Being Shelbi

Friday Book Review: Carry Yourself Back to Me

2011-08-07T19:53:00.000-07:00

Look: It's a baby! Added for the cuteness factor, I won't lie.

I scored myself an advanced reader's copy of Portland author Deborah Reed's debut novel Carry Yourself Back to Me. A perk of book blogging and having friends in high places!

I'm always hesitant to review a book that comes to me recommended by someone whose opinion I value; high-stakes book blogging -- sounds riveting, right? I lost a few readers along the way last year during my Around the World challenge because of negative reviews. People would tell me a book to read, I'd read it, hate it, and write about it, and somehow people take this personally. I understand that general feeling -- my first book review on this blog was in response to someone who hated my favorite book.

At any rate, I read the first few pages of Carry Yourself Back to Me and tried to reserve all judgement. I wasn't really prepared to like it (for no good reason, I should add) and so my brain kept trying to pull out of the story and assess the craft. "Anyone can write a compelling beginning," I erroneously thought, "but can you keep my attention Deborah Reed? I dare you!"

The short answer: Yes.

She did.

And my "want to dislike this" attitude was humbled. Sometimes I dislike a book because I genuinely believe it's crap (see Water for Elephants). Sometimes I dislike something because I wish I would have written it and I'm insanely jealous. Carry Yourself Back to Me falls more into that category.

The book opens with country/folk singer-songwriter Annie Walsh mourning the loss of her long-term relationship; a partnership that ended due to infidelity. When she learns her brother Calder is accused of murdering his lover's husband, a series of events unfold in Annie's life that demonstrate to her that life has a unique way of folding in on us -- especially in the throes of a crisis.

I couldn't bring myself to find much fault with Reed's rich prose, her believable characters, and her crisp dialogue. Also, I found the tangelo groves of Florida -- the setting for this book -- vivid and beautiful. (Even if I have never actually been to that particular state in the union.)

The dual themes -- running like two parallel strings from the first page to the last -- resonated with me. And I noticed the complexity of crafting this nuanced story without the hit-you-over-the-head method favored by most writer's today. The story isn't a riveting fast-paced adventure, it's a slower, steadier journey that explores what the heart wants and what it means to love and lose what matters most to you. The book is expertly plotted, which is evident by the fact that you aren't always aware of the plot. In a publishing world where books either have break-neck pacing screaming blockbuster movie or meandering literary books whose plots are thin, at best, I found the combination of a literary book with an engaging plot refreshing and rare.

Every writing "how-to" or workshop instructor vehemently opposes the dreaded flashback as a plot device. Reed's book is a great example of why we should NEVER listen to these books or workshop instructors. The flashback scenes -- woven seamlessly into the story of the present -- provide great background and character development. Some of the flashbacks were my favorite parts. (And bonus to me: my current project depends on flashbacks. I've added Reed's book to a list I'm compiling of author's who utilize flashbacks successfully in case I am ever asked to defend the flashback! (Imagine me saying that in a big booming theatrical voice.))

So, Carry Yourself Back to Me is out on September 20th. It's one of those books that resonates long after you've finished the final page -- subtle and powerful. Go and pre-order from Amazon!

I wish Deborah every ounce of success and hope that this book finds the readership it deserves.

Sitting in Judgement

2011-07-23T13:12:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law wrote a really great blog about how we judge other moms. She's totally right. We tend to think that our way of parenting is the best and when we encounter a different style of parenting, we are incredulous -- if not downright snotty about it.

I'll admit it. I've got pretty strong ideas. For example, I'm a Happiest Baby on the Block mom. Swear by it. And if other tactics work for other parents, that's fine. But they don't work for me. I believe in holding your child as much as possible, co-sleeping, breastfeeding, and limiting screen-time. I vaccinate my kids.

I've changed a lot with having a second child too. And I'll tell anyone who asks that I think it takes a second child to put the first child in perspective.

For example, when Elliott was 4.5 months old, you wouldn't find me very far from him at any time. The first night away was after he was a year old and even though I had a good time, I felt horrifically guilty that he was going to wake up that night and I wouldn't be there to feed him. I worried about permanent scarring on his fragile personality.

But next week Matt and I are leaving for Vegas for three nights.

I'm leaving my 2 and a half year-old and my 4 month old baby behind to take a vacation with my husband and our friends. We're playing in a poker tournament, seeing The Beatles Love show at The Mirage, betting on the Giants and watching the game at The Emeril Lagasse Stadium at the Palazzo, lounging poolside, and enjoying roughly 72 hours of kid free time. And, yes, after Matt surprised me with the trip back in May, I told him I needed a week to process if I'd be up for leaving the baby -- who's still breastfeeding and sleeps cuddled up in the crook of my arm every single night.

