Creature Bug

the purrfect cup of coffee

My sister--who is evidently working on updating her blog, but hasn't yet, and I've grown impatient with her--took some amazing photos when she was in Vietnam earlier this month. She was in Thailand too, but that's neither here nor there since she's been in Thailand several times for her organization's annual conference.

Anyway.

I swiped this photo off her Facebook page to share with you. Because it's awesome. Because I'm considering going to Vietnam just so I can have find this cup of coffee. Because now I'm forever ruined to foam-heart and foam-leaf decorations. Because I'm not sure if I'm more jealous that my sister got to go to Vietnam or that she got to drink this coffee.

    

Baristas everywhere take note: this is how I want my coffee from now on.

Meow.

Oh Mo

When I was recently reviewing the seven elements of the speech communication process with my students, I decided to draw them a little cartoon to illustrate the concept.

It looked a little something like this.

 

To which one student replied, "That is freaking awesome."

And I laughed and said, "Go read Mo Willems. He invented the freaking awesome Pigeon." 

It was no surprise that none of my students--save one who works in a preschool--recognized my dear pigeon friend. But if you're familiar with Mo Willems, well, you know how much Pigeon rocks the kiddy lit world.

 

Even Sydney knows how to draw Pigeon (thanks to the handy dandy directions on Mo Willems' web page). If you aren't familiar with the Pigeon books--Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, The Pigeon Finds a Hotdog, Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late--you are missing out on one of the classics of modern children's literature.

For as fabulous as the Pigeon books are, I think the Elephant and Piggie books are even better. If you haven't seen the Elephant and Piggie books, you are so missing out on one of life's greatest joys. Particularly Today I Will Fly and There's a Bird on Your Head. Children's literature doesn't get much funnier than this.

I suspect my girls would agree, since as they were curled up on the couch tonight--Jules with a fever of 103 and Sydney with an ear infection--the only thing that made them smile was hearing about the bird on Gerald the Elephant's head. Next month a new Elephant and Piggie book come out, and we're already excited about it.

I knew becoming a parent would change a lot of things about my life, but I don't think I would have guessed the transformation it's brought to my reading habits. Five years ago I hardly knew a single contemporary children's literature author, and now I'm pre-ordering 40-page books with line drawings and quotation bubbles.

And I couldn't be happier.

Week 244: Eyes, Lungs and Buns

All right. After today, we're not talking about feeling sick, or coughing, or runny noses, or any of that. Once March comes, then it'll be all rainbows and smiles. Unless, you know, something else comes along. But really, raise your hand if you're sick? Or just getting over being sick? Or praying that you don't get sick? Or hoping that by reading about this I'm not transferring germs onto you? That probably covers everybody, and we're all tired of hearing about being sick. But before we get too tired, I need to purge all the stories out of me, and then...done.

~eyes~

• Yesterday, Sydney had an eye appointment. She had been dreading it because she knew she was going to have her eyes dilated. I wouldn't say she was angelic at the appointment, but she made it through.
• Despite what I would not call a great performance on her eye exam (it broke my heart to see her struggling to see the shapes), her vision is evidently better than it was a year ago. We'll go with "improvement is good."
• New vision numbers means new glasses. Woo hoo! And woo hoo for vision insurance.
• Hopefully new glasses will cheer Sydney up; she's most likely contracted my bronchitis. Poor dear. Between Jules' fevers and Sydney's coughing, we've gone through half a bottle of children's Tylenol this week.

~lungs~

• That medicine that I got to help me get over bronchitis is fabulous. Especially the nighttime cough medicine. Evidently it's a narcotic (or has narcotics in it, or however you even use that word), so it better be good. And boy, is it ever. I wake up feeling terrific.
• Hopefully tomorrow the girls can get their own prescriptions for helping them feel fabulous too.

