Books to Toss in Your Kids' Beach Bags

We're headed to the beach soon. Truth be told, it's unlikely my girls will have a whole lot of time to read this go 'round, since we're going for a dance competition. But they've been summer reading right along and we have another trip to the beach in August. Here are some of our family favorites for summer reading. There is no rhyme or reason to the way they're listed here. Some are just light, happy reads. Some are much heavier, deeper. As I went through the list (during the third sitting of putting this post together, because everything takes me days to do;-), I recognized that there is a bit of a recurrent theme so appropriate right now. Several of these books emphasize seeking to understand, working to build bridges, and nurturing unlikely friendships. Kind of the ribbon running through this particular summer...

Penderwicks at Point Mouette

This isn't the first in there series and I'd always rather read them in order, but it is the first book recommended when I crowd sourced the small crowd in my family room asking, "What's a good beach book?" This is the one set at the beach if you have someone who wants to read about the beach while at the beach. 

Rosalind heads to the beach for the summer and the rest of the Penderwick sister, together with their friend Jeffrey, go to Maine. In Rosalind's absence, Skye is sister-in-charge in the charming coastal cottage. Lots of typical Penderwick scrapes and adventures in this one. If you don't know the Penderwicks yet, read The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy and Penderwicks on Gardam Street and then this one. It's only mid-July. There's plenty of summer left for it.
 

Spiderwick Chronicles

This one is included because when I was eliciting suggestions from my kids, I said "Penderwick" and Sarah immediately started lobbying for "Spiderwicks." That's one she met at the beach two years ago.

Using a handmade field guide found in the attic of an old mansion they’ve just moved into, Jared; his twin brother, Simon; and their older sister, Mallory, discover the world of faerie. This is a magical, parallel world with adventure and intrigue and the faeries are determined to keep the Grace children from telling anyone about the mysterious world.

 

Summer of the Gypsy Moths

This is a beautiful book of empathy and redemption. Stella is eleven years old, staying at her Great Aunt Louise's house on Cape Cod for the summer, in part because her mother is unreliable. Angel is a foster child Aunt Louise has taken in. When Aunt Louise suddenly dies, the girls conspire to keep it a secret so that they can stay where they are. Forced to trust one another and to depend on each other for survival, they come of age together and discover they can forge a family from an unlikely friendship.

One Crazy Summer

Karoline read this on last winter and highly recommends it. It seems particularly appropriate for this summer--a perfect conversation starter for some of the tough conversations that beg to be had in these chaotic days. "In the tumultuous summer of 1968, Delphine and her two sisters travel from Brooklyn to Oakland, Calif., to spend a month with their mother, a radical poet who sends them to the local Black Panther center for summer camp. There, they begin to learn about the fraught relationship between race and power."

Shmoop opines: Rita Williams-Garcia's 2010 novel tackles big issues like racism, government control, unfair arrests, abandonment, and responsibility. But before you bail for a lighter read, you should probably know that this book bagged a bunch of awards, including the National Book Award, Coretta Scott King Award, and the Newbery Medal of Honor when it came out (source). In other words, One Crazy Summer doesn't just dive headfirst into tricky territory; it navigates it with aplomb.

The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles

I loved this book when I was about ten. It's written by Julie Andrews--yes, that beloved Mary Poppins-Maria Von Trapp Julie. Three children and an eccentric professor locate the last living Whangdoodle--a huge mooselike creature who wants nothing more in life than a lady whangdoodle to love. It's a charming story, delightfully written. I can just hear her reading it aloud, which begs the question: Why in the world is there no author-read audio version?

 

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn

This one brings me back to the summer before my freshman year in high school when I read this book not once, not twice, but three times. Francie Nolan is one tough cookie who is growing up the crime-ridden squalor that is Brooklyn in the early 1900s. It's the story of determination and resilience and the burning passion that can be inspired in the heart of a (very young) writer by words that beg to be set free. (*Please see the content flag in the comments. appropriate for teens, according to your family's standards.)

