Caramel Biscoff Blossom Cookies

Last week I was invited to Jeri's Cookie Exchange, which is always one of my favorite events of the holiday season. I had an idea for a cookie to bring this year: something made with Biscoff Spread, since it was on sale at the store and I need to both have it in my house, and not eat all of it by myself.

But what? Then one night I got my answer through a plate of peanut butter blossoms left on our porch. One of J's favorite cookies, a neighbor made them for him as a thank you gift. E.G. found them on the porch and ran them upstairs to J in his office. Excited, he dove right into the cookies; they were delicious with a little extra crunch! Munch, munch.

A few minute later he went to the bathroom to help the boys brush their teeth for bed. That's when J noticed an ant crawling on his shirt. And another ant on his sleeve. He rushed back to his desk and found the pile of cookies crawling with ants. The rest of the evening he was flossing little bits of black exoskeleton out of his teeth.

Always inspect the porch cookies, gang, always.



Anyway, peanut butter blossoms have been on my mind, and I set out to make them with Biscoff Spread. In a stroke of genius, I decided that caramel-filled Kisses would be the perfect compliment. And in a stroke of horror, I had to make 120 of them for the cookie exchange (Jeri doesn't mess around.) When the votes were tallied I was named "Queen of the Cookies"! Hooray! My first year winning! I was genuinely thrilled and delighted. Couldn't stop grinning. It's your turn to enjoy these caramel-y cookies.

Caramel Biscoff Blossoms

1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup salted butter
1 cup Biscoff Spread
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
1 tsp salt
2 tsp baking soda
3.5 cups of Flour
1/4 c evaporated milk
2 packages caramel filled Hershey Kisses

Cream the butter and sugars until light in color. Add the Biscoff Spread, then eggs one at a time, then vanilla. Sift the dry ingredients together and then add to batter, pausing half way through to add the milk.

Make your helper people unwrap the kisses. Best to keep them in a bowl in the fridge until you're ready to use them.

Scoop the dough with an ice cream scoop onto cookie sheets (I used a scoop that holds two teaspoons.) Bake at 375 for 8 minutes, remove and place a Kiss into the center of each cookie, put back into the oven for another minute or two.

Now you can win Queen of the Cookie, too!

Nom.

Living The Seasons

I tried something this summer that I thought I'd never have the guts to try: I didn't turn on the air conditioning. We had a late and soggy Spring that helped to keep everything cool, so even though I was one million months pregnant until late June, I wasn't boiling. The furnace ran constantly last Winter with little difference in warmth, and the day or two I tried to cool the house, it struggled vainly to move the temperature. Off it stayed.

I managed by opening as many windows as possible to allow the slight and inconsistent river breezes to help cool us. Since we live in the mountain west, it cools off at night pretty quickly. The boys ran around in almost nothing. The heat during a few hours of late afternoon was almost oppressive upstairs, but downstairs it was cool enough to live comfortably.

There was something about embracing the season that felt right. Summer should be hot. The morning should be cool. The afternoon breeze should blow the sheer curtains gently. You should feel the relief as the sun disappears behind the trees and the rays push their force somewhere else. I dressed Lulu in onesies for bed time and turned on a fan to cool her room. I did miss a ceiling fan, but portable fans helped (especially when nursing a hot little baby on a leather couch.)

It wasn't until a mid August Sunday afternoon and a visit from my mother-in-law that prompted me to turn on the air to keep her comfortable.

We were sitting on the couch when the ceiling started dripping. And then water was pouring like a light faucet from the ceiling. Our air conditioner unit, the one I hadn't used all summer, was broken. It had probably been broken as part of the furnace for months, that's why it had run all last Winter and barely warmed our home. We turned off the air and the leak stopped.

This Fall, as the temperature drops into the 50s, I long to keep the windows open as long as possible. I'd sleep with them open in January if I could. It's Fall. It should be chilly. The boys need sweat shirts and socks, an extra sweater, down puffs. Lulu wears fleece pajamas and a cozy quilt to bed; behind her drawn curtains are shutters too keep in the warmth and barrier the cold.

