The Print Equivalent of Cheese Fries

I wish I could report on some smartypants book I read this weekend. I wish I was walking around smugly having finished the books about educational philosophies and new fangled lesson planning sitting by my bed. I would give fifty bucks to be able to say I've read what I need to for my next book club meeting. Instead, I'm caught up on People and Entertainment Weekly. It was a busy weekend which included my computer crashing after having an explicitly obscene picture pop up and stay fixed on the screen. It was so dirty at first I didn't know what it was, but once I puzzled it out, I felt nauseous for several hours. I was chased by a bear. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but just a tiny bit. At six a.m. on Saturday, as I walked to our local lake to volunteer at a swim meet, I was alone on the shoulder and a smallish black bear was on the other side of the road. We glanced at each other and I ran. I did not see another human being or car until I arrived at the lake parking lot a half mile away. In my book that's as good as being chased by a bear. And finally, on Sunday afternoon, my minivan refused to start while parked in my neighbor's driveway. My husband had to come with his pickup truck and jumper cables to get me out of there. Luckily, they are very nice neighbors who were able to suppress wincing as my husband had to drive a little on their grass and staring in disgust at the mess of sand, gum wrappers, and books on my car's floor. Needless to say, the most challenging thing my mind could handle last night was reading about how J.Lo did actually lose all the baby weight and who the real Farrah Fawcett was.

Once again, luck has saved the day here at the Book Bench. I was at the public library with all three of my kids yesterday. They were laughing with friends, pulling favorites (books and DVDs) from the shelves, and begging for time on the computer. We were in a bit of a hurry, and I had to keep telling them to "wrap it up." Each kid checked out a few books to bring on our upcoming vacation, then we ran out of there to quickly eat a hastily thrown together dinner before racing off to a swim meet. Once we arrived at the meet, it soon became apparent that goggles and a swim cap had been left on our kitchen table. I left the kids with another mom to warm up with their team and drove like the devil to retrieve the cap and goggles. On my drive home, I couldn't help but think of something I'd read at the library earlier. While the books were being checked out, I managed to flip through the August issue of Parents magazine and read that "Kids who grow up in an organized and calm home are more likely to have good early reading skills at ages five and six" according to a study done by Ohio State University and Teachers College of Columbia University. Having set mealtimes and bedtimes, using a family calendar and turning off the TV during dinner are all key to developing these early reading skills. We don't have a television anywhere near our kitchen or dining room, but those other three challenge me. In light of this study, it is surprising that my youngest son can read at all, given that he has spent the first six years of his life in a state of unrelenting disorganization and hurry. His kindergarten teacher obviously deserves a big thank you, but I also think somebody needs to study the effects of eating a salami and cheese sandwich and banana for dinner in a moving minivan while your older sister reads to you and your mom drives everyone to a soccer game on reading skills. Luckily, that method seems to have worked for us because I know the calm organized home won't appear anytime soon.

The Eyes Have It

I've been feeling old lately as my eyesight just isn't what it used to be. Considering that I've been wearing eyeglasses since I was a preschooler, what it used to be wasn't much to write home about either. I've been living that joke that goes, "You don't need stronger glasses, you need longer arms," as I hold papers away from me and squint. I reached rock bottom about a week ago when paying bills. I had to call my six year old away from building an elaborate Lego and plastic army man battlefield to read my account number off a credit card bill. The print was too fine for me to read. God knows I didn't want to write the wrong number on my check causing the payment to be late in light of the current national credit card crisis. So my poor vision had me feeling old. The antidote? Visiting my ophthalmologist's office. Holy cardigan sweaters! The room was packed with septua- and octogenarians! I never felt so scantily clad in capri pants and a short sleeve t shirt. Every other person in the room had either a cardigan or windbreaker on and looked like an understudy for this guy.

That's fine. I'm all for layering. Here's my problem. There was nothing good to read! I've said it before that the only reason I go to the doctor and dentist regularly is to catch up on my tabloids. Health schmealth! I want to know what's going on with Heidi and Spencer, Brad and Angelina, and those spunky Real Housewives of New Jersey. It seems like everyone else at my eye doctor's office wants to read Better Homes and Gardens, something published by AARP, or a magazine called Somethings of World War II. I wish I could tell you what the something is but my pupils were dilated and I couldn't quite make it out. Don't these people care about Jon and Kate and poor stressed out Susan Boyle? Ah well, I left the office non the wiser about what's happening with those cat fighting girls from The Hills, but with a prescription for new eyeglasses in my hand and a spring in my step.