My answer: Yes. I'm going. And I'm going to take a few minutes of every day to miss my kids and then I'm going to enjoy my time away from them. (And I'll be pumping up and down the strip...which, as a friend said to me, "Isn't the worst thing to happen in a Vegas bathroom.")

However, our decision to leave our infant behind (no one seems overly concerned about Elliott, even though he is the more cognizant child and knows he is staying with his grandmas/grandpa and so thinks that we are going on a "honeymoon" per the Berenstain Bears book where brother and sister bear stay with their grandparents because Mama and Papa go on a second honeymoon) has been met with a variety of responses.

Most people are supportive. And only a small handful have said things that could be taken as discouraging. But I know that once the Facebook posts start popping up and the world realizes that Matt and I are off on vacation without the kiddos, those that think we're crazy and clearly not very loving parents since we so callously abandon our babies, probably won't say the disparaging remarks to our face. No, no. They'll turn to a spouse or a friend and say, "They left the boys? How can she do that?" And I'll never really know who sits in judgement of that decision.

That's the fun thing about social networking -- everyone will get a superficial glimpse into my life. Enough of a window to know what I'm doing and where I am; but never really close enough to understand motives or the heart behind the matter. It's the perfect place to breed constant evaluations of people's actions. AND we allow family members, friends from elementary school, colleagues, and onetime friends from summer camp to comment too. Not real comments. No one is going to say on my pictures next week: "You're a bad mom! Isaac misses you!"or "Right on! Free yourself from those littles!! I admire you!" They'll say my hair looks cute and my mojito looks yummy. Which, in advance: Yes and Yes!

So, for everyone who is tempted to make a decision one way or the other about my choice to leave a young baby behind so I can have FUN...I feel compelled to say:

It is a daily mental exercise to analyze my role as mom. I became a mom in my late 20s...if I live a normal lifespan then I will have spent 62.5% of my life on this earth as someone's mom. Right now, I'm in the trenches -- it's dirty, it's messy, it's loud. It involves a lot of calming tones and teaching how to share. I'm still giving up hours of sleep to deal with crying, diapers. Two nights ago Elliott was jumping on the bed and just leaned over and vomited on my head. No joke.

Everything about my day revolves around these two kids. And I take my job as their mother very seriously. Kids are not an accessory -- when I decided to have kids, I accepted the responsibility of parenting them too. I love them more than anything on this entire earth -- my heart is so full from the privilege of having them in my life. And I want nothing more than to raise them to be awesome humans. Kind, courteous, generous. So, it's a serious job.

But it is not my identity.

Yeah. I said it.

I own it.

These are not just my kids. Not just my sons. They are real people. I remember thinking as a kid and as a teenager that my parents didn't ever really see me as my own person -- that at the end of the day, I was just their little girl. I wanted them to hear me. This is going to be a real challenge for me...to remember as these boys grow that inside that brain are thoughts I can't see, struggles they won't tell me, and ideas and independence that they will need room to explore. Every so often, I try to pull back and ask myself, "How does Elliott see me right now? If this is a memory he will retain forever, what kind of mom is he seeing?" I don't want to be so self-absorbed in my role as mom, that I forget we are all real people.

I am going to be a parent forever. But my years of mothering my kids are relatively short. So, during these years where it seems like I am mom and only mom...I need to pull back and say, no, I'm still Shelbi. What kind of wife do I need to be? What kind of friend? What am I doing for myself because I deserve that? Every stage of life has its own crises, but my current crisis is this: How do I maintain my identity while living the day-to-day intensity of raising a toddler and a baby?

The answer is this: I take time away from them. To decompress. To refresh. To have a chance to miss them.

I will miss them. Terribly. I will walk through a casino and feel like something is missing -- I'll panic a few times. I'll call my mom and my mother-in-law more than I should.

But I've dealt with the guilt and I'm the one thing I am NOT going to do is feel guilty. And even if others want to judge my decision and talk about how they couldn't make that decision for themselves, that's okay. I don't love my kids any less because I can spend time away from them; I'm not a bad parent because I'm having highly qualified people take over the child-care for a few days.

Shelbi needs a break from "mom" and there's nothing wrong with that.

My adorable boys. Luckiest mom in the world to have them in my life and be their mom.

Anne of Green Gables Appreciation Party

2011-07-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

"The girls sat down by the roots and did full justice to Anne’s dainties,

even the unpoetical sandwiches being greatly appreciated

by hearty, unspoiled appetites sharpened by all the fresh air and exercise they had enjoyed."

It started two months ago during a book club -- that moment where a seedling of a good idea takes shape. After a long discussion about our love affair with all things Anne (with an 'e') Shirley of Green Gables, we decided that an Anne of Green Gables party was in order.

