Book #1: Under the Banner of Heaven by John Krakauer

First, I've had serious internal conflict about whether I should keep numbering my books or start again with the new year. Ultimately, I've decided to start again. However, I shall record the total number for 2013 here so that when I'm 109 I can get one of my great-great-grandchildren to add all of the numbers from each year of my life together and tell me that I read a lot.

2013 book total = 29

The first book I finished in 2014 is Under the Banner of Heaven. This is my third Krakauer book, as I previously read Into Thin Air and Into the Wild long ago in 2013. I loved those books. This one was good for like 150 pages, and then I loathed it more and more as I read.

This is part where I was going to link to my notes on the other two books, but when I went to find them on my blog I couldn't, which means I don't think I counted them, which means I didn't count all my books, which means when I'm 109 my great-great-grandchildren will be dealing with inaccurate numbers. Crap.

Anyway, Under the Banner of Heaven advertises itself quite dramatically: "On July 24, 1984, a woman and her infant daughter were murdered by two brothers who believed they were ordered to kill by God. The roots of their crime lie deep in the history of an American religion practiced by millions..."

Sounds all murdery and suspenseful, right?

Since I love a good murder book, one linked to something so crazy as "God said to" seemed awesome. But this book was about 15% murder and 85% history of Mormondom. It was interesting for about 150 pages. Then I was bored, but I was too far in to put the book down, so I plowed through like the dedicated reader that I am, complaining about it all the while. In early 2013 I read The 19th Wife, which is sort-of-fiction-sort-of-not, so I already knew a lot of the Mormon scandal stuff and was not intrigued for too long when I read all about it again in this book.

Books 27, 28, and 29

Book 27: Drowning Ruth by Christina Schwartz
This book was really good. I almost didn't pick it up because the description says that it jumps around in time and place, and I didn't think I could keep up with that so close to the end of the semester. I started it anyway, and it turns out that it wasn't difficult to follow at all. It's advertised as a thriller, but I wouldn't go quite that far. It's suspenseful for sure, and definitely a page turner. I recommend it when you want a book you can kind of get lost in and finish quickly.

Book 28: Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns
I loved this book. It's touching and heart wrenching and funny and sweet. The protagonist and narrator is a fourteen year old boy named Will Tweedy. The book jacket describes him as a cross between Huck Finn and Holden Caulfied, and I find this to be sweetly accurate. The story takes place in Cold Sassy, Georgia, where Will spends a great deal of time with his grandfather. In the beginning of the story, Will's grandmother dies, but not before his grandfather lovingly cares for her in an attempt to nurse her back to health. This section of the book is just so beautiful. A character emerges after the grandmother's death who I didn't like. I have a hard time enjoying books centered around characters I don't like, but this time it did not detract from the overall story. Cold Sassy Tree is a great Southern tale.

Book 29: Room by Emma Donoghue
Wow. Room is weird and strange and engrossing. It's narrated by five year old Jack who was born in a 12x12 room and has never left. He believes that Room, his mother, and her captor are all that exists in the world. And just when Room starts to make you feel claustrophobic, something happens to expand Jack's world. This is much more a thriller than Drowning Ruth. It's an incredible page turner unlike anything I've read before.

One more reason God gave us Keaton (and Tucker as his sidekick)

It's Advent.

I love the Christmas season. We got married during the holidays partly because we love the peace and joy that comes with December and the celebration of Christ's birth.

But this year I haven't quite felt ready. I had a cold a couple of weeks ago that I killed with crazy home remedies and sheer will, but the darn thing showed up again as soon as I was out of school for Thanksgiving break. When I look at my calendar for next week and all of the times I'm booked back to back or even double booked, I can feel my blood pressure go up. I guess my focus over the Thanksgiving holiday has been getting well and getting ahead for work so I can keep all the balls in the air and not let myself get overwhelmed.

Then we had a Sunday school lesson this morning about how overly commercialized Christmas has become, and how we've allowed it to become stressful and all about stuff. Our challenge as we left class was to focus on the miracle of Christmas and to allow ourselves to be a vessel through which God can do miracles even today. To be willing to sacrifice our selfishness for that. But, honestly, I didn't leave there all fired up about Christmas. I left with a list in my head.

We came home and cleaned, the boys did homework, and we started getting out the Christmas decorations. We immediately remembered how full of joy Keaton Hickman is (when he's not mad, that is) because he was dancing and singing Christmas songs and offering to help and talking about how we needed to do things a certain way because "that's how we always do it." We were completing a task, and then Keaton stepped in and we were making memories as a family.

