The Cooling Rack

A nighttime conversation

2011-12-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

A friend and I have been teaching our almost 3-yr-olds preschool in our homes. It's been awesome. It's little more than structured playtime, but every so often we see a light bulb go on, so we press forward. Lessons are based on one letter per day.

Usually on the nights before school mornings, we try to prep Tessa. She loves school, so the prep is totally enjoyable, like last night's conversation:

Me: Tessa, guess what tomorrow is!
Tessa: [eyes widening and grin slowly uncurling] Schoooool??
Me: Yes! And do you know what letter you're learning tomorrow? "R"!
Tessa: R. rrrr...rrrrr...
Me: That's right. "R" makes the "rrr" sound. What word starts with "R"?
Tessa: rrrrrr.......rrrrrr..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....rrrrrrrrrrockettes!

On the cooling rack: Baby Shower Menu #1

2011-11-27T19:50:00.000-08:00

We spent the summer in Utah for Ted's internship, then returned to NC where I instantly became deeply entrenched in food planning/buying/prepping.

This first shower was put on by a committee of five friends because when we heard our friend was pregnant, we all insisted to help. I was first to offer, however, so I was in charge of whatever I wanted, which of course was food. But to just divvy out the house, decorations, drinks, and photographer to other people and get their help with the food anyway? Couldn't have been better. Here's the outcome.

The lemonade stand and handmade wreath:

The table:

The food:
Caprese Paninis on Sourdough or Nine Grain

Taste test:

Bell Pepper Slaw:

Mushroom Risotto in the cutest little individual cups ever:

Fruit skewers:

Various finger foods included the Most Incredible Lemon Bars Ever (not the real name, but should be), Oreo balls (Marianne's specialty), finger sandwiches, and sliced s'mores (the pregnant lady had been craving them).

Basically we had dessert first, in the middle, and at the end, a Mille Crepe Cake:

This thing was fabulous. Twenty crepes, each layered with a thin spread of raspberry pastry cream lightened with whipped cream, bruleed on top, and served with fresh berries and lemon curd. For a first time and for something off the beaten path (you know I'm a chocolate girl), this cake was to die for. I saw it on an episode of "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" on the food network and knew I could come pretty close to replicating it. Crispy sugary top, creamy and crepe-y layers, hints of raspberry and lemon, oh heaven.

Action shot:

I've gotta get a brulee torch that means business. I made two of these cakes for the number of guests we had, and by the time I was done burning all the sugar, my hands HURT. That button you have to press the whole time is a doozy. And it was a good thing I brought extra butane.

You can't see it in this shot, but my first two fingers on my right hand are bandaged up from slicing them open on my fancy mandoline for the bell pepper slaw. Word to the wise - when the instructions say to use the safety thinger dinger, use it. I bled all over Annee's kitchen.

Guest of honor:

Ha! Nice placement of the crib mattress, Syphus. Gee whiz. Anyway, Melissa looked radiant her whole pregnancy and since I take forever to get blog posts up these days, her baby is now two months old. I know, I'm so embarrassed.

Creation: Crocheted Owl Pillow

2011-11-27T18:45:00.000-08:00

One of my high school friends just happened to move right into my ward here in NC. Since we were in high school together, she has traveled and lived around the world and has turned into quite the seamstress, hostess, decorator, organizer, and I could go on. We've gone to so many of the same functions, and I've noticed she's given a handmade something-or-other to every person. Coming from someone who's trying to convert from giving just diapers and boobie pads (and let's be honest, those are necessary), I've been amazed.

So I noticed she's gotten into owls lately, and she loves making pillows, so I found a pattern on Joann's site and went from 20 pieces to this:

I dropped it off at her house while she was doing an 18 mile run.ON her birthday! Gee, not feeling inadequate at all. Anyway, she's fabulous, talented, and totally humble about it. Happy Birthday Annee!

Here's a link to her blog: Made on Maple

Creation: Crocheted Newsie Cap

2011-11-27T18:23:00.000-08:00

My friend had her baby and named him Hank. Come on - I HAD to make this kind of cap:

I thought it was so teensy, but I took it over there and his little head was swimming in it. However, it's been a few months and his head is just about big enough for these cold months. He's a stylin' little kid.