We would eat food related to the book, drink raspberry cordial, and watch the 1985 miniseries of our childhood. Then I discovered that this existed and I was beside myself with excitement. The Anne of Green Gables Appreciation Party was going to happen and we all know I love myself a good theme party.

Of course, had I been going all out, I probably would have even used some iconic image and sent a delightful invitation to tea. This picture of Anne and Diana seems particularly appropriate -- seeming as how our entire party was going to ride on my success in making raspberry cordial. (Although, in hindsight, with the ferocity of Diana's drunkenness after a tumbler of Marilla's Currant Wine, I am feeling like we should have tried that recipe instead!)

Our menu was perfect for an afternoon tea:

Egg-salad and chicken-salad sandwiches
Cranberry-Orange Scones
Shortbread Cookies
Mint and chocolate chip cookies
Crackers with Orange marmalade and Toni's homemade Strawberry jam
Croissants
Tea
Wine

In the Anne of Green Gables cookbook, the author -- granddaughter of L.M. Montgomery -- gives a recipe for "poetical egg salad sandwiches", among other traditional recipes found on Prince Edward Island during Anne's time. (It's helpful that you can find most of the recipes online instead of shelling out nearly $40 for a book since it is out of print.)

Here is the recipe for the cordial:

Ingredients

2 (300 g) packages frozen raspberries

1 1/4 cups sugar

6 cups boiling water

3 lemons

Directions:

Put the unthawed raspberries into a saucepan and add sugar.

Cook on medium, stirring occasionally until all the sugar has dissolved.

Using a potato masher, mash the raspberries and syrup thoroughly.

Pour the mixture through a strainer, extract all the juice.

Squeeze two of the lemons and strain the juice, add it to the raspberry juice.

Add the boiling water to the raspberry juice.

Allow the cordial to cool, then chill it in the refrigerator.

Here is the final product:

It was really yummy and very, very sweet. The girls over at my house agreed that adding champagne or -- ahem -- some vodka would spice it up pretty nicely too. I had none of those things, so we went with the next best thing: Diet 7-up.

After snacking and talking, we settled into our miniseries watching and swooned over Gilbert Blythe and adored our Anne girl. This story, published over one hundred years ago, is timeless and wonderful. There is something so incredible about this precocious, impetuous, delightful orphan -- who finds her way into trouble no matter what. I'm sure I can attempt to impart upon my sons the beauty of Anne of Green Gables. Just like I will try to read them all the Little House of the Prairie books too. But something tells me that my sons (the oldest of whom just bit through his tongue for the second time in 9 months...like 10 seconds ago...) are probably gonna be more interested in swashbuckling pirates and space adventures.

Good thing I can do theme parties for those things too.

Cookies of Catan

2011-07-05T21:48:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been MIA! It's been a crazy last few months and since I haven't been inspired to do many cool things, I've felt like my blogging wouldn't be inspired either. But I'm gonna try to be better. Pinky swear.

So...Settlers of Catan is kinda huge in our lives. We love games -- collect board games -- and a few years ago we listened to our friends and family who said he HAD to play Catan. And we haven't looked back.

I've wanted to do some sort of Catan themed dessert for a while now. Matt and I just traveled to Idaho for a mini family reunion and since the cousins there are also huge Catan fans, we seized this opportunity to made this dessert a reality. At first I wanted to make a cake. Then I thought cupcakes.

It evolved to cookies.

Sugar cookies, using the game pieces as a template -- candy and cookies and frosting to recreate the whole game board.

I used Matt's aunt's sugar cookie recipe. You can find it here! (These may look really cool, but they tasted EVEN better.) Matt's cousin Kathryn helped out a ton with these -- she deserves a lot of kudos for coming up with some of the details (like the river that runs through the Ore cards) and she let me take over kitchen while she was trying to prepare a meal for eight people. So, special superhero status for that.

Here is a photo spread of the evolution of our Settlers of Catan cookies.

I had a poor showing at the actual Settlers tournament. But we don't have to talk about that...

Things I Love Mondays

2011-05-16T14:14:00.000-07:00

I will tell you what I DON'T LOVE...

Technology that impedes my Dexter watching. We lost our Blu Ray remote. That only took like, I don't know, a week. And for some reason we can't get any Blu Ray discs to start without it. It's devastating; but I'm trying to be strong.

When Season 3 disc 2 of Dexter came in the mail from Netflix, I seriously thought about packing up both my children and driving to my parent's house -- since they are both at work -- and hunkering down there to watch it. But alas, who would watch my kids? A dilemma.

Right. Anyway.

On this week's edition of "Things I love", here it is:

I love my Martha Stewart Alphabet Cookie Cutters!

Photo Credit

There are so many fun things to do with these cookie cutters! Party favors; decorations. PLUS...with a little boy who is learning his alphabet, how fun is it to cook together, make fun cookies to decorate, AND use it as an educational tool?

