Petite Cheesecakes

Every other week or so my brother-in-law and sister-in-law come over to our house after Elliott is asleep and play games with us.

Usually it's Settlers of Catan and Ticket to Ride. But we throw in some Fast Food Franchise, Power Grid, or Blockus in the mix. (While two person Blockus is fun, Matt and I have abandoned two person strategy games from our playing line-up. When you have two competitive people living in a house you have to adapt, you know? It's the little things we do in order to stay married.)

I like to take these opportunities to bake something fun -- because, well, there are two additional people and that means there is less of a chance that Matt and I will eat an entire batch of whatever it is I feeling like making. 

Tonight: Petite Cheesecakes! I had half a bag of Costco's individual Philadelphia Cream Cheese that was expiring next week. Either we were going to eat nothing but bagels or I was going to make a cheesecake.

While these are normally made with vanilla wafers, I had Oreos. So, I substituted those instead and...let me tell you...best decision ever...

These are super easy to make and really delicious -- plus you can play around with the presentation too. (Or mix up the flavor of Oreos: vanilla, mint.) 

So, place an Oreo in a cupcake liner.

And then spoon in your cheesecake batter.

Bake and serve!

You can either place it cheesecake side up or Oreo side up! (Inexpensive red wine is a nice addition too!)

Here is what you need:

- 16 oz of cream cheese

- 3/4 cups of granulated sugar

- 1 Tbs lemon juice

- 1 tsp vanilla extract

- 2 eggs

- Oreos

- Toppings (cherry pie filling, cookie crumbs, caramel sauce)

And here it what you do:

Soften the cream cheese and beat until smooth. Add in the sugar, lemon juice, vanilla, and eggs. Beat the mixture for several minutes until it's well mixed. Fill the muffin tins 2/3 full and bake at 375 for 15-17 minutes.

Cool. Chill. And serve. 

Enjoy! 

Things I Love Mondays

Well, it's been an interesting Monday so far. My husband Matt has had some bizarre and scary health stuff going on and then his car broke down. So, we've been having an interesting day so far.

Cue the "waa-waa" trombone music!

(Speaking of which: THIS is pretty funny.)

I think that a Monday like this calls for a double dose of things I love. For your pleasure, here are TWO things I am really excited about today.

Thing #1:

Posters from Snapfish.com 

I finally got the poster I made of Elliott's first year in the mail today and I LOVE it. I decided to frame it myself instead of having Snapfish frame it for me because I have a 50% off any frame at Michael's coupon. So, yeah, that's pretty awesome.

The picture doesn't really capture the cuteness of this poster; so, you'll just have to take my word for it. There are so many cool ideas for these posters! The teacher-brain is spinning...


Thing #2:

Jewelry from Mountain Girl Silver.

My friend Alicia gave me an "Elliott" necklace and she just added the "Isaac" disc for me. I adore this necklace! And I just learned that the owner of Mountain Girl Silver is local -- her business is based out of West Linn, Oregon.

These disc necklaces are a perfect baby shower/mother's day gift. You can get them with art or with birthdates, anniversary dates. I also love her personalized wine charms. You design it and they're great. I get so many compliments and I love it.

(BTW -- when you go to her site, you can check out the Heaven Warrior Charm Necklace! And even after my intense morning...that is what made me cry today! So cool.)

Donuts Part 2

If donuts are the next cupcake (or maybe cake pops are the next cupcake and I've got a post about those suckers soon!), then I am uber trendy with my donut pan.

Fried donuts are out; baked donuts are in! Some of my naysayers have been silenced!

I took donuts to Book Club on Saturday -- here is my tray ready to go:

Are those Maple/Bacon donuts you see? Why yes, yes they are. Everything is better with bacon!

And the glazed donuts were so much better this time -- drizzling the powdered sugar/milk mixture over them when they are warm and then letting them cool was so much better than my dunking method. The glazed donuts were virtually indistinguishable from something you'd buy for yourself on a Saturday morning at some fancy-pants bakery. 

Want to make these donuts?

Head back to Eat, Live, Run's blog to grab the basic donut recipe.

And here are the recipes for the frosting!

Chocolate Glaze


1 cup of semisweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Toss into a saucepan on the stove, warm over low heat, and stir until all those chips are melted!

Dip the donuts into the mixture while the glaze is still warm.

Maple Frosting

4 1/2 cups of powdered sugar
1/2 cup of butter
4 tablespoons of milk
2 tablespoons of maple flavoring (I used McCormick)

Whether you want to go with the powdered option (dust those suckers in sugar), cinnamon and sugar (melt butter, create mixture, dunk in butter, dunk in mixture), glazed (1 tablespoon of milk, 1/2 cup powdered sugar - drizzle), or any of the above options, you are sure to have a foolproof treat to take to parties, picnics.

Thank you US Weekly

My mom is a workaholic. She doesn't ever truly rest until her work is done.

My dad is a work hard, play hard kind of guy. (And before you go and have images of what "playing hard" looks like for my dad, let me paint a picture: It could be settling in for a four hour marathon of the food channel's Best Crab Shacks in America; staying up all night to compose music; umpiring tournaments for ASA softball; or writing down bad puns on a sheet of paper to use on waitresses when we're out to eat as a family.)

I fall somewhere in the middle.