On the cooling rack: Birthday cake

2011-11-06T20:57:00.000-08:00

I've seen a few ice cream brands come out with a "birthday cake" flavor that's always some sweet cream cake batter vanilla tasting thing with gaudy-colored sprinkles and chalky chunks of Crisco frosting. Excuse me while I barf. This is my version of a birthday cake:

Four layers of chocolate cake layered with fresh raspberry filling and topped with chocolate buttercream and a semisweet chocolate ganache. This thing was TALL - about 9" - and oh so good. The different languages were a nod to uncles' and grandpa's mission locations. I didn't have my usual baking tools since this was at my sister-in-law's house, so please excuse the white chocolate writing that looked a little sad. Dean, the birthday boy, didn't seem to mind.

Grandma couldn't take it anymore:

Okay, okay, I'll clean him up...

Creation: Crocheted Baby Blanket

2011-11-06T20:41:00.000-08:00

I really need to take more pictures of the stuff I make, and I should do that before I give them away. I actually did remember to throw this on the bed before folding it up to give to one of my best friends for her 4th baby. I was pretty proud of it. I found the main pattern in a generic stitch book, but made it nice and big (don't you hate baby blankets that are too small? Maybe I'm tainted because my babies are too big...) and then finished it with a border of my own design. Don't ask me what the pattern is. I made this back in June and can't remember for the life of me how I did it.

Anyway, my friend has since had her baby girl and she named her Brooke Allison. I still can't get over it.

A Scalpel Saved Our Marriage

2011-11-06T20:00:00.000-08:00

I know it's been a while. We've been up to a lot. Some of which is explained below.

Ah, weddings. You plan and plan, and for a while you seem to know more about mail-order napkins than your fiance's favorite color. The big day comes and hopefully it's filled with family, happiness, music, good wishes, and shaking your butt to "Whatta Man" at your wedding reception.

On to the honeymoon, perhaps to some place you've never been before, and the first night you're sleeping together (and, ahem, actually sleeping) you start to notice little things about the other person's night habits. The one thing I noticed during that time was that my shiny new spouse had issues with sleeping. Meh, no matter. We were in love and snuggly and starting a new life together, right? Nothing was going to disrupt our honeymoon phase that was destined to last until the Second Coming. Except that every subsequent night I began to wonder how long this earth life was actually going to last because Ted sounded like he was about to die multiple deaths.

I very sweetly mentioned this issue to him a few times, but he dismissed it. His reasoning was that if no one (parents, roommates, mission companions, Salma Hayek) had ever told him before that he was holding his breath and gagging during the night, it must not be true and I must be imagining things. Yes, this was MY problem, people.

Until I got pregnant. Then it was the world's problem. I got more and more frustrated about my lack of sleep in the first place, then combined with not being able to go back to sleep because of a certain spouse's snoring, and don't get me started on when baby #1 and then baby #2 actually got here and let's just say buh-bye to sleep altogether. I finally convinced him at one point to just "get checked out" and to his credit, he did, and he didn't even grumble about it. He had to spend the night at a sleep center hooked up to all sorts of who-knows-what, and the diagnosis: normal people's brains "wake up" about 5x per hour. Not a full wake-up, just normal patterns as your brain goes through its sleeping cycles. Ted's brain was waking up 36 times. Per hour. That's waking up more than once every other minute!! Basically, it was one of the worst cases of sleep apnea they'd ever seen. So they prescribed a CPAP. It was heaven for me, hell for him. He'd rip it off subconsciously in the middle of the night, so we were back to the same ol' antics and square one.

It was so bad during pregnancy #2 and post-baby #2 that Ted just took to sleeping in our guest bed every night. Despite the feeling that we were roommates and not lovers (kinky), it worked wonders with catching up on sleep. I got a full night (well, once Dean started sleeping through the night, which didn't happen until a few months ago) and he didn't wake up worrying if I was starting my day off ticked because I hadn't gotten enough winks.

Time to try something else.

