Office Space

Here's our home office:

First of all, let me first say it's the most neglected room in our house, but it's also one of the most frequented.  Don't let the bottle of Pledge fool you.  

Before I go on, can I have the conch to gripe for a minute?  When I quit my teaching job to become a SAHM I had to figure out what to do with 8 years of teaching high school English (ie enough books for my own library, if I lived in a small town). I got rid of most of it, but I brought home a few of my favorite things (ie my pile of leftover favorites still equals more books than I'm convinced the average adult owns).  Where to keep them?  Good question.  I also thought I'd work more steadily on my dissertation (ha). Oh, and now that I've discovered Pinterest I've now amassed enough craft stuff for my own crafting room.  And with my curious toddler pawing at everything, where is my designated space to keep ALL things books, doctorate, and craft-mom?  See exhibit "B", above.  Yep, that 30" x 30" space is the only spot I've found in the house that does not get bothered. 

Yep, it's booby trapped.  But can you believe my dear husband still complains about my "clutter"?  I hate it, to be clear, but the rest of the entire office?  ALL JEFF'S. And I should point out that he already has one of those office things, like, at work. 

This afternoon Santa delivered a beautiful new [fast] computer to our house, via his elves in a FedEx truck.  We are so excited.  (In fact, Jeff called me 2 minutes after the delivery truck left, saying he had received the email notification, and that I was not to open it. Grr. Oh well.)  Our current Dell desktop was to be our "we'll make this work for 2 years until we're ready to make a real decision" computer.  That was seven years ago. 

And the timing is perfect.  Luke got a beautiful new desk (exhibit "A," above) from his Mimi and Papa for his birthday last month, and he's ready, I believe, for his own computer.  So when Jeff strips down all the software boggling up the current desktop, it will be perfect for Luke.  And we have reason to believe Santa will bring Luke a toddler keyboard and mouse for Christmas ;).  Everyone wins. 

Except for one thing.  Luke's new desk comes out about 12 inches too far.  It's making me nervous just looking at it, because I see my toddler encroaching a little bit more into my space.  Yikes.  The bonus here is there's about 12 inches of space you don't see on the ride side of the big desk, and I'm stealing myself as we speak to try and convince Jeff he should move the big desk.  He's absolutely not going to like it, and he's going to throw a fit.  A big fit.  Poor Jeff.

So there's our office space.  BTW, if you see Santa, please tell him Mommy would love for Santa to bring her a room of her own. ;)

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Desperately Seeking Baptismal Dates

I'm finally working on the photo book for Luke's baptism.  It's about time, I know, since he was baptized in March--of 2010.  And instead of just a book with pictures, I thought I'd make it useful.  He was four months old at his baptism, and I need to do something to help him realize what went on, since he obviously doesn't remember.  How weird that he had such a big event in his life and the only way he'll know about it is through pictures and stories. 

Yeah, I know, that's the way it goes.  In our Lutheran-Catholic faiths we are baptized as infants and given Godparents to watch over us and guide us in our upbringing, taken to church by our parents, and made to relive our own baptisms every time we see someone else get baptized.  So the book is really only a formality.  But I want it to be something Luke can be proud of.

Enter my big challenge.  Why not include a family tree, complete with the baptismal dates of Luke's parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents??  Genius.  Umm...maybe.  But not nearly as easy as it sounds. 

I got the idea when thinking about my own baptism.  Jeff and I made the decision to baptize Luke at the church I was raised in, the small rural Lutheran church with the rich history, the "Friendly Little Church in the Valley."  We've lived in the DFW area for nearly a decade, and our roots gradually grow deeper and deeper here in North Texas, but we're not from here.  I'm from the town my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, etc., etc., etc. have almost always hailed from, and Jeff's family tree has its own deep roots in/near Rowena.  We wanted to plant Luke's roots a little closer to ours, and I'm not sure how we came upon the decision to pick Walburg over Rowena, but we did, and the rest is history.

Except the history here is the challenging part.  I'm so fortunate that my family church put out a record book at their 110th anniversary celebration in 1999 that includes baptisms, confirmations, marriages, and deaths.  So, aside from my own baptism at the church, I've easily located the records of my father, my mother, her father (baptized 1916), and both of his parents (father, 1890; mother, 1892).  So, how cool that Luke can say he was baptized at the same church as his great-great-grandparents!  He would have met a very similar fate if he had been baptized in Jeff's home church.  We know Jeff, his father, and both of his paternal grandparents were baptized in Rowena (But Jeff's parents don't know when.).  And I'm fairly certain we could keep going...

Where were the rest of the ancestors baptized, you ask? Well, that's the brick wall I've come up against.  I'm still looking for dates on Jeff's Granny and Popo.  Apparently they were born before the records that the very nice lady at the Catholic diocese was able to access.  I'm steeling myself to call the church and ask the secretary to dig for the baptisms, admittedly because I'm a little afraid that I might not be able to get the information I'm so craving. 

My calls to the tiny little Lutheran church where my mom's mother was baptized--and where my sister- and brother-in-law still worship (along with our own Goddaughter!) have gone unanswered.  And Jeff's grandma was born in North Texas, so I have to call the diocese here...

The most elusive dates to me, then, are for my dad's parents' baptisms.  My two aunts have been beyond helpful; my Aunt Kathy has made phone calls, written letters, and dug for information.  We're pretty sure we have the year of my grandpa's adult baptism in the Methodist church, but the church is now defunct.  Try making that  phone call! 