If I'm working really hard at school, my housework and family obligations suffer. For instance: Grading papers while Elliott was taking a bath one day = every single toy (electronic, stuffed) ended up in the tub with him. And from September to June, Einstein just doesn't get walked.

If I'm feeling like my home is suffering, then school gets shortchanged. Assignments collect dust before I look at them and instead of spending four or five hours prepping lessons, I'm trying to find out how to make watching the first season of Battlestar Galactica relevant to our unit on contemporary literature. Okay, okay, I'm teasing. I wouldn't show them the whole season.

Could I do it all? Sure. And I'm certainly going to try. But let's not get crazy here...I'm not about to drive myself insane just for a small stack of vocab quizzes or for a small pile of laundry. If the students have to wait or we have to wear the same pants for a week...then so be it. Because I am the queen of taking time for myself. Sometimes I have to sneak it in. For example, it's time I make a confession: I lied to Matt about the intensity of my hemorrhoids in order to take long baths uninterrupted by children.

It was really brilliant on my part. Hemorrhoids are a valid ailment during and post-pregnancy netting myself several months of this trick. And what husband is going to say, "Another bath? Really? I'll go buy you some Preparation H or TUCKS for those things and we can cut back on our water bill."

It's only a pseudo-confession because Matt was already on to me. I said I was going to take a shower, 60 minutes later I emerged from our bathroom to two screaming kids and a stressed out husband.

Matt: What took you so long?
Me: [Hesitating] I was...shaving my legs?
Matt: Your legs still look like a Hobbit. You are a liar.
Me: Okay! Okay. When the water got cold, I crawled out and read US Weekly and ate a Cadbury Creme Egg.

Matt's says he has been on to me for a long time and allowed these escapades to go without comment as a testament of his love for me.

When it comes to what I want out of "Shelbi time", it's really simple:

- I want to read a magazine or a "candy" book (Sue Grafton, for example)
- I want to be warm (in front of a heater, in a bath...on a beach in Hawaii would be nice)
- I want a two liter of Diet 7-up/glass of red wine/Fresca/black coffee -- most often a combination of several of these beverages at once

There are variations to this theme. Sometimes I want to have "Mommy makes herself pretty time" which includes all of the above and then adds: Shaving legs, exfoliating, moisturizing, putting on a mud mask, applying make-up, curling hair, and then sitting around on my couch pretending someone is going to pick me up for a night out that didn't have to involve finding a babysitter or expressing milk in the passenger seat of a car. (Which is a far cry from making out with boys in the passenger seat of cars.)

During the ninth month of my pregnancy, I told Matt I needed to go grocery shopping and just came home with this:

And since Isaac's been born, I've acquired a pretty nice collection of US Weekly Magazines from each trip to Safeway that I've done sans Matt.

Adding these tabloids to my shopping cart is something I can do just for me. Of course, in the seven years I've been reading them, I've slowly lost touch with who some of these "celebrities" are -- but I don't care. The men are cute and the women don't have spit-up in their hair. I've never seen a "Stars are just like US" picture that showed an A-lister buying Starbucks with half of her shirt soaked from a faulty/leaky breast pad. (Oh yes, welcome to my TODAY. But the choice was go in with a wet shirt or no coffee. Which one would you choose?)

As a matter of fact, if Matt does the shopping by himself and I tell him to "bring me home a present" that is a code phrase for: You better come home with a magazine. When he buys me the magazine he knows that he's okaying the time I will need to read it too. Sometimes that means I will share a bathtub with a toddler who drives his cars up my back and points to moles I didn't even know I have and say, "Yuck." 

But when it means that I can find somewhere to hide while indulging in the lowest form of reading available to me...I'll forgo dishes, grading, and good parenting skills.

Every mom should have her one thing (for me, it's my several things) that she needs to sustain her. Hey, an US Weekly and a bottle of wine is cheaper than therapy.

Celebrity gossip, spring cleaning ideas, and amazing one-dish dinners? I've got you covered. Just need an hour alone...

Friday's Book Review

Before we begin our book review for today...somebody went to the playoff Blazers/Mavericks game last night.

Isn't that just the cutest Trail Blazer fan you've ever seen? He was a champ too -- I only had to nurse him in the bathroom once! (I'm the queen of nursing in public bathrooms -- not that this is something to be proud of. When Elliott was a baby, I nursed him in the bathroom at my brother's high school graduation and my skirt fell in the toilet.)

Of course, I didn't even take into account that the Rose Garden's playoff noise would be eardrum shattering; so, I felt like parent of the year trying to cheer for a basketball game while holding my hands over his little ears...and someone behind us spilled beer all over the Baby Bjorn...but whatever -- barring permanent hearing loss, I think it was totally worth it.

It's Friday and that means it's random book review time. Here's our book for this week!

The book is "Out" by Natsuo Kirino. (PS. The above picture is for my colleague Stacy who said I was looking uncommonly primped and ready to go for pictures seeming as how I have a newborn and a toddler in my house. I didn't primp for this. It's three-days-unshowered Shelbi. And seconds after I took this picture, I was drinking wine from the bottle (Earth Day = saving water not washing wine glasses) and spilled it down my white shirt and on to my child. Parenting fail.)