A few months ago Ted went in for a consultation about his tonsils. They were massive. He was scheduled for a tonsillectomy on Sept 8, so my very pregnant friend came to babysit while I went to the hospital with Ted. The surgery went fine, but the recovery was awful for him. I had to do some major stocking up on ice cream. He winced over every bite. The doctor said it was going to "hurt like hell", and he wasn't kidding. Ted just plain ol' didn't want to bother eating because it hurt so bad, so he lost 10 pounds. I think I found them.

A month later, we went on a little weekend trip to the Outer Banks, a popular NC vacation spot and one of the points of interest for Hurricane Irene back in August (the 27th to be exact. I remember because I helped throw a baby shower that day -oh, for that very pregnant friend mentioned above- and my hair was a mess). So there we were, glowing in the aftermath of a BYU win over the Utah State Aggies - still trying to figure out how they did it - and I realized I hadn't heard Ted snore once the night before. See, we hadn't been sleeping in the same bed for months, more than a year, actually, so I'd forgotten about the various noises. Before I said anything, though, and jinxed it, I thought I'd sleep through another night. Same result. Could it be????

Fast forward to a couple weeks ago, which was also a couple weeks after this little trip. Dean, the worst sleeping child we've ever had, was up to his same old tricks and it was driving us batty, so Ted took matters into his own hands and just stuck him in the office/sewing/guest room, no discussion, to just let him cry and reduce our frustration. Which means Ted had nowhere to sleep except....our bed.

And I'm happy to report that the only thing that bothers me now is how small a queen is when there's another body in it. But no noises - no gagging, no breath-holding, no choking, not even a snore. Just nice, even, deeeeeep sleep breathing.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Thank you a million times over, Dr Snip-its at Duke Hospital. You have no idea what you've done for us.

Oh, I forgot to mention that the main reason his tonsils were massive in the first place was because when we were engaged, he um, contracted mono from me. What can I say? I'm a giver.

Gotta Have It!

2011-09-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

I was scanning this week's North Carolina grocery store ad, and there's a section called "Everyday Essentials." First of all, I get a kick out of the fact that Kingsford Charcoal (for all that NC BBQ) and cartons of Marlboro cigarettes are advertised in that section. I guess if you're addicted to nicotine, yes, those are essential. But charcoal? Really? An "Everyday" essential?? Do people grill every day? Or even every week? I'm happy if I just get grilled food once a season...

But then, in the same section, these were advertised:

Don't believe me?

Every. Day.

According to my mom, these are "vitamins", so of course we'd need to take a few of them daily, right?

Success!

2011-08-17T22:40:00.000-07:00

Here's the face of a man who is starting the 26th grade with a great job offer from a great law firm in Salt Lake City.

Congratulations, babycakes. You've earned high marks.

Tessa is pretty sure that translates into more candy for her.

Happy Easter 2011

2011-05-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

This Easter was graced with flamingos instead of baby chicks. Easiest dress ever to make (and wear). The hairpiece is handmade, but was outsourced.

There was a swarm/herd/cache/litter/gaggle/den/covey/army/colony/flock/school/rabble/company of caterpillars that the girls could NOT keep their little paws away from. Poor critters. Notice Tessa's bare feet? We bought a new pair of shoes (sandals) a size bigger than she normally wears to accommodate her "tall" foot problem and the girl made it to the car, but not out of it. So she went through all of church with no shoes. Lucky girl.

It was such a lovely day, full of the things that Easter should be full of: music, hallelujahs, gratitude, and lemon cupcakes with phyllo nests and Cadbury eggs. Hope yours was grand as well!

Late Night Boy Toy

2011-05-01T21:38:00.000-07:00

No, not THAT kind of boy toy.. perverts. I made this little monster toy for a shower a while back, and it all happened so fast I forgot to post it. The basketball in the monster's hand is NOT some sort of applique gimmick that places like Carter's and Circo insist on employing. Both parents are legitimately awesome basketball players, and the dad just graduated from UNC. You like how I slipped Duke Blue in there? heh. heh.