Sometimes I think we hide behind our furnaces and fireplaces instead of feeling the seasons. Terrified to be hot. Scared of being cold. Feeling your rings grow tighter in June and then slip off your fingers in December. Insisting on t-shirts on single digit days, Ugg boots in July. We don't try to live in harmony with our world. We fight the weather instead of finding the joy in the constant change. It will be icicles, rain, heat, chill again and again. Live where you are.

Baby Shower

Noelle threw me a shower a few weeks ago, and it was incredible. Lindsey cooked the food and we ate until we 'esploded.

I thought that the shower started at 2:00, so I planned out my day carefully to make sure I arrived exactly on time. J came into the bathroom at 1:45 when I was drying my hair and said, "What time does your shower start?"

"2:00, why?"

"No, it doesn't, it started at 1:00."

Oh, Mylanta. 

An hour late to my own shower? RUDE. I felt awful. Some people had to leave early and I got to see them for 5 minutes. Stupid me. I think I gave Noelle a heart attack because I'd stopped looking at my phone while I was getting ready. In labor? In a car accident? No, just didn't know the time to my own shower.

Tweet-up Monday Night at Rodizo's Grill

On Monday night J and I will make the long, arduous journey to Salt Lake for dinner at Rodizo's with a whole bunch of other bloggers and Tweeters. I love Tweet-ups; it's fun to meet people you interact with but have never in met in person--unless they turn out to be hygienically challenged, which is not as much fun, but does create "interesting conversations" about natural deodorant.

See that pineapple? It's mine. Hands off. Also hands off: the fried bananas and those little mini cheesy breads.

Confession: I will break my 10 minute driving radius for food.

This is your chance to ask J every math question you've ever wanted to hear the answer to!

Confession: Good luck getting him to talk.


You get to hear J's opinion on blogs and Tweeting!

Confession: he will give you the side-eye

If you want to join us on May 23rd, Rodizio's is having a special four-course meal with dessert for $19.99 a person just for the Tweet-up/Blog peeps. You just have to mention that you read about it here.

Royal Wedding?

Gang, I'm over at Today's Mama talking about a little party going down in the wee hours of April 29th.

Proximo's 4th Birthday!

His body is lengthening, limbs stringing out, knobby-inside knees that are mine. He looks older.

Most days he hangs on me like a stole. Today, as I sat at the table helping his brother with homework, he climbed to the top of the chair and leaned over my head, stretched his arms around my neck, and made a right angle.

Have I told you that 4 is my favorite? It is. It's my favorite age. 4 is the reward for the hard work of 2 and 3. It's before the emotional neuroses of 5.

He planned his birthday party himself. We were going to a park, there would be balloons, and lots and lots of friends.

We disagreed about the cupcakes. I wanted them, he didn't.
"NO," He said, frowning* at me, "I want a CAKE."

"But a cake will be hard to cut for your friends at the park."

"NO."

"Look! Here are a bunch of cupcake liners, red, blue, green, and you can pick which ones you want if you have cupcakes! If you don't like them, I'll make a cake." After some consideration, and another frown, he conceded, ".....FINE. Red AND blue."

Devil's food with raspberry filling and marshmallow tops. They were ridiculously delicious, and I don't even like cake.

So many friends to play with! Not having to be the tag-along little brother! Friends just for him!

You see that black haired vixen? That's his crush. He made her a special Valentine. He calls her "Weesabella."

Proximo decided he wanted to ride home with his Tia Jeffiner. This is what happened in the parking lot on the way to the car:
Tia Jeffiner, "So, Weesabella is fun, huh?"
Proximo, "Yep, she's fun."Jeffiner, thinking she's digging a little deeper, "She's kinda pretty, too, huh?" Proximo stops and gives her the famous frown* and says,
"Weesabella's prettier than you."
Jeffiner gasps, "What? No, she's not."
"Yes, she is."
"No, I'm Tia pretty."
"No, she's jus prettier."
We're just different kinds of pretty."
"NO."

3 months

1 year

18 months

2 Years

3 Years

4

(*the famous frown)

Happy birthday, baby!