I read "Out" in 2007. But the book has stuck with me and I think it's a necessary read for fans of Japanese literature and gruesome crime dramas. (Be forewarned: There is a particularly graphic scene of mutilation ala the "Saw" movies!) It's gritty. But it's not just a make-you-uncomfortable thriller -- this book is also a social commentary on Japan's working class and it's view of women's roles in a post bubble economy. It's got the Yakuza too! And powerful things to say about love and abuse. What I loved the most was the marriage between the banal and the extraordinary.

Each of the women are fully fleshed-out characters and the themes are genre-bending...which makes this book more literary than pulp. 

Here's the blurb if you're interested in the plot basics:

Facing the daily burdens of slavish work conditions, stale marriages, and a society refusing to show them proper respect, the women on the nightshift at a suburban Tokyo factory are all looking for one thing -- a way out. When pretty young Yayoi takes a beating from her deadbeat husband, her coworkers do little more than help their friend keep pace with the line. But a new kind of sisterhood emerges when Yayoi requires assistance in disposing of her husband's dead body. 

My passion for books written by Japanese authors, set in Japan, or about Japan is a pretty big part of who I am. I think Kirino's work is great. I have her next book "Grotesque" on my to-read list. 

Thank you IKEA

When Matt and I put together the nursery for Elliott we bought some sports themed wall hangings that were on clearance at Babies 'R Us for less than five dollars. Elliott was already several months old at that point and we thought, "Well, something should go on the walls." I never particularly liked them. But whatever.

When we found out about Isaac, I knew I wanted to actually have a nursery with a theme. And in the process of upgrading Elliott to a big-boy room, I wanted to have some fun in his room too.

So, today I put up wall art that I LOVE. And all for the cost of $9.

First thing I did was buy these frames at IKEA. (I like anything at IKEA that will take me less than five minutes to assemble -- which limits me to their decorative items and kitchen supplies.)

Then Elliott and I had an art session:

After he drew me some pictures, I cut them out to match the frame and we hung them on the wall in his new room -- right above his art easel too. Every artist needs inspiration in their own little art corner!

A close-up picture of Elliott's talent:

He's kinda in a "random scribbling" phase right now. Pretty soon we'll upgrade to a "Mommy is supposed to recognize this, but I have no idea what it is" phase.

I love the idea of framing the art your child draws for you and using it for decor. It beats any mass-produced paintings that are overpriced anyway.

For Isaac's room, since he's too little to draw me anything -- I tried to put the crayon in his hand, but at 6 weeks old, he's severely lacking in dexterity; I'm working on it though. I have him enrolled in newborn Picasso class -- we just went the boring route of framing things we already had around the house. I bought these for Elliott's first birthday. They are now scattered throughout the house and so I framed three that fit our theme and perfection: We've got art!

I hung the little wooden animals today too -- I don't know if I like them there...but I was trying to avoid placing them within grabbing distance of the crib...because knowing my kids, one day after nap I will walk in and someone will have licked all the glitter off.

From the words of Erma Bombeck

I wrote about Elliott growing up in this post. I was hoping I would feel inspired to write an original blog post; but as I meandered around the Internet this morning, I found someone else's words that deserve to be reprinted instead.

Plus, I hadn't cried yet today...so, it figures I should run across this Erma Bombeck column. Man Erma...you've got a name that probably won't come back into style despite its "old-timeyness", but I think you are funny, poignant, and honest.

Parents: TRY to read it without tearing up. I dare you.

I'm a glutton for punishment, aren't I??

(Sorry it's so melancholy. And it probably won't get read as much as the entry from yesterday because I didn't write "vagina" in the first paragraph.)

From the brain of Erma Bombeck...

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you?"

OK.

One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"

And they will.

Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do ... and don't slam the door!"

And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way."

And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company."

And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?" And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.

No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.

No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.

No more clothespins under the sofa.

No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.

No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.

No more iron-on patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby sitter for New Year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings.

No car pools.

No blaring radios.

No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.

Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.

No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.

No more tooth fairy.

No giggles in the dark.

No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?"

and the silence echoing, "I did."

Postpartum Blues

I had my postpartum checkup yesterday -- my doctor came in, inspected me, asked me three times what I was using for birth control, to which I answered, "Still imagining the pain of my episiotomy will pretty much handle it I think, thank you." And then we made banal chit-chat about how awful it is to imagine your parents having sex during my pap smear...because I still have no idea what you're supposed to talk about when someone is inspecting your vagina.

As part of my appointment, I had to fill out a "Depression survey." It comprised of ten questions, each one allotted a point value. I answered it honestly and was feeling pretty sure that my survey would show how well I've been handling the challenge of two kids -- one who seems to have a new health malady each week.

I said I was still laughing as often as I was before the baby. I said that I still looked forward to activities. I wrote that I cry "at least once a day" and that I haven't had thoughts of injuring myself. I was feeling so confident that my survey wasn't worrisome that I even totaled up the points for the doctor and put a little smiley face down beside the number. 

When my doctor picked up the survey, she scanned my answers and said, "Wow. Okay. So, you've been feeling pretty down, huh?"

I answered that I think I am down...but in a normal way...nothing to worry about.

She responded with, "Well, you're at an 11 on here...we hope that at six weeks postpartum women are at a one or a two." And that comment made me think that my smiley face was a little inappropriate.

After a brief discussion of whether or not I wanted anti-depressants, I left feeling like maybe I should have taken a different survey...or maybe they should do a pre-assessment survey and a post-assessment survey -- just like I do with my teenagers. The survey asked me how often I worry, if I find myself consistently anxious about things beyond my control, if I am hard on myself when things don't go according to plan. The answers? All the time; All the time; Most of the time.