~buns~

• One bright spot regarding Julianne's health: for months, Jules was getting red welts all over her lower stomach and the back of her legs. They looked like bug bites, but we knew they weren't. Turns out she is allergic to diapers--or at least, allergic to regular diapers. I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner. I can't even use regular detergent for our laundry (oh yeah, All Free and Clear for us).
• We switched her to Seventh-Generation Diapers, and within two days all the sores were gone. Amazing.
• Jules is in love with her new diapers. She should be...they're twice the price of regular diapers.
• Totally worth it.

~one extra~

• My dear husband took yesterday off from work so I could have some extra rest. He's taking tomorrow off too. Isn't he sweet?

The Acceptance Speech

In the category for Best Mystery Illness in Stephanie's Lungs, the nominees are:

• Pneumonia
• Walking Pneumonia
• Bronchitis
• Asthma
• Common Cold

And the winner is...

Random Act of Violence

If you live locally, you might have heard last night's news story about hypodermic needles being attached to business doors and pay phones. One of the victims of the "prank" (?!) was Jason's dad. Early yesterday morning, when he was opening up the door to his coffee shop, he discovered--the painful way--that someone had attached a needle to the door handle. He checked the other doors in the adjacent businesses, but they were clear. Turns out, that the one door he didn't check--on the backside of the building complex--had a needle on the door handle too, and so the manager of that business was also pricked by a needle. Down the road someone else was pricked by a needle taped to the handle of a pay phone at the library.

Jason's dad is fine, and at the moment it appears there is no health concern. But still. It's more than a little alarming to have this happen.

If you want to read about it, here's the link the news story.

If you want to see the news coverage that aired last night--Jason's dad is interviewed--here's the link to that.

Whereby I pull a rabbit out of my photo folders

I have about half a dozen memes/tags to catch up on (as well as a few questions left to answer), but since I already spend about half my life in Photoshop, it's easy to do a photo related tag. Because it's like, hey, I'm here, so let's see what's going on the folders?

Tamara tagged me, and the rules are to choose the seventh picture from your seventh folder. The rules are also not to cheat, although I was a bit nervous about this one since I have a folder of client photos that I'm not at liberty to share. Fortunately, that's folder #9, so I don't have to cheat. Hooray for everyone.

As a little tangent to photo organizing, I must tell you my father has the world's most mysterious system of sorting pictures. He knows it--his brain is the Rosetta Stone of interpreting the mysterious codes--but the rest of us can't find a darn thing. Even a few weeks ago, I foolishly got on his computer thinking I could find copies of a photo that he had downloaded just moments before. The story ends with me telling my dad later that day to just email me the picture. It's one of my dad's startling achievements (other than his four children, of course) that he could set up a system that befuddles even his oldest daughter.

I, on the other hand, have organization down to a science. All the photos I take are organized by year, then by month, then by whether or not they have been fixed in Photoshop. If I size them down for my blog, they go in a blogpictures folder. If receive photos from my dad via email, they go in a Family Farm folder. I love folders. They make my world make sense.

While I'm not what you would call obsessive compulsive regarding organization, I do seriously rely on it to bring me peace and comfort and warm fuzzies. Obviously, this last school year of living in multiple places and not knowing where anything is has caused severe damage to my peace-and-comfort-and-warm-fuzzies mentality. But then I just go to Photoshop, and look at my photo organization method and the world rights itself again.

   

Me and folders are a match made in heaven.

Anyway, getting around to the seventh picture in the seventh folder, that would be a picture of this kitchen sink.

 

We were having dinner at my friend Paige's newly finished home, and I came prepared with my camera. I took all sorts of idea-pictures, and one of the photos was of this sink that has the most gorgeous view out the window (which I didn't happen to take a picture of because I can't ask a contractor to get me that view).

I spent an hour yesterday looking at sinks. What I know for sure is this: I want a sink that's almost exactly like the one pictured above, except maybe not stainless steel, and maybe I want a partially divided sink (not a full divider, like you're familiar with, but rather a little half divider so that the handles for your pots and pans can easily perch above the divider, like this). But the bigness, the apron, the below the countertop placement? Yes, please.