The beautiful birthday party pictures were taken by Tia Jeffiner, the Fotohok, who's an amazing photographer, and available for your kid's birthday, or other life event.

The Never-ending Birthday Party

E.G. is planning his birthday party. Many hours of work--E.G. crouched at the coffee table, pencil in hand and paper at the ready--have been spent on the growing list of details. This is serious business: only boys this year. The guest list will be decisive and carefully curated. A number of considerations are on the table: location, activities, and culinary proclivities. Our home has yet to host a birthday party for him, so after some consideration, festivities will be in-house. I don’t want to scare Jordan, but we might have a budding party planner on our hands. I'm just saying she should watch her back: a whole lot of almost seven is hot on her heels.

We are engaged in high-level coordination, dear readers. If you can’t hack the birthday intensity, best to retreat to your thrown together, half-hearted soirees filled with whichever gender happens to arrive and whomever was free.

As we ate dinner the other night, party planning mercifully tabled, J asked E.G. to turn to me. “What do you think? Should your mom dye her hair blond?” I swiveled my head back and forth a little so he could declare his objective opinion. “Hmm,” he said, squinting a little and sticking his tongue out of the hole where a front tooth used to be, “No, I think she’s pretty much perfect just the way she is.”

(I guess I’m his Bridget.)

Enough sentimentalities; it’s invitation time.

Hand-made? Store-bought? Theme? Engraved?

Oh, the agonizing choices!

The AAP Wishes You a Healthy Halloween!

HEALTHY HALLOWEEN:

• A good meal prior to parties and trick-or-treating will discourage youngsters from filling up on Halloween treats.

• Consider purchasing non-food treats for those who visit your home, such as coloring books or pens and pencils.

• Wait until children are home to sort and check treats. Though tampering is rare, a responsible adult should closely examine all treats and throw away any spoiled, unwrapped or suspicious items.

• Try to ration treats for the days following Halloween.

--American Academy of Pediatrics News Release

Who is giving out spoiled candy? Is there such a thing as spoiled candy? I’ve never seen mold growing on a Jolly Rancher, have you? I’d suspect that “spoiled” looking candy was merely a ploy to remove the candy from our hungry gazes. As for unwrapped candy, I bet you’re talking about my neighbor’s caramel popcorn, in which case, mind your own business.

I'm glad you brought up suspicious items, uh, because I think I’m guilty. Several years ago when we were childless, carefree, and squandered our time doing Jupiter knows what, we forgot to pick up Halloween candy. When our doorbell rang at 5:45pm I had a moment of sheer panic as I realized the consequence I’d set up for myself: I’d chosen trick! Who chooses trick? It’s a national compromise: WE CHOOSE TREAT. I opened the door, admired the small ones, and excused myself to run around the corner to our pantry. I scanned the shelves and found them full of beans, which although magical, lack a certain je ne sais quoi in the Halloween department. The only alternative? The bag of mixed nuts in their shells I’d purchased with the best of snack intentions the previous January. So I hauled out the nuts, brought them to the door, and dropped a couple walnuts, brazil nuts, and a few almonds into their open bags. They looked at me in disappointment; their father laughed so hard he cried.

Nuts? Suspicious.

The next year I was ready, by gum, with Mounds and Almond Joys. The same small fry were our first trick-or-treaters. This time their mother laughed and thanked us for handing out candy kids don’t like but moms do. Fail.

Consider handing out pencils and pens? Do you know how many eyes you can poke out with a pen? I hope those pencils are sharpened for maximum abdominal penetration! Say what you will, but a mini-Snickers never killed anyone (although I have yet to see the new Saw movie, so I guess it’s theoretically possible.)

And AAP? I know you mean well, but telling me to feed my kids a healthy meal before trick-or-treating? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Duh, AAP. Maybe you should stop partnering with The Obesity Generators before you start telling me to feed my kids healthy foods. Up yours.


Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to hit the store and buy coconut-free candy.

Cheesy New York Title Here!