All my high numbers came from one source: Worry.

I'm not feeling anything out of the ordinary. I think I'm a pretty normal type of worrier.

And it's not like the worrying part of me just popped up when I had Elliott. I've always had a slight bent toward anxiousness. When you're in the hospital having a baby and the nurses do a shift change, they stand in front of your bed and do a rundown of your medical chart. Each and every time, both in labor and delivery and in postpartum, the nurses would stand there and say, "And Shelbi was treated for depression and anxiety disorders in college -- she was on medication, but hasn't been taking for for several years. And she's been doing well?" And then they'd look at me for confirmation and I would just nod my head slowly and think, "Wow...it's really embarrassing to have your emotional history recounted for you at eight hour intervals."

But I do think that when women become moms there is a small switch that turns up the crazy just a tad. Because here's the deal -- you're forced to stop thinking about yourself and focus more on your kids. If I thought I was anxious before, well, I had another thing coming...because I was just being a selfish worrier. Now? I'm worrying about two little humans that are mine to protect! Scary!! You should see the things I Google...

Now, people who are close to me might not label my parenting style overprotective and neurotic. I hope that's true. Because if I've learned anything from this world it's that it isn't fair to burden my kids with my own neurosis. I might inwardly panic when I watch Elliott share a toy with some child in Sunday School whose nose is running like a faucet. Or want to run around the yard screaming like a crazy woman, on the phone with poison control, when Elliott tells me, proudly, "I ate the purple flower!" But I put the crazy on hold, breathe, and employ my calm, cool, and collected version of myself -- even if it contradicts my natural instincts. Why? Because my child is going to look to me to know how to react and, frankly, I don't want to raise another me. (Well, naturally I want him to have all the good parts of me.)

While watching "Finding Nemo" the other day, I had forgotten how horrific that opening scene was -- and I immediately started bawling when Elliott turned to me and asked, "Where'd the mama go?" I forced myself to wipe away the tears and explain to him in a calm voice that the mama and her babies were eaten by a larger fish.

"Oh," Elliott says. "Big fish ate mama. [Imitating Cookie Monster] nom-nom-nom-nom-nom." Then he pretended to cry (mocking me, I think). Then he giggled.

We'll strike a balance someday. In the meantime, I think we're doing just fine.

(You'd answer "I cry at least once every day" on a survey too if you keep finding things like THIS on the Internet.)

  

Things I Love Mondays

This post is going to seem a little trendy. I'm not hopping on any bandwagon here or trying to capitalize on recent publicity -- and no, I'm not interested in bolstering tourism (unless you're my friends/family who are long overdue for a visit).

For today's "Thing I Love" entry, I love: Portland.

When I was a kid, I didn't think it was cool to tell people I was a native Oregonian. I have family that lives in a suburb of Chicago and so I would pretend I grew up there instead. Chicago seemed a million times cooler. In a scrapbook I made in junior high, I laughably have a page with pictures of me looking pouty (I went through a stage where I refused to smile in pictures and I just had this annoyed expression all the time. God help me when my kids get into junior high) in front of floats at the Rose Festival Parade with a caption that reads: "What's so exciting about Portland?"

Well, it turns out, quite a few things.

And I'm not the only one noticing how amazing my city is. My Cooking Light magazine came in the mail this weekend with a full spread on the awesomeness of Portland's food culture; ESPN dudes commented on what what a cool atmosphere the fans created at the opening game for our MLS team; and, of course, there's "Portlandia."

I said to Matt, "Portland's kinda hip." He said, "Portland's always been that way. Everyone else is late to the party."

In no particular order...here are FOUR things I LOVE about Portland.

1. Powell's Books: If you ask me what I want to do with my free-time, I will 97% of the time tell you I want to go to Powell's. I never get tired of shopping there. I could go every week. As a die-hard bibliophile, this is the Mecca of book stores. I don't often buy new books anymore -- and I realize that contributes to the recent hard times this store is facing -- but looking for the best deal on a used book is part of the fun. Prior to having children, I could easily spend an entire day wandering the aisles or grab a latte at World Cup Coffee and Tea and look at books I can devour in one sitting.

Now, I have to tackle Powell's with more of a game-plan. When I was doing my Around the World in 80 Books challenge, I would write a list, map out where each book was located in the store, then Matt and I would split up.

I love this place so much that when my book club ladies threw me a surprise baby shower for Isaac, they gave me one gift: A huge gift card to Powell's. Do they know me or what?

2. The People. (For the picture -- I just googled "hipster" and took the first photo I saw. We're not all hipsters here -- and if someone says they hate Portland hipsters and aren't one...my money is on secret-hipsterness. I'm looking at you Lukas Sherman.) It's true -- we're really nice here. Our biggest flaw is our pretentiousness. The closest I've ever come to seeing a full-on bar fight was when someone insulted someone else's trivia skills. (Okay: Matt just reminded me that we saw a bar fight on Halloween one year between a guy dressed in drag and a guy dressed like Jesus.) If a Portlander gets mad, we also get insanely passive aggressive; we're more cerebral in our insults. But in general, this is a nice city -- people are helpful, kind, and fun. There's a camaraderie between people here.