You know, it's positively surreal that I can find 56 Google pages on myself, thanks to a presentation I made as a fellow for a writing institute that has been picked up and spun through the search engine's metafilter, but I can't Google "Grandma Shepherd" and "Baptism" and get the information I need. 

But I have come across some interesting information.  It seems my great-grandparents worshipped at a small church where my great-grandmother attended school as a girl.  And then, it seems, the church/school disappeared and my great-grandparents bought the land and lived in a house on the property.  And I remember that house a little, which, I guess you can say, makes me a part of history.  The problem?  Nobody seems to know the name of the church.  And it has come to light that my grandmother's two brothers were each baptized as adults.  Of course, that complicates things even more, because now there's the possibility that perhaps she was not baptized at all, which leaves a gaping hole in my perfectly conceived tree diagram. 

(My aunt told me Grandma was saved as a girl, which at least makes my heart feel lighter. And this week marks the tenth anniversary of her passing, so she's been on my mind even more than usual...)

So where do I go from here?  Well, I keep making phone calls.  And I keep digging.  And you can make darn sure that when I do find all the information, I'm writing it down.  And printing it in a book.  And making copies for all my family members.  And laminating my diagram.  :)

Shoes on High (Heel) Alert

Jeff and I had a discussion tonight that has really irked me.  He's chair of the safety council at work, which, it turns out, is a lot more important than just wearing an arm band in the halls and tattling on his friends ala Bobby Brady in that Brady Bunch episode.  Safety is hugely important at his company's plants, and it necessarily carries over into the corporate office.  So, before I go any further, let me first just say that the opinions expressed here are my own, and merely for "sport," as it were, and not to create a revolution or even receive any notice whatsoever.

Jeff works in a corporate office near the Las Colinas area, one of the most fashionable see and be seen places in the Metroplex.  I feel like my SAHM clothes hardly fit in when I go to lunch there.  And so, when Jeff came home and told me that the safety council was making a new policy regarding the wearing of high heels by women at work I became a little defensive.  And the more I thought about it, the more this cut to the bone, not just because of the location of the company, but, deep down, because of what it stands for (to me, at least.).

So it seems that there are new stipulations on the heels that women are allowed to wear to the office.  I'm paraphrasing, but as I understand it, heels (which are entirely optional in the office) must have 1) a back, 2) a heel at least 1" thick, and 3) a height of no more than 3".  Suddenly I think of both the shoes my grandmothers wore in their sixties and my first pair of "high heels" at Easter time when I was eight years old.

And, apparently it's not a cold, hard rule, but a strong suggestion.  But I'm not sure what the difference is.

Now, I'm no Carrie Bradshaw.  But I do love shoes.  For years I danced on the margins of professionalism as a teacher, almost always wearing some sort of heel to teach high school in.  And I've all but missed the current phase of really amazing high heels.  As the shoes started to get higher and more radical, I got pregnant (no correlation), and my budget, lack of gross motor skills, and need for "practical" shoes to shuttle my toddler to story time when we're often late have meant that I've spent the entire summer in my Reebok Easy Tones.

But, when I go to lunch with Jeff or my sister (who also works in the Las Colinas area), I almost always wear heels, because that's what the female sex wears in Las Colinas.

So when Jeff and I were having the shoe conversation at dinner I was mentally running an inventory of my "work" shoes and realized I'd be in a whole world of hurt because I really couldn't think of any shoes I owned that met all of his criteria. 

Jeff really spends a lot of time in the world of black and white, and he's made for the gig as safety czar.  And to be clear, the idea wasn't his own.  But he's seen me stumble my way through life (again, I'm just not that that coordinated) in high heels, and he gets the need for safety in the work place.  Oh, and in his words:  "Brandi, our bonuses are partly determined by ESHA and how safe we are at work." 

I'm absolutely not arguing against the safety component.  I'm all in favor of nobody getting hurt, and I do admit that sometimes the shoes can be a bit ridiculous.  But for me--and probably for most women who wear them--it all comes down to one thing:  shoes are a tool for self expression.

When I hear that I'm not allowed to wear high heels, and especially when the dictum comes from a man, I immediately hear that I'm being opressed.  Here's the bottom line:  women need to dress more like men. 

Remember the study a few years ago that suggested that height in the workplace really does seem to determine power?  Some of us really do wear heels because they make us feel empowered.  And I don't love that that empowerment is being stripped away, even if it's in the name of safety. 

After our dinner conversation, I took about 2 minutes to run through my closet and grab shoes that didn't meet the new criteria, just so I could show Jeff that the new rules just didn't make a lot of sense.  And there are only a couple of shoes in this pile that really shouldn't be worn.  And I didn't even make a dent in my shoe collection.  I wanted Jeff to agree with me that while safety can be mandated, personal expression really shouldn't be. 

I'm not sure it completely did the trick, but, since I covered his sink in shoes, it did make it hard for him to brush his teeth.  Maybe he'll think of that at his next safety meeting.  ;)

Paci Passing

On many nights, our nighttime ritual goes like this:  Luke climbs into our big jacuzzi bath and plays for a little while.  Then I hop in, clean Luke up, wash his hair, and pass him on to Jeff.  Jeff gets Luke ready for bed, brushes his teeth, gives him his vitamin (if I forgot to do it earlier), finds his pacifier, gets ready for bed himself, and then reads to Luke or watches a little television with him while I have a moment (and it's often the only moment I have all day) to myself.  Jeff even locks the door to the bathroom on the way out, so I can have about 5-10 minutes of uninterrupted Calgon time.  What a great dad!

