Just as Long as We're Together

When I was in elementary school, I was friends with a girl who we'll call Jessica Slotnik. I remember one day in about the fourth grade I was at her house and she asked me, "So, if you were to describe me as a part of a tree, what part would you describe me as?"  Now, I knew that I was lucky to have a playdate with this well-liked, queen-beeish girl, so even though I did not quite understand why she was asking me this ridiculous question, I gave her the response I thought she was looking for: "A twig."  She nodded in approval and responded with, "Okay, now I'll do you. You are like a thick stick."  A THICK STICK.  First of all, if anyone was a thick stick between her and I, it was her, not me.  And second of all, what a thing to say to someone!  And it has been stuck in my head forever.  To this day, sometimes when I feel like I am looking particularly grotesque in the mirror, I think to myself: Thick Stick.  Damn you Jessica Slotnik!

Why do I bring up Jessica Slotnik, you ask?  Because she was ALL I could think about when I was reading this week's book, Just as Long as We're Together by Judy Blume. Other than the Superfudge series, this was probably by favorite Judy Blume book.  I read it many times, including its sequel, Here's to You, Rachel Robinson.

Just as Long as We're Together is a story about friendship during a difficult time in a girl's life: seventh grade. The protagonist is Stephanie Hirsh, a girl who I really related to a lot in the fifth grade because she was kind of the every-tween girl. She was medium pretty, medium build, medium popular, smart but not overly smart, somewhat unsure of herself, but growing in confidence in some ways. Stephanie's best friend since the second grade is Rachel Robinson.  Rachel is the one who reminds me of Jessica Slotnik because, much like Jessica, Rachel is super smart, super dramatic and cutting with her dagger-like commentaries about others. Despite their differences, Stephanie and Rachel get along well. 

Everything changes when Alison Monceau moves into town. Alison is very glamorous by late 80s tween standards -- she's from L.A., she's lived in Paris, she's adopted, she's Vietnamese, her mother is a famous TV star, her step-father a television producer and she is one of these people whom everyone automatically likes. She also has a bangin' wardrobe ("Alison was wearing baggy pants, a white shirt about ten sizes too big, and running shoes.  She had sunglasses around her neck, on a leash, and a canvas bag slung around her shoulder....All in all, she looked great."). Stephanie and Alison automatically hit it off and Stephanie brings her in to create a BFF trio situation.  Although Rachel does like Alison, you can tell that this triumvirate situation isn't quite to Rachel's liking. Stephanie and Alison seem to have a lot more in common with each other, as Rachel is more mature-- physically and intellectually-- than the other girls.  And also Rachel is mean.  And also Rachel is insane.  As evidenced by moments like the time she broke down into sobs when she found out both Stephanie and Alison were going to be away for two weeks over Christmas break (You gooottta calm down Jessica Slotnik, I mean, Rachel Robinson).

Stephanie's thirteenth year is not only marked by a new friendship, but by many other big changes: she also moves into a new house, starts middle school, gains 10 pounds (putting her in Thick Stick territory), and she finds out her parents are separating.  Everything really comes to a head when the girls are out shopping for the perfect school dance outfits (Stephanie settles on "a dark green skirt and top, made of something that felt like sweatshirt matieral  The skirt swirled around and the top had a lacy collar and little animals marching up and down the sleeves."  Dear God).  Stephanie and Rachel get in a big blow out because Rachel didn't tell Stephanie that she was moved from seventh grade math to enriched ninth grade math with the dreamy Jeremy Dragon, and Stephanie didn't tell Rachel her parents were splitting up.  In the end, the girls realize this whole fight is really about something a level deeper -- they are both upset their friendship has taken a hit this year and are scared of losing the other.  Rachel also realizes Stephanie is going through a difficult time and needs her, and Stephanie realizes that it isn't always easy to be a child prodigy like Rachel and she could have some sympathy for her. In the end, the girls' friendship is changed, but remains in tact. 

This book was so relatable to me as a kid. Even as an adult it brought me back to the tween girl politics that caused me so much joy and strife in my life at the time.  Talking about nothing but the boys in class, the sticking together, especially in front of the older boys you decide as a group to have a crush on, the rise and fall of best friendships, the constant self-doubt -- these were all feelings and memories I had long forgotten and it was fun to go through the mixed emotions of embarrassment and warm nostalgia as I was reading. I also remember having a big girl crush on Alison.  And then I realized I still have a girl crush on Alison.  That girl was so cool!