So, that's the seventh picture. Funny that I found it again just as I was doing sink research. Maybe it's a sign. If only I knew how to interpret the sign...maybe you should interpret it for me. That would make it much easier.

Also, I need to tag people for this, so I'm tagging people who have cameras that I swoon over:

Sarah @ StoutTales
Heather @ Fumbling For Words
Diane @ Violet is My Color

And some mommies who are fabulous about posting pictures of their adorable children (and perhaps I would swoon over your camera too, but I don't know what you have...)

Sarah @ Stitchin' Mommy
Ginger (who's married to The Contractor) @ Raising A.B.E.L.
Katie @ Sweet Fragrance
Amy @ God Made Play Dough

Thanks for the tag, Tamara! That was fun.

And now you all need to tell me about your kitchen sink.

Can you tell who colored on the walls today?

   

"Guess what?" she asks me.

What?

"I love you! Guess why?"

Why?

"Chicken knee!"

Yes, well, I love you too, Julianne. And you may be ridiculously adorable, but you still get a time-out.

Oh, and I did a little coloring on the walls around here, too. New banner. New colors. Orange and red are my solutions to February's melancholy. I think it works. Plus, I did a little rearranging on the ole' linkaroo sidebars.

Guess why?

Chicken thigh.

Week 243: When the pie goes missing

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you got to sleep in, and you woke up after a fabulous dream, and the kids were still sleeping, and the birds were chirping, and it's a national holiday so hooray for no school?

And then you realize that you can't breathe because a head cold moved into your nose, and the sniffling makes you begin coughing until you practically pass out from lack of air, and the phone rings and it's your finance guy saying oh-by-the-way your life insurance policy is going to cost DOUBLE because you took anti-depressants once upon a time and so now you're certifiably a health risk?

And it's like,

 

WHO THE HECK STOLE MY LEMON MERINGUE PIE?!

Yep. It's like that.

With Love

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, dear friends!

(Here's our traditional Valentine's Day family photo taken on the property where we're building our house. Per tradition, I sent out Valentine's Day cards instead of Christmas cards. Non-per tradition, I evidently packed my address book away, and so I had to rely on the phone book for addresses. For those of you who usually get cards and didn't get one this year, you are not forgotten! It's just been a crazy year, as you probably know. If anyone would like a belated card, email me your address (using the email link on the sidebar), and I promise to get one off in the mail.)

Hope you all have a lovely day!

xoxo 

words and books

It's been nice to have questions to rely on to get me through some bloggy posts because mostly all I've been wanting to write about is how my whole body aches from the severe coughing I do every minute, and how I only take NyQuil on Thursday nights because that's the night that the girls stay with my parents, so I don't have to worry about the sleep coma NyQuil puts me in, which explains why I slept in until 10:30 this morning.

(And I know I risk whatever sympathy you might have had for me regarding the coughing by admitting I slept in until 10:30 this morning, but it so nice to not wake up coughing in the middle of the night. Goodbye until next Thursday, sweet NyQuil.)

So, yes. The coughing. I don't like it. The end.

*

Gretchen from Lifenut asked, "What is your favorite word? The book with the most broken spine/most underlined passages in your vast collection?"

I have a hard time coming up with a favorite word. Favorite word to use on a regular occurrence? "Lovely." It's such a versatile word, usable in almost all occasions depending on the tone I use. I think I say "lovely" most every day. A favorite word just to say for sheer fun, but never having a reason to use it? Loquacious. I never say it, except when I read it, then I have to say it aloud because it's such word candy.

As for books with broken spines/underlined passages, I will dutifully exclude ones I studied in my graduate courses. They have marks and comments and dog-eared pages galore, but I don't think they reveal much about my reading habits except my tendency to use lots of support for academic papers. 

