series of events that altered his life and the life of his twin sister, Berner. The book opens with this line: “First I’ll tell about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later.” Which is admittedly a cracker of a way to start a book. TOO BAD IT TAKES LIKE 300 PAGES TO EVEN GET TO THE BANK ROBBERY. So much set up! So much exposition! So much telling instead of showing! Unlike other reviewers, I didn't think that the author inhabited the mind of a 15 year old boy at all. I thought as a reader, the characters' motivations and interior selves was maddeningly opaque. You'd get sentences like (and I'm paraphrasing here), "He always refused to believe that other people could think differently from him," or "As was in keeping with his tendency to blah blah blah," and I hated it. I hated being forced to rely on the observations of this (too-reliable?) narrator. You never question people's motivations because the protagonist tells you what to think and what they're thinking and there was no room for my imagination to fill in the gaps. I can't tell you how much I didn't want to or didn't enjoy reading this book. It was epically bad.
We're doing a Canada-themed party for one of our members who recently became a Canadian citizen - so I made butter tarts. I'm also meeting up with Dr. Rei beforehand for a nice little ramen & bootie-shopping session. So excited about that.
While I'm waiting for Laini Taylor's next instalment in the Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy to be released (November 2nd! Can't wait!), I've got the following in my queue: the new Jonathan Tropper, The Book Thief, and Beautiful Ruins.
Day off tomorrow! Woot.