This book had some delightfully 80s moments. The gotta have Guess jeans epidemic, Jazzercise, Jane Fonda, Reebok.  I think the best is the cover actually -- let's take a closer look.

 We've got high ponies, scrunchies, acid-wash jeans and some sweet sweat-gear.  I thought this XL "Friends" t-shirt was a bad idea at the time, and I still do.  I remember also thinking that Rachel looked way more fun in this picture than she does in real fictional life.

All things considered, this was a very transportative situation (red squiggly underline is telling me this is not a word, but I'm going with it).  I really felt like I was 13 again going through the trials and tribulations of tweendom.  I also felt like I was meeting back up with some old friends-- and frenemies.  Despite the strife and anger they caused me at the time, I was glad to think back to Rachel Robinson and Jessica Slotnik. I realized that you need a few Rachel Robinsons and Jessica Slotniks in your life.  Without them, you wouldn't have had a typical growing up experience.  And they probably helped you develop some thicker skin in the long run as a result of their "thick stick"-like accusations. 

Tuck Everlasting

I have a shocking confession to make.  Here it is:  I am made extremely uncomfortable by teenage romance.  I know, it doesn't make sense, for all that I love all things tween.  I guess I should be more specific -- I don't mind light teenage romance, like Gabriela and Troy's sweet, arms-length relationship in High School Musical, it's passionate teenage love that makes me really uncomfortable.  Like, I totally could have gone without the love story in Twilight.  The appeal of the amorous saga of Bella Swan and Edward Cullen was lost on me (more werewolf action and less gazing longingly across the biology lab, please).  My main emotion when I read about teenage passionate love is embarrassment -- I think it's because it reminds me of my own ridiculous behavior in my high school relationships. If I had married any of my high school boyfriends, who at the time, I "passionately" loved, God help me.  I knew full well my feelings about teenage love going into this reading of Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt, and I had my doubts that this book that I liked a lot in the fifth grade would still thrill me.  I mean, just the title of the book makes my cheeks flare with hot shame. And it turned out my doubts were founded, I didn't care much for Tuck Everlasting this time around -- but not for all of the reasons I expected.

Here is the story:  Winnie Foster is a ten-year-old girl who lives in a very austere rural home that sits by some woods. Winnie doesn't have any friends because her family doesn't really promote that sort of thing.  One day, she comes upon a teenage boy in her family's woods drinking from a spring.  The boy, Jesse, ends up pretty much kidnapping her and brings her to his house where he and his family, the Tucks, explain to Winnie their fantastical tale. Eight-seven years ago they drank water out of that spring in the woods and now they live forever. They can't die. They keep Winnie overnight in order to convince her not to tell anyone and not to drink from the spring because living forever ain't all its cracked up to be. The Tucks are very kind to Winnie -- they make her pancakes, take her fishing and give her comfortable sleeping accommodations. All the while a creepster simply known as the man in the yellow suit (What's the guy from Curious George doing away from his monkey friend?) is after the Tucks because he wants to drink water from the spring and commercialize the water, using the Tucks as his best advertisers by having them publicly survive fatal accidents over and over again.  The MITYS tries to blackmail the Tucks and take Winnie, but Ma Tuck steps in and knocks him out with the back of a shotgun, a blow that eventually kills the MITYH.  Ma Tuck gets taken in by the local sheriff, and the remaining Tucks and Winnie later help bust her out of jail.  Before Winnie goes back home to her family, Jesse Tuck gives her a little bottle of the spring water to drink when she is seventeen so she can meet the Tucks, get married to Jesse and live forever with him.  Winnie goes home, a changed girl with some special new friends and a great secret.  We find out in the epilogue that Winnie wisely chooses not to drink the spring water and become a Tuck everlasting. 

I have three issues I would like to discuss here.  First, the comparison to Twilight.  For those unfamiliar with this rather nauseating vampire-love tale, the vampire family, the Cullens, like the Tucks, live forever.  Compared to the Tucks however, the Cullens have certainly made the best of their situation.  The dad's a doctor, they are fabulously rich, well-dressed, well-traveled and well-educated.  If I could live forever, after a bout of time where I'd take up every extreme sport possible,  I would go to med school, law school and business school, travel the world, get my pilot's license, run for congress -- I'd use all the knowledge and experience I accrued to really take advantage of life.  The Tucks, on the other hand, aren't really making the most of their immortality.  They seem to be just driving around and continuing the simple, rural life they lived pre drinking from the magic spring.  This seems like a terrible way to spend forever, no?  I do have to hand it to Winnie though, I think she made the wiser, more sensible choice of forgoing teenage love and opting to be a normal mortal human being.  (I've now just disgusted every single Twi-hard).  