From my personal collection, the book with the most broken spine/most underlined passage would definitely be The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. Wow. What a book.

After compulsively reading it every year from 1999-2003, I haven't read it as a parent. It's emotionally hard stuff, though incredibly written. The book, set in Vietnam during the war, is not exactly a memoir, but not exactly fiction either. O'Brien does an amazing job telling a story that pieces together parts of his experience with experiences that belonged to others. One chapter in particular, which I used often in the classroom to talk about "literary truth," perfectly captures the way truth is shared in books, how story-telling can create a different kind of truth. It's quite beautiful.

Other books with lots of underlining: The Poisonwood Bible (another favorite that I decided I had to teach in the classroom) and Possession (a long read, but rich with loveliness).

*sigh* All this book talk makes me miss my books.

All two-dozen boxes of my books are still away in storage, waiting for us to unpack them when we have a house to put them in. Even though I have made good use of our local library, I still miss my books. Sure library books are free, but I don't underline in library books. I don't doodle on library books. They're good for reading, and they're good for budget-keeping, but still.

I miss being surrounded by my books, miss my organization method (books organized not alphabetically, but by genre), miss being able to pick up an old favorite and read my favorite chapter.

Ah, well. Soon enough I'll have my library and barn doors. And soon enough next fall will arrive, complete with a book unboxing party. 

What a reunion--what a lovely reunion--it will be.

 

Poetry to believe in

One of my students shared this video in class today, and the response to it was amazing. I had to share it here.

If you are into poetry,

living purposely,

and

or

believing we can make a difference:

watch this.

It's only 1:44 seconds long.

Don't you love it?

good memories & moving from oregon

 

More answers...

When fellow mommy blogger (and new Facebook friend!) Goslyn asked me, "What is your happiest memory?" I had a flood memories rush to the front of the line. I have lots of happy memories, considering my perfectly regular childhood, a lovely marriage, and sweet children. But the one memory that stands out? The one I turn to when I'm feeling down?

Well, I have to say it's December 2007's anniversary trip to Camden, Maine.

I know I should probably pick a memory that involves the girls, but a trip to Maine? A surprise trip to Maine? A surprise trip to Maine where we honeymooned more than 10 years earlier? Well, really. It's hard to top that. 

It's funny because the timing was far from perfect. We didn't really have extra money to be spending on travel, but decided to do it anyway. Jason had to take along all of his study material for the comprehensive exams that he would be taking a month later. I hadn't exactly stopped nursing Jules, which is to say that she knew how to use a sippy cup, but still used me at sporadic intervals throughout the day.

Yep.

She and I went cold turkey when I stepped on that plane to Maine, and even though I did nurse her one more time when we got back it was essentially the end of the nursing road for both us. My mother-in-law was a saint for taking Jules, who adjusted just fine. As for my adjusting, I ended up being rather uncomfortable--even a quick stop for cabbage didn't help--and developed a pretty terrible cold as a result of my body not quite working right.

It didn't matter. 

Afterall, it was being together--driving down that snowy road listening to Alicia Keyes--that made it perfect. I never fail to smile when I remember our trip. It goes to show that the timing is often never perfect, but you go forward anyway.

*

Fellow Oregonian Diane asked me, "Why oh why would you think of moving out of Oregon, dearest CB?" It's a good question. Especially since I do love living in Oregon, particularly since Sydney was born. It's a great state. No sales tax. Home to Nike and the famous Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Strong identity. Easily recognizable on the national level (as opposed to Washington, which always has to be clarified as "Washington State" when one is traveling to the east coast). Even celebrating its 150th birthday on Valentine's Day. There's a lot to love.

So why the move?