Roll Of Thunder, Hear My Cry

I believe this one is a classic. Truly. Every family should own it and read it together. Maybe now, more than ever before in the our lifetime and the lifetime of our children, we need to be talking about books like this. From the Amazon description:

In all Mildred D. Taylor's unforgettable novels she recounts "not only the joy of growing up in a large and supportive family, but my own feelings of being faced with segregation and bigotry." Her Newbery Medal-winning Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry tells the story of one African American family, fighting to stay together and strong in the face of brutal racist attacks, illness, poverty, and betrayal in the Deep South of the 1930s. Nine-year-old Cassie Logan, growing up protected by her loving family, has never had reason to suspect that any white person could consider her inferior or wish her harm. But during the course of one devastating year when her community begins to be ripped apart by angry night riders threatening African Americans, she and her three brothers come to understand why the land they own means so much to their Papa. "Look out there, Cassie girl. All that belongs to you. You ain't never had to live on nobody's place but your own and long as I live and the family survives, you'll never have to. That's important. You may not understand that now but one day you will. Then you'll see."

The Hundred Dresses

This one is about bullies and bystanders and learning valuable lessons, hopefully before it's too late. 

My take is that bullying and "bystandering" has become ubiquitous, though much of it--most of it--is digital now. In the last twenty years, children have become emboldened by their screens. Books like this one heighten empathy and sensitivity. If only they'd read more of the bound words and fewer of the ones through which they scroll, mindlessly while letting their hearts be seared. 

From the Amazon description:

Wanda Petronski lives way up in shabby Boggins Heights, and she doesn't have any friends. Every day she wears a faded blue dress, which wouldn't be too much of a problem if she didn't tell her schoolmates that she had a hundred dresses at home--all silk, all colors, and velvet, too. This lie--albeit understandable in light of her dress-obsessed circle--precipitates peals of laughter from her peers, and she never hears the end of it. One day, after Wanda has been absent from school for a few days, the teacher receives a note from Wanda's father, a Polish immigrant: "Dear teacher: My Wanda will not come to your school any more. Jake also. Now we move away to big city. No more holler Polack. No more ask why funny name. Plenty of funny names in the big city. Yours truly, Jan Petronski."

Maddie, a girl who had stood by while Wanda was taunted about her dresses, feels sick inside: "True, she had not enjoyed listening to Peggy ask Wanda how many dresses she had in her closet, but she had said nothing.... She was a coward.... She had helped to make someone so unhappy that she had had to move away from town." Repentant, Maddie and her friend Peggy head up to Boggins Heights to see if the Petronskis are still there. When they discover the house is empty, Maddie despairs: "Nothing would ever seem good to her again, because just when she was about to enjoy something--like going for a hike with Peggy to look for bayberries or sliding down Barley Hill--she'd bump right smack into the thought that she had made Wanda Petronski move away." Ouch.

Bridge to Terabithia

So, I read this one in college. It was assigned reading for my children's literature class. And after I dried my tears, I picked up the phone and called my best friend from high school, a boy I'd not talked to in several months. A boy I swore I was "totally over." Thirty years and nine kids later, I have a super soft spot for Terabithia;-).

The book is so much better than the movie.

It's not a love story. It's a story about the power of a friendship to transform us.

I'm not one for trigger warnings, but I make an exception here. Spoiler: A child dies tragically. If you have a child (like at least one of mine), who really can't handle the intense emotion of grief in literature yet, steer clear. It's a great book, but it can wait until a little later. I wouldn't hesitate to hand it to my 13-year-old, but I'd hide it from my 7-year-old, not just because of maturity, but because of sensitivity

 

Matilda

Because of stories read aloud at the Montessori school, my little girls have been on a Roald Dahl binge. Some of those I could easily forego (Witches is on my least favorite list), but they really loved Matilda. It's "the story of an exceptionally gifted girl who outsmarts her cruel parents and the brutish school headmistress Miss Trunchbull with the help of her magical abilities and her kind teacher Miss Honey." Roald Dahl really does nail humanity's weaknesses and failure exceptionally well, bringing them to life in a books that speak to children without being childish at all.