Second issue--I don't understand the love story aspect of Tuck Everlasting.  Winnie is ten.  Jesse is seventeen.  They spend less than 24 hours together, and during this time, not a single romantic word between them is uttered. There is no wooing, there is no swooning.  All there is is a hasty marriage proposal via spring water bottle that was so clearly based on Jesse's need for companionship and Winnie is the first female in 87 years who has known his secret.  I actually remember there being a lot more love in this book. I also remember the trailer for the movie version with Rory Gilmore made it seem like this was a passionate love story (note: they wisely aged Winnie to make for a more age-appropriate partnership with Jesse).  But then I realized that what I am remembering is actually my own rewriting of the epilogue of Tuck Everlasting.  In the fifth grade, I rewrote the end of Tuck Everlasting so that Jesse came back to see Winnie when she was seventeen and made a passionate plea for her love, and she rushed to the spring and drank from it so that she could spend forever with her dear Jesse Tuck. Vom. I think at that time I was boy-crazy and yearning for some experience, and rewriting this story to my liking was my outlet. Ehhhhhh Hot. Cheeks. Of. Shame. I can't think about that anymore, it's just too embarrassing. 


Okay, third issue--this book seems to be counteracting the lessons we received as school children about talking to strangers, and what to do if something bad happens to you, such as being kidnapped.  After the Tucks steal Winnie, they are very nice to her and she starts thinking of them as her friends because they have treated her so well.  They could have been lecherous, treacherous fiends at the end of this whole thing for all she knew, yet she gave them her trust and didn't think of doing anything to ensure her return home. And despite this error in judgment--it all ends up being okay for Winnie. I can't really get behind this promotion of Stockholm Syndrome and irresponsible post-kidnap behavior.  If my kids read this book, it's going to have to come with a warning:  Do not trust or befriend people who steal you away from your home under any circumstances.  Even if they give you pancakes. 

So, all in all, Tuck Everlasting was not great for me this time around.  I just didn't get it.  The love story didn't make sense; I felt like I wanted to know more about the origins of the spring; just when things started to heat up and get interesting, the man in the yellow hat dies; and I really didn't feel much affection for Winnie or even the Tucks.  I feel bad hating on Natalie Babbitt, as I remember really loving her other books The Search for Delicious and The Eyes of the Amaryllis, but this book just didn't do it for me and I don't anticipate I'll ever reread it. I'm just going to tuck this away this book for ever . . .lasting. (See what I did there?)

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster is one of those kids books that is billed as a kids book, but it is really an adult book in disguise.  And I'm not talking about books like Harry Potter or The Hunger Games, that are definitely kids' books that adults also love.  For me, The Phantom Tollbooth was a fun read as a sixth grader in Mrs. d'Adoph's Reading class (do they have those anymore?), but I actually think I appreciate it much more as an adult.  Here's why: it's punny!  The Phantom Tollbooth is really a triumph in the utilization of the pun.  Just about every sentence, character name, geographic location has a double meaning. It's way meta. And now that I get everything, this book was delightful this go-round.

Milo is the protagonist here.  He's a lackadaisical lad who is suffering the evils of boredom and laziness.  But that all changes when one day, a huge, mysterious package arrives in his bedroom.  Feeling curious (an uncommon emotion for Milo), he opens the package and finds a tollbooth -- I would like to take a moment to stop here and say how completely random this basic premise is. Being that this was the 60s, can we assume Norton's writing inspiration was aided by hallucinogenics?  I'm going to go with likely -- So Milo hops into his miniature car (I'm imagining some sort of Power Wheels-like vehicle), and goes on the road...he ends up in a magical and fantastical land, meeting lots of weirdos and odd birds along the way.  This book was very much written in the style of Alice in Wonderland or The Wizard of Oz.

Milo finds himself in a kingdom that has two capitals--Dictionopolis, a city that venerates words, and Digitopolis, a city that venerates numbers. The cities are ruled by two feuding brother-kings, King Azaz, the Unabridged, and the Mathemagician.  After arriving in Dictionopolis, (after having gotten stuck in the Doldrums, a colorless place where no thinking or laughing is allowed, and after going to the word marketplace and attending a feast where Milo ate his words) Milo gets roped into resolving the feud between the brothers by embarking on a journey to retrieve the exiled sisters Princesses Rhyme and Reason.  Rhyme and Reason will, what else but, restore rhyme and reason to the kingdom. 

