Reading: “The Magician’s Elephant”

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I love reading children’s books. There is something comforting and familiar about them. They almost never have a bad ending. They just make me happier. “The Magician’s Elephant” is no exception.

For the last two weeks, I have read a bit of this children’s book at night to my son. And to my husband (he says he likes to listen to me read). I realized recently that the last book I had read out loud to my son was when we read a Harry Potter book together almost two years ago. Two years! I could not believe it had been that long. I made a lazy conclusion in my head that insisted that if my children could read chapter books by themselves, they no longer needed me to read to them. And that is a shame. And a pity.

I started this children’s book by myself. But the writing was so marvelous, I had to share it. So, I began reading a bit to my son and husband every night. My daughter would have none of it. But she and I read the same teen fantasy books and discuss them, so I was okay with it. A little sad, but okay.

“The Magician’s Elephant” is the tale is a story about a magician who brings an elephant crashing down through the roof of an opera house and cripples a noble woman in the process. He did not mean to. He only wanted to provide her with lillies. But he also longed to do real magic.

In a different part of the city, little Peter has sought out a fortuneteller whose prediction to him was that he must follow an elephant to find the sister he believed to be dead.

And so it began. The intersecting lines of many lives all interwoven around and through and to the elephant.

The words in this book are gorgeous. It is only 201 pages long. Or two hundred and a half pages long, as my son would say.

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The book is illustrated by Yoko Tanaka. The illustrations are a bit dark. But because Kate DiCamillo’s words are so descriptive and beautiful, I liked that the drawings were murky and dreamlike. The illustrations did not mess with the pictures that Ms. DiCamillo had all ready painted in my head.

I would be reading aloud and a sentence would catch me off-guard with its eloquent beauty. I would find my voice cracking and my vision blurred not by sadness but with the great emotion that her words brought forth.

Now this. This is a beautiful writer. And this. This is a beautiful book.

It is a book that will become a classic. I am sure of it.

The true magic in this book are in the sentences. She put words that I never thought to pull together and made them harmonize and sing. It was the music my soul did not know it longed to hear.

You cannot rush through this book, even though it is an easy read (actually there were surprisingly large words used for a children’s book). To rush through this book would be to miss the magic resting on each page.

My son turned to me when it was over moved beyond words. When I prodded him, he responded, “that was the best book I have ever read.”

I am glad he enjoyed it as much as I did.

I also have ordered “Flora and Ulysses.” It is a book also by Kate DiCamillo and I plan on beginning to read it to my whole family (my daughter is not getting out of a great book again) later in the week. I am making it a goal to read out loud to my children more. I had forgotten how enjoyable it was. Just because their ages are now in the double digits, doesn’t mean they are too old for it.

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Have you read this book? What did you think? Do you have any other marvelous children’s books for me to read?

I can’t… I Just Can’t… Lace Study Dress

Something happened to me a few months ago. Something amazing. I have come to the realization that I can’t pay full price. I just cannot do it. It drives me crazy. It seems I no sooner buy something full price, then it goes on sale. Then I feel betrayed. By that piece of clothing. And I rarely wear it.

So without a gift card, I pretty much only purchase on sale. And it has to be a good sale, too. At least 50% off…

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Wait! Oh! My! Gosh! Did you see that? Did. You. See. That? Did you see the new Byron Lars Lace Study Dress? Holy Wallet!

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CLUNK!

That was the sound of me falling on the floor after seeing that beauty.

CLUNK!

That was the sound of my husband hitting the floor after he saw the price tag.

CLUNK!

That was the sound of my pocket book being thrown down to scoop that beauty up for my husband’s birthday dinner and our anniversary trip to Las Vegas.

Now my pocket book sounds like this:

What you didn’t hear that? If you listen closely, you can very slightly hear the rustle of. The faint rumble. The breezy swooshing. Of…

Nothing.

Sob.

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Anyway, I have had two kids. I have a belly. Yes, I am totally going to blame my children for my protrusion and not my overeating or lack of exercise. It was the reason I had kids. Speaking of which, kids will take every sense of vanity from you. I remember very clearly my friend asking me at nineteen what my best body part was. I thought long and hard. Yes, this is when I had to actually think because there was more than one to choose from. Ahhh. Youth. Anyway, I chose my stomach. And the universe laughed at me. And my thighs clapped. Sigh.

My husband actually tells me he likes my stomach. Which is super sweet. And enabling.

My point being, that yes, even with a shaper underneath this dress, my body is not perfect. And that is okay. I still like the dress.

And I am okay with my belly. Shhh. Don’t tell it that. I don’t want it to think of it as a challenge.

But seriously, I did not have one piece of tight clothing in my closet besides pants before I purchased this dress. It filled a void in my wardrobe. It probably will be the only tight piece of clothing for a very long while.

My husband LOVES this dress. I mean loves. He wants me to wear it at every outing.

Enabler. ; )

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Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yea. That I won’t pay full price. Yea. That’s right. Never again.

Wait! What’s that?…

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Do you have a strict “sale only” philosophy?

I am in love with the Lace Study Dress. It’s the stuff sounds are made of… Pocket books die for…

And bellies proudly salute.