3. It's beautiful here: Oregon is pretty. It's clean and it's green (as in literally green...but it's green  the other way too). And nothing beats a perfect summer day at one of its many parks or along the waterfront.  One of my favorite things to see is the cityscape at night with the buildings reflecting over the river. There is a walking trail for everyone & it's bike/walking with children friendly.

And you're an hour from beach and an hour from the mountains and less than an hour from this:

4. We have (ex) mayors who do things like this:

And our thriving art community is a ton of fun. I'm partial to Portland theater myself, but Portland is great for all things arts and entertainment -- the symphony, ballet, theater, art museum, or even places like OMSI, the Oregon zoo. I've been to busy metropolitan cities and gone into famous art museums, lounged around in parks, and seen live theater, but there's something really special about what Portland offers when it comes to culture. 

I love that I will be able to introduce my boys to so many awesome things within a five-ten minute drive from our house. I know that there are many other cities in this world where I would want to spend some time...maybe even a couple of years...but my heart belongs to Portland. And so, Portland, I love you. (But now you need to get a Major League Baseball team.)

Happy Monday!!

Friday's Book Review

My newspaper kids are doing a feature on the English department for the next issue. They asked each of us about our favorite book and then took a picture of each teacher with his/her favorite book.

Because I'm on maternity leave, I had to submit my own picture.

Here it is!

And here is the one I took that caught Elliott jumping from the table to couch in the background. He made it, by the way. 

The book I am holding is "The Sparrow" by Mary Doria Russell. And it is one of my favorite books...but it may currently hold the position for my favorite book of this exact moment. (BOLD statement, I know.)

Taking this picture prompted me to start a weekly book review on this blog. Every Friday I'll write about a book. Maybe it will be a book I read and loved. Maybe it will be a book I HATED. I know I slowed down blogging on the book blog, but I can't abandon blogging about books entirely. 

We're going to start with "The Sparrow" for two reasons. 1) I do love this book. Love. 2) I recently recommended this book to a friend and she abandoned it stating that she couldn't get into it and didn't care for the characters and doesn't like aliens. Since I did get into it, loved the characters, and am totally into aliens, I feel compelled to defend my choice for this book landing on my favorite list. 

Let's start with the blurb:

"In 2019, humanity finally finds proof of extraterrestrial life when a listening post in Puerto Rico picks up exquisite singing from a planet which will come to be known as Rakhat. While United Nations diplomats endlessly debate a possible first contact mission, the Society of Jesus quietly organizes an eight-person scientific expedition of its own. What the Jesuits find is a world so beyond comprehension that it will lead them to question the meaning of being "human." When the lone survivor of the expedition, Emilio Sandoz, returns to Earth in 2059, he will try to explain what went wrong."

This book made me week. Not cry -- not choke up. Weep. Break down and tug my legs up into my body and sob uncontrollably. You have to finish the story to put all the pieces of this book together -- which is why I don't recommend abandoning it. It's slow going for the first half, but the second half is so rewarding.

As I wrote before when I named this book my favorite book of 2009: This book is about God -- it's about faith -- it's about children -- it's about the ethics of invading unknown lans (socially, ecologically, spiritually); it's about the marriage of science and religion. And it's about love.

There is more humanity in this book than almost all of the other books I own. It's also one of those rare books that delivers for the reader a full experience. This book is nearly perfect. I said nearly. It's suspenseful, it's thoughtful, it's well balanced between flashbacks and the present (a technique I like, and use in my own writing, despite the fact that every writing book tells you not to do it...and to those people I say: Read this book and then try to tell me it's not an effective narrative tool), the characters are real and engaging -- especially Emilio. 

Don't read this book unless you're wiling to invest yourself into it emotionally. And hopefully you'll be open to the religious and scientific implications of a "first contact" book. (Sagan's "Contact" might be similar only because they both deal with science, contact with extraterrestrial life, and religion. But "The Sparrow" is so much better and bigger than Sagan's story.) Along the way, I hope the book captivates you and makes you think. I'm pretty sure it will make you cry.   

The Great Eddie Bauer Jacket Debacle

Every once in awhile I will splurge on a full-price article of clothing that I love and can't live without. Usually I follow the wise advice of waiting a few days after I first spot it and then going back to purchase it if I am still in love.

A year ago, I fell in love with an adorable olive/brown Eddie Bauer jacket. After a requisite two days of waiting and day-dreaming about how utterly adorable I would be wearing my new jacket...I went and bought it. It was a splurge; a luxury. I wore it every day for an entire week and received countless ego boosts from family, friends, and strangers when they would say, "Cute jacket! Where'd you get it?"

Well, one day, I took the jacket off and threw it carelessly on the floor of Matt's and my bedroom. The next morning, I climbed out of bed and immediately heard a distinctive crunch -- I knew before looking down what I had stepped on. And sure enough, as I bent down to examine the source of the noise, I realized I had crushed and broken one of the oversized buttons on the front of the jacket.

In typical Shelbi fashion, I had a mini-emotional meltdown. Collapsing on to the bed, clutching the jacket, and crying. I'm sure the conversation in our room that day went like this:

Matt: What?! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where do you hurt?
Me: No...no...it's RUINED.
Matt: What's ruined?
Me: My jacket! My brand-new-couldn't-afford-it-anyway jacket. Waaaa----
Matt: How is it ruined?
Me: I broke a button -- I CRUSHED a button. This is why we can't have nice things!

*pause*

Matt: Doesn't it come with extra buttons?