Well, as you can imagine, Luke does not go gently into the good night.  Within a few minutes he's usually clawing at the bathroom door, yelling for me  (I'm very glad he hasn't learned to say "Hurry up!"--I know that's coming soon.  Sigh.).  And while I'm usually 95% available for Luke the rest of the time, I know he's in good hands with Jeff.  So I repeatedly yell from the other side of the door ideas for Luke  ("Go read a book with Daddy!" or "Go play with Daddy!" or "Mommy is in time out!"), because I sometimes really just need a minute to myself. 

Except last night I think Luke got closer to cracking the code.  And I just happened to have my iPod handy, so I snapped the pics that will follow in a minute.

I was brushing my teeth, and I looked back to see Luke passing his paci (what he calls his pacifier--actually, he calls it a "pat-ty") underneath the bathroom door.  Hilarious!  And ingenious!  He knew it would get my attention, and for a minute it did.  Then I remembered that I actually had Jeff to cover for me, and I went back to my five minutes of alone time. 

Toddlers are so good at manipulation.  I didn't give in, though, and instead I just took pictures.  Okay, confession:  I did move the paci a little closer to Luke's reach so I could get a better picture.  :)

Bedding Crisis Averted, Fundraiser Begun

Well, I think I solved our bedding dilemma.  In case you missed the last blog post, we're transitioning Luke's room into a "big boy" room, and we're doing it fairly quickly, because my new baby nephew Austin is going to take a turn at loving our pirate bedding for a while.  While I've got to make the decision quickly, the timing is perfect.  I've learned that infant bedding far outlasts the infant stage of childhood, and I'm thrilled that my sister can get a couple more years' use of the fairly costly set. 

When I last posted I was frantically searching for girl crib bedding to coordinate with the toddler bedding I had picked out for Luke, lest I have to shop for bedding again in the foreseeable future.  And I was doing it all for my hypothetical little girl, who is but a glimmer of potential at this point.  Again:  I'm not pregnant.

In case you didn't realize it, there is a whole industry looking to sell more things to unwitting new parents than they will ever need.  We realized when we were shopping for new car seats that our friends, who had purchased the 32 lb carriers instead of the 22 lb carrier we purchased (and paid more for--grrr), had a good six months left before they had to begin the search.  That has bugged me, and it has made me more savvy in the baby/kid shopping department.

But rest assured!! 

Last night I found the most amazing website.  It's by a company called Carousel Designs.  Click here to check out their website.  It's so beautiful.  You pick out the colors and fabrics you want, and you drag them and drop them into their model bed.  You even select the wall color, floor texture/color, and furniture color so your bedding designs look more real.  Delicious!! 

I realized I could go with whatever toddler bedding I want for Luke, and, should a baby girl ever grace our household, I can customize my own beautiful bedding to coordinate with Luke's toddler bedding--but to be as girly, soft, and sweet as I want it to be.  So, crisis averted.  It's expensive, though, so I may have to start naming her baby rights now to get the money.  Haha.  I'm just excited that there's this option I didn't realize existed.

On the other hand, if we have a boy one day, we can simply click a button and order the same adorable set as Luke's toddler bedding, but in a crib set. 

Hmmm...seems a lot easier.  :)

The Bedding Dilemma? Challenge? Conundrum?

We transitioned Luke's crib to a toddler bed about six months ago.  He doesn't sleep in it, though.  He sleeps with us.  I love it, too, mostly.  He's a cuddler, which is something Jeff has never been, and I rather like having him curl up with me to sleep.  Someday (college? Ha!) he'll have to sleep in his own bed, but for now his room is so far away, I sleep better when he's with me, etc., etc. (I have a ton of reasons why I prefer attachment parenting...).

His room is still his room, however, and we need it to look nice.  Plus, every once in a while he surprises us and tells us he wants to sleep in his bed.  So, it's about time we replace his crib bedding with toddler bedding.  He deserves that.  Plus, his sweet little cousin Austin is scheduled to arrive in a month (Wow!), and we've agreed that Luke's bedding will soon be loved by his younger cousin while he moves on to a big boy setup. 

I've been sad about the change--though my sister tells me we'll get the bedding back (Great...what am I supposed to do with it then?!), and I've never been totally, 100% in love with it--primarily because it's the bedding we chose for Luke's first room.  I'll get over it, though, because I love to decorate more than I love to be sentimental.  So the challenge is on to find a suitable replacement. 

But wait, that's not all.  I can't just go shopping.  I have to get coordinating. 

Because we only have a three-bedroom house, and because we love it when we have visitors (and because I just painted the guest bedroom), we only have one bedroom designated for children. 

First, let me clarify:  I am not pregnant.  I had a miscarriage in April, and that has been a tremendous setback for us, but that's another blog post I can't seem to get myself to write......

Anyway, I had Luke's new room all designed in my head, when I realized that it would be futile to not anticipate the arrival of any future sibling Luke may have. Because they'll have to share the room. 

I love the new bedding I picked out.  Unlike the current pirate bedding, which only mostly coordinates with the rest of our house, the new dinosaur bedding would be a beautiful, harmonious, perfect match.  It's masculine, it's adorable, but it's no good for a little girl.  And let's face it:  as soon as I get the room settled into a boy room, it would happen that I would get pregnant and find out we're having a girl. 