The answer is that my parents gave us 2 1/2 acres in Brush Prairie, Washington. I can tell you that if it wasn't for the land, we wouldn't make the move. But the 2 1/2 acres is all the reason we need. It's the land where I grew up; it's the land where my great-grandparents lived many years ago. It's where my parents, my grandma, my aunt and uncle, my brother and his family, and my cousin and her family live. It's three miles away from the pre-school that Jason's mom owns. It's eight miles away from where Jason's parents live. Property, family, the chance to build our dream house: it was too perfect to turn down.

Fortunately, Brush Prairie is still close enough to Portland (a mere 20-minute drive away) that we'll be able to stay connected with a lot of our friends who make regular trips there from Salem. Plus, southwest Washington doesn't have any of its own news stations, so all our news is Oregon news anyway. It'll almost be like we still live in Oregon, except we'll have to pay sales tax and pump our own gas. But hey! the property taxes are low and the family is near. Can't beat that with a stick.

Week 242: Cacophony

*cough, ahem, cough*

Today's featured music: A Tune of Winter Illness.

The conductor steps up to the platform, his Zicam swab at the ready.

Jules raises her sleepy head in anticipation before she bursts forth with her throaty cough, crescendos into a fever of 101. Sydney chimes in--quietly at first--with a sniff, then a sneeze, and then an erupting chorus of mynosehurts, passthekleenex, mylegshurt. The hum of the humidifier fills the moment of silence. The conductor motions to me, and I boom in with coughs that threaten to knock me over, the percussion taking a cue from the sound of my head throbbing.

Cough Cough!

Boom Pang!

Sneeze Sniff!

A cough drop wrapper hits the floor, a gurgle of cough medicine echos throughout the hall. A slow wheeze.

(pause)

By all means, applaud after the first movement.

I'm hoping the second movement is the sound of sleeping through the night.

continuing answers on wishes and romance

Thank you all for chiming in on the last post. I'm so glad Heather asked me about my fears because the resulting self-reflection was just what I needed to do. Sometimes confronting our own fears becomes the catalyst for living fearlessly. And even more than sometimes, knowing that we are not alone in our fears brings immeasurable comfort. Your words have strengthened me more than you know.

Continuing on with answers to your questions...

Long-time blog friend Amy (who, alas, is no longer blogging) asked me, "Is there anything in your past that you wish had turned out differently?"

Hmm. Well, now it probably goes without saying that my biggest wish is that some of my college experiences turned out differently, considering what a huge impact those events had on my life. But beyond that?

Other than the normal regrets here and there, I suppose one big wish is that I would have been a little less emotional and a little more diplomatic in my first teaching job. I don't regret those first five years of teaching (because I ended up with some amazing relationships with my students), but I was hot-headed and head-strong, and when I left teaching I burned more than a few bridges behind me. So the short answer: I wish I hadn't left teaching so burned up and burned out.

*

Katy--who made a fabulously adorable cake for her son's first birthday--asked, "Do you always follow the speed limit or are you just lucky? How did you and Jason meet? I'm sure you have talked about it before, but I don't remember."

And since it touches on a similar theme, I'll follow-up with Margaret's question: "How did you meet your husband and what first attracted you to him?"

As you have probably read by now, I'm quite the stickler for the speed limit. And because Jason has had a few tickets in his driving career, I'm hyper-conscious about paying attention to posted speed-limit signs. The last thing we need is for our car insurance to go up.

How did Jason and I meet? (You were right, Katy. I have written about how Jason and I met, but it's been a few years.) For our eighth anniversary I wrote pretty much the whole story of our meeting/getting to know each other/dating/marrying history. And here--three and a half years later--I wouldn't add much to that post. It captures everything.

In case you decide not to visit that link, I'll just say we are high-school sweethearts. The first thing I noticed about him were his gorgeous blue eyes. And the first thing I was attracted to (aside from his good looks) was his emotional sensibility. He's a stable one, that Jason. His even keeled personality keeps me from going bonkers.

*

More answers to follow...but a trip to Costco is calling my name.

 

As well as this peculiar photo of me and Mr. Turtle. It leaves me speechless.