Perhaps Not So Family Friendly Foodie Friday? You Be The Judge

I work hard to keep The Book Bench a family friendly place to visit. You would think it would be easy as it is mostly about children's books and family reading, but sometimes I have to rein it in a bit. I just finished reading a cookbook/memoir/philosophical tome which is a bit of a headscratcher for me as to whether or not it can be included on this family friendly blog. It was written by Kenny Shopsin (with Carolynn Carreno). Kenny is the colorful and cranky proprietor and cook of Greenwich Village's corner grocery turned family restaurant, Shopsin's. Shopsin's was beautifully captured in a New Yorker essay by Calvin Trillin quite a few years ago which, thankfully, is included in Eat Me. Both Trillin and Shopsin himself make it clear that Kenny Shopsin can be rude, abrasive, vulgar, and an excellent cook.
So, is this a family friendly book? On the negative side, it is full of expletives and questionable descriptions of food (orgasmic or having the consistency of a nipple, for example). On the other hand, it is filled with many, many great recipes that would appeal to all types of eaters and about as many interesting and often sentimental stories. Kenny and his wife basically raised their children in the restaurant and his writing reveals his unabashed love of family. The cookbook includes many great photos and a cover gimmick that my kids couldn't resist playing with repeatedly. The cover shows a white egg. At the top, a little tab reads "Do not pull." Who could resist? When the tab is pulled, the egg turns into a photo of a plate with a fried egg, toast, and bacon.
I found Eat Me a fun and fascinating read. It was nice to learn that Kenny's famous pancakes begin with Aunt Jemima frozen pancake batter. He argues that pancakes are all about the equipment, physics, and chemical reaction. Furthermore, he tells anyone who would question his use of frozen prepared batter to face what pancakes really are: "...flour and milk drowned in butter and some form of sugar. As far as food value, you might as well take Crisco, whip it up with powdered sugar, and spread it on your face. I'm not saying that they're not delicious or you shouldn't eat them, but they're a luxury, a recreation, like smoking marijuana or having sex." See what I mean?

Procrastination Does NOT Pay!

Last night I dropped two of my children off at basketball. My kind parents agreed to watch the game and drive the kids home afterward, leaving me free to drive my third child to his ice hockey practice. Once he was on the ice, I had an hour to myself to work on reading for my book club which would meet in less than 48 hours. Unfortunately, the book, Barry Unsworth's Land of Marvels, set in Iraq just before the outbreak of World War I, is not holding my interest. Truth be told, it never even caught my interest. So I told myself I would read just a little of Newsweek magazine and then right back to the book. Mistake!

The first article I read, "The Curse of Cursive" by Jessica Bennett, scared me. I was scared my fourth grade son would find it. Bennett argues in favor of letting penmanship, cursive writing, joined up letters, script, whatever you call it, die out. In this modern world of computers and Blackberries, it has lost its purpose she argues. She cites the 2006 SAT where just 15 percent of the test takers used cursive on the written section. Clearly my son's elementary school didn't get the memo and supporting him through his penmanship homework was like the glory days of Gitmo: torture. It is crucial that he not find this article as it shoots down all of the lame arguments I used to get him to complete the assignments.

Foolishly, I left Land of Marvels in my handbag and moved onto another article, this one on "sexting." Sexting?! The title of this heart warming piece is "Teens, Nude Photos, and the Law." It's written by Dahlia Lithwick and is sure to make parents nauseous. Sexting is the name for sending a nude or semi nude photo of oneself via cell phone. Let me quote from the article here to tell you that "One teenager in five reported having sent or posted naked photos of themselves" according to the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy. One in five! (I apologize for all of the exclamation points but Holy Christmas!) Some people argue that kids have always been this stupid and this epidemic is only occurring due to the availability of technology. I disagree. Cavegirls had the technology to paint on the walls but you don't see many cave paintings of them flashing their boobs and grabbing their crotches. Can you imagine Shirley Temple or Judy Garland pulling a Miley Cyrus? And let me tell you, back in the 80s, my girlfriends and I never went to the pool or beach without a great big butt covering Tshirt that was only removed just before going in the water and immediately replaced upon coming out. Even if, through some miracle of time travel, we had gotten hold of cell phones, MySpace accounts and Facebook pages, there was no possible way we would photograph and forward our (perceived) flawed figures, especially not to boys we liked! No, I blame the times, Bratz dolls, thong underwear sold in little girl's size 6, and those hot pink toddler sweatpants that say "Sassy" and "Flirt" across the bottom. Whatever the reason for such gross stupidity on the part of these teens, here's the really scary bit: the senders and receivers are being charged with child pornography. Think about that as a parent. Not only do you have to face having a kid so dumb he or she sent naked self portraits by cell phone, but if convicted, you're the parent of a soon to be registered sex offender.

Obviously, I shut Newsweek like it was on fire, watched my sweet, innocent, boy with passable penmanship play a little hockey. Then I started back in on my book. You know, it really started to get better about 150 pages in. Maybe that's just in light of the alternative reading...