So, it's back to the drawing board.  Stay tuned.  I'll post pics when I make a decision.  :)

Oh, wait. I'll add a pic of Luke's room when he first moved in, for posterity's sake.  Here you go!

The Schwertner Family Puerto Rico: 2011

Click here to view this photo book larger

Potty Patrol: The Good, the Bad, and the Awkward

File this under TMI.

Now that Luke's become such a water worm, he is pretty much taking baths by himself.  Aside from the fact that it's getting a bit weird to bathe with my toddler, he splashes, fills the tub with his toys, wants to wash my hair, and hides the soap.  I've kind of just been missing my relaxing baths, too.

So tonight while Jeff was still at work I bathed Luke, keeping the water to reheat and reuse for my own bath (How green am I?!?).  When Luke fought me on putting on his clothes, I decided I'd try an experiment.  How's the kid ever going to potty train if he never goes without a diaper?  I know you've all read the stories about our potty training efforts....

I told Luke that he could leave his clothes off, but if he needed to peepee (or worse, #2), he needed to go in his potty and not on the floor.

I was halfway through my own bath when I saw Luke in the small toilet room (What ARE those rooms called?), sitting on the big toilet, with his training seat (He had actually managed to position the seat and crawl up there himself. Go Luke!).  He usually uses his little potty that sits on the floor.  He had such a look of determination and pride on his face that I figured it was best to let him have his moment and congratulate him later.  So I watched quietly.  And with shampoo in my hair.

Good for Luke!  He not only used the potty, he used the BIG potty!

Except, wait.  Because not much in our house has a nice clean, happy, easy ending these days...

I saw him reach back to flush the toilet.  Good manners, too!  Yes!

Then the bad happened.

Luke leaned over to watch the toilet flush--while still sitting on the toilet.

The next thing I knew, Luke was flipping over himself, head first, onto the floor.

And I was still sitting there watching, with a head full of lathered-up shampoo.  AWKWARD!!!

What to do?  Think quick.  I already mentioned Jeff wasn't home to yell to.  And there my child was, on his back, in the little toilet room, wedged between the toilet and the wall, after having just fallen on his head/neck.

My choices were abundant and limited:

• Run to his rescue.  Of course, the EMTs might have to come, and I'd be there, naked, with shampoo in my hair, holding my woefully broken child.
• Let him lay there until I finished my bath.  If he got up it meant he wasn't hurt that much.
• Jump out of the bathtub to save him, but slip and fall and break my own neck.  What a sight that would be for Jeff when he came in.  Headline:  Wife and son drowned in bathtub/potty massacre.

In the end, I did what any mother would do.  I jumped out, ran after my child, hugged him, examined him for broken parts, asked him if he was okay, kissed him, etc., etc. 

Then (after I determined there was no obvious damage) I got back in the bathtub to finish my own relaxing (Ha!) bath. 

Calgon, take me away!

Luke's Lens

A little while ago, my friend Jenn posted some pics her sweet toddler took with the family's camera, and I had to admit to being jealous, because I couldn't get Luke to take his finger off the lense when he snapped his pics.

See:

Well, we finally got the finger to come off the lense, and here's a sampling of some of the pics Luke has taken in the past week.

First, we have the self-portrait.  Nice, huh?!  :)

And we have a couple of the house.  This first pic is clearly a start; Martha Stewart Living should be calling anytime.  Haha!

Yes, the finger is still covering the lense a little in this next pic.  But look--it's my whole face!  Go Luke!!

Finally, my favorite picture.  Look at those adorable little feet!  So sweet!!!  Mommy loves you, Luke.  :)

A Year in the Life: 2010

Click here to view this photo book larger

Oh Crap!

Ever have one of those days when it just seems like everything is stacked against you?  Well, today was my day.

It all started fairly innocently.  Luke woke up. 

Then it all went downhill from there. 

I was talking on the phone with my friend Suzanne when I realized Luke was covered--COVERED--in sunscreen.  He had found the bottle, squirted it all over himself, and was attempting to rub it in.  I cleaned him up and sent him on his way.

It wasn't long after that that I was in the bathroom getting ready for the day.  I came out, and I smelled what can only be described as a poopy diaper--amplified. I looked up, and I saw a version of this:


Yep, it's poop.  And it's everywhere.


Luke has been really fascinated lately with taking off his diaper.  And this time it was not innocent.  I realized what was going on, screamed, and before I knew it I was chasing Luke under the dining room table.  (Don't worry, I cleaned it up.)  I finally apprehended him, and into the bathtub he went.

And while I was attempting to rid the family room of Luke's new favorite artistic medium, I found myself, over the course of a few minutes, placing Luke back in the bathtub three times before finally cleaning him up, drying him off, applying the diaper, reapplying the diaper, duct taping it (just for fun, and for pics to send Jeff at work), stuffing him into Pull Ups, putting him back into a diaper when those came off, too, and finally sticking him in a pair of overalls that I knew he could not get out of.

I wouldn't even say we were in the clear at that point, because I was still dealing with the aftermath of the poop explosion. 

And wouldn't you know it, I was right.  I walked in the other room to find Luke playing with my hair gel.  On the bedroom floor.  Yep, maximum hold hair gel.  The carpet's not going anywhere.

