One more year in his twenties

Brandon turned 29 today.

And so we embark on the six months of the year where there is a five-year age difference between us.

One of the first things I asked him this morning was what it felt like to be 365 days away from 30. He said, "It feels like I'm 25."

"Oh, so almost my age then?"

And later, when he was laying in bed stretching, and I told him he was about to roll off, he said, "No. I have the balance of a cat. A 25-year-old cat."

Oh, really...?

I stumbled upon a recipe for Orange French Toast Casserole yesterday evening, and knew I had to make it for him this morning. He has this thing with anything that is colored/flavored/scented orange.

Luckily, it's one of those things you mix up, refrigerate overnight, then throw in the oven in the morning. When he found out what I had baking in there, he said, "Hmmm. It sounds gross. But it sounds like a Brandon breakfast. Good job."

And here we have Brandon's 29th year in pictures:

The flood of 2010

We said 2009 was the Year of the Bird here at Rocker 7 Farms. I'm already thinking 2010 might be the Year of Water for me.

Two days before the New Year, I covered our brand new bathroom in water.

New Year's Day, I flooded our entire property.

I was in charge of irrigating the pasture we have divided into four "pans" on the almost four acres out back, as well as our yard. No big deal. It was probably the twentieth time I had done this (so maybe that's exaggerating a little, but I've done it a bunch).

I'm really not sure how it happened. It seemed to me like I followed the same procedure as previous irrigations when everything went smoothly.

Brandon, however, rattled off a list of reasons why this happened, as he ran around the yard with a shovel, then started sending water to a neighbor. I can't seem to recall them now.

Anyway, this is what I did:

Yeah, all that water? It's only supposed to be on the grass. Which is all on the other side of the house.

A Brandon breakfast

Brandon and I both had some book work to do this morning (him: invoicing, me: year-end employer tax reports), so we actually had a real breakfast. In our house, this means it wasn't a frozen waffle or peanut butter sandwich. Yes, even cereal classifies as a real breakfast, since you can't snag it on your way out the door; you have to sit down and eat it.

I decided to get a little creative, and thumbed through some breakfast recipes in my Taste of Home cookbook. I settled on French Breakfast Puffs. Trust me, it sounds a lot fancier than it is. It's basically a sweet muffin you roll in butter, then sugar and cinnamon.

I called Brandon to the kitchen when they were ready. And asked if we wanted bacon or anything to go with his breakfast puffs.

"Why, are they bad or something?"

"I don't know, I haven't tasted them yet. I hope not."

So he picks one up and takes a bite (i.e. consumes three-fourths of a muffin). With his mouth full: "Mm-mm. These'll work."

So I take a bite. I'm less enthusiastic about the breakfast puffs, and tell him they're just "okay".

Him: "What do you mean? They're like a snickerdoodle muffin. They're good. Don't ruin it for me."

Again, I ask what I can make to go with his breakfast puffs.

Him: "What do you usually eat with a muffin? ...Nothing...right?"

Me: "Well, this just isn't really a man breakfast, so I thought you might like something with it."

Him: "Does it have sugar?"

Me: "Yeah."

Him: "Then it's a Brandon breakfast."

The dangers of grilled cheese

Over the weekend, we enjoyed a lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup — a favorite for both of us.

I'm not so sure it will continue to be a favorite for Brandon.

He was in the middle of chowing down on his two grilled cheese sandwiches when there was a loud crunch.

"What is that?" he asked. Then started fumbling with the half-chewed bite in his mouth to find the crunch culprit. He pulled it out and held it up.

"Katie. I think it's glass. In my sandwich."

"No way! How would glass have gotten into your sandwich?"

"That's what I was planning on asking you, actually."

So we continued on with lunch, both carefully inspecting our grilled cheese for more glass shards.

Brandon ended up with a total of four pieces of glass on his sandwiches, one of which was quite large.

My sandwich, oddly, was glass free.

Brandon asked, "You didn't go get a life insurance policy on me or something, did you?"

Later, we were trying to figure out where in the world the glass came from. I really had no idea.

Then Brandon asked a question that sparked my memory, "Did you drop it [the sandwich] on the floor where you broke something and didn't get it cleaned up good, and then just put it on my plate?"

About 20 seconds later, I had an epiphany. "You know what? I didn't drop your sandwich on the floor. But last week, I pulled some butter in a little glass bowl out of the fridge and had it in the microwave about 12 seconds to melt it some, and the bowl cracked. I just poured all the butter into a new bowl and kept using it. I used the last of that butter on the griddle today."

...Brandon just shook his head.