Milo heads out on his journey with two new found friends -- The Humbug, a bowler-hat-and-trenchcoat-wearing beetle who is anything but humble and everything that comes out of his mouth is asinine (Humbug quote: "A slavish concern for the composition of words is the sign of a bankrupt intellect. Be gone, odious wasp! You smell of decayed syllables."). 

There is also Tock, a "watchdog" that has a giant clock for a belly who is loyal and protective of Milo, like a good watchdog (Tock quote: "Time is a gift, given to you, given to give you the time you need, the time you need to have the time of your life") (for some reason Tock reminded me of the the giant flying dog thing in The Never Ending Story). Important to note is that before Milo leaves Dictionopolis, King Azaz tells Milo that there is a serious problem in undertaking this journey, but he can't he cant' tell until he gets back. 

This treacherous journey and great adventure leads this unlikely trio to many wonky lands and peoples.  I'll recap some of the more memorable ones: There's Alec Bings, a floating boy from Point of View, who is from a family that grows until they reach the ground, instead of growing the ground up.  A man from Illusions who is all at once the tallest midget, the shortest giant, the skinniest fat man and the fattest thin man (when really all he is is average).  Milo, Tock and Humbug resolve a conflict in the Valley of Sound between Dr. Dischord and his amorphous fog buddy Dynne (akin to the Smoke Monster in Lost), who are collectors and dealers of terrible noises, and The Soundkeeper, who is hoarding all of the beautiful sounds due to her discontentment with the rising popularity of Dischord and Dynne's lot. 

The trio also get stuck on the island of Conclusions because "every time you decide something without having a good reason, you jump to Conclusions whether you like it or not."  Because you can never jump away from Conclusions, the trio has to swim through the Sea of Knowledge to get back to the road (“You can swim all day in the Sea of Knowledge and not get wet"). In Digitopolis, they find themselves in the number mines, where numbers are dug out and things like diamonds and rubies are thrown away because they are a "terrible nuisance." They finally encounter the Mathemagician, a wizardy-looking dude who carries a giant magic pencil as a staff.  In Digitopolis, Milo also encounters the Dodecohedron, a man with 12 faces-- one for every emotion, and a kid who is the unfortunate .58 of the 2.58 children of the average family.  But I have to hand it to the kid, he sees the bright side of things -- He is pleased that he is the only one who can fit in the .3 automobile of the 1.3 average automobiles owned by the average family.

Even though the Mathemagician likes to always disagree with his brother King Azaz, Milo convinces the Mathemagician that Rhyme and Reason should be returned to the kingdom. Before Milo leaves, the Mathemagician also warns Milo that there is a very serious problem with this undertaking that he can only tell when him when he returns.  The adventurers eventually make their way to the Castle in the Sky, where Rhyme and Reason reside. They are able to rescue the princesses after having a skirmish with some monsters who want to maintain chaos in the kingdom, like The Demon of Insincerity who chucks half-truths at them and the Terrible Trivium who tricks them into taking on tasks they can never actually complete (like moving a pile of sand one grain at a time with a pair of tweezers).  

When Milo brings back Rhyme and Reason to the kingdom, peace is restored and the brother-kings are cool with one another once again. Milo is celebrated as a hero.  The Mathemagican and King Azaz tell him the serious problem about his journey was that it was impossible.  They couldn't tell him before he left because then he might not have gone, and now he has discovered so many things are possible just as long as you don't know they are impossible.  Now that's a good lesson!

When Milo returns home via The Phantom Tollbooth, he is cured of his ennui and apathy and finds that there is really so much to do and he goes out and does things. 

I have to say, the lesson of this book was not lost on me as an adult.  I think I spend too much time doing things that are mind-numbing and not doing enough things that really mean something.  Like, writing a tween novel for example.  I've got so many ideas and outlines, and it's something I really want to do, but I just need to commit to putting pen to paper. And it's not like there is not enough time in the day -- a lot of writers have day jobs and still manage to write.  My day could really benefit from a little less Perez Hilton, Facebook and House Hunters International and a little more goal-oriented activities like writing the next great American tween novel.  Another revelation brought about by my Tween at 28 29 project!  Thanks, Norton.