So what happened next?  It seemed like a good time for a nap for the tired little torpedo.  I laid down with Luke to coax him to sleep.  An hour later (and two episodes of Imagination Movers later), I had had a nice little snooze, but I don't think Luke ever closed his eyes. 

Geez.  No winning today!  Not with this kid!  I gave it a little longer, then I put Luke in our bed to see if he'd relax. 

This time, lotion!  And lots of it.  All over the bed.  The sheets, the pillow cases, the blanket, the coverlet, the comforter.  All covered in lotion.

What's with this kid? 

I did the thing that came to my mind next.  I loaded him in the car, convinced he'd be asleep in minutes.  Nope.  Wrong again.  We made it all the way to the mall, and he was just as excited to be looking out the windows as ever.  I decided to make my exchange in the mall, only to realize that I had forgotten--once again--Luke's shoes.  So, into Dillard's I went with my barefooted kid.  I know the salesclerks were impressed.

Did he go to sleep after that?  Nope.  Of course not.  All the way home we went, and still no shut-eye from little Luke.

By the time we got home I realized it had to be 5:00 somewhere.  I looked up, and it was 5:00 here!  Out came the wine glass.  Jeff called, and I begged him to come home.  BEGGED.  PLEADED.

He did, we ate, and I was very thankful that Jeff took Luke outside long enough for me to load the dishwasher--the task I had planned to do first thing this morning. 

As we were eating, Jeff told me he would take Luke outside, get him tired, bring him in for a bath, and put him down and have him asleep immediately. 

And he was right.  I decided to go ahead and combine Luke's goodnight song with my own prayer (Because, heaven knows, I needed one!), and Luke was out cold by the time I finished the first verse of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee."  :-)

So now I quote my favorite line from one of my favorite books, Gone with the Wind.  At the very end, Scarlet O'Hara tells nobody in particular, "Tomorrow is another day."  And that's what I have to say about that.

Goodnight, everyone!

Crepes of Wrath

For as long as I can remember, my mom has spoiled my sister and me with her amazing crepes--for important occasions, visits home, holidays, or just Saturdays for no particular reason. With just the right amount of fluff, just the right amount of sweet, and just the right amount of sugar rolled up inside, these things are to die for.

She used to tell stories about how my grandma would make them for her and her brother, and how she'd have two pans going at once. The story goes that my great, great-grandfather came over from Sweden to escape some European war, only to enlist upon arrival in America's Civil War. That's enough for me to credit someone with a family recipe for Swedish crepes.

In college I fell in love with IHOP's cheese blintzes.  Late at night, after fulfilling my serving duties at Applebee's, I'd look for fellow IHOP devotees.  The cheese blintzes never disappointed.  Beautiful crepes filled with a cottage cheese/cream cheese mixture and topped with strawberries--yummm.

So when I "grew up" and decided I was ready to cook my own crepes I asked my mom for her recipe.  I never got them just right, and I somehow always lost the recipe.  So I just decided to find one in a book.  It's not the same, but it works well enough.  Motivation to visit my parents, I suppose.

Then when I was pregnant with Luke I was so completely nauseous that I could only bear the thought one day of having some delicious IHOP cheese blintzes.  I called in an order before I left home, thinking I'd pick them up, nibble on some before school, and finish the order at lunch.  What a terrific idea.  I'm not sure why I hadn't thought of that days earlier!  Well, I was horrified to learn that they had taken them off their menu.

And so, it was then that I realized I would have to get serious about making my own crepes--and my own cheese blintzes.  I followed the recipe I had, and Jeff said he loved them.  Good enough reason for me to keep making them.

Fast forward to tonight.  Hungry for crepes/cheese blintzes, but just too dang impatient to cook the crepes and clean up the mess, I decided I'd take a short cut and buy crepes already cooked in a package at Kroger.

Before I go on, you must understand the weight of importance placed on these poor Kroger crepes.  If I haven't impressed upon you, dear reader, the gravitas of the perfect crepe, then I don't even know that I can go on.  Let's just say that these packaged crepes were standing on the shoulders of giant crepes--both my mother's (and her mother's) and IHOP's.

So Jeff called to tell me he was on his way home, and I got busy rolling up the crepes filled with my low fat cottage cheese/low fat cream cheese mixture.  I topped them with strawberries and sent them on their way to the oven.  They looked pretty good.

Well, they were horrible.  Awful.  Disgusting.  Actually, they were nothing.  They disintegrated!  By the time they got to the table there was nothing but cooked cottage cheese/cream cheese and strawberries.  Not good, people.  Not good.

So let's just say tonight I learned at least one very important lesson.  Still trying to figure out which one it is, exactly, and I think I'll put it in the form of a test question:

Which lesson did Brandi learn tonight?

A.  Don't mess with Mimi's recipe

B.  Don't cut corners

C.  Cut corners, but find a different package

D.  All of the above

Did I tell you IHOP finally put their cheese blintzes back on the menu?  Thank the pancake gods!



Not your mother's crepes.  Not my mother's crepes, at least!



Where I'm From

It dawned on me recently that I haven't spent any time in my creative writing lately (This blog doesn't really count.).  Not that I spent a lot of time in it before, but, you know, sometimes you just need to get it out.  Actually, I believe that for those who have the propensity (and we all have the propensity, really) to write, not doing so can be the equivalent of feeling snake's venom building up in your blood--you have to take care of it.