*longer pause*

Me: Oh. (Suddenly chipper) Right. Of course. Now, where did I put those?

We went on a massive button hunt around our entire house. Not only did we look in obvious places (the place I keep buttons, duh -- counter tops -- our "miscellaneous household stuffs" bin), we looked in bizarre places too (under the couch, behind the TV, in Elliott's chest-of-drawers). And Matt's mantra of "it will turn up" kept getting under my skin more and more because, obviously, it was not turning up. After hours of of looking for the button, I was back to clutching the jacket in-between sobs and feeling sorry for myself.

I have to give my husband credit. When I am in the throes of a particularly weepy episode of self-pity, Matt has a split second to decide which road to take. Road A) Indulge me. Road B) Rebuke me. He was able to tell right away that this warranted indulging. So, he promised to drive out to Eddie Bauer the next day and get me a replacement button.

True to his word, Matt traveled back to the store, Elliott in tow, and asked about buttons. He described the jacket -- Elliott wiggling in his arms and batting at the sunglasses -- and the lady explained in an apologetic tone that they had sold out of those jackets the day before. Refusing to be defeated...or face me empty-handed...Matt went to another Eddie Bauer store twenty minutes from our house: No dice. He took down a customer service number and tried to call them: No buttons.

I was despondent with this news, but filled with a sudden sense of purpose. With my family in tow, Matt and I went to each Eddie Bauer store in the area. And finally, at the LAST one we went to, we saw the jackets...in my color! We asked the lady about replacement buttons. She told us they didn't carry extras and apologized. Of course, Matt and I could have stolen the button packet off of the jackets and been on our way. But then my cute jacket would be a jacket of dishonesty and I didn't want to live with that guilt.  We wanted the button the honest way: And when the worker at the Eddie Bauer told us she couldn't help us, I started to cry.

I'm sure it was the tears. The kind woman ripped the button packet off of one of the jackets for me and handed it over with a smile that reeked of pity and a strong desire to get me out of the store. "Thank you. Thank you!" I said. I was over-joyed. I was full of love and reaffirmed in the belief of human kindness. I skipped out of the store.

And then I forgot to fix my jacket.

Look, it's simple: I got pregnant. The jacket didn't fit very well after that. I stored the button in a safe spot and filed the chore away for this Spring -- when I wouldn't be pregnant anymore and I could wear it proudly again.

Today, I decided it was time to fix the jacket. While Matt was feeding Elliott and Isaac was sleeping in the bassinet, I grabbed the jacket from the garage and went to my little caddy on my bookshelf where I was storing the button for this occasion.

I pulled out the small manila envelope and the button fell into my hands. Then I looked back into the caddy and wondered, "Huh. What's in this other button envelope?"

Yup.

All this build-up just to tell you:

The original button packet? Tucked into the same hiding place where I put the replacement packet. THE SAME EXACT SPOT. Over the course of a year, the first button packet migrated and joined the second button packet.

How did this happen? I don't know. I honestly don't know.

Upon finding both buttons, I felt a bubbling of uncontrollable laughter. I walked up to Matt, both buttons in my hand, tears streaming down my face.

Matt: Laughing or crying?
Me: I--I--look...buttons...
Matt: Are you laughing or crying?

When it dawned on him what was in my hands, he didn't find it nearly as funny. For my husband, this seemed like a reassurance that I really am nearly senile and reassurance that he was right: It did turn up after all.

Breaking in the Donut Pan

My desire for a donut (doughnut, donut -- whatever, right?) pan started when I checked out the Sneaky Chef cookbook from the library.

About two weeks ago I stumbled upon a donut pan on Amazon.com and I bought it on impulse. And when it arrived in the mail about five days later, I looked at it and said, "Huh. Fancy that. A donut pan. How often am I really going to make donuts?"

Yes, I said "fancy that" -- don't judge.

Clearly I did not want to make Sneaky Chef donuts. It's not that I have anything against them and I'm not opposed to whole wheat donuts with hidden spinach, but there is a time and a place for making something you are going to feed your kids and a time and place for making something that you are going to eat sinfully while watching "Black Swan" after the kids are asleep.

(One could argue that these are BAKED donuts after all and so not that sinful.)

After looking at all sorts of recipes that exist out there on the world wide web, I decided to use the recipe my friend Sunshine shared with me from one of her favorite blogs Eat, Live, Run.

The recipe can be found here. I picked it because I had all of the ingredients I needed on hand. (All of the ingredients with the exception of buttermilk...but I never buy buttermilk when it calls for it in recipes. I made my own by combining one cup of whatever milk I have and one large tablespoon of lemon juice. Brilliant.)

Here are my beloved cake donuts right out of the oven:

They didn't cook evenly -- one side was darker than the other. So, next time I might try to flip them halfway through. But despite that small hiccup, I thought they looked beautiful. And then I made the glaze. The writer of "Eat, Live, Run" spooned on the glaze and let it soak in -- a nice idea and one that would work just fine. I use that exact same glaze recipe for my killer peppermint sugar cookies and I dunk those cookies...so, I decided to do the same for these. And instead of soaking it in, they had an amazing glazed top.

For two of the donuts, I melted some butter in a bowl, brushed it on the top and then dipped them in a sugar/cinnamon mixture. And while I was going to cover two of them in a chocolate glaze, I decided it was too time intensive to make the glaze for just two donuts -- I'll break out that experiment when I make these next time.

