Lift Up Your Hearts!

How to Be a High School Superstar:  A Revolutionary Plan to Get into College by Standing Out (Without Burning Out), by Cal Newport (Broadway Books, New York, 2010)

If I could recommend two books to help a 12-15 year old student prepare for college, it would be Alex and Brett Harris's Do Hard Things and this one.  Some of the political and religious views expressed in the former set my teeth on edge, but it's well worth the effort to get past that reaction, because Brett and Alex write well, and what they are saying is incredibly important, not just for teens who share their beliefs, but for everyone, of any age.

How to Be a High School Superstar is altogether different in focus, but I can boil the best of both books down to this:  Life doesn’t begin when you graduate from high school. or college, or grad school.  You can do hard things, good things, amazing things, now.  Or, rather, in a little while from now, if you are willing to put forth some effort in the right direction. (More)

I'm still struggling with the book review I'd hoped to post today, so instead you get Jennifer Fulwiler's dry humor.  You can read the whole 7 Quick Takes Friday post at her Conversion Diary blog for other tidbits, like one man's Lenten beer fast (it's not what you think), but here's the section that set me laughing—and thinking—this morning:

Here’s what [Lenten disciplines] I decided on: a decade of the Rosary first thing each morning, and no adding sugar to my morning tea (a small but surprisingly noticeable sacrifice for me). And…well, umm…there’s one other thing that I couldn’t decide if I would admit or not…but I guess I’ll go ahead and say it:

I’m giving up cursing for Lent.

Now, before you form an image of me yelling at my kids to stop jumping on the $%^! couch or asking my husband to pass the $%&*!# salt at dinner, let me say that it’s not that bad. I don’t use bad words in front of the kids, and it’s not like I walk around spewing profanity when I’m around adults. It’s just that I’ve noticed lately that, well, sometimes I just can’t seem to express myself without pulling out a word from my pre-conversion lexicon. So I’m really working on that during Lent, hopefully adopting habits that will last for the long-term.

Giving up adding sugar to drinks was actually a last-minute addition to my Lenten plans. I’d always heard that you should give up something good, but I didn’t really get why, so I just went with giving up cursing for Lent. But then I heard people who had given up something good talking about their plans for Easter, and it all clicked.

For example, someone I know who gave up cheese talked about how she’s going to get a huge, lavish cheese tray for brunch on Easter. When I imagined her going that long 40 days with nary [a] bite of one of her favorite foods, I could see how the ecstatic joy of the Resurrection would hit her at an even deeper, visceral level as she bit into savory chunks of Camembert and felt the luscious Brie melt in her mouth after the long fast.

Then I pictured myself rising on Easter morn’, taking a deep breath, and shouting the f-word. Umm, yeah. That’s why giving up something that’s bad anyway doesn’t quite have the same effect. So no sugar in my tea for Lent.

Faith, at two and a half, is amazingly maternal.  She loves tending her new sister, or her "purple baby doll" if Joy is not available.  She's good at it too, and gentle.

And then again.... She was pretending to be, herself, Grandma's "sweet little baby."  Then she picked up a plastic toy, rapped it repeatedly against my knuckles, and cooed, "You' sweet little baby ... cut you' fingers off!"  I'm not sure where that came from, but I think it's related to the When Boys Have a Tea Party syndrome.

Ender's Shadow, by Orson Scott Card (Tor, New York, 1999)

Having read Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead while visiting one son-in-law's library for the birth of a grandchild, it seems only fair to read Ender's Shadow while visiting the other son-in-law's library for the birth of the next grandchild.

Although I liked Ender's Game a lot, I was disappointed by the sequel and thus did not pursue the series any further.  But Ender's Shadow is Ender's Game as seen from the point of view of Bean, one of my favorite characters, and was recommended to me, so when I found it on the bookshelves here I couldn't resist.

It's good.  Maybe better than the original.  Not great, but fun to read and hard to put down for anything less than a grandchild.