This is unfortunately the only picture I took of the Little Monster. Like I said, it happened pretty quickly and I finished it in the wee hours of the morning. Not exactly prime photo-op time. So I'm sad you can't see it, but my favorite part of this little guy is that snaggletooth. I did a satin stitch into a long triangle, but I don't have a fancy machine, so while I was holding the fabric with one hand, I had to perfectly move my stitch width selector with the other. I was sweating legitimate bullets as the rest of the face had already been embroidered and satin-stitched. But it came out perfect. Yay for me. Oh yeah, and yay for little C. He must have been a tiny little runt, because in that picture, Mom is 38 weeks pregnant. Some people!

"Just something I whipped up"

2011-05-01T21:02:00.000-07:00

Yeah right. This dress took me 2 1/2 tries. I love the outcome, however. I had to make the sleeve ruffles a little wider since my daughter's arms are, well, a little wider and I wasn't adding the long sleeves that go right underneath.

Thanks to The Train to Crazy for making the pattern free, thanks to Annee for hosting sewing soirees at her house so that when I screw up (and I've done it every time) there are people to sympathize and encourage me to fix it instead of scrapping it and throwing up my arms in angst, and thanks to Tessa for making it cute.

I have so much to learn, but thankfully, my kid's not picky (yet). Though more often than not these days, I'll be getting ready to put clothes on her and she'll say, "Dress?" I'll respond, "You want to wear a dress?" and in a voice that sounds consigned to a mediocre fate, she'll answer, "okaaay...." It just occurred to me that she's probably saying "dress" the verb and not "dress" the noun. Duh!

He gets it from me

2011-04-13T20:06:00.000-07:00

I took a bunch of pictures in a row of Dean while he was sitting on Daddy's lap, and after uploading them, I almost trashed this one until I remembered one I took of myself on a definite "bed head" morning. The poor kid never had any hope. He even got my double chin!! hahahahaha

On the cooling rack: Chocolate Peanut Butter Cake

2011-03-21T10:21:00.000-07:00

We had a celebration at church last week. I signed up to make a cake, thinking I'd just do something I always do. But then I was flipping through a library book and saw a cake with piped henna on it, and wanted to do something similar, though my piping skills are minimal at best. Like, I know how to put a parchment cone together and squeeze frosting out of it.

After a lot of time and a LOT of swearing, this was the result:

Not perfect, but a good jumping off point. The best part was the taste. Oh heavens....devilishly good. Four layers of dense chocolate cake with peanut butter and milk chocolate chips, filled with creamy peanut butter straight up, then frosted with my favorite semisweet chocolate buttercream, and the piped peacock is in a whipped peanut butter frosting.

Pass the milk, please.

Creation: Bellbottom Pants

2011-03-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

We've been getting groovy over here. Remember that story I told long ago about choosing pajama pants as my first ever sewing project, having them turn out completely unwearable, throwing them out, then being intimidated by sewing machines for years?

Well, I'm back.

I have conquered my nemesis, thanks to Dana's tutorial. I'll have to tweak a couple things here and there next time, but overall, I love the outcome. I'll let you judge for yourselves.

I'm most proud of the perfect lining up of the fabric pattern. It's 100% polyester, baby. Dreamy to work with, and screaming to be made into granny style bellbottoms. She looks adorable in them.

Yeah, baby, YEAH!!

Big Girl/Little Girl Birthday Tea Party

2011-02-18T14:18:00.000-08:00

I've been building up for this one. Years ago I started a teacup and saucer collection. Thanks to ebay and Anthropologie, it got big enough to host a full party.

Well, it wasn't a full party, as in "number of guests". A full party for me constitutes attendance in the dozens. :) This wasn't that kind of party. We could only fit so many people at the big girl table, and only 4 at the little girl table, so what we lacked in numbers, we made up for in decorations and food.

Tessa turned 2 last week, and I turned....into an old hag. Time to celebrate!

My friend Melissa was at our house (as she often is, bless her soul) when I pulled the teacup boxes out of storage to show off and clean up for the day. She helped me unwrap them and I think I heard her exclaim more than once how it felt like Christmas morning. I told her my plan and she immediately asked if she could decorate. Since I have absolutely no talent in that arena, I gave her full discretion. So she turned our living room into a dainty little wonderland.