Anyway, here is my plate of deliciousness. I'm pretty happy with how they have turned out. Don't you just want to come over here right now and have one? You can't. I'm not proud to admit that we already ate them all. Purely for blogging purposes, of course. 

Reasons Why I am a Supermom

I REALLY wanted to be a Supermom when I had kids.

You know the type: They're ubiquitous on the Internet with their awesome blogs about making their own cleaning supplies, growing their own vegetables, or whittling their own teething rings. These women are fit, trim, and have perfectly coiffed hair; somehow they manage to dress in stylish outfits sans spit-up and coffee stains. Their children wear the most adorable handmade clothes refashioned from shirts and skirts from the Goodwill pile.

Okay, I didn't necessarily want to be that kind of Supermom. For starters, I have no idea how to whittle. But I would hear or read about these amazing women and after I got over the initial desire to punch them in the face, I realized that I harbored jealousy that they could be so put together themselves AND have put-together homes too.

It always seemed like I could have one or the other:

Either I was going to put on makeup and get out of my pajamas OR I could do laundry and clean up the dog pee.

The other day I sent my sister-in-law an email at 8:00 in the morning that sounded a little something like this: "Hey! Blah-blah-blah...I'm rockin' the mom thing today...blah-blah-blah making my own organic pasta...blah blah blah changing TWO diapers with a hand tied behind my back...blah blah blah...I could do this forever! I feel awesome!"

Fast forward to 2:00pm, where she received a text message that said something like this: "Disregard former email. Huddled in the corner in fetal position. Don't know where Elliott is currently, there is baby poop covering the faces of the Glee actors in my US Weekly, and somehow I'm no longer wearing any pants."

That sums up how this past month with a toddler and a newborn has played out for me.

Since having two kids, Matt and I have realized that we need to streamline the household operations. This has involved employing some cleaning and picking-up strategies and detailed meal-planning. And even though I have a list of things I'm supposed to do every day in an effort to have my household together and running like the well-oiled machine it can be, I can't seem commit to even the simplest of tasks. 

For example, one thing I'm supposed to do is keep the kitchen sink empty at all times. Put things directly in the dishwasher and wash pots and pans immediately after using them. 

Yup. Kitchen sink was clean this morning. But now it looks like this:

And those are just the remnants of one meal -- all that mess for one tiny box of Annie's Mac & Cheese? But you know what? I don't care right now. Because even though keeping the house clean and making good meals are important and could certainly contribute to "Supermom" status...I don't think that's what makes me a Supermom.

At the end of the day, if I haven't made a craft or started a sewing project, if I go to bed without folding the laundry, if I feed my child french fries instead of apples, I think I can still fight for that title. And here's why:

1) I love my kids unconditionally: Oh, it's so cliche, but true  -- I would throw myself in front of a moving bus to save my children. The love I feel for my two boys outweighs everything else in my life. I want them to be happy and I know that I'll put my own happiness and comfort aside to make sure they're happy. Being a Supermom is knowing that sacrifice is part of the deal. 

2) I know my limits and when it's time to ask for help: I can admit that when I whisper to my newborn, "If you wake up your brother, I'm putting you outside on the lawn until your dad gets home" that it might be time take a mental break. No Supermom is an island. If you find a fantastic Supermom out there, you've no doubt stumbled upon a network of Super people. My husband, my own mom, my mother-in-law, my family, my friends? If I get time to sit down and do something for myself, it's because someone else out there is helping me or will help me later. Right now, both boys are asleep and I'm choosing to write instead of clean -- so those dishes might go untouched until Matt gets home. And I'm super because I know, with 100% conviction, that I can't do it myself and I'm not perfect and it's okay to feel like this mom thing is crazy-hard. I'm a Supermom because I can admit that there are times I daydream about a life free from kids -- where Matt and I can just pack up and go to Vegas for a weekend on a whim. Or, more realistically, go out to dinner without being "that couple" whose child is screeching for a balloon while dumping the hamburger he won't eat on to the floor. 

3) I can count to 10 and am in command of basic math: I'm a Supermom because I know that learning to count to ten when I was two-years-old has been the best tool in my arsenal for dealing with a tantrum. I'm not always patient and I'm not always the best version of myself when my child is testing every limit...but I'm in my 30s and my child is two -- basic math that has saved me from lashing out when all I really need to do is walk away.

4) I know that being a mom is the most important job there is: So, even when I have to go to work, I can put it all in perspective. I'm a Supermom because I know that since raising my sons is the most important job I'll ever do, it's worth putting some time into planning how to raise them...just like I plan a lesson plan. Do I want my boys to know how important giving is? Then they should see me and Matt give. Do I want them to love God? Then they should see me loving God. Simple really. I model my Language Arts instruction...a basic tenet of classroom teaching; and so I know I need to model my behavior for my own kids too. 

5) I can function on three hours of sleep (but not without coffee, so help me God): When women become moms, their bodies actually become virtually superhuman. Which is awesome and incredible and also a huge source of frustration toward the adult male who lives in my house and gets to snore while I'm nursing the baby every two-three hours. (And I'll admit to utilizing spite pretty effectively at four in the morning when I place a screaming child with a dirty diaper on top of Matt's chest and then roll over and conjure up some convincing snoring-like sounds myself.)

And that's it.