Plus, someone gave me the idea to fill those suckers up and fill them with cake batter for miniature cakes.

Here is a link to my cousin's blog with a great sugar cookie recipe: Sugar Cookies! And while you're over there, you can check out all the fun things she does.

And I'm a huge fan of Martha's Royal Icing recipe. Although, it took me forever to find out that no one sells meringue powder. I had to order mine off of Amazon. But if I'm out, I use raw eggs -- just don't feed those to pregnant women and kiddos. To be safe, you know?

Just color with food dye.

Here it is!

Ingredients:

2 large egg whites (or more if you want thinner icing)
4 cups sifted confectioners' sugar (add more to thicken the icing)
1 lemon, juiced

Directions:

Beat the whites until stiff but not dry. Add sugar and lemon juice; beat for 1 minute more. Adjust thickness/thinness as you desire. You can store the icing in the refrigerator for 3 days.

Substitute 5 TBS of meringue powder and 1/3 cup of water for raw eggs.

Now go make some cookies.

Visiting the park as a social experiment

2011-05-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been MIA for a week. I'm a few posts behind -- I have some recipes from our Mother's Day brunch and a cake pop disaster to recount.

Plus, I'm totally addicted to the TV show "Dexter" right now. And I'm furiously trying to finish Season 2 from my instant queue on netflix because I have Season 3's disc sitting here waiting for me. I know, I know. I'm a marathon TV watcher. A few years ago, during a snow storm, I watched the entire first season of HBO's "Rome" in a night. I watched all that I could on HBO on demand and then walked to Blockbuster, bundled up in a snow-suit, to rent the rest. Pre-children of course.

And I gunned through "The Wire" during my last maternity leave.

Now, it's "Dexter."

Love it, by the way.

Even though I've been a bit of a "Dexter" junkie this past week (two seasons in one week. Now you know it's an addiction), I did make it to the park yesterday with the boys. Matt was working and I decided to load Elliott in the stroller, pop Isaac in the Baby Bjorn and make a trip -- we brought snacks and drinks. It was a big thing...getting to leave the house. Oregon's spring has been wet and gloomy. I was ecstatic for any ounce of sunshine.

When we got to the park there was a rough looking guy smoking a cigarette and drinking out of a paper bag.

Of course, because of all the "Dexter", I was pretty certain he was going to kill me. I started plotting back ways to get home through the neighborhood so if he followed me I could lose him. I contemplated sneaking a picture of him to post on to Facebook with the caption: "If I am murdered. Find this man." And in true Shelbi nature, when the creepy guy opened his mouth to carry on a conversation, I found myself congenial, talkative, and, well, downright freaking charming.

In the course of a three minute conversation where he told me about his autistic son and how he lives with his dad and doesn't like technology, I divulged my place of employment and my children's names. Doh. Idiot.

So, when the man left, I was feeling a lot more comfortable. (But since he left the way I came, I was pretty certain that I would have to employ those alternate routes home. I was going to be murdered for sure now.)

The park got busier after that. A man showed up with his daughter and an 8 month old Labradoodle. This man was goofy -- equally talkative, climbing all over the play-structure with his little girl while wearing red suspenders and a fisherman's hat covered in buttons. On a scale from 1-10, where buzzed-smoker-dude was a 6-ish on the intimidation scale, suspender-dad registered at a zero. He asked me if he could let the puppy run free and I said it was okay; the puppy was active -- running up to Elliott and licking him. Elliott loved every minute of it. He kept saying, "I pet this dog! I give this dog a stick! Elliott picked this spot to pet the dog."

Then another dad pulled up in a nice, new, shiny truck. He was well-tailored, in expensive sunglasses. His daughter was in tights and a skirt and as soon as they entered the park, that overactive Labradooble ran right up to her and knocked her back. The sunglasses-dad turned to the suspender-dad and made it exceptionally clear that his off-leash dog was unacceptable. He removed his daughter from the play area until the suspender-dad, tail between his legs (dad, not dog), packed up his daughter and his crazy dog, and left the park.

As I watched Elliott turn and say, "Where'd the dog go?", I realized that the sunglass-dad had been a bit of a douche bag. Rude even. I mean, sure, the park rules clearly state that dogs needed to be on a leash, but that dog was over-exuberant perhaps, but not dangerous. I found myself seething about how this was a classic example of entitlement -- that man totally felt like he could walk all over poor suspender-dad.

The other families left for home and it was just me and sunglass-dad. Minding our own kids. Not interacting. And who should show up? Creepy guy. New alcohol. Something to read that came in a dark black bag, and a fresh pack of cigarettes. Creepy guy sat down right next to me and lit up a cigarette. Of course, sunglass-dad had been eye-balling him from the moment he was within 20 yards to the park entrance. And the moment that lighter hit the tip of that cigarette, sunglass man raised his voice. "Hey, look, that lady has a new baby and you're smoking next to her! And that smoke is heading downwind to our kids. Can you go do that somewhere else?"