The Berenstain Bears and the Bonus Blog Post

I took a two week hiatus from posting because I was on vacation in South America, but now I'm back so here' s a little bonus Monday post to make up for my absence.  I wanted to take a moment to talk about the sad event that took place two weeks ago (on my birthday)— Jan Berenstain, as in ½ the writing duo that wrote a bajillion Berenstain Bears books, passed away at the age of 88.  I LOVED the Berenstain Bears growing up.  A few years ago, being the whimsical nostalgic gal that I am, I decided to keep my collection current and I continue to buy and read the new ones, even though they have gotten weirdly Christian in recent years (The Berenstain Bears Show God’s Love), but maybe that’s because it is now their son Leo writing them (how did they not go with Dan when they were naming their son?).  Oh, and BTW, important Bear family update for those who didn't know: Brother and Sister have third sibling now – Honey Bear. Shocking, I know.  In honor of Jan, and the previously departed Stan, here is a quick top six of my fave BB books:

#6

 Moving Day showed the pre-Sister Bear family's big move from a cave in the mountains to their current, beautiful big treehouse on a sunny dirt road, deep in Bear Country.  I love me some Bear family backstory.

#5

The Big Spelling Bee is a newish one so I don’t expect you guys to have read it, but I assure you, it’s a goodie. As my greatest regret in life is that my parents did not have the foresight to push my superior spelling skills to their limits at the Scripps National Spelling Bee, this new addition was exciting for me. I have to note here that I created an amazing National Spelling Bee drinking game to be played at National Spelling Bee parties (I'm really trying to make this a thing) and I will share the rules with you in June if you’re lucky.

#4  

 As a kid, I loved when girls got the last laugh. Sister Bear besting Brother Bear, Cousin Fred and co. when they try to leave the girls out of their clubhouse hanging in No Girls Allowed ignited my young feminist fire.  

 #3

I was a great athlete as a kid (an attribute that has completely disappeared in my adulthood) and I loved the pictures of sister and brother and all the other cubs trying out for Little League.  The Berenstains also released pretty much this exacts same book but about soccer a few years ago. 

#2

I loved the pictures of all the crazy candy and crap they have to eat in Bear Country.  The lesson was lost on me however, it just made me want junk food more! 

#1

 

This book about the ill-fated trip to the lake the Bear family takes is one that I actually think about a lot (a lot = at least 4 times during my adulthood).  Vacations, especially the elaborate ones I tend to take, never turn out as expected and when the going gets rough, I think about Papa Bear harumphing through his vaca and then just laughing about it at the end.  Lesson learned with this one.

If I had immediate access to my parents’ house, and access to a scanner in this airport terminal, I would have made you all a copy of my Berenstain Bears (trademark infringing) original The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Nintendo created circa 1990….alas, maybe another time. 

And this is just funny—

http://blog.collegehumor.com/post/18395078678/7-rejected-berenstain-bears-titles-honoring

Stay tuned later in the week for my thoughts on rereading The Phantom Tollbooth!

Bridge to Terabithia

When I took on this project, I assumed the risk of disturbing the fond memories I have of certain books.  This was unfortunately the case with Harriet the Spy (still can't get over how whacked out that book was upon adult read) and The Boxcar Children (snoozeroo).  This week, we can add another one to the list of destroyed souvenirs -- Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson.  An unfortunate result, but such is the burden of being a Tween at 28 (almost 29...gulp). 

This is what I remembered about Bridge to Terabithia prior to reopening the book -- it was about a boy and a girl who create some sort of imaginary kingdom under a tree and in the end the girl dies.  I remember the death scene quite vividly because Mrs. Hanley made the brave decision to read this book out loud to my fourth grade class as we sat upon the carpeted section of our linoleum-floored classroom.  I remember sitting alongside my classmates, whimpering, thinking, this is so unfair. As an adult, my position has not changed -- it isn't fair that the main girl, Leslie, died. This time, however, I'm pissed about it! 

Let me back up a bit and give you some context.  This is the story of Jess Aarons who lives in a poor community in rural Virginia with his four sisters and parents. (For some reason, I remembered this story taking place in the suburbs.  I'm thinking I just projected my own situation onto my memories of the book.) The town Jess lives in reminded of the poor rural community in Shiloh, but instead of letting poverty bring them together in a support system, their difficult home lives made these kids really damn mean to one another.  Because Jess is different from other kids his age -- instead of liking sports and TV, he loves to paint and draw -- he is a loner, and is constantly trying to stay under the radar at home and in school to avoid trouble.  Jess' life changes when Leslie moves in the house down the street.  Leslie is even more of an odd bird than he is -- she says strange things, has the audacity to beat all the boys in sprint races, and openly admits that her family doesn't have a TV (subjecting her to the brutal ridicule of her classmates).  She is also different because she is not poor like everyone else, she is actually wealthy.  She and her parents came to live in town because her parents are writers and are presumably locking themselves up in an old barn to get the creative juices flowing.  At first, Jess, in his desire to lay low, does not want to be associated with Leslie, but he eventually realizes that she and he are kindred spirits (in a non-romantic way).  Jess and Leslie form a tight friendship and spend their time creating an elaborate, imaginary world in the woods called Terabithia where they are the king and queen.  They also have a series of misadventures at school where they get the best of the school bully, Janice Avery and then realize the bully has problems of her own, and really she's not so bad (Just like Karovsky on Glee!). Jess' life is great now -- he has a friend who really gets him, he is drawing and painting a lot, and he feels free to be who he truly is. Now isn't this a lovely story?  There is conflict, there is resolution, we learned valuable lessons-- we could have ended on a happy note right here.  But the story doesn't end here, unfortunately. 