Number the Stars

I mentioned that we listened to this one a couple of weeks ago. We're still talking about it almost daily. This is a beautiful, haunting book of the friendship of two families--one Christian and one Jewish--during the days of Germany's occupation of Denmark. The strength and bravery of two little girls--and a whole country of Danes--is breathtaking. I can't say enough good things. It's $4 right now for the Amazon Audible version. That means that for $1/hour you can all listen to it for four hours in the car while you drive to whatever summer destination you have in mind. Time so well spent. You'll be so glad you shared it together.

I've got a bunch more, but summer will be over if I keep writing and don't post soon. So, let these be your end-of-July reads and maybe I can squeeze one more post into mid-August, because, really, these are good books for any time at all. The beach just makes them a little sandy and a little water-worn, and maybe a bit more memorable. 

When You're Standing Outside the Circle

I see it happening, the unfolding of a girl’s heart towards the warmth and light of community. And then, just as the petals are in full flower, I watch what seems nearly inevitable: petals pulled back in tightly onto themselves, hardened to protect against the pelting that comes.

I am the mother of four girls. Those girls, whose ages span 12 years, are best friends to one another. They know each other inside and out. They inspire and exasperate one another. They hold each other accountable to a family standard, a biblical standard, an impossible standard. And they grant each other grace when one falls short, because truly, we all fall short. They are inextricably bound. By God’s grace, they have each other. Come what may, in this group, they are in. In this group, they are promised a forever bond. In this group, they genuinely do want the best for one another.

That’s a good thing, because friendship beyond the walls of our home has for them what it has had for every girl who has gone before them. Girls can be mean. Girls can hurl stones with an accuracy that takes one’s breath away. Girls can break one another’s hearts. Whether 9 or 19, it hurts to be the one who feels like she is sitting on the outside. Yet, every woman I know nods in recognition when they see it happen to their daughters. The outside. Been there, done that.

Even though it hurts to watch the sadness that comes with being on the outside, I pray that the time they spend there makes them better at drawing the new circles, better at defining what the inside will look like as they grow. I pray for them friends who fortify the circle from within with the full armor of God. So, as the circles are redrawn, we spend lots of time talking about how to be a good friend, how to grow into being what God desires of a woman in community.

My sweet girls, remember this: the time outside that hurts so much is time He will use if you let Him. God brings great good out of betrayals. Joseph didn’t stay lost and forgotten at the bottom of the well. He rose out of the depths and let himself be used to save a nation. Jesus allowed himself to be betrayed by a friend so that you will never truly stand alone on the outside. He’s there with you.

Truth is, dear ones, you cannot change another human being. You cannot craft someone into a faithful friend. Unless, of course, that someone is you. In the hurt of betrayal of being cast out, resolve only one thing: that you will be a better friend to someone else because you know the ache you’re feeling now.

Be a friend who is the safe place for a girl to unburden her heart. Comfort and console, but never be afraid to speak the truth in love, to ask her to open wide her eyes and to see for herself that she is created in the image of God. Be compassionate and kind and unwavering in your belief in her good.

As you sit there feeling left out, let the feeling settle deep into your bones. Don’t forget the way it hurts. Now, resolve today to be the girl who only speaks life. Forget about defending yourself against whatever is twisting in the wind. It serves no purpose to shout into the bitter storm. Lift your chin and only speak words that make souls better, that bring them closer to God. Remember how you sat there in the studio, quite literally outside the circle, and their whispers burned your heart and stung your eyes? Don’t ever be the girl that whispers. Speak aloud and only speak life.

Don’t give up on community, my girls. Don’t let the growing pains that come with the human experience make you bitter. Let them make you better. The friends of tomorrow will be blessed by the pain of today.

Midsummer's Daybook

Outside my window:  Blackberries are about to be black. We should have enough ripe all at one time to have blackberries on homemade vanilla ice cream for Sundaes on Sunday this week. As long as the critters don’t get them. They are securely netted against birds and bunnies. But there’s still the resident groundhog to worry about.

Listening to: Coffee shop noises. Everyone is talking about Pokemon Go. Someone is actually saying that the place to go for it is Skyline Drive. Really? When I go to Skyline Drive, I don’t want to be distracted… Also, so many compelling reasons to Pokemon NO.