Overheard this morning:  Jonathan (7) and Noah (4) were making breakfast.  I wish I'd had a hidden video camera; the whole show would have had a chance to go viral on YouTube.  As it was I only caught bits and snatches as I went about my own affairs.

Jonathan: I'll make the eggs,  because if someone else makes them they’ll put in something I don’t like, like green peppers.

Noah:  I’ll help!

Jonathan:  You get out all the eggs—not the ones with the writing on them.  [The hard-boiled eggs are marked with an H.]

Noah:  Bud, we need Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Do we have rye bread?

Jonathan:  You need a towel, because the eggs don’t stay still if you put them [directly] on the counter.

Noah:  Huh?

Grandma:  He doesn’t want to make egg rolls.  [A reference to Noah’s favorite joke, which he says he made up himself:  How do you make egg rolls?  You take an egg and roll it.]

<SPLAT>

Jonathan:  I’ve got it mostly under control.  Don’t anybody step there.

Jonathan:  One, two three, four, five, six, seven.  That’s good.

Noah:  I’m not putting this in.

Jonathan:  But it’s onion!

Noah: Yes, but I’m not putting it in because it doesn’t have one of those [a shaker lid].

Jonathan:  Mom might be able to guess that I used nutmeg, but she’ll never guess we used paprika.  Paprika looks like red pepper but it’s mild as a pild.  [Jonathan’s latest verbal venture is frequent use of “(adjective) as a (rhyming nonsense word).”]

Jonathan:  Bud, that was 'way too much Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Okay, but I know we love Tuscan Sunset.

Jonathan:  [putting away the minced onion]  M … mace …. [This for my friend who also keeps her spices in alphabetical order.]

[Noah’s interest wanes and he gets distracted by other things; Jonathan carries on.  Jonathan does not require a second person for conversation.]

Why did someone put this big pan on top of our best frying pan?

[Pours scrambled eggs into the pan.]

Oil!  Oil!  Oil!

[Pours scrambled eggs back into the bowl.]

[Pulls big jar of oil from cupboard.  Puts it back.]

Canola oil isn’t the only kind you can use.

[Gets olive oil mister from the cupboard.]

This makes it easier not to pour too much oil.

[Sprays oil, returns eggs to the pan, turns on the stove, and commences stirring.  Later, a call comes from the kitchen.]

Can someone help me stir?  My arm is tired!

The eggs were almost done, and soon we sat down to a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, accompanied by recitations from Green Eggs and Ham.

Thank you, thank you, Jonathan and Noah!

Ha!  Engish is cool, too.  German has its Eszett (ß) and Spanish its eñe (ñ); the world is full of accents and umlauts and other characters that make life interesting and typing difficult.  By contrast, English is plain and boring.

But it wasn't always so.  We had - ta da! - The Thorn.

From Michael Leclerc of the New England Historic Genealogical Society:

One of the most abused of all letters (and former letters) in the English language is the Thorn. In Latin, the letter was written as Þ (capital) or þ (lowercase). In English, however, the thorn looks like the modern letter “y.” The thorn is no longer used in everyday English. The Thorn was pronounced the same way as the digraph “th” in modern English. In proper usage it is NEVER pronounced as the letter “y.”

It is often found on old gravestones, usually in its y-shape followed by a superscript letter ("Here lies y^e body of"), and in the names of stores attempting to appear quaint (Ye Olde Coffee Shop).

Lest you think this is all ancient history, the thorn can also be found in Unicode, on Icelandic keyboards, and in html (þ = &thorn;).

I think that's cool.

In Bad Science, author Ben Goldacre delivers the following paean as part of a discussion of drug side effects.

I really enjoy the sensation of orgasm.  It's important to me, and everything I experience in the world tells me that this sensation is important to other people too.  Wars have been fought, essentially, for the sensation of orgasm.  There are eveolutionary psychologists who would try to persuade you that the entirety of human culture and language is driven, in large part, by the pursuit of the sensation of orgasm.