[By the time I decided to share this story, Brandon had already thrown away the glass shards we had on a napkin, so I couldn't take a picture of them. But I assure you, one of them would have done some intestinal damage.]

What it takes to get some good luck around here

After supper on New Year's Eve, and tucking Brandon into bed for a short nap before it was time to venture into the cold to change water (again), I headed out in search of my New Year's Day feast.

Brandon's parents were kind enough to give us a Honeybaked Ham (yum!) for Christmas, so we fully planned on digging into that. But, I still hadn't picked up my traditional black-eyed peas and green cabbage.

No big deal, I thought. I'll just run to one of the two giant grocery stores five minutes down the road, pick up a head of cabbage and bag of beans.

Not so much.

Last year, every time I mentioned eating peas and cabbage on New Year's Day, my Arizona friends and family all asked, "Why? What for?"

I, not realizing, this is a regional tradition, would kind of smile and say, "Come on, you know, luck? Money? New Year's?"

And I was met with many blank stares because they had no idea what I was talking about.

Apparently, the tradition caught on out here this year.

I went into Fry's (same as Kroger, Texans) first, since they usually have a little better produce. There was not a single head of green cabbage on the shelf. I just stood there staring at the lone cabbage leaf left behind, not believing it.

Then, I tried the peas. I dug through every bag of beans, rice and peas left on the shelves, and came up empty on black-eyed peas. So, I thought I would just settle on the not-as-good canned peas.

Nope. The black-eyed pea section was wiped out. And not just the store brand. Every single can from every single company. Gone.

Slightly nervous about my holiday meal, I went across the street to the Super Wal-Mart. I saw the green cabbage as soon as I walked in the door, and felt a little relief.

But once again, no bags of peas. I dug around, checked the top shelf, looked behind the lentils and 15-bean soup. I was wondering if this was already a sign for my 2010, and didn't like it one bit.

Again, I made my way to the canned vegetables. At this point, thinking any sort of black-eyed pea was better than no pea at all.

There was one other woman in the aisle, studying the thousands of cans. A minute later, she made a move in front of me, and saw she was reaching for exactly what I was in search of: she had found the black-eyed peas.

I told her, "I'm so glad you found these. I just came from Fry's and they didn't have a single black-eyed pea in the store."

She said, "I just thought it was a Southern thing. They're out of the bagged peas here. I'm glad you told me that, because I was headed to Fry's next to look for them there."

Me: "Yeah, I checked for bagged peas first, too. I'm from Texas, and when I was talking about eating this stuff last year, everyone thought I was crazy. I surely didn't think I wasn't going to be able to find it this year."

Turns out she was from Georgia and had experienced the same lack of tradition in her circle of friends. And, turns out Georgians eat greens instead of cabbage for money.

So, we wished each other well, and parted ways, good luck in hand.

Our not-fried bathroom

I had Brandon read the story about how I washed the new bathroom, mainly so he could see the pictures immediately following the aftermath, since I had it mostly dry by the time he got home.

I was washing dishes, and he yelled, "Ka-tie!"

Me: "Yeah...?"

Brandon: "You did not tell me the outlet made a 'buzz' and then a 'snap' and then 'was quiet' yesterday. You just asked if I thought the water had damaged the outlet, and I told you no."

Me: "Oh. I thought I followed that question with, 'Even if it makes a sound after the water hits it?' And you said no to that too."

Brandon: "No, that second question definitely never happened."

Me: "Oh. Oops."

Brandon: "So do you think that's what happened to the light bar switch too? Was it working before you hit the water?"

Me: "I don't know. I didn't check it until after..."

So he set off on a mission to determine whether we had a working electrical outlet and light switch. He did something outside, and had me "reset" the switch, then check it with my blow dryer.

When he first told me to check the outlet, I was a bit apprehensive.

"Are you sure it's not going to shock me when I turn it on?" I asked.

"Positive," he said.

"And I have to use my blow dryer? My curling iron would be cheaper to replace."

"No. It has to be the blow dryer."

"And it's really not going to shock me?"

"Just plug it in!"

I am happy to report both the light and electrical outlet have been restored to working order. And even happier to report I did not experience any electrical currents during the process.

The glass is full alright

One night a couple weeks ago, I was preparing supper when Brandon came in. After chatting a bit, I asked him to pour me a glass of wine.

Well, he poured one:

When he handed it to me, I said, "Whoa, that's a glass of wine alright. Holy cow."

He replied, "Well, you know you're going to drink that much. I don't see what the point is in pouring two half-glasses when you can just pour one full one and be done with it."

And I'm sure any man would agree with him.