Clothing myself in: Capris, tank top, and a sweater. I’m carrying a light sweater everywhere because everywhere is over-air conditioned. Also, tank tops are new to my wardrobe. Once upon a time, when I was a teenager, someone told me my arms were too big for tank tops. Now, I don’t much care. It’s hot and humid outside and freezing inside. Tank tops and light sweaters, for the win.

Thinking and thinking: About my goals. I think I’ve had goal setting all wrong these last few years. It’s mid-July and I’ve just now finished my new year’s Power Sheets. I’d work the process and get stuck and work it again and just be more discouraged. Now, it’s July and I realize that while I do my days, my minutes actually, according to my truest priorities, I set long-range goals that don’t work well with my actual life.

My actual priority is to take good care of my family. My stated goal (among others) is to finish a book I started writing 5 years ago. (That is before I was a mother-in-law, when I had only one kid in college, before I was a grandmother, when I was still nursing—so, basically, a lifetime ago). And every time I look at that goal and others like it--revive my blog, step up my social media game, write another workshop--I feel a distinct sense of failure. That sense is accentuated when I get online and see all the people who achieve goals like that all while mothering and being great wives.

I had an epiphany the other day. If my stated goal at the beginning of this year had been to take my basement from being the dumping ground of the last decade to being a soft place to land and the summer hangout of the neighborhood teenagers, I’d have been a rousing success. If my goal had been to research the heck out of high blood pressure and then cook three meals a day according to the research so as to help my husband knock nearly thirty points off both systolic and diastolic pressure in a month, I’d be patting myself on the back.

If my goals had been to sit at the table for dinner with at least five people every night, to get excellent orthopedic care and physical therapy for sometimes two children at time, to grow blackberries in my backyard, then I’d have rocked my goals. Because that’s what I’ve done with the last seven months.

This tension is not a new one in my life, though I do think I'm seeing it all very differently of late. No doubt, longtime readers are yawning, "Oh, this again..."

Most of those "actual goals completed" are measurably more important than a book or a blog. I know that and I live that. Despite a near desperate attempt, I’ve never figured out how to do the home and family stuff and have a real job, even a from-home, virtual one. Just can’t manage it. Years ago, when I was a super young mom, all I wanted was to be a mother at home. If I’m honest, it’s still my heart’s dearest desire. But back then, moms at home didn’t have the intense pressure they do now to be moms at home and moms of influence online. They didn’t all have cottage industries and super cute coffee dates. It’s all gotten so complicated.

Pondering:

Carefully Cultivating Rhythm: To celebrate having a new plan, a better plan, a plan for my real life and not the one in my over-active imagination. I started a new planner—mid-year! So far, I’m enormously pleased. I’ve had a Day Designer for awhile. The new version has a binder that allows me to move pages around. I’m using it for planning and for journaling and truly, for holding myself accountable to the real goals. But yes, somewhere still lurks the idea that if I work this new plan well enough, some margin will develop whereupon some writing goals will come to fruition. This planner has me putting pen to paper all the time and ensuring that I’m committing to its pages what is of my true priorities. When I force myself to write in all the details that go into the care and feeding of this many people, I see that my time is spent in near constant nurturing and that even though there are no publication numbers to show for it, its is time thoughtfully, purposefully lived.

Creating By Hand:  My friend Nicole is coming to sew this week. We’ve only been planning that for a year…

Learning lessons in: The discouraging effect social media has on me. The news of late is sad, tragic, really. Within moments of each event, people I know have impassioned posts up telling me how to think, even how they assume I already think and why that is wrong. I want to protest their assumptions. I want to ask if I could please have time to learn the whole story before being compelled towards activism, even social media activism. Instead, eyeing the inevitable wordstorm that will come with the nominating conventions and then with the election season, I clicked away. Between the sense of being left out and less than that I mentioned above, and the sense of detachment from people I thought were actual friends, and the constant rancorous cacophony, I knew it was time to click away. It’s just not feeding me anything healthy for me.