I’m flying to New York tonight on the red eye to attend Blogher, work the Social Luxe Lounge, and I could not be more excited. Fact: Jenny has a flight at the same time that I do, only we’re on different airlines. This is our own personal Amazing Race where we'll race across the continental U.S. for absolutely no prizes! And also no Charla or Mirna (is that a plus or minus?) Bets on who will win? You had better bet on me or we’re not friends anymore. Hear that, Jenny? I’m creating a rift between our friends. FACE.

This is the concrete jungle where dreams are made of, or so I’ve been told by MTV. I have also been promised that there’s nothing I can’t do now that I’m in New York (Jiu-Jitsu?) that these streets will make me feel brand new, that the big lights will inspire me. And if all of that doesn’t happen, I’m asking for a refund (only I don’t want to be ridden like a bus route.)

I have questions for you: how much do you want me to talk about the amazing, fun, crazy things I’m doing, or all the muggings I survive? Score your enthusiasm vs. your apathy; pick your own scale.

Second question: What should I not miss? And if your answer includes the word “Brooklyn” or “Staten Island” I’m not going to take your recommendation because I’m not moving to New York, I’m just visiting. If your answer includes the phrase “Statue of Liberty hat,” I’m listening...

On another scale of your choice, how awesome is the phrase “party in my pants”? Because I was thinking about using it in casual conversation on the subway (best to be on the offensive, right?)

Things I Will be Doing in New York:

1. Blogher

2. Social Luxe Lounge

3. Sparklecorn

4. MoMA/Guggenheim

5. Empire State Building*

6. Eating street food that is not hot dogs

7. Eating a lot of food, period

8. Canal Street (for, uhm, stuff)

9. A rock music show

10. Walking

11. Upright Citizen’s Brigade?

12. A suggestion of your choosing

Things I Will NOT be Doing in New York:

1. Sleeping

2. Visiting the outer boroughs (exception for River Cafe?)

3. Going to Sbarro’s/eating in Times Square at ALL

4. Voting

5. Taking pictures with the naked cowboy (please)

6. Wearing shorts and sneakers

7. Be involved in a bear attack

8. Stand outside The Today Show

9. Going to the Robyn/Kelis show, Arcade Fire, Interpol, or The National because they are all the same night as Social Luxe

10. Going to the Magnolia Bakery

11. Attending The Daily Show/Colbert Report (no tickets)

12. A suggestion of your choosing

*Word on the street is that the Empire State Building is for suckers, that Top of the Rock is better, or Ellis Island, or The Statue of Liberty. Confirm or deny!

Seashell Mermaid Cake

Courtney called me two weeks ago and asked if I would make our friend Wendy a birthday cake. "What kind of cake did you have in mind?" I asked. "A mermaid cake, I think," she answered. I thought about the idea for a while and came up with something that I thought might give the feeling of a mermaid cake without being quite so literal. (Maybe it could still be a just little extravagant.) 

 

A sea blue (nearly Tiffany blue) cake covered with sea shells and sea things.

I started by hand-making the sea creatures out of gum paste. I left them to dry overnight, and the next day I hand-painted and decorated them. I love this part of the project! Making all these things out of my imagination, trying to make them beautiful and realistic at the same time. Oh, right, and edible too, haha!

 

Starfish, sea urchins, shells, sand dollars, oysters, sea weed, snails, and pearls! All made with gum paste or fondant, colored with edible pearl dust and royal icing to finish the details. Oh, and my first rule of cake making is that if it doesn't taste good, nothing else matters. Take your nasty cake and go home--this tasty cake got to go to the party. Midnight chocolate cake with mint chocolate ganache filling. Yes, please.

   

I think it turned out beautifully, don't you?

 

Even though the cake was for her birthday, Wendy kept joking that she was going to put it in the fridge for her upcoming wedding.

 

I think she liked it. Especially the "W" for Wendy on top.

EVO Conference - Day One - I Manipulate My Friends

I’m going to cut through the obvious suspense: I drove up to EVO conference in Park City without incident. People like to make a big deal out of my awesome driving skills, but I don’t think we should dwell on too many superlatives (makes me look like I have a deficit of humility.)