I can kid myself into thinking that because I sprinkle flax-seed on french toast, make our own granola, craft a cookie monster shirt out of felt, and can keep everyone's clothes laundered and folded...while still reading books and watching movies...that I've got this mom thing down. But that's a total sham. There are all different types of super-parents out there -- and I've come to embrace my inner super-parent...who might never be someone who can keep dishes out of the sink and dog hair off of the pacifier.

I'm lucky to be surrounded by people in my life who know that if they get this text -- "Sitting in the bathtub. Fully clothed. Crying" -- that they should come over to my house STAT and, preferably, bring coffee. And I can send that text and still be super -- which is a nice reminder for every mom out there. 

Things I Love Mondays

Every Monday I want to post about something I love: A blog, an item, a place, a recipe.

Today's thing I love is: Picky Sticky -- Baby Month Onesie Stickers. They are cute, affordable, and I love them. Totally recommended.

When we had Elliott, I made signs that captured each month. These worked great when he was small. He didn't move much and I could just put the sign close to him and it worked perfectly!

But then things turned rough. Starting at ten months, we couldn't keep him still. For 10 months, I didn't get a single good picture. 

And for his one year pictures, you can see that I tried to bribe him into staying still for a picture with Gerber Puffs.

But YAY for Picky Sticky. The creator had the same problem and came up with a cute and fun way to solve the "sign" problem. While the sign thing was great for Elliott, Isaac is getting the stickers. Here is a sample from his one month photo shoot. 

Fun, huh??

Happy Monday everyone!

A Sesame Birthday

In our house it's been a Sesame Street vs. The Muppets battle. Elmo vs. Animal. Cookie Monster vs. The Swedish Chef.

Ernie and Bert vs. Kermit and Piggy.

Matt and I are big advocates of limited screentime for kiddos -- I mean, we're not fanatical about it by any means -- and when we first had Elliott we thought, "No TV for this kid!" But soon that became, "Well, only the Muppets." Introducing Elliott to old episodes of The Muppet Show and purchasing the entire collection of Muppet movies was for purely nostalgic purposes.

(Puppets, in general, were a huge part of my childhood since my parents met as performers in a traveling puppet troupe. And for early and formative years of my life, I was carted around to their puppet shows. I wasn't allowed to watch many cartoons...but we lived for The Muppet Show.)

So, buying The Muppet Movie, The Great Muppet Caper, and Muppets Take Manhattan filled me with giddiness. And much to our joy and amusement, Elliott fell in love with these movies too. On our road trip down to Southern California last summer, we had an endless rotation of DVDs to pacify our poor 18 month-old child stuck in his car seat for nine hours a day; we added in some Sesame Street DVDs and the boy was sold.

When I asked him about his birthday theme, the boy chose Sesame Street. I was a little sad because I wanted to plan a Muppet party...but I wasn't going to argue: The boy wanted Sesame Street and he was going to get Sesame Street.

We started with invitations. This time I decided to make handmade cards (skipping the easier computer designed cards that we did last year). And while I love these invites...my hands hurt sooooo much from punching out all those circles. Not to mention the gluing. So. Much. Gluing.

For the back, my brother found a cool Sesame Street font that you can download here. (Some fun ideas: I am thinking of using the font to make flashcards for Elliott -- or a memory game! But there are endless options.)

The birthday banner was fun to make; and in true Shelbi fashion, I made some of it at school. I printed of the letters at home and brought them to school to cut out -- after cutting out two letters, I thought, "I never have anything for my TA to do. She's sitting over there on Facebook. I'm delegating these scissor duties!" So, for the banner I recycled a Sesame Street book that Elliott demolished. He had effectively torn out almost all of the pages. So, I cut the book up and turned it into this banner!

Here is a closer look at one of the letters:

For food, I made Sesame Street cupcakes. After looking online for designs I liked, I just combined all the best features from several different people's ideas. The eyes were white candy melts and chocolate chips (held on with a bit of frosting); Elmo's nose was an orange peanut M&M; mouths were Oreo Cookies. Everything else was frosting -- although I wish the brown frosting I bought for Oscar's eyebrows turned out better. 

And we also had these AMAZING cookies. My cousin Christy -- who I hope goes into the cookie business very soon -- makes cookies for all sorts of events. Her talent is unparalleled; she handmade each of these Sesame Street themed cookies for Elliott. I wish I could have kept them forever, but I must admit that we ate all of them.

Here is our whole table set up. (Goldfish crackers for a "Dorothy-centric" snack? Awesome. But I did buy a fishbowl specifically for this purpose and now I have a fishbowl taking up space in my garage. So, if anyone has any other fun crafts for fishbowls...let me know.)

Want a fun way to create cups that match your theme? Stickers on cheap plastic cups works great. I thought they would look tacky, but they turned out super cute. 

So, besides the invites, banner, and the cupcakes, I didn't do quite as many crafty things this time around. But my favorite thing to make...not for any other reason other than the joy it brought to my child's face...was Elliott's party shirt.

I printed off an image of Cookie Monster, cut it out, and used it as a template on pieces of black and blue felt. While I originally wanted to topstich the felt on to the onesie, I was making this the night before the party and opted for the good old hot-glue gun instead. Add those googly eyes and it's a pretty darn cute Cookie Monster.  

And here is the birthday boy in his shirt, enjoying some cheese and crackers, and looking pretty adorable.