Some people can eat pizza. I can’t. Some people can manage social media and change the world for the better all while maintaining staying fit, keeping their homes clean and organized, and educating their children. I can’t. More importantly, some people use social media and feel energized and happy. I feel depleted and beyond sad. 

I do love to blog, though. Love it. So, I’ll be here. And probably on Instagram, because, you know, pictures. If you use my Facebook feed to follow my blog, I encourage you to click the subscribe button just under the title banner above. Or click here. I’ll still notify Facebook when I publish—at least for a little while—but conversation is going to happen here, and only here. This isn’t a religious fast or some sort of scrupulous asceticism. I need to be on Facebook sometimes to check in with groups related to my children and I’m not afraid to go there. I just know it’s not the right place for me to engage beyond the bare minimum, at least not in this season.

Encouraging learning in: finding joy between the covers of a book. With the girls, I’m listening a lot!

On the way to Fredericksburg and back for a baptism, we heard Number the Stars. Just so good. All five us (me and girls from seven to nineteen) were engrossed the whole time and we’re still thinking about it. I heard Sarah listening again yesterday.

Karoline has her leg in a cast this summer and is doing so much sitting around. That translates to The Witches (Blech. I didn’t like it the first time and didn’t like it any better the second time. The girls have been on a bit of a Roald Dahl streak.) and a return to The Mysterious Benedict Society and a happy reprisal of Anne of Green Gables.  All heard this week.

Keeping house:  As soon as my goal shifted, I felt myself relax into chores around here. It’s the same routine and I have the same responsibilities. And they still take all day every day, but now, I don’t feel like I’m fighting them, hoping to get to something else. I’m just doing them and doing them with all my heart.

Crafting in the kitchen: I went too far in the heat the other day, without adequate hydration, and I found myself nursing quite the migraine at dinnertime. Nick took over. He combined 3 cans of garbanzo beans with a jar of Trader Joe’s curry simmer sauce and a can of coconut milk. He added sautéed spinach. He served it over jasmine rice. Really, really good and super easy.

Also, and completely unrelated, the roasted tomatillo salsa happening in my kitchen lately is amazing.

To be fit and happy:  I’m logging at least 15,000 steps a day, loving my FitBit Alta all over again. One thing that is new with the newer FitBits is the reminder to move every hour. Mine is set to remind me at ten minutes before the hour if I haven’t gotten in at least 250 steps that hour. This adds a new dimension of renewed activity all day long. I wonder if the little fire I light every hour will affect metabolism. We shall see. More on how much the Fitbit has made me happier and healthier here and here and here (some of my favorite posts ever).

Three Books Going:

On my Kindle: When Breath Becomes Air. I'm working up the courage to read this one. I struggle with books with cancer, but I want to read it...

On a printed page: Loving My Actual Life. Like Hands-Free Mama and Hands Free Life, this is good encouragement to, well, love your actual life;-). I'd already come up with my own plan before I started reading, and it's about more than just social media/cellphone use. It's always nice to hear another voice speak truth into one's life.

In my earbuds. The House at Riverton. This is a long book, beautifully read in a lovely accent. It’s just the perfect thing for making me want to extend my morning walk by fifteen minutes or more and just keep listening a little longer.

More about THREE BOOKS GOING here. 

Giving thanks: for sunshine and summertime.  I’m not usually a huge fan of summer. I like the other three seasons better. This year, though, I was glad to see it arrive and eager to embrace the change in rhythm and the change in weather. I’m so loving my mornings, outside before the heat is too much. I love long walks. the trails around my neighborhood are in full bloom and summer is shouting its glory. Also, the sunsets have been ridiculously gorgeous this week. Sunshine and summertime: I’m grateful. Also, now I have a Faith Hill earworm. Not so bad…

Loving the moments: When I get to hold a newborn. I held Ginny’s baby Mae for an hour last weekend. A beautiful, beautiful hour.

Living the Liturgy: I love baptisms. In the last month, I’ve been the grandmother at a baptism and the godmother at another baptism. Every time, that liturgy speaks into the core of my soul.  It is so, so full of joy and hope. And the grace of a summer morning spent holding a sleeping baby while she becomes a new creation in Christ (all while inhaling chrism)? Is there anything sweeter on earth? I think not.