I wrote down a list of things I needed to bring on my trip. Write is a strong word. Emailed myself is a better way of expressing what actually happened. And, as is the case with most of my organizational efforts, I failed in the execution. This is a convoluted way of saying that I left my business cards at home. I cashed in all my favors with Tiffany, and asked her to to go to my house, find my cards in the vortex of refuse that is my desk, and drive them up to Park City. That she decided to make this drive at midnight is not my fault. I love her. (Stay tuned for more Tiffany on July 15th.)

At the opening dinner, I sat next to Phread and Stacie. (Side note: I can’t take catered events seriously after watching Party Down.) The server set a plate in front of me and one in front of Phread. I picked up her plate and scraped all the green olives off her chicken without saying a word to either of my dining companions. Listen, when you’re out to dinner with me I get to choose what you eat. And because Phread hates olives. I managed to contain my disruptive tendencies during the opening keynote. Honestly, this is Twitter’s number one job: distract me so I don’t make scenes in public. I’m like a toddler, I guess.

After dinner the party really got going with dueling pianos. Yes, they were talented, but I couldn’t help but collapse into giggles thinking up all the inappropriate songs they should play. The duelists had laptops on their pianos. They were looking at the lyrics. Isn't that cheating?

Later that night, I met my roommates in our huge suite: Kami, Allison, Marie, Helen, Jane, and AWOL Alma. This was when I was able to properly express my gushing love for Helen and her fantastic blog Tartelette. Well, I think it’s fantastic, people who are challenged by baked goods in box-form might be a smidge intimidated. (People! Don’t be! Also stop buying baked goods in box-forms because they taste mainly of cardboard and the death of your grandmother's soul!)

In a mind-control scheme that has me ready to take on the world, I manipulated all my roommates into adopting my sleep schedule: 2am-7:30am. When they actually arose at 7:30, I couldn’t believe it! And I was also annoyed! I don’t need to wake up at 7:30am! I am on a vacation/at a conference! Too late.

I would soon get my revenge.....

Untipsy Tuesday: The Cranky Pineapple

Last Friday night I was invited to a manicures and martinis party at the Canyons.  I walked into the joint to see a line of Scandinavian-looking manicurists dressed in plain uniforms and behind them, a hard-scrabble looking singer with a guitar. He'd seen more than a few Friday nights.

I leaned on the bar, smiled at the bartender and said, "I think I'm going to be difficult."
"Dealing with difficult is my job description," he winked.
"I want a drink that doesn't have any alcohol," I said.
"How about cranberry and pineapple juice? " he offered.
"Done!"

And when that glass was empty, he made me another one.

I slid into the seat in front of the manicurist. Her blonde ponytail was tied neatly and her smile revealed braces. "Mesa, AZ" read her tag (of course it did.) She gently took my hand and removed the lingering polish. I leaned over and smiled at the guitar player, "Johnny Cash?" I asked.
"Any particular one?" he asked back, with a grin for a girl half his age and gravel in his voice.
"Folsom Prison Blues," I answered, and took another sip.

Meg the Manicurist painted silver onto my nails as I sang to myself, "But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die."

Why?

Was there anything else I could possibly sing?

EVO '10

Turns out that I'm speaking this weekend at EVO conference.

Why me? Because I'm an expert.

In what? EVERYTHING*.


I tried to tell Jyl and Rachael not to invite me. "You have to come!" they shrieked at once.
"No, you don't want me to go, I'm not good at conferences."
"What? You'd be so fun!"
"I'm disruptive."
"That's why were sitting next to you!"
And then I caved, because you'd cave too; they squeeze a person like some sort of mutant blonde-brunette-human vise until they get what they want.

As far as you know I'll be speaking about SEO and blogging, but let's be honest, things could go pear-shaped fast. I make no guarantees that I won't start talking about SEO and end up giving a quick, yet timely, lecture on Soviet collectivization and the resulting widespread famines. Also, how much Kristen Stewart bugs. ANYTHING could happen!

*Notable exceptions: calculus, Asian languages, ostrich farming, bear hunts, the internal combustion engine, Cairo, server upgrades, the PAC 10, industrial solvents, nuclear fission **, Patricia Cornwell, reciprocating saws, casseroles, light welding, what in the H is happening in South Carolina politics, North Face clothing, tuber cultivation, and counterinsurgency strategy.