Standing up to fear

Sometimes we can get so used to living with a fear that it ceases to seem abnormal or unusual. This must be the explanation for why I drew a momentary blank when Heather asked, "Since my word for the year is fearless... name one thing you wish you could do if fear did not stand in your way."

What does fear keep me from doing?

If fear didn't stand in my way, I would be a better friend. 

It's not that I don't have friends, but I wouldn't say that I do a good job of maintaining or building my friendships. I've had a long-standing fear of calling people on the phone, and for many years I wouldn't even get together with others because the thought of social gatherings--outside of family--terrified me. It's a cop out, of course, to not form meaningful friendships because all it means is that I value my own comfort zone rather than people. Still. Recognizing that doesn't make living fearlessly any easier.

I wasn't always this way. When I was in college, I had a circle of friends that I loved to hang around. We all lived in the same hall our freshman year, and most of us had classes together. We called each other on the phone, wrote each other encouragement cards, laughed until we cried. We were good friends, some would say best friends.

My sophomore year, I developed some unfortunate personality traits. I don't know what it was...ego, or something. At any rate, my roommate got tired of me and moved out. A few days later I got a letter from her saying something to the effect of, "It just happened one day that we decided we didn't want to be friends with you anymore."

And just like that, I was unwanted.

I should be clear that I don't blame them for what happened. I did for a long time, but after all these years I've figured the blame went both ways. We did try to work things out the next school year--I even had a couple of them in my wedding--and we tried to build on our friendship again. But I was nervous, and probably came across as desperate to keep them as friends. Eventually I stopped being invited to things, and after Jason found me sobbing on the couch one day, he decided to confront them on their behavior. They told him that they just didn't want to be friends with me anymore.

No one should be forced to be friends with someone you don't like, but being the "someone you don't like" was heartbreaking.

So began my descent into the world of social anxiety. I stopped trying to make new friends; I stopped keeping in touch with the friends that I did have. I have a vivid memory of me sitting in my office, holding the phone number for my best friend from high school and wanting to call her but being terrified to actually dial the numbers. The phone sat on the desk, untouched. I never called her.

I stopped going to weddings, baby showers, friendly gatherings. Whenever Jason and I weren't invited to events, I (egocentrically) assumed it was because people didn't want me there. It was hard for me to see Jason being snubbed from invitations to things on account of my aloof behavior, but I just couldn't bring myself to move past superficial friendliness. Making friends post-college seemed impossible because everyone around me already had their best friends. As far as I could tell, I was too late to the party for anyone to want to hang out with me.

It's ridiculous, of course, to make excuses for my fear. But excuses were the only thing that kept me afloat. I suspect most people never guessed my deep seeded fears of being rejected. I faked exuberance well.

Things have improved.

Since Sydney was born, I've gotten better at connecting with people, particularly other moms. There's a natural conversation topic, and living in a city without any family forced me to ask other women for help. Going to my MOPS group has been highly therapeutic, and I genuinely enjoy being around other people now. I'm still not good at calling people on the phone, or inviting people over, or setting up play-dates--partly out of fear, partly my schedule, and mostly because I'm out of the habit. After so many years of fear, I came to normalize my social anxiety, and only when I wish I could call someone in the middle of the day to tell them I passed my graduate exams do I realize that I'm still not where I want to be.

It's a process, though, recreating and finding that part of myself that used to be outgoing and willing to find a friend in anyone. And so I take it one day at a time. Fear might always be part of my life, but it doesn't always have to stand in the way of picking up the phone and calling a friend.

Photographic Evidence...

...of my heart belonging to lemon meringue pie.

 

 

(Photos taken by Sarah...pie made by my mom...unkempt hair designed by my daughters)

Week 241: Answers at 33

Well, I did it.

I turned 33.