One very rainy day, Jess is invited on a day trip to Washington D.C. with the hippie teacher he has a crush on (just the two of them -- isn't that weird?  I thought it was, but then I saw on IMDB that in the 2007 movie, the teacher is played by Zooey Deschanel, who is just incapable of playing the role of a creepster or sexual predator -- I mean, the girl is personally associated with the word "adorkable," for God sakes). Jess is so excited to go visit Smithsonian museums with Miss Edmunds, he forgets to invite Leslie.  When Jess returns home from this "perfect day," he finds his family gathered anxiously in the kitchen.  His terrible sister insensitively informs him:  "Your girl friend's dead, and Momma thought you was too."  On her way to Terabithia without Jess, poor Leslie fell into the creek and drowned. 

Now, I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I just don't see the point of Leslie dying.  It seems extraneous and egregious.  To me, the core of the story was that these two lonely, outliar kids found each other, formed an unlikely but sweet bond, and through their bond, realized it was okay to be who they really were.  This death scene just seems tacked on.  AND it is playing on me emotionally, and I don't appreciate it Katherine Paterson!  I also feel like if you are going to do something so drastic like kill off a main, beloved character, then I'm gonna  need more than two short chapters to resolve the aftermath of this death -- especially because we are dealing with children.  I don't even think the reader got a proper "you lost someone you love, but eventually you recover and keep their memory alive" lesson because the post-death scenes were so short.  The only effective purpose of Leslie's death was to make me very upset.  I know this is a Newbery award winning book, and I shouldn't be ragging on it like this, but honestly, the ending was terrible -- I feel like it cheapened the rest of the book.  I realize I may be alone on this one, but I stand by my position.

Two more things.  One, even though I was distraught emotionally, I couldn't help but think of Tina Fey's sage advice after Jess was pretty much punished by Leslie's death for having his perfect day with flower child Miss Edmunds -- "Never go to a second location with a hippie."  Bad things happen.

Second, it turned out, on this second read, the death plot twist was not the most shocking part of the book.  What I found to be most shocking was the following scene:  Jess is in his bedroom with his little sister, May Belle, a sweet little girl who, other than Leslie, is Jess' only ally. One morning, she is parading around in only her underwear (because she's like 5, and that okay), chatting with her brother.  She says to him:"I'm gonna tell Momma . . . how you just stand there staring at me when I ain't got my clothes on."  WTF?????  It gets worse.  This is what Jess thinks and then says : Lord. She thought he was enjoying it.  "Yeah, well," he said, "Pretty girl like you. Can't hardly help myself."  AAAHHHH!!  Incest/pedophilia jokes between siblings are just NOT okay!  Why, why, why Katherine Paterson did you have to include this creepy joke scene here?!?!  And I didn't even have enough time to emotionally recover from this scene before we find out Leslie drowned later in the same chapter!  Just thinking about this makes me feel weird.  Ick.

So in summation, I liked 90% of Bridge to Terabithia just fine.  I am still mad at Katherine Paterson for killing off Leslie.  BUT maybe the reason why we all remember this book is because of the death scene.  Without it, I don't know if this book would have stood out in my memory.  So maybe that makes poor Leslie's ultimate sacrifice worth it?  I don't think so.  I don't want to think so.  Do you?

The Indian in the Cupboard

I loooved this book growing up.  I couldn't get enough of this boy with his mini Indian story.  In addition to The Indian in the Cupboard, Lynne Reid Banks also wrote three sequels that I read, The Return of the Indian, The Secret of the Indian and The Mystery of the Cupboard.  I also just found out that she wrote another sequel that I did not read-- The Key to the Indian.  It must have come out after I had grown out of tween books.  Good thing I am experiencing a regression in my life right now.  