For more on Mabel's breathtakingly beautiful baptism and some of my favorite pictures ever,, visit Ginny. You'll be glad you did.

Planning for the week ahead:  Using that planner to its absolute utmost is a necessity. It’s going to be a challenging stretch around here. My husband will be traveling extensively. (Note to people who might creep here: a big, strong twenty-something man lives here. He stays up almost all night with his bigger, stronger twenty-something friends and his teenage brothers. Don’t mess with us.) Anyway, when Mike travels, it is as you would imagine it to be in a house of seven “kids,” many of whom are teenagers. Actually, how do you imagine that? Sometimes I wonder how distorted my perceptions are because really there is nothing “normal” about the present reality of my life. Everything is rather extreme in a way…

Three books going.

I think it was Karen Andreola who first introduced me to the idea of having three books going. I know it was many years ago, when most good ideas were in books and not online. I've tried with varying degrees of success to follow that advice.

Firstly, one of the books is not the Bible. That book is going all the time and doesn't count as one of the three. Increasingly these days, my three books going are one on a Kindle, one on Audible, and one in print. I find that each of these books is more at home in a different circumstance. My Kindle lives in my purse. It's always there in the waiting rooms or when standing on line at DMV and trying to not to catch the bad attitude in the air. My in-print book is in a basket by my bed. I read it at bedtime, but I also pick it up now and then throughout the day. And my audiobook goes with me when I walk or run or just need to stay focused on extended housekeeping duties. 

Three books going. Works for me. Two of those books can be accessed on my phone. The Kindle app is there and I will occasionally use it, though I much prefer to read ebooks on my Kindle. That phone is mighty small for extended reading time by these old eyes. The audible app means that drive time and any other time I'm out and about and can put earbuds in without being rude is easily converted to reading time.  One interesting observation: when I was little, my mother was always reminding me that it was rude to "have your nose in a book" in public places. Now, everybody has their head bent to their phones.  In some situation this IS exceedingly rude. In other situations, iPhones have replaced waiting room magazines (or grocery line magazines, for that matter). I'm not checking my mail or social media in those situations though, because I have found that I am a much happier person if I read a book instead. When I'm tempted to surf, I read. I tell myself I'll read for five minutes and then if I want to surf, I'll let myself. I rarely want to close the book app.

Kristin made me this really pretty screensaver to remind me that I'd rather read. I shared it with the Restore folks last spring. Maybe you'd like it, too?

Last week, I diverged from the usual plan and I binge read three books consecutively, all of them on Kindle. I got a Kindle Paperwhite for Mother's Day --gave it to myself, yes I did---and I'm seriously loving it. I love the way the it feels in my hand; it's the perfect size. I love the Amazon Bookerly font. (But I also love that there's a dyslexia font option and I will be purchasing another Paperwhite soon to help my sweet girl along.)

In a Facebook conversation about Miss Prim last week, someone recommended The Storied Life of AJ Fikry. Turns out my neighbor had a Kindle copy and offered to loan it to me. I didn't even know you could do that! But we did. The loan allows two weeks to read the book. I don't do well with deadlines. I'm one of those people who always does things early. I read it in a day or two. I really enjoyed the book. It was sweet and light and literary and a little quirky. From Amazon: 

““Funny, tender, and moving, The Storied Life of A J Fikray reminds us all exactly why we read and why we love.”*

A. J. Fikry’s life is not at all what he expected it to be. He lives alone, his bookstore is experiencing the worst sales in its history, and now his prized possession, a rare collection of Poe poems, has been stolen. But when a mysterious package appears at the bookstore, its unexpected arrival gives Fikry the chance to make his life over—and see everything anew. ”

After that one, I read The Nest, if for no other reason, to see what all the fuss is about.