As each boy put out his nativity scene, Keaton wondered aloud why we didn't have advent candles at home like we do at church. "We should have those here," he said, "Then we could light them and say the prayer and everything together as a family." (I'm sure there was a little "and we could play with fire by lighting candles over and over again" in there, too.)

Tucker jumped on his idea immediately, and they began scouring the house for candles. "We need four small ones and one tall one," Tucker said. But they could only come up with a hodgepodge of four random candles made up of various shapes and sizes and colors. Finally, Trey told them we could probably pick up some candles the next time we go to the store.

It was getting late, and I needed to do our grocery shopping for the week. I decided to go to Michaels first because I needed a couple of more wreaths for the bare spot above my windows. While I was there, I picked up four votives, four votive holders, and a pretty sparkly silver candle for the boys' advent aspirations.

When I got home, they asked for the candles first thing. They placed the votives in the holders, Trey found a platter and a wreath, and we set up our very own advent candle arrangement in the middle of the dining table. Tucker pulled up the reading that goes with the first candle on two ipads so that he and Keaton could each do a part. Keaton made up some rules about how each of us would get a turn being in charge of the week's candle, but when it's your turn you can choose an assistant to help you if you want. Then he announced he would go first (it was his idea, after all), and named Tucker his assistant.

Then this happened.

Keaton read to us about how the first candle of advent symbolizes hope.

"All the promises of God are fulfilled in Jesus Christ. He is our hope, today and forever!"

Then he said (I'm not making this up), "Let us pray."

And Tucker read an advent prayer about the hope we find in Christ. 

Trey and I just kind of sat there, stunned, until finally I dried my eyes enough to hug both boys and tell them how proud they make me. The whole thing was beautiful. I will never in my life forget it. 

People, it was our very own little miracle of Christmas, brought to us by the not-so-little-anymore Hickmans. 

Our tree isn't finished and my calendar still looks impossible, but I think I'm ready for the holidays now.

Book 26 (for real): The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

I cheated earlier and logged a book in twice (it wasn't even a good one), so this is actually my 26th book this year.

I am lucky to work in a high school with lots of people who love great books. I've picked my last couple of books by shopping on the bookshelf in my friend's office. That's where I found The God of Small Things. I'd heard great things about it, so I decided to give it a go.

Honestly, I almost put it down when I was about halfway through. I just didn't get into it. After some encouragement from a couple of friends, I decided to finish it, and I'm glad I did. I found myself needing closure for the characters.

This novel is beautifully written. The figurative language rivals just about anything I've ever read. People need to read it and write English papers over it. While it wasn't my favorite, I have a great appreciation for it. It definitely belongs in the literature section of Half Price Books.

Turns out I'm a murderer.

Caution! This post is rated PG-13 for violence against rodents and imaginary pets.

What you're about to read about happened several weeks ago. I was reminded of it tonight because of imaginary pets. Sometimes Keaton has the opportunity to play games on my phone, and sometimes in the games he creates imaginary pets called hatchies and names them very common names. The hatchies need to be electronically fed and played with and loved. Unfortunately, Keaton only plays on my phone when we're at baseball or some other such event, so his interest in these awesome e-pets is short lived. The hatchies are persistent little creatures, though, because they send notifications. Notifications that I get for about a week after Keaton's had my phone.

Madison misses you!
Madison is hungry!
Madison needs some water!
Madison is very sick!
Madison needs to see a doctor!
Madison is dying!

So throughout my week I get the pleasure of feeling responsible for the death of imaginary pets named Madison and Sarah and Julie. And I know it's my punishment for the real murder that happened in my back yard a few weeks ago.

More than once I've had the crap scared out of me when I open the grill to see a mouse scurrying across the grates. Over this past summer, I was always careful to bang on the outside of grill before I opened it in hopes that any mice would get on out of there without making me scream like a nine year old girl.

Mice on a cooking surface seems gross. I realize this, and that's why I turn the heat up very high and let it burn for a good long time before I put food anywhere near the grill. I'm certain this is a research based sanitation practice that would be acceptable in most university scientific labs. None of us have contracted mouse diseases, so don't judge me.

On The Day It Happened, I banged on the grill and opened and closed the lid a few times as is my standard practice. I emptied the trap at the bottom to make sure there wasn't any grass or twigs from the last time Trey mowed. Then I lit the grill and cranked it all the way up as high as it would go, closed the lid, and went in the house to season my steaks.

Keaton usually helps when I'm cooking, so the two of us were probably singing some Turnpike Troubadours and tossing up a salad while we waited for the grill to heat up. Suddenly I noticed smoke pouring out of the side vents in the grill. Lots of smoke. Lots and lots.