So, while I'm thinking about what I'm going to write next, I think I'll revisit a poem I've been working on for years. 

I started this poem several years ago in a graduate class.  It's called "Where I'm From," and it's modeled after a similar poem by George Ella Lyon.  I added the third stanza when I was preparing to leave teaching to stay home with Luke last year (and, to coax my students to write their own similarly titled poems).   I'm posting it now to remind myself that it's time to move on to the next stanza, now that I've spent a year in my new life as stay-at-home mom.  I'm also posting it so that maybe others out there will think about the freeing aspect of creative writing and try their hand at a similar endeavor.

Here's what I have so far:


Where I’m From

I am from “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
From one bedroom, my special place,
Painted sunshine, eggshell, snowflake, sunshine, eggshell.
I am from sleepovers and Sunday School, piano lessons, Girl Scouts,
Family reunions, Twelfth Grade Citizen of the Year, Jack Frost Citizen of the Year,
and dreams of being a teacher.
From Georgetown,
Daughter of Bill and Dale and sister of Megan:
Same thing everyday.


I am from “I love you” and “I love you, too.”
From ten bedrooms, none more special than the next,
Painted standard company white.
I am from colleges, libraries, airports, weddings, thirty states in six months,
Bachelor of Arts and Master of Science in Education,
and dreams of being a teacher.
From Springfield, Cheshire, San Marcos, Austin, Burlington, San Angelo, Carrollton, and The Colony,
Daughter of Bill and Dale and sister of Megan, but also wife of Jeff:
Something different everyday.


I am from “Oh Pooooooookie, it’s time for bed now.”
From the master bedroom, still unpainted,
“Crocodile Tears,” “Pony Tail,” and some standard company white.
I am from graduate school, family time, babies, all fifty states,
Europe, blogs, photographs, diapers, laundry, dissertations,
and dreams of being a mother.
From many places, but mostly The Colony,
Daughter of Bill and Dale and sister of Megan, but also wife of Jeff and mother of Luke and aunt to Sutton, Morgann, Olivia, Tanner, Grace, Hunter, Tracy, Colt, Brody, Bella, and Cotton:
Longing for the same thing everyday.


Where are YOU from?!?  :)

Mommy's Little Schoolhouse #2

This afternoon, a routine art activity turned into a science project.  I just love "teachable" moments!

Luke and I grabbed some paper and colors and went outside.  He was getting fussy, and we both needed some fresh air.  Luke sat at his little picnic table, and I grabbed a couple of leaves off of our Indian Hawthorne.  When I got back to the paper, Luke was already coloring, which was a good sign that he was interested.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

I showed him how to put the leaves down under the paper and rub over them with the crayon, and he thought that was pretty neat.  We colored a little bit, and then we grabbed a couple more leaves off a nearby plant.  Then the very cool thing happened.  Luke got up, looked around, and went to the plant with the long, skinny leaves that looked different from all the others.  I was so impressed!  My little boy was using his scientist skills!  He wanted to know what it would look like if we colored with a big leaf!  This teacher-mama was so proud.  :)

 So the coloring went on.  And, of course, the leaf-picking.  Now I just hope I don't walk outside again next time to find a bunch of leafless plants.  :-)

Father's Day-cation

After much consideration, Jeff said he wanted to take a nice drive through the country for Father's Day.  I love to explore new places, and this sounded like a good idea to me (We've spent many a vacation driving, just for the adventure--that's how come we've seen all the states.).  So, after Jeff and Luke went to sleep on Saturday I quickly started searching out "scenic drives" around North Texas.  I found a good one, too, I thought, and I even located a nifty restaurant for lunch and a couple of bonus wineries.  I printed the maps and plans I had found, and I set them where Jeff could see them when he woke up, along with his Father's Day cards.

In the morning he thanked me, and he told me he had just seen the small town I had pinpointed as our destination town on the morning news.  Bad weather, he said.  Small buildings in the middle of town, and nobody knew where they came from.  Hmmm... Alert?  Maybe.  After some deliberation we decided the drive was the thing, after all, and we set out. 

And when we got to our destination it did look bad.  We later found out it was a tornado, and for the sake of those who spent their Father's Day cleaning up, I feel it's probably best if I don't even mention the name of the town.  (Can I just say, however, that I feel I'm too often missing the boat on these things?  I'm planning a fun day, and four hours earlier a classified tornado almost wipes out the town?  And I don't even know about it?  Just too ironic, if you ask me.)

Okay, so, to make a long story short, let me just say that, despite the sadness we felt for those who were in the tornado, we did enjoy a nice drive through the country.  Here are a few of the pictures I took.  Look at them, and then I'll tell you what I learned.



Look very carefully at the telephone pole.  The bottom and top are there, but the middle is missing!  Ah, Nature...

 

Jeff and Luke at the first winery--neither wanted to be in my picture.

This looks odd, I know, but it was so delicious (and surprisingly nuanced!) that I had to buy it.  We also tried strawberry wine!  And plum, and apple, and watermelon!  Fun stuff!!

I have no idea what this really is--someone's ranch, I think--but check out the fun sculptures.  :)

So, a couple of things I think are worth elucidating...