**Update: Am now an expert in nuclear fission. I looked it up.

Hi It's My Birthday Hi (It's Becoming an Institution Around Here)

Dear Loves,

It's my birthday! The last day of April, the beginning of Spring, a final blizzard hug of Winter! No really, I was driven home very early this morning in a blizzard. Can you imagine? Snow flurries for the last two whole days of April. But let's reverse, and set the scene at early yesterday evening.

I was tucked into the front seat rocketing up the canyon while Susie confided in me her absolute distaste for this late-winter linger. "I should be in shorts," she insisted.
"You can wear shorts if you want to," I said, pointing out the obvious.
"I mean comfortably. Comfortably wear shorts," she clarified, her midwestern brow slightly drawn in consternation. We were on our way through the foggy canyons for a no holds barred night out. Tiffany arranged a Rock Star Birthday Party (another institution around here) and insisted on dinner in Park City with karaoke to immediately follow.

Oh, shoot, karaoke? Don't mind if I do.

My friends know how to party. We party so hard people think we're drunk. Nope, stone cold sober. Never had one lesson. Or one drink. Anne and Katrice, Laura and Susie, Tiffany and me. We ate like carnivores and washed it down with carbs. Too many sodas (I'm a social drinker) and the abandonment of restraint makes for a smashing evening.

We claimed the leather sectional in the basement bar and commandeered the song books: Journey, Heart, Justin Timberlake, The Killers, Rihanna, I may have sung them all. Plus Laura and I rocked them like a hurricane. And there was the Fall Out Boy incident of 10:34pm. We might need to discuss when Laura Got Back. And when Susie Shot Through Your Heart. Myleka and Anne were Dancing Queens. And Tiffany sang Tiffany.

And I? I was properly feted by all the crew. Our bartender gave us all plastic leis so that he could make that most overdone of puns. I'm pretty sure Tiffany showed us that you can take the girl out of Texas when she crooned some honky-tonky down-home country, and maybe even a boot-scootin' boogie. What can be said of our two new friends who were consuming alcoholic units yet they couldn't be tempted to hit the stage? I say it proves caffeine's mind-altering superiority over whiskey, at least in this focus group.

Laura, who must be invited to every karaoke party ever, even yours, even if you don't know her, owned the night. You can't stop her, she's a force of nature. I took requests and another sip of soda. Time to make my own request. "Oh please," I begged Susie, "Next year, you must put on a proper Derby party."
She, raised across the river from Churchhill Downs, nodded thoughtfully. I hoped it was a yes. The Derby is tomorrow, darlings, tune in to see those ponies fly. Next year? Juleps and hats. (Maybe even Dover.)

(But definitely more parties.)

For my birthday I want to hear the song you'd sing if you went to karaoke, don't be shy, and don't lie and tell me you wouldn't sing. Pretend you've already had your whiskey, your Diet Coke, your courage-enabling sugar high, and drop that track in a comment.

In case you missed it, cjane commissioned a post from me. Only three people took it seriously! (some sort of record in cjaneland, I'm sure.) And I'm serious about this tom-foolery, I assure you! Serious like a hangnail!

Merry Christmas to You

My readers are funny people. Generally, you're all an erudite and clever crowd.

Some of you just get the jump on others.

Like when Noelle drove to the Jet Set Pad this afternoon right as I pulled in from last minute errands.

She handed me this:

Oh yes. She is a clever, clever girl.

(And you ALL wish you'd thought of it first.)

"I can't believe it's just candy cane," she laughed as she handed it to me.

"I'll prove it, let's open it right now," I giggled. So we did and then we sampled.

Yes, it really, really is just smashed candy canes.

Behold the power of marketing.

Very funny, Noelle.

Very funny.

Thanks for reading, gang, it's a trip just sharing these silly thoughts and have anyone read them.

Merry Christmas and crushed candy canes for all!

Obligatory Halloween Pictures

Last week's madness has vanished, replaced by a beautiful indian summer, all the leaves we could ever hope to rake, and a pile of empty Whopper wrappers. 