So Keaton and I went out to investigate. As soon as we got outside we noticed that the smoke had a distinctive smell, like something I'd never experienced before. I told Keaton to stay on the porch because I knew something was off. I mentally scolded myself for not having a fire extinguisher near the grill. I held my breath, stood as far back and I could, and opened the grill.

That's when I heard it.

The teeniest little shrieks of the teeniest little mouse babies that I was cremating in my back yard grill.

I was sick. Panicked. I slammed down the lid and started to run away, but as I came up the back steps I stopped cold. If they're shrieking, they're still alive.

Maybe I can save them.

So I ran back to the grill. A million thoughts ran through my mind. If I turn the heat off and douse the grill with water, will they drown? Maybe not. But I won't be able to move the grates to get to them because they're too hot. I headed back inside to get some towels to lift the grates.

But wait.

There would be no way to help them if they survived. No rodent burn unit. No mouse 911. Devastated, I walked back to the grill and told the little mice I was sorry, deciding the most humane thing to do would be to leave it on. Their tiny mouse pain would be over soon. I thought of Mr. Jangles from The Green Mile and wished them all an eternity in the mouse circus.

Keaton and I hurried back into the house, and I closed the blinds because I couldn't bear to see the smoke. Then I wished we had more snakes (the non-poisonous kind).

And so, I shall add to my resume electronic pet and mice murderer.

And halfway decent cooker of steaks. On the stove. Indoors.

And every time a hatchie named Julie dies on my phone, I'll remember.

Books 24, 25, and 26...

Book 24 - The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt

I started this book while waiting for a plane in Mexico, and I finished it in late September. It was entertaining, but I had to set it aside to read some other books that were assigned to me in one way or another. The Sisters brothers are brothers in the Old West who work as hired killers. It's funny in places, but it's mostly the sad story of loneliness and life choices that are ultimately unchangeable.

Book 25 - How Children Succeed: Grit, Curiousity, and the Hidden Power of Character

This was mostly assigned to me, but I loved it.  It's all about brain functionality and how we can groom children to have tenacity and character. Ultimately it's not intelligence that makes successful adults, but the ability to persevere and problem solve when faced with difficulty. It encouraged me as a mom and as an educator. Some day when I get my doctoral degree I think I'll study brains, as I'm fascinated at the possibility that lies there for even the toughest kids.

Book 26 - Little Wolves by Thomas Maltman

I found this book by searching Amazon for Kent Haruf books and reading descriptions in the "you might also like" list it generated. The book wasn't necessarily what I expected, but I liked it anyway. I expected a quiet book, and it was more supernatural/violent/Stephen King-y. Thanks to a lazy, rainy Sunday afternoon, I read about 75% of the book in one day. I didn't want to put it down.

Like a Ninja

At the Bryan vs. Consol game this year, some kids threw tortillas. This has some history because kids threw tortillas two years ago, so I guess we're always on the lookout for Mexican food at this particular game.

I probably shouldn't admit this, but I love a good natured high school prank every once in a while. I look at it as kids making memories that they'll talk about at their 20 year reunion, and as long as no one is hurt and nothing is damaged, it's just kids being kids. But the tortillas made me mad. Really mad. For two reasons:

1) Tortilla tossing mimics a similar incident when students of Texas Tech threw tortillas. As a good Ag, I was quite unhappy that our kids were trying to be like Tech. The tortilla throwing was classless when they did it, and it wasn't better when it was us.

2) My first thought as I saw a tortilla fly through the air was that someone is going to have to clean those up. Further, it seemed like it could storm at any minute, so someone could potentially be cleaning up wet tortillas. This prank was no longer harmless.

I should note here that out of the almost 2000 kids who go to my school, probably ten were actually involved. Also, they didn't do this in a mean spirited way. They really thought it was funny. I just didn't.

As soon as the flying tortillas started, we administrators took our stance on the sideline facing the stands, trying to see from whence they came. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, searching the crowd and giving the meanest face I could conjure. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tortilla came at me. Well, not really at me, but next to me.

And I caught it. Like a ninja.

And the crowd of tortilla tossers cheered.

And I did my best to maintain my cool composure.

But I couldn't.

So I laughed.

See, I didn't mean to catch it. I live in a house where football is regularly played in the living room despite my protests, and wiffle balls don't really count as balls when you're bunting from the fireplace. It was instinct. Cat-like reflexes born of being surrounded by boys.

I tried so hard to get back to my mean face, but I had to turn my back to the stands because I could not believe I had done it. I had accidentally participated in this little game, and all I could do was laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Eventually they ran out of tortillas, and next year we'll be extra vigilant in looking for them as they enter the stadium.

But I'll always be the lady who caught the tortilla.