A nice drive through the country is good for the soul.  And it's even better when you're with someone you love.  Also, a stop at a small, local winery for pours of their best samplings is ten times better than just driving through the country.  :)

Also, I realized that there are two ways of looking at things.  First, I really should be better at doing my homework.  You'd think after a bachelor's, a master's and 72+ hours toward a doctorate I would know to check all the variables.  Tornado? Always a possibility.  Did I mention I was also a Girl Scout?  Epic fail on my part.  HOWEVER, there's also the perspective that no matter how prepared we are, there will always be something out of our control.  Tornado?  Always a possibility.

Anyway, I hope every dad out there had a happy Father's Day!  See you next time! :)

Camp Lutherwood

Lately I've been catching glimpses of milestones from my life as they fly by on the calendar.  And I mean fly by.  The other day my cousin Kelly and I realized it had been twenty years to the date since our church confirmation.  Our confirmation was really the first big milestone we counted on our paths to becoming adults. 

Recently I realized another.  Today is the fifteen-year anniversary of the day I arrived at Camp Lutherwood in Cheshire, OR, for the summer session, and my first (and only) foray as a summer camp counselor.  I had just finished my first year of college at Wittenberg University in Ohio, and, determined to not have a boring summer job, I took my pastor's advice and chose what had been reported to me as the most beautiful Lutheran summer camp in the country.

And wouldn't you know it; as I went to dig for pictures for this blog I realized I have NONE from my time in Oregon. But, I did find this jewel of my cousin Kelly and me the day before I left TX.  First, keep in mind that this was smack-dab in the middle of the 90s, so forgive us for any present-day fashion faux pas.  Second, you probably can't tell because Kelly's big hair is both distracting from and blocking what exists of my hair (Sorry, Cuz!), but I had just cut mine in the shortest little pixie, because I was deathly afraid of being without a curling iron and a blow dryer.  Yeah...that should have been a tip-off that I wasn't ready to spend extended periods of time in the wild.

Anyway, as it turns out, Camp Lutherwood was amazingly beautiful.  Oregon was amazingly beautiful.  Is amazingly beautiful.  Of all the places I've been, Oregon still sticks out in my mind as the place with THE bluest skies.  See??



Okay, so, Oregon is really beautiful.  I digress.  The pic above is from the Northern OR coast.  That's not even where the camp is.  It is outside of Eugene, and there it looks more like this pic, which is actually a pic of the camp.

Where am I going with all this, you ask?  Good question!  Actually, I wanted to take a minute to reflect on the things I learned at Camp Lutherwood, and the ways Camp Lutherwood changed me.

First of all, the summer camp gig in Oregon kicked off my goal of seeing all fifty states before I had children.  You see, going to college in Ohio was pretty awesome, and I got to see a lot of places once I finally got out of Texas.  But once I got all the way up to the Pacific Northwest I realized my travel opportunities were as wide open as the blue Oregon sky. 

Second, I learned how to really pray.  I'm not talking about speaking to God in that quiet way and ending with "Amen."  I already knew that.  But the curriculum for that summer reminded us that it is just as important to be thankful to God as it is to ask God for things we want and/or think we need.  And while I'm not as committed to my life of prayer as I should be, I do realize I am more thankful than I am wanting.

Third, I learned that I am not cut out for life in the wilderness.  I recently told my girlfriend that she wouldn't like the Alaska wilderness because it would mean more shopping at REI and less shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue.  Same concept for me.  Aside from getting my hair cut to avoid the chance that it might be out of place (a purely egotistical move on my part), I remember sneaking away one weekend to a hotel and just looking in the mirror because I could.  Haha.  And, there was one time when everyone else was off on a nature hike, and my friend Mary Beth and I were painting our nails, trying our darndest to recreate the spa-like experience.  What can I say?  I do like my hot and cold shower water to work in conjunction with each other.

Fourth, and certainly not least (but, out of brevity...), I learned to really love at Lutherwood.  I fell in love with my first love so hard that we were eventually asked to leave camp because we couldn't focus on anything but each other (Yep, I'm not sure I've ever confessed that one...).  It's funny when I look back on it, because I've been around plenty of  teenagers, and I've read Romeo and Juliet more times than I can count.  I would be quick to dismiss the "young love" idea, but I can't, because I know it can also be so real that it hurts.  Don't get me wrong--I absolutely love my husband and the grown up life we've created.  And I won't go on to discuss that relationship and the many years and attempts we took to let loose of each other's hearts, because this blog is not the place for that....

So, if I had all the space in the world (I know, what's a blog for if you can't prattle on for hours?), I could go on next to discuss all the ways I have changed in the last 15 years.  But let me just say that I'm thankful to Camp Lutherwood, the people I met there, and the indelible mark it made on my life.  As its slogan reads, it truly is "a place set apart." 

Oh, and in case you want to send your kids there, here's the link to the website (which, I might add, did not even exist when I was there!  Haha!):  http://www.lutherwood.org/index.php.  Also, I came across this blog while I was reminiscing, and I am particularly taken by the pictures of this couple getting married at Lutherwood:  http://www.bluecastleblog.com/2008/06/zachkatie-062108.html.  Ahhh...if only everyone could have their own Camp Lutherwood experience!

Luke @ 18 Months

Luke had his eighteen month appointment with the pediatrician last week, and before we leave May I want to make sure I post an update...

Luke weighed in at 24.2 lb, placing him in the 25th percentile for weight.  We're just excited that he weighs more than his girlfriend Sarah.  Hehe!  And again, please just let me say that I would absolutely love to be in the 25th percentile for my weight. :)

Luke's height is now 34.5 inches, which places him in the 95th percentile for height.  I'm going to go out on a limb and assume the height is all from Jeff.  Haha!  I'm very excited that he's just 1.5 inches away from more rides at Six Flags!

