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!