I stayed up late to make sugar cookies for El Guille's school class.  I was to bring them to school for the kids to decorate as part of the Halloween party. I was also a little nervous since I've never been a room mother before. From what I remember of room mothers, they were the ones responsible for dying the milk green at my second grade St. Patrick's Day party that turned into my lifelong fear of artificially-colored foods. Hey, that's me! I am shaping the future neuroses of our children!


Proximo pitched a fit because he wanted to help a student decorate his cookie for him. The other kid, surprisingly, didn't want help from a 2-year-old. Proximo, who will not take no, logic, or attention diversion for an answer, was beside himself with anguish. "But I want to HEeeelp him! I hep! I hep" he sobbed. I resorted to stuffing M&Ms into his mouth to stop the crying. It worked. Must start carrying M&Ms with me at all times. 

E.G. was in the third group of kids to decorate. He walked into the art room and was so excited to see me, "Hey everyone! This is my MOM!" Everyone nodded a little, because moms are nothing new, and got down to decorating their cookies with black sparkle gel and orange frosting. "My mom makes the best cookies EVER!" E.G. declared. I nearly died on the spot from happy-shock with complications of bursting heart.
"Who here thinks my mom makes the best cookies, raise your hands!" Three or four kids, who have not even tried the cookies, raised their hands. Thanks for the votes, kids.

I made the kids eat oatmeal for breakfast and then raw vegetables for dinner two days straight. True story.  That way I felt less guilty about the volume of junk they were about to consume.

I made Proximo's costume. He went as a crayon. 

Here's a before shot of his teeth so when they rot out by next Thursday, we have a memory of pearly whites past:

El Guille went as an army guy. He begged for two months. I think it was mostly a ruse to get a gun.

(He didn't get a gun.)

He did, however, get an ACU (Active Combat Uniform) from Captain Galan and La Yen, stationed at Fort Bliss.  They are the exact same uniforms as the real soldiers wear, down to the fabric and number of pockets. "If these are camouflage, mom, then how do they find their friends?"
Good question, we might have to ask the captain.

E.G. was so excited that he wore the costume for three days. I even put him on latrine duty so he could have the full experience. He woke me up by standing next to my bed in his gear. "I bet you can't even see me right now, can you?" he giggled.
"Nope," I answered, "Who is even talking right now? I can't see anyone!"

What I didn't know, until I got to school on Friday, was that his best friend also dressed as an army guy so they could be soldiers together.

And YES, real soldiers wear cute black snow boots with fur sticking out the top (right?)

Boy, we had a lot of fun.

Especially Proximo, who spontaneously kissed several old women simply because they gave him candy.



Love these pictures? My sister took them.

I Can't, I Have a Pig Roast

That's my favorite excuse this time of year. It's true, I did have a pig roast that I had to attend last Friday. Our benevolent hostess loved the idea of a dessert for which she did not have to produce plates and silverware. I came up with the idea to make lemon meringue cupcakes.

And yo, they were really good. I used Lindsey's Blood Orange Cake recipe, but used lemons instead. Then I filled the cupcakes with lemon curd, made an Italian meringue, and toasted the meringue in the oven just like lemon meringue pie.

And lo, the cupcakes were insanely delicious and I think they'll be my new trademark.

My husband hates those cupcakes because they took way too much time to make and messed up the entire kitchen. I may have to rethink my new trademark.

On Sunday afternoon, right after his father told him not to, E.G. swung the following wooden toy around by its pull string...

and caught his brother, Proximo, with a deep slice on the upper eyelid/lower eyebrow. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Other Half carrying Proximo up from the scene of the crime, his little head, face, neck, t-shirt covered in splotches of bright red blood. He came about 5 cm away from losing an eye, which, you know, it's all fun and games...

I made the trip to the ER where he was glued up with Dermabond and sent on his merry way, all within 45 minutes (we have a good ER.)

So, wooden toys? Adorable, so cute, sustainable, no scary chemicals. Downside? Getting clocked with one sends you to into the arms of a doctor.





Join me over at Segullah today, I'm talking about questionable church music performances, and whether or not you miss them (you do, don't you?)