Uh. I really don't see what the fuss is about. I didn't enjoy this book. Maybe it's one of those books you're not supposed to enjoy. I've seen reviews that call it "hilarious" but I didn't get the joke. I thought it was tragic. Truthfully, I tend to miss jokes, so, that's no big thing. I read, frequently, to take me places I want to go. Not necessarily exotic locales, but into other lives and situations. They don't all have to Green Gables, but I do like books that go somewhere where the story is ultimately uplifting and redemptive somehow. It doesn't have to perfect or even an always-happy-ending, but I want to want to be glad to be in the process of the story. I wanted to know how The Nest ended, to see if the author pulled it all together and tied up all the loose ends, but I wasn't really invested in the shallow characters and sometimes, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. I felt like much of the sex and the references to sexuality were at once cliche and in poor taste. The publishing and online media businesses portrayed made my skin crawl and made me think twice about my own "to-be-written" list. In the end, I just didn't enjoy it and i was sorry to have wasted time and money on it. Of course, your mileage may vary. I suspect I'm a sort of quirky reader.

Then I read Sea of Tranquility. This book took a hard look at some very tough, very sad topics, but it was ultimately replete with both love and hope. While the characters are teenagers, it's not a  Young Adult novel. It's actually very adult. A young girl is brutally attacked and briefly dies. After she recovers, in order to get away from the town where the attack was, the girl, who is selectively mute, goes to live with her aunt. In that town, she meets a boy who has suffered tremendous losses. This is their story, but it's also the story of a very strong supporting cast of characters. This one stuck with me for days and made me slow to start another book because I didn't want to let it go. I loved it that much. (Also, if you're one of us who is still in love with your first love, you might find a special place in your heart for these two kids. Love at seventeen can be a very real thing.)

The Ring

If you've been reading my ever-so-sporadic posts for awhile, you know that we've had a bit of a rough stretch around here. Last year, at the end of what was inarguably the worst summer ever (please God), my dad and stepmom invited us to join them at the beach. We hung on by our fingernails until that week arrived and then, after a 5 hour trip that took 10 and a half, we arrived, ready to relax and unwind and hopefully, recover a little. We were there about an hour before the frantic phone calls started coming. Another crisis. another punch in the gut. Stay? Go? Navigate. Problem solve. Pray hard. We stayed.

The next morning, Barbara and I left for a walk on the beach out in front of our house. We went for a long time and then turned towards home, remarking on how easy it was to lose one's bearings along the coastline. So many houses indistinguishable from the neighbors. Some distance from our house, we were met by Katie, who breathlessly informed us that Karoline and Sarah had left the house to come find us and Sarah had been stung several times by a wasp. Sarah was back at the house with Mike, but Kari had taken off down the beach to find me and Katie had no idea where she was. 

I took off at a pretty good clip to get back to Sarah, all the while trying not to let the rising sense of doom I'd learned so well over the previous 18 months get the better of me. When the voice in my head reminded be of Mike's brother's serious bee allergy, I hushed it. When I remembered the other Sarah, who was never too far from our minds, I pushed it away. It's just a sting. It's just a sting. It was actually several stings, but Mike had already started icing them and we quickly dosed with Benadryl and Sarah seemed to be handling it all just fine. Mike and I sorted out the confusion and mixed signals that had resulted in little girls somehow heading to the shore on their own and then decided that I'd stay with Sarah and he'd go look for Karoline. No one knew if she'd turned right or left off the walkway from our house. I will admit my heart raced while I waited for them to find her. So many, many things kept going wrong. I was learning to expect bad news. But it wasn't long before he found her and we all settled in to a much relieved, if a little rainy, day at the beach. 

The next day, the sun shone and we headed to the water. Blankets spread on the sand, books at the ready, shovels and buckets, and sunscreen--we were finally going to sink into this much needed vacation. We played and chatted and constructed castles awhile and then Mike got in the water with the kids and I went up to the house for water bottles. Heading back to the beach, I crossed that walkway (carefully avoiding the wasps), and I knew right away. 

Mary Beth was sitting on the blanket, foot in a cast, watching the quiet quest playing out in the ocean.

"He lost his wedding ring, didn't he?" I asked her, scanning the scene before me--all of them in the water, knee to waist high, looking down into ocean. 