Oh, and for those of you concerned about Luke's head...we're now up to the 97th percentile (19.75", if you want to buy him a hat!).  Really, his head doesn't look that big!  I promise! 

Luke remains a very curious boy.  Last week I was two seconds away from the camera when he scaled the refrigerator shelves to get something from the top shelf.  And a few minutes later I was also two seconds from the camera when I looked up to see him standing on top of the Step 2 play treehouse roof.  Also last week within five minutes I watched him figure out how to open the childproof cabinet, reach in, grab my hot iron, and  successfully plug it in to an outlet.  I wouldn't say "Danger" is his middle name; he just really wants to do everything the grown ups are doing.  He has become quite a big helper, too.  :)

Luke is also talking up a storm!  He will attempt pretty much any word we ask him to say.  Here are some of the words he says without prompting (sign language accompanies the words with an *):  shoe, please* car, puppy, Mama, Daddy (Dah), woof, milk, juice, cheese, Mimi, Papa, Grandpa (Pa), Nanny (Na), Megan (May), peepee, tractor (tra), choochoo, mine (me), more*, up, down, bunny (buh), hohoho, no, yeah, uhoh, Barney (Bah), Elmo (El), awww, spoon, bad, book, gogogo!, beepbeep, light (li), diaper (di), water (wa), moo, Benjamin (Beh), Beau (Buh), Kevin (Keh), Sarah (Seh)... 

It goes without saying (But...I'm the mommy, so I can say it anyway!), but Luke continues to bring us so much joy and love.  We are so excited to get to watch him grow up!  Awww.  :)

Oh, and here are some pics from the doctor's visit...

God's Easter Eggs

Finally, before we completely leave this Easter season I want to take a second to post a pic of my absolute favorite "Easter" eggs... 

They're not all the plastic candy- or toy-filled eggs that made their way through all the egg hunts.  Even though those were fun to play with!

They are a product directly from God, necessarily without the hand of man, and they are spectacular.

Check 'em out! 

So what's the story?

We were standing in Jeff's parents' driveway when a friend of theirs drove up to ask how many eggs they wanted.  Her chickens had made them, and she had so many she had to get rid of them.  Now, for all my friends from the country, this is absolutely no big deal.  But for me, the city girl who has never been close enough to a chicken to touch it, this whole thing just fascinated me.  

So we got our eightteen eggs, brought them home, and used every last one of them (mostly in my favorite cookie recipe!).  I'm not sure they tasted better (I don't eat eggs unless they're buried in something else), and I'm actually quite partial to the "designer" eggs (Eggland's Best, mostly because I smile when I see the cute little "EB" they print on their eggs.) that I buy at the store.  However, there's something so good for the soul about things that haven't been through a million processes before they get to my table. 

I think this is Easter as our God would have it.  :)

My Closet Personality

I often have trouble picking the right answers on personality tests.  Do you think with your head or your heart?  Yes. Both.  Do you prefer to be around people, or would you rather be alone?  Uh huh.  Are you laid back, or do you tend to worry about the details?  Oh boy.

I blame it on my Pisces sign:  those two crazy fish, swimming in opposite directions.  That's me.

Mostly I'm a "Type B" personality, though I've certainly spent time in the "Type A" category, too.  I taught high school full time (with three preps of advanced classes out of three possible preps, mind you!), all while taking nine hours of doctoral course work.  That's a big deal, let me say, and it requires serious "A" skills to do that.  However, as a stay-at-home mom, I'm pretty good about not worrying about the details.  Is Luke a happy, well-balanced child?  Sure.  Is he involved in Kindermusik, gymnastics, swim lessons, Gymboree, etc., all while spending his free time working on "Your Baby Can Read" flashcards?  Not a chance.

So, while I was contemplating my split personalities recently, I thought about Luke's closet.  First, let me say that his clothes are all hanging (Well, mostly hanging; my "B" personality gives me the right to leave some of them piled in the chair...) in my closet, because I wash his clothes with ours, and it's just easier.

Second, let me introduce you to my split personalities in action.  Here's the top of Luke's closet.  Notice the labels.  And realize that the clothes are all folded neatly and sorted within those designations AND vacuum-sealed to prevent them from any possible damage (Moths? Air? Flooding??).  Oh, and some were even ironed before they were put away...  AND, let me just say, that the crooked label on the top right box?  That has been driving me crazy.

Now, let's talk about the rest of the closet.  The "Type B" part of my closet.  Insomuch as Luke's closet is the fashionable mullet--you know, business in the front; party in the back!--here's the "back" of the closet.  Yep, it's the part that just keeps getting, shall I say, dumped on.  Most of the boxes I just haven't bothered to break down (Diaper boxes sure make good moving boxes.  And, since we're not moving anytime soon, I've just left them.).  And seriously...what's more important, putting stuff away, or playing with Luke???  (My husband, and all my "Type A" friends, would say to put it all away, I know...).  Here's the bottom of the closet:

So here you have it.  Skeletons in my (Luke's) closet.  And, because looking at it now makes me feel like a messy person, I will probably get busy soon on the "Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere" game with Luke.  But probably not too soon, because I recognize that I can just close the door, and nobody really needs to know.  :)