I'm a Little Obsessed with Waffles

You know Belgian waffles? No, not the normal deep waffles that you pull out of your Belgian waffle maker, I mean real Belgian waffles, you know, from Belgia.

When I was eight my family traveled through Brussels on their way to less frozen parts of Europe, and while waiting in the smoky train station my father bought us our first actual Belgian waffles. They’re deep welled waffles, as you’d expect, but the outside of them is covered in sticky caramel that blows your mind. My uncle, having served his LDS mission the region, had a recipe for Belgian waffles, but was never able to find the pearl sugar needed stateside. My dad, always the inventive chef, tried off and on for twenty years to recreate those insanely delicious waffles.

Two years ago, when an IKEA that carried pearl sugar opened near us, Dad tried again. He spent a month trying different recipes and techniques, but was unable to replicate the crisp, yet sticky caramel exterior of the waffles. Eventually, we realized that our puny home waffle makers would never get hot enough to caramelize the pearl sugar while cooking the waffle. And we, shedding tears of longing, gave up.

And then, I heard something incredible: Saturday, on the first day of the Provo Farmer’s Market, someone is coming to sell real Belgian waffles. Now, I love the Provo Farmer’s Market, I’ve snagged the most gorgeous jewelry, spicy tamales, hot donuts, and fresh produce on my visits. But Belgian waffles? Are you kidding me? This is a whole new dimension of awesome. Probably the 7th dimension of awesome.

Who’s in? I’ll be there (100 south 500 west, 11am) with bells on.

Well, not actual bells, probably just jeans and heels. I can’t wait!

Blue Lemon Confidential

photo is not by the lovely and talented Kami, who married an old friend of mine, but I did yank it from her collage

So it was that after sending El Guille to an early bed for clocking me in the face with a plastic fireman, I put on my Spring09 play list and drove up to Highland to meet friends for dinner. I arrived at the Blue Lemon just after the sun dipped below the Oquirrh and the thick navy settled.

Steeling myself to meet new people, and to not completely lose my mind with hyperactivity, I grabbed my purse and walked through the door. (I must tell you that the mini glass subway tiles on the back wall of the bistro had me gasping in delight.)

I found Lindsay already ensconced in a round booth with Marie and Kelsey. I think it’s a capital idea to try a new place with new friends, don’t you? Allison invited me to sit opposite her on the banquette, and then leaned over with grave intimacy and said, “Please tell me you’re caffeinating.” I laughed and showed her my rootbeer, to her immediate disappointment.

(Maybe if I’d caffeinated I wouldn’t have spilled half of the boutique rootbeer down my shirt.)

The conversation turned quickly to controversies of all natures: cross-nursing (two in favor, three skeptics) makeup (one pro, four grimace) blogland cliques (another birthed at this very table?) and what so-and-so really did at such-and-such (too shocking to print.)

(So I won’t.)

The tête-à-tête steps on the gas to match the speed of the dishes arriving at the tables. Stephmodo whispers that she likes the color of my top at the same time that I gush over Your Heart Out (and the adorable Ms. Buell.)

I must also tell you that I fell head over heels for the butternut squash soup the minute it slid to a fast stop next to me. I can’t resist you, nutmeggy-sweetness.

(I should start calling the baby Nutmeggy Sweetness.)

(Although he might resist homemade croutons being placed on his head.)

The volume turns a little louder and I wonder what the slick business men lounging under the tulip column must think of our mad party. Just a bunch of moms? College roommates? Former ice capade queens?

Just then the girls have a cracking idea that might drive us to fame or ruin…

I'm in.



Spring09 Play List

The Fear – Lily Allen
Shake It – Metro Station
1901 – Phoenix
You, Me, & The Bourgeoisie – The Submarines
The ’59 Sound – Gaslight Anthem
Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games – Of Montreal
A&E – Goldfrapp
Strawberry Swing – Coldplay
The World We Live In – The Killers
As Tall As Cliffs – Margot and the Nuclear So & So’s
Tidal Wave – The Killers

Spring09 Meet Me At Blue Lemon Must
Butternut Squash Soup
Baked Mac and Cheese
Rootbeer