"Yep. He said not to tell you. He's sure he'll find it."

My eyes filled with tears. Dang. Nearly 28 years in, my heart still flipped a little every time I noticed that ring on his finger. Apparently, this was a season for stripping away. 

He got up the next morning and went to the beach early, to look for the ring again. When I saw him walking on the sand, in the now familiar head bent posture he'd held down there since the day before, I went to meet him. Wouldn't it be perfect if he found it? Just the best story? The beacon of hope? What was lost is found? 

Dude. It's a tiny band of gold in vast ocean.

We didn't find it. Further, this was not the season where replacing it immediately was feasible. This was the season of broken air conditioners and pipes bursting and cars breaking down, among countless other things. 

Christmas came and I'd saved enough, a little at a time, to buy a new ring at that most elegant of jewelry stores: Costco. It only came in one size. Turns out that wasn't his size. The ring went on a shelf until it could be sized. Our finances are an open book. We have no secrets and no way to surprise each other, really. Sizing a ring up requires more gold and more cash. It was no small feat to plan a surprise.

I bided my time and saved my pennies.

The Knights of Columbus were planning to facilitate a wedding vow renewal at every Mass on Father's Day. And, it turns out that Father's Day was to be Lilly's baptism day. Perfect. All our kids would fill our "usual" pew and they all be there for the vow renewal. They would be in on the ring secret and we'd surprise him.

I found a Bible passage I wanted in the ring, something to represent this midlife token of our life together, something replete with hope. The ring wasn't pipecut like the old one. This ring was rounded and looked more like his father's ring. It had soft edges, but shone with a brightness unexpected in a symbol of a marriage nearly 30 years spent. It wasn't a replacement, didn't even try to be a do-over. It was at once new and again. And I loved imagining the day to come.

The first child started vomiting the Sunday before Father's Day. All week, they fell ill. I was up 'round the clock and when I wasn't tending sick children or doing laundry, I was staggering through Recital Week at the dance studio. Two long rehearsal nights and copious costume notes gave way to two shows on Saturday. I climbed into Mike's car to go home after the last show completely depleted.

Angry words were said. Feelings were hurt. I might have cried myself to sleep, except I didn't sleep. 

I wasn't sure I was even going to Mass. The baptism had been postponed because too many critical people were sick. Only three of our children were well enough to go to church with us. In our bedroom, I broke the chilly silence and tossed the ring box to him. I muttered something about this not being how I planned it. He took the ring out, unceremoniously shoved it onto his finger, and said it fit. So that was fun.

(An aside: he reminded me later that once upon a time he tossed me a ring box and pretty much botched a proposal. All true.)

We went together to Mass, me without makeup and thanking the stars for dry shampoo. We were later than usual, so we sat in a pew several rows back from our usual one. This really, truly wasn't one bit like I'd imagined the day. When it came time for the vow renewal, Stephen was sitting between us. The priest invited married couples to stand. Mike stood. I stood. Stephen stood. We laughed a little as I moved Stephen over and pushed him back into his seat. A little comic relief was a very good thing. Father asked us to join our right hands. Okay, lightly intertwined fingers. Now turn to face each other.

Big breath. I'll tell you what, it's super hard to stay mad and to keep a straight face while looking at each other and repeating those words.

We couldn't do it. His fingers tightened around mine and I held his hand like I really meant it.

We went home to celebrate Father's Day. And the real grace in the sacrament of marriage.

It was ten days later before I told him the ring was inscribed. Late at night, we had a really good talk about the couple years we'd just lived together. Life had thrown us one thing after another and we'd caught them, deftly as we'd caught ring boxes. Mostly, we'd walked them together and mostly, we'd been each other's comfort. Even as we spoke together that night, new things had just presented themselves, new sorrows and new challenges. The next morning, Michael and Kristin returned from her family's house in Gloucester and we all went to church on a Wednesday afternoon for a private baptism before they left again for California.

The old ring had been inscribed "Once upon a time and forever." I'd loved that then and I still love it. The new ring makes no reference to a fairy tale. Instead it reminds us that winter passes and the season of singing comes again.

I believe it.