The book starts with Omri, a tween boy, getting a series of terrible birthday gifts -- a ratty old cupboard (think medicine cabinet) found in an alley by his older brother (that is some kind of gift), and a secondhand plastic figurine of an Indian from his friend Patrick, the kind of toy Omri outgrew about two years ago.  Polite Omri makes the best of these crappy presents-- he procures an old key from his mother, and the night of his birthday, he places the little Indian in the cupboard, locking it in with the key.  The next morning, Omri is stunned to see that the plastic Indian has actually come to life and is a living, breathing, three-inch person.

I'm not small, you are big!

The Indian, named Little Bear, seems to have been plucked from the time period he was alive and transplanted to Omri's cupboard.  I have to hand it to Little Bear, if I was randomly and mysteriously relocated and encountered a human being that was 5 feet taller than me, I would freak the F out, and potentially die on the spot from a heart attack (which actually later happened to a poor old Indian chief from whom Omri wanted to borrow a bow and arrow).  Little Bear, on the other hand, stands tall (small-tall) and stabs Omri with his mini dagger, which unfortunately for Little Bear, only has the effect of giving Omri a little prick.  (This scene actually reminded me of an old Disney cartoon I haven't thought about in probably nearly 20 years -- The Brave Little Tailor, where Mickey Mouse defeats a giant with his sewing needle.)  Little Bear eventually accepts this strange situation, learns to trust Omri as his friend and actually becomes quite demanding.  Little Bears demands from Omri a longhouse (he doesn't do teepees because that's just so Iroquois), a bow and arrow, animals to hunt, to be the chief, a horse, and he even demands a wife. Omri pretty much obliges to all of Little Bear's desires, only putting his foot down at providing Little Bear hunting prey, as he did not think it was wise to turn his bedroom into a miniature game reserve.  A lot of the fun of the book is to see how Omri deals with all the mini-ness -- feeding, bathing, sheltering and occupying Little Bear and his horse.  

Omri eventually brings his friend Patrick in on the secret.  Now I had a big problem with Patrick.  This boy's a damn fool.  Not only does he choose to bring to life a cowboy, the mortal enemy of an Indian of all people, but he insists on bringing the minis to school with him, and he doesn't actually get it that they are real people.  He throws them around, picks a fight at school which gets him tossed on his ass, practically crushing Boone (the cowboy) and Little Bear, and then, on top of that, when Patrick ends up in the principal's office, he pretty much has a complete blithering breakdown where he blows the cover off of the whole thing and shows Boone and Little Bear to the principal, to Omri's total horror.  It's a good thing the principal, in turn, lost his sh/t and decided to, pale-faced, take himself home instead of tell people what he was shown.  Omri, on the other hand, is very responsible, pragmatic and a good soul, realizing from the beginning that Little Bear and Boone are real human beings, and he tries to convey to Patrick that "They're people . . . You can't use people." Omri's good sense is what eventually motivates his decision at the end of the book to send Boone and Little Bear back to where they came from. 

In the beginning, Boone, the cowboy with a penchant for tears, and Little Bear's relationship is strained and they fight like--what else--cowboys and Indians. But in the end, they grow to be friends, even blood brothers.  The other mini people brought to life in this book include the dearly departed Indian chief, Little Bear's cupboard-order bride, Bright Stars, and my favorite, Tommy the WWI medic. Omri brings Tommy to life to provide medical attention to both Boone and Little Bear on two separate occasions.  Tommy is a delight, totally unshaken by the situation, (it helps that he believes Omri it's all a dream), and diligently does his duty. 

All in all, this was really fun to read again.  The only illuminations I really experienced on this read as an adult  were that I realized Omri lives in England (which I either never knew or had totally forgotten) and I also realized that Omri and his brothers, Adiel and Gillon have Hebrew names which led me to believe Omri's family is Israeli.  Which made Omri feel more like a kindred spirit as I am also a child of foreign parents.  Just as I had done as a child, I aligned myself with Omri and believed that faced with a magical mini-person situation, I would also act nobly and treat the little people with dignity and kindness.

Extra treat for the day: Scholastic Parent and Child magazine's new list of Top 100 Children's Books.  Charlotte's Web tops the list, which I 11237892902 percent agree with.  Do you?