Two things crossed my mind.

1) If this guy just kills for sport, then I've got to be off the hook now, right?

and

2) Hey, thanks sunglass-dad!

Yeah, that's right. All of a sudden I was relieved that this overbearing controlling macho man was at the park. He might have been rude to the other guy, but I mean suspender-dad was breaking the rules, right? And then without a word from me, he had stood up for me -- he had told this guy what I wished I had told him, "Get away from the park." But I hadn't told the guy that. I had happily talked about my personal life and smiled, engaged him, and then inwardly worried about escape routes. In short: I was weak. I was worried about offending a guy who probably needed to leave the park. I was worried about my kids, but I was unwilling to do anything about it.

And I didn't like the sunglass-dad when he was picking on a seemingly harmless fellow father. But when he turned his attention to someone I didn't like, well, then he was my hero.

As I left the park yesterday, I contemplated this. I felt guilty that I couldn't be brave enough to ask the smoking, drinking, porn reading man to leave this family-friendly-kid-oriented play structure. Instead, I felt relieved that a man showed up to do this for me. Would Matt have asked the guy to leave? No. Probably not. But I still would have felt safer if Matt had been there with me. And twenty-minutes of this social interaction really raises a lot of questions about myself as someone who considers herself pretty progressive in terms of my role as a woman in my family.

But when it comes to sticking up to a guy at a park, I still want a guy to do that for me. I still want to feel protected. I didn't feel safe doing that myself. That isn't to say that I haven't had that role in the past -- but I don't enjoy it. I don't want to be the one to say something; if someone else does it first, I'm usually relieved.

I'm still wrestling with the message that sends my boys. Does it make me look weak? Does it make it look like I let other people do the dirty work? Or does it communicate that someday their role should be protector and guardian? Sunglass dad was trying to protect his own daughter first...I just happened to need the man gone too. I was grateful.

But really when it comes down to it, why do I feel compelled to be kind to strangers? How can I instill a healthy dose of wariness in people we don't know, while also teaching my kids to love and not judge other people? Where is the balance between those things? How can I know when I need to stand up and be the person who tells a guy to leave the park? Is it internalized sexism that makes me feel like that's not my job?

I still haven't figured it out.

Although, based on how quickly he fled the scene to avoid confrontation, I'm pretty sure suspender-dad wouldn't have asked the man to leave either. So, maybe we just all have our roles in life and I should be happy that there are sunglass-dads out there when we need them. But only when we need them, right? Because until we do, they're all just jerks. Yes, I know how it works. Now I just need to figure out what to do about it as I raise these sons.

What kind of men will they be? That is the only answer that matters.

Things I Love Mondays

2011-05-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

I have had a crazy busy weekend. (***Again...let's pretend I posted this Monday!)

Last week I was complaining about our TV room -- a tiny 10 feet by 17 feet addition off the garage that has served as a dumping ground for hand-me-down furniture for the past five years. When we finally got rid of my germ-infested futon set that I bought when I was 18 years-old, we replaced it with a mismatched chair and love seat that needed a home after my grandma died.

Our TV was ancient and the constant source of frustration because in the world of widescreen, most of our TV shows/sporting events cut off people's faces.

You know, things like this:

Which is supposed to read "Zach Drops By The Set"...which we did figure out and isn't a huge deal...but come on it's 2011.

Matt and I have contemplated getting a new TV, but we always deduced that it wasn't a good time and we couldn't really afford it.

But when Matt was talking about having Saturdays this summer be an open-door policy with our friends -- we'll have the grill going, have a new nostalgic movie to show, and games to play -- I looked at him and said, "Really? We're going to invite people over to our house on Saturdays to watch a movie on our tiny crappy television in a room where we only have seating for three people?" And then I asked for permission to just take care of this issue once and for all.

I kidnapped Matt and drove him to the mall (a punishment beyond death for him), waltzed into Sears, and picked out a television. "We're getting this one," I said. He hemmed and hawed -- wanted to go home and do research. I said okay, but he had 24 hours to buy a new TV or I was going to just come back and buy the one I wanted.

When we got home, I spent several hours on Craigslist searching for the perfect sectional to fit in our room. I called my dad and told him to come over on Saturday, we'd be putting up a new TV. Found a couch. And the Craigslist sectional could be delivered Saturday. I went out and got accent pillows, a lamp, a new coffee table. Took down the vertical blinds that were missing seven slats because of Elliott pulling on them...bought a curtain rod and curtains.

And...ta-da!

A new room.

In less than 24 hours.