“Mom, You Smell Good!”

That sounds nice, right? Sweet, right?

Well, it does sound nice. And it does sound sweet.

But, unfortunately, it was not.

It ended up not being true.

Let me backtrack.

I was making sloppy joes for dinner. I had wanted to make my Sloppy Joe Pie, but time only allotted for the making of sloppy joes.

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I was browning my meat. I was humming. I was drinking my Kung Fu Girl wine. I decided, Hmmmm, maybe someone would like to see how I make my sloppy joes. My husband is smirking at my secret thoughts right now. I added my dashes of worcestershire sauce and garlic powder to my meat. And I took a picture.

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Oh, yes! This is lookin’ good, thought my Kung Fu brain.

I took another picture.

Which turned out fine.

But what you cannot see.

What you are not seeing, is me dumping the whole sloppy joe packet down the front of my pajamas (don’t tell me you don’t cook in your pajamas, my heart could not bear it. Actually, I was wearing these pajamas).

It landed all over the floor.

Of course, I thought.

Of course. I am making Sloppy Joes. How could I make them and not be sloppy?

I couldn’t.

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My husband sweetly vacuumed up my mess while I finished dinner. Here is a tip: I add a quarter cup of ketchup to my sloppy joe mixture, in addition to the tomato paste the packet calls for (and yes, I had to open up a new packet. Because my other one was consumed in equal parts by the floor and the vacuum).

We ate dinner. I forgot about my mishap. Moved along. Took pictures of my fancy food.

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Later, I laid down in our bed to read my husband and my son a bit of “The Magician’s Elephant” (review coming soon. Spoiler: I give it a ten out of ten).

My son cuddled up next to me.

“Mom. You smell good!”

My heart melted.

“I do?” I thought about what it could be. Could it be my deodorant or my IF perfume? I had worn both forever. I was surprised it had taken him this long to comment on liking them.

“What do I smell like?”

He thought. Then he sniffed loudly.

“Garlic bread!” He proclaimed.

“Whhhhhaaaaaatttttt?” I unhappily asked.

He tried to make me feel better. “I love garlic bread!” He assured me.

This was still not what I wanted to hear.

I sniffed my shirt where he had been laying. It did smell like garlic.

I looked inside the pocket. And I gasped. Inside the pocket of my top was half of the sloppy joe packet I had dropped earlier.

I guess my shirt was hungrier than the floor and the vacuum.

I quickly went into the laundry room and changed. But I could not help reflecting on the fact that making sloppy joes had turned out to be messier than I had thought it would be.

I was downright sloppy.

Wait for it.

I was a Sloppy Jenni.

But it was okay.

Little boys are crazy for the stuff.

And I can think of a lot worse things than smelling like garlic bread.

But not much.

P.S. Happy Valentine’s Day! Today I am wearing a bright pink caftan that I bought on sale. It makes me feel ultra feminine and romantic. What are you wearing today? Doing today? We are going out to lunch as a couple and then I am making homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner with the family.

I hope your day is sweet!

And that you don’t smell like garlic. Or sloppy joes! Or worse, Sloppy Jenni!

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P.S. I shared this on Savvy Southern Style.

And My Romantic Home.

It’s The Little Things: Girl Scout Cookies

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The title of this post should really be called, “I’m a glutton.”

Or “How to gain ten pounds in ten days.”

But, it is time for a “littlest things” post and so it shall remain titled with what it is.

Only you and I and my ecstatic thighs (they love any old reason to clap) will know the truth.

Every year. Every single year I end up buying around thirty-five boxes of girl scout cookies. Oh, yes. You read that right. It is not a three. It is not a five. But rather a three and a five together to make a larger number. And a larger me. Coincidentally… Or not… one pound is created by eating thirty five hundred calories that your body did not burn off.

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I cannot resist them. I primarily just buy the Thin Mint variety. I buy most of them from my sweet girlfriend’s little girl. Although I always buy a box from the little girls that stand outside of the grocery store, too. I cannot resist cookies and I cannot say, “no” to a hopeful child.

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I actually have not eaten A cookie in a week. Because I cannot each A cookie. It ends up being A sleeve. Or A box.

I am A greedy monster. A cookie monster. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom.

I have avoided looking at them for seven days.

Seven long days.

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But I am taking pictures of them for you today.

I am staying strong. Deep breaths.

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The Girl Scout Cookies are made at two different factories. The Thin Mints are packaged in either a clear cellophane wrapper or a foil enclosure depending on which factory they come from. No, I did not just look that up. I know way too much about Girl Scout Cookies.

I much prefer the foil wrapper. Thankfully that is what my girlfriend’s daughter’s troop receives.

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The cookies usually last us until January of the next year. We freeze most of them. So it is not like we are eating them all at once. Being the slight hoarder that I am, I panic at the thought of running out of these cookies. They are only available once a year.

Do you stock up on Girl Scout Cookies? Which ones are your favorite? Do you like the foil or cellophane wrapped cookies better?

It’s The Little Things: hoarding a year-supply of a snack. Now that’s true craziness happiness!

Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.

Nom. Nom. Nom.

Sob.

Clap! Clap!

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