Far be it from me to deny the pleasure to which he refers, but the man has obviously never felt the sensation of holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

Joy is one week old today.  She is a remarkably good-natured child, or, as her Uncle Stephan would say, "chill."  She naturally sleeps for two hours at a stretch, and only fusses slightly when hungry.  Yet when she is awake she is alert, bright-eyed, and looking all around, and she eats with great (and noisy) enthusiasm.  Joy puts up cheerfully with being handed around from one person to another, whether in the gentle, even timid, arms of an adult, or the more enthusiastic attentions of her siblings.

Nighttime, naturally, is not quite so perfect.  That's when she's most likely to fuss, and to produce a large quantity of messy diapers.  But the other day Heather awoke beaming and refreshed—and you know you're a new mother when you can be so enthusiastic over having gotten 10 hours of sleep in five two-hour segments. (More)

Overheard during the flurry to get everyone out the door in time for church:  "Jonathan, now is not the best time to tell us all about grain elevators."

In my review, I mentioned that Ben Goldacre's book, Bad Science, suffers from a tendency to sneer.  Although he usually directs his disrespect at those with whom he disagrees, every once in a while he takes aim at his readers.  Take, for example, this footnote in the chapter, "Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things":

I'd be genuinely intrigued to know how long it takes to find someone who can tell you the difference between "mean," "median," and "mode," from where you are sitting right now.

I find that as insulting as some of the dumb questions asked by Sunday School teachers, the kind that have students sitting on their hands not because they don't know then answer, but because it's so basic and obvious they're embarrassed it was even asked of them.

From where I am sitting, I need look no further than my own chair.  We learned mean, median, and mode in elementary school, and if I was never clear on exactly when each was considered the best "average" to use, I could certainly define and calculate them.  I'd be shocked if Jon and Heather couldn't also.  But probably not Jonathan (7), and certainly not Noah (4), Faith (2), or Joy (five days), so I suppose our household average isn't so impressive.  In this case, I am smarter (or at least more knowledgeable) than a first grader.  (Though if asked about guns, or Star Wars, or several other topics, I'd lose.)

How about at your house?

When the human/bathroom ratio exceeds 6:1, procrastination is a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

Bad Science:  Quacks, Hacks, and Big Pharma Flacks, by Ben Goldacre (Faber and Faber, New York, 2010)

Bad Science was hard to read.  Not because the material is difficult (it's not), nor because I disagree with the author's positions (though sometimes I do), but because it is 258 pages of sneer.  Since Goldacre repeatedly states that he is bending over backwards to give his adversaries as much credit as possible, perhaps the sneer is unintentional, but it is no less an impediment. (More)

Life is different for a newborn in a large family.  I feel rather ridiculous applying the label "large" to a family of five, but even three siblings is sufficient to give a baby quite a different experience from most American babies.  The first- and even second-born can easily become the focus of a great deal of parental attention and anxiety—which can be both a blessing and a curse. The third child, however, breaches the one-to-one parent/child ratio.  Many parents of one or two children choose to encourage their kids to be competent and independent at an early age, but once a third child enters the family, that's no longer a choice, but a necessity.

There's a lively discussion currently going on at Free-Range Kids about children who have too much done for them, and I was struck by the following comment: (More)

Joy is three days old, and all is well.  She seems to have a regular fussy period between midnight and three, but other than that has been treating her parents well.  She sleeps well, despite the frequent checking, patting, and noisy chaos that comes with having three loving, young siblings.  She eats well, drinking in great, noisy gulps.  Mom is handling the engorgment stage as well as can be expected without having a nursing toddler to help out.  Grandma is happy to be done with meconium diapers.

It is a busy household.  Life with three active children doesn't stop just because a fourth had been added.  Chores must be done.  Maybe we could manage if Noah didn't wipe the table for a day or so (though life would soon get rather sticky), or if Jonathan didn't vacuum the living room floor, but if they neglected their daily task of bringing in wood we'd soon be very cold. (More)

Joy Ellen Daley
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
8 lbs. 1 oz., 19 3/4 in. 

  (click to enlarge)

There are many joys and privileges in life, and I count being present at a grandchild’s birth one of the highest.  But if I’d blinked, I’d have missed this one. (More)