Because that's kinda the way I do things.

My argument for the rush...the money spent? Our old TV room was an un-sellable feature on this house. Looked tacked on, ugly, and unmanageable. The money we just spent on staging this room and making it functional and pretty? That's an immediate return on our house someday. It's almost like not spending any money. (Yeah, I'm on unpaid leave right now too...so, we need all the justification we can get.)

So, what do I love today?

My new 50 inch HDTV...and my new Bluray player...and watching Jackass 3D last night in all its High Definition glory.

Our old room circa 2006:

In the years since then we had added the computer to the left hand corner, a bookshelf, and a piano. And this kept happening...

But now...(cute baby hiding over there on the left part of the sectional!)

So, who's coming over on Saturdays starting in June?? BBQ, nostalgic movies, and games? Or you can just come stare at my TV. I do.

Friday's Book Review

2011-05-02T15:26:00.000-07:00

**Let's just pretend I hit "post" on Friday like I was supposed to...

I decided to look tough in this week's picture becuase Andre Dubus the third spends most of his book "Townie" trying to figure out how to be tough. Okay, I lied. It's because this was the only photo booth picture that didn't feature a prominent double-chin. Looking tough in pictures = tricky way to hide fat face. I need to just adopt that look for when I'm out and about too.

Or I need to stop eating petite cheesecakes.

Either one, really.

So, this week's book is "Townie" by Andre Dubus III. It was my Indiespensable last month from Powell's Books. (A Christmas present from Matt and my mother-in-law! My second one ships this week and I'm super excited.)

Memoirs are inherently self-serving. I think Dubus knew this -- per the interview with him that came with this book, I learned that he didn't set out to write a memoir. Instead he felt compelled to capture some important moments in his life in order to understand them and ultimately realized that he might have a book.

This book is hard for me to review because I can't exactly pinpoint what was so compelling about it. On its surface it just another writer's look at his rough history -- absent father, busy mother, drugs, and violence. But the book has a magical quality to tying all these stories together to provide meaning. More than once I would finish a paragraph and just say, "Huh" out loud to myself. Not "Huh?" just "Huh." (My exclamation of contemplative thought.)

At the core this book is about violence. It's about what happens when you realize that you have what is necessary to punch someone in the face and drop them to the ground. Dubus talks about that moment as breaking the membrane.

I have never punched anyone. I've hit and slapped a few people (notably boys who made comments about my breasts and thank God for my parents who raised me with enough self-assurance to feel like I could slap a guy if necessary); and in my women's self-defense class in college I got to kick a guy in a padded suit in the balls. But if we're just talking about a deeply rooted bent toward violence as a first response, I don't get that.

Dubus helped me get that. And I was conflicted as I read this book. I knew ultimately that he was going to come around and realize that punching people and sending them to the hospital isn't the key. (The scene toward the end where this big realization takes place is super intense and deeply rewarding.) I married a guy who has never thrown a punch and avoids all conflict like the plague -- I asked him once if there is anything that could happen to me where he would respond by punching someone and he honestly didn't think there was. I'm the more violent person in our relationship, I think.

This disappointed me a little bit at the time.

Then after reading "Townie", I think I can respect that there is a balance. A delicate one. And if we take the time to truly understand people and situations, violence is rarely the answer.

I cried a couple of times while reading this. I also felt really moved on an intellectual level.

It's not a fast read and it meanders a bit; also, the early teenage year stuff can be a bit plodding. But even in those thick chapters, Dubus gives enough meaning and insight that I think it's worth slogging through. While I didn't find myself wanting to stay up all night to finish, I did find myself contemplating this man's life long after I read the last page.

This is my first Dubus book and his portrayal of himself is honest and raw. Which makes me super curious about his fiction. I'll add "House of Sand and Fog" to my to-read list -- I want to now see what a man like this can accomplish when he sits down to create art.

Petite Cheesecakes

2011-04-29T00:20:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-25T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-22T20:52:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-20T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-20T10:33:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-19T14:25:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-18T22:51:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-15T23:59:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-14T14:37:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-10T21:26:00.000-07:00

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.

A Hungry Caterpillar Birthday

2011-04-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

Planning parties is a huge love of mine. As a matter of fact, it was a childhood dream to run my very own event planning company. As an eight or nine year-old, I set up a home office (some paper and a defunct rotary phone stashed in my roll-top desk) and had a client list (cut out men and women, complete with created biographies, from my mom's JCPenney catalogue). I would pick a client at random, hold a complete imaginary dialogue with him/her about their party needs, and then spend hours in my room creating that party on paper. I even had my mom buy me invoices at an office supply store so I could bill my pretend clients.

Because I'm better at planning parties than naming companies, my thriving business was called Parties Incorporated. And, if I remember correctly, every party seemed to feature an unnecessary number of balloon bouquets -- but this was the 80s after all, what self-respecting high school reunion or wedding reception didn't have balloons?