Wasn't too tricky, and other than coming down with some unfortunate respiratory illness (cough, cough cough) my aging has been celebrated excellently. Last night I was treated to a steak dinner and lemon meringue pie prepared by my parents who were celebrating their 33rd anniversary of becoming parents. I do what I can to help a party out.

Then today was full of lovely Facebook messages, and then we were off to the Oregon Coast Aquarium--which is always delightful. Especially the seahorses. They are really just too adorable for words.

 

Did you know that the male seahorses are the ones that have the babies? Yep. The aquarium is a fountain of information.

Also a fountain of information? Me. But only when I'm answering your questions that you so amazingly asked of me. Otherwise, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I decided that I can't possibly answer all the questions in one post, so I'll spend this week filling in details. It's better that way anyway, since Jules is so TWO, and I really need to be writing about things other than how exasperated--and also completed tickled--I am with her. So, thanks for providing a diversion of sorts.

First up is Becca, my college/MOPS/Wicked-attending friend. She asks:

Very deep. TiVo and DVR's do not exist. Two shows are on the same time same night. You can only choose one. Lost: In this episode they reveal everything. Including the black smoke and who Kate really loves: Jack or Sawyer. OR The Office: In this episode Pam and Jim get married. Michael adopts a Chinese baby with flash forwards of Jim and Pam's babies.
What do you choose?

Oh man. I'm assuming our VCR is also out of the scenario? This question sparked some intense debate over dinner last week, because my gut response was to choose "The Office" because it relies on physical comedy, which would mean I could read about "Lost" and get all the info I need. But then Jason said that "The Office" is only funny when it's dealing with office politics, and then he said that it doesn't matter who Kate really loves. I might have thrown a spoon at him, or maybe I just thought about it in my television fury. And then Thursday's episode came on, and I was torn. Because Kate and Sawyer...seriously.

It's tough, but I'm going to go with..."The Office." Unless Charlie is in the "Lost" episode, and then...oh, I don't know. That changes everything.

Next is Tamara, whom I was blessed to meet once when I was visiting churches, and just like that, we hit it off. Very cool. She asks:

How did you get your name, Stephanie? Is it a family name - who picked it? What does it mean? Does it suit you? Do you like it? What is your middle name? Is there meaning with your middle name?

Favorite dessert?

What is your favorite era? Do you think you missed the generation that most moves you?

I got my name from my dad Stephen, and I love it. I don't meet very many Stephanie's, oddly enough. I was going to be "Tyler" until I was born, and they discovered that I was a girl. Woohoo! They still liked the name Tyler, so they gave it to my brother when he was born 14 months later.

Stephanie means "Crowned One," and I think it suits me most of the time. I have some pretty strong leadership tendencies, particularly when I'm teaching or leading a group of some kind. My personality has subdued quite a bit over the years, so I'm not quite so Queenly around people when I'm not in charge. I think that's a good thing.

My middle name is Kay, which is my mom's middle name. Sydney also has the middle name Kay, which is after me, my mom, and my mother-in-law (her middle name is Kay too).

Favorite dessert is creme brulee, or black and white mousse torte if it's made by a restaurant here in town (three cheers for Konditerai!). Although, in all fairness, I really just love dessert. I was totally craving lemon meringue pie yesterday and my mom pulled through with flying colors. I like pie a lot.

I have a hard time picking out favorite eras. Favorite era to read from? The Victorian Era (late 19th century). Favorite era of architecture? Bungalow Era (mostly 1920's). Favorite era to live in? I would say modern day. Even though there are lots of things I love about other eras, I think they would all be pretty difficult to live in. I have no desire to wash my clothes by hand, or work in the kitchen all day, or not be allowed to vote, or be expected to allow a governess to raise my children. The trouble with having a history teacher as a spouse is that I don't romanticize any era. They all have some pretty serious shortcomings.

Good questions!

Next up is Heather's question, which I could answer briefly, but the longer version is something I've been wanting to write about, so it needs its own post. Stay tuned :)