How to Eat Fried Worms

I was a very picky eater as a child.  Like of the parent's nightmare variety.  For a very long time, I basically only ate three things -- pasta, rice and chicken.  All served plain.  I had very strict rules -- my food couldn't touch on the plate.  I could only eat deconstructed sandwiches, and if I found out that at one point the sandwich was assembled, I wouldn't eat it.  And there was no real logic to my food preferences -- I liked tomato sauce but not tomatoes; grilled chicken but not chicken on the bone; hamburgers but not steak.  In sum, I was a huge pain in the ass.  Now that I'm thinking about it, my poor full-time working mother must have kind of hated me at times.  Today, although I have greatly evolved and am no longer a picky eater, I do have to say that when it comes to the things I know I don't like -- I won't eat them under any circumstances.  Even to be polite.  I just can't do it.  I think it is this same part of my make up that caused me to feel nauseous throughout the entirety of How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell.

I was in the fourth grade when I first read this book, and I remember feeling similarly horrified and ill when I read it then.  I actually didn't want to read it at all because I knew that this book about eating insects was not going to be my jam.  But it was popular with the boys in my class and this was during my aforementioned faux tomboy phase, so I made myself read it in order to establish myself as one of the guys.  I'm sure I regretted it then, and I have to admit, I kind of regret it now. 

This story is about a bet between four all-American boys named Joe, Billy, Tom and Alan.  On a regular afternoon, the boys bet Billy that he won't eat a worm a day for fifteen days.  Alan even puts his birthday money, $50, on it.  Billy agrees. Now, what on earth would possess this boy to agree to eat FIFTEEN worms?  Eating one worm seems sufficient to earn the $50.  And the fact that it's worms!  They are just so disgusting . . . they live in dirt, they are squishy, they don't have limbs or eyes, they are weird--I hate worms!  Just thinking about worms makes me feel gross, let alone eating one, let alone eating fifteen.  This grossness gets more than my usual VOM reaction, this most certainly gets a VOMITORIUM. 

The chapters in this book are short, and we get an account of all fifteen worm meals.  I liked how before the first worm, Billy pumped himself up by doing sets of push-ups, knee bends and jumping jacks.  I respect that he was attacking this like he was Eli Manning or CT from The Challenge. The first few times, he douses the boiled worm (Ew. Ew. Ew.) in condiments like ketchup, mustard, horseradish and lemon juice.  Billy wises up by worm #3 and starts eating the worms pan-fried.  A move I have to agree with because fried anything usually just tastes fried i.e. delicious.

After a number of worms, Billy's parents find out about the bet, and after verifying with the doctor that their son was not going to die of worminess, his mother actually is commissioned to be referee and she prepares worm delicasees such as Alsatian Smothered Worm and worm chocolate pudding (I want to throw up).

While Tom is a good friend and provides Billy with moral support, Joe and Alan seek to sabotage Billy.  They come up with several preposterous plans to try and foil Billy's success. These plans include gluing two worms together to create a giant worm and trying to trick Billy into thinking he ate a worm, but really he only ate a "worm" made of beans (which Billy discovers via burp . . .I mean could this book be any grosser?).  Joe and Alan also try the foie gras approach: they bring Billy to a baseball game and stuff him with so much food so he can't stomach a worm.  Too bad Billy left just enough room for a worm before bed.  After a while, the plans get more dangerous -- they try an old fashioned beating up and also locking him in a "cistern" (which according to dictionary.com is tank for storing water -- this does not seem advisable to me).  These idiot twins even counterfeit an unprompted letter from a random doctor to Billy's mother that begins "Dear Mrs. Forrester: I have just made a distressing discovery. While leafing through a medical journal before going to bed, I noticed an article entittled 'Poisons in the Home Garden," a subject which necessarily fascinates me.  As I glanced through the article a phrase c aught my eye: 'Lumbricus terrestris, the common earthw orm,"  It should not come as a surprise to you that none of these plans work.

In the end, Billy succeeds in noshing on fifteen worms in fifteen days.  The last one he actually eats live and squirming due to some extenuating circumstances. Upon swallowing the book closes with Billy's reaction: "I win," gasped Billy to the blue cloudless sky. "I win."  Now that's drama. In the epilogue, we discover that Billy has become a worm gourmand and is CONTINUING TO EAT WORMS.  For lunch, he makes worm-and-egg on rye.  I'm glad the book ended here, because I could not take another second. Vom. Vom. Vom. Vom. Vom. 

So what did I learn from this rereading experience? I learned that I would totally lose the grand prize for me and my partner if I was on The Amazing Race or Fear Factor or The Challenge and we were faced with eating icky things to continue on.  Although I could jump off the Space Needle, never quit during a trek through the Himalayas, nail an obstacle course, form key secret alliances, outwit other teams during the voting off deliberations and solve a Mayan logic game . . . they'd get me at the eating bugs challenge.  Dammit!!