We all know now that my party planning future remained relegated to JCPenney models glued to notebook paper and fake conversations with myself demanding cheaper prices with my "caterer" for shrimp cocktail. I went in a different occupational direction. (If given the opportunity to ever resurrect Parties Incorporated, I think I would.) But even if I'm not diagramming a ballroom for someone's 30th birthday bash -- with balloons, of course -- I do get to exercise some creativity when it comes to Elliott's parties.

The Internet was a great source for me while I was planning Elliott's first birthday party. I stole a lot of great ideas from others, so I figured I should put my own party out there for people to steal from too. (Of course, the Internet was not available to Parties Incorporated.) Once I decided on a theme, the rest was great fun. Our theme: Eric Carle's "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." At the time, I couldn't find any commercial products to support this party theme. NOW Target sells an entire party-line with Carle designs. And you can buy them here too. I'd like to believe that means I was staying one step ahead of the trend. But I realize this is just wishful thinking.

All great parties start with an invitation. I made mine using the InDesign program at school. Yeah, I'll admit it: While my newspaper students worked late one night on an issue of the paper, I was diligently crafting an invite to my son's birthday party. I emailed myself the PDF and then printed it on heavy cardstock.

The best touch? I bought a tiny hole-punch and punched a hole in the food. Just like in the book. Too much fun. Address labels I made myself and then I had envelope seals too -- I tried to make stickers myself, unsuccessfully. So, I broke down and outsourced this job to the Party Mommas over at eBay.

My favorite craft for the whole party was Elliott's birthday banner:

I did have feet made for the bottom banner, but I forgot to glue them on before the party. Not only did I love the visual progression of Elliott's growth that first year, but the banner was bright and fun. (The letters for the top banner are these awesome stickers that I got at JoAnn's Fabrics - they are thick and sturdy.)

The table was also a lot of fun. I made the table cloth by sewing different parts of the available Hungry Caterpillar fabric to a cheap twin flat sheet. You can buy the fabric here; but I found mine at the local Mill End Store. We put the book on display and had all of our guests sign it before they left -- a great gift for Elliott for years to come! We served food that appears in the book (I was in the stages of putting the food out when the picture was taken) and the centerpiece was made by my mother-in-law with the two plush toys featuring the caterpillar and the butterfly and fruits featured in the book.

Some of my other crafts for this party:

- Elliott's bib -- I used Hungry Caterpillar fabric that I purchased from The Mill End Store and used Homemade by Jill's baby bib tutorial that you can find here: Homemade by Jill Bib Tutorial. I used scrap red fabric to spell "ONE" on to the front.

- High Chair cover -- Also using a different Hungry Caterpillar fabric, I covered Elliott's non-themed fabric cover with a new one. The tutorial can be found over at Make it and Love it: Recovered High Chair Tutorial. Mine was designed to slip over the original fabric since I didn't want to make his high chair permanently covered and it didn't fit too well. But it served its purpose.

- Thank you gift bags. I used the same fabric as the high chair cover and made little bags -- easiest thing in the world. Printed off "Thank you for coming!" tags and filled them with party favors: Bubbles, candy, and miniature games that I found for a total steal at RideAid.

- Craft table for the kids -- I stole the crayon bouquet idea from Real Simple. The art teacher at school painted it red for me during his prep one day. Pretty awesome of him to do that. Then I printed off pages from a Hungry Caterpillar coloring book and we made a caterpillar maze to solve too. It was pretty amazing how quickly the older kids made a bee-line to the crayons.

Of course, the cake was also pretty amazing. My mom's friend Debbie made the cake; she even helped make a few of my childhood birthday cakes, so it was a special treat to have her make Elliott's cake. I emailed her a picture of a cake I found on someone else's blog and she replicated it perfectly. It was almost too wonderful to eat...but that didn't stop anybody.

Tomorrow: Sesame Street second birthday!

Loving each stage, despite the challenges

2011-04-08T13:30:00.000-07:00

Elliott has always been a happy child. And somehow between a mysterious illness that landed him in the ER three weeks ago and this baby that we brought home four weeks ago, our sweet and happy little man has turned into a whining, crying, hitting, temper-tantrum throwing nightmare. We take full responsibility for some of this change in behavior -- during his illness, Matt and I were CRAZY. A week old baby and a list of doctor's orders for Elliott was beyond stressful...we handled Elliott's refusal to drink liquids with the calm demeanor of a stampeding rhino. For the first time, our spoiled little boy saw us truly shaken -- his not listening to us was not just a discipline issue, it was a health issue, and we were scared for him.

So, in addition to his relationship with us changing, we also added Isaac. Rough week for him.

And while he isn't overly jealous of this new addition to our family, it would be silly of us to not recognize that we have rocked his world -- he is not our #1 priority anymore. Attentions are divided, patience is in short-supply. He wants to climb on the baby, kiss the baby, hold the baby -- and, of course, he is as tender and gentle as any two year-old can be. So, "You're crushing him. Can you step away from your brother? We'd like him to live for a long time," said in the tone a harried cop might use to a bank robber, has been our MO recently.

Matt and I get this change and we understand it. We weren't naive enough to think that Elliott could navigate childhood without challenges. But we were unprepared for how a second child changes everything -- including your relationship with your firstborn.

With each new stage of a child's life, I think there is a mourning period for the preceding stage.

That has become even more evident to me after Isaac's arrival. Because Elliott and Isaac are eerily similar looking (their baby pictures are practically identical), it is almost like I have Elliott back in baby form again. There is my crazy toddler who talks back and doesn't listen and won't eat...but here is this Elliott look-a-like who nurses like a champ and barely cries and is learning to smile. It's strange. I have no desire for Isaac to "hurry up" and hit those milestones that first-time parents are obsessed about. I don't need him to crawl, walk, eat real food. I don't know if I will have another baby and I feel a strong need to cherish each moment of this baby's life. And at the same time, I am definitely mourning Elliott's changes and his growing up.

All these things we're experiencing are normal and every parent goes through it. Here is your baby, your awesome little child, who becomes his/her own person. And as they learn what they want and, especially with our boy, can't always effectively communicate what that is...there is pain and hurt. And when I want to throw him out a window because I'm tethered to chair nursing and he has put all his Fisher Price toys in the toilet or spilled a cup of 7-up on the ground; or thrown a picture frame across the room and won't stop walking near the broken glass...I just realize that this too will pass.

And when it passes, I'll be sad again. Because we'll be on to a new stage, with new challenges, and my toddler Elliott will be gone and I'll have a little kid -- and maybe that little kid won't giggle when we play "ghosts" and hide under the covers, or I won't be able to take baths with him anymore, maybe he won't walk up and give me kisses without prompting.

I'm so happy I get to experience a baby again with a new lens, but soon I will be watching Isaac grow and learn and he won't be a newborn anymore.

Having children and being a parent is easily the most challenging and rewarding thing that has ever happened to me. I don't think there is any way to truly capture how this job takes you and changes who you are to the core. It's easy when they are tiny and new to just love them to pieces and kiss those cheeks and forget the job you have ahead of you -- the job to raise these tiny people into great adults, who ultimately will live happy and amazing lives...without you. And when you're a mom to a toddler and a newborn, that's hard to imagine. But that's the goal and if I keep reminding myself of that, then I can weather the storm better.

The storm, which this morning, included a kicking screaming tantrum because Elliott wasn't allowed to "pick" the flowers I bought myself the other day. But then picked them anyway the moment he knew both mom and dad were occupied. When you have to buy yourself flowers and then don't know whether to laugh or cry because the beautiful flowers are now strewn across the living room, petals everywhere, while the child says, "I picked them. I picked them!" Well, that's my life. And no matter what these boys bring to our lives -- amazing and aggravating -- I wouldn't change a single thing.

Elliott "picked" this toy for his baby brother and gave it to him at the hospital. Now he likes to give him the toy to play with...and 100% of the time, that involves throwing it on his head while he's sleeping.

For the Boys

2011-04-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

I made this slideshow as a dedication to my son Elliott. I think it captures our lives with him during these first two years of his life; and the lyrics to the song capture my heart perfectly.

I'm adding it here because I love it and makes me happy. Plus, I went back and added some more recent pictures of Elliott with his new baby brother.

Enjoy!

A New Blog

2011-04-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

So, I decided to start a new blog. While I love my book blog and all the amazing people I met through that avenue of blogging, I realized early this year that my life is substantially bigger than just the books I read. And while blogging about book is fun (and the community is awesome), I felt limited -- what if I wanted to post about a craft project or my adventures in meal planning? What if I needed an outlet to write about my horrific morning with my children?

I needed something that felt more inclusive of this crazy life I lead.

So, this new blog was born.

A few things.

1) I hate the name blogging process. I already hate this blog's name -- sounds a little too much like an Oxygen network show. But who am I kidding, maybe that's really what my life has come to now.

2) If you want to check out what I wrote about last year go venture to http://aroundtheworldin80books.wordpress.com/ -- I will continue to update that blog with book reviews. But don't be surprised if book reviews sneak their way on to this site too.

And that's all for now. Thanks for following me over here or checking me out for the first time.

Oh...and if you want to know what most of my morning are like...here is a picture from this fall -- pregnant, getting ready for work, mascara wand slipped from my hand and...

That sums it up.