We were particularly fond of the party favors for the little girls. M&Ms and felt cupcake stickers with monogrammed notepads? Come on.... The big girl favors were even tastier though - homemade toffee (recipe and photos coming!) bagged and sealed with a shabby chic fridge magnet.

The food:

Chocolate cinnamon tea cakes
To-die-for (seriously) lemon bars (or triangles, in this case)

Chocolate-dipped animal crackers with peppermint
Chocolate almond mousse balls
Masala naan with garlic hummus
Cucumber lemon water (it's so refreshing! try it!) for those who didn't prefer tea

Fruit and cream puff kebabs with caramel sauce
Blueberry bran muffins with lemon curd (I had to try to be healthy somewhere)

Curry and garlic chicken salad in mini croissants
Wheat rounds with pesto, tomato and parmesan
Individual baked pepper jack and cheddar macaroni and cheese
Bittersweet chocolate torte with chocolate ganache and raspberry sauce

Yes, there was a lot of chocolate, but I didn't hear anyone complaining.

I see the notepads were a big hit.

And the birthday girl looked smashing in her ruffles and pearls.

Recently I reunited with an old friend from high school. She moved right into our ward, we saw each other on their first Sunday here, and we promptly freaked out. We've been in every made-up club together ever since. She and her twin girls came, and gave this sweet little dress to Tessa:

I don't have a decent picture of the adorable zippered (with an inside pocket!) clutch she made for me (which happily contained....more chocolate), but I've already used it. And I have two kids in diapers, so small bags aren't my thing currently. But it's awesome.

Happy Birthday to us! And thanks so much to Melissa for making two girls' dreams come true!

Valentine's Day 2011

2011-02-14T21:46:00.001-08:00

Ted was very sentimental in his annual Valentine's card to me. He was sweet in his words and his gift-giving, watching me unwrap things I absolutely wanted (a candy mold! Barefoot Contessa's newest cookbook! An etsy crochet pattern!), and I gave him fabulous food in his belly (can't argue with Chicken & Dumplings and a Bittersweet Chocolate Torte), a gorgeous new orchid plant, and these:

Can I be any more direct?

I know my mother-in-law reads this blog, but I'm okay with it. Becky, if you don't know me by now...

Crippling Weaknesses

2011-02-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

I think one of my first ever blog posts had this same title, where I touted the many attributes of Diet Coke, Peanut M&Ms, and bacon. While I still swoon at the thought of any of those three things (though Diet Cherry Pepsi has eked out to first place in the artificially sweetened carbonated caffeinated beverage category), it's time to get a little more serious and pay tribute to things that can love me back.

Over Christmas, Ted and I tried hard to get together with the two men you see pictured below. For good reason. Jamal (name has been changed) and Adler (name has not been changed, but also goes by "Uncle Ads") became our go-to Settlers companions because they are as addicted to it as we are.

Let me back up. Settlers of Catan, particularly the Cities & Knights version, is how Ted and I got back together after a messy breakup and period of silence. Our first game we played with two other guys was quite awkward, but we all loved to just play, so we kept getting together. Then Ted and I had to sit next to each other because we were the only people laughing at each other's dumb (read: racial and/or inappropriate) jokes. Then we became good friends. Then lovers...

Wait. This isn't a Valentine's post. Sheesh.

Anyway, we played with all sorts of people, including other married people - some with kids, some without. We loved that, but one couple moved away, and then the other, but the wife of that couple didn't love it the way the rest of us did anyway. So we started placing an ad in the classifieds* for people who had a sickness and therefore had to play at the very least, once a week (hopefully more). We found them. And it turns out Uncle Ads worked with Ted and Jamal bakes incredible cookies, so it was a win-win-win-win. We had Dinner & Settlers often, sometimes twice a week. I referred to my husband and the two single awesome guys as "my boys", and cooked accordingly. We ate well, we played lots, and the nights were filled with loads of laughter and some of the best intellectual and thought-provoking conversations of my life. These guys are A-1 in my book.

Then we moved. And God found it in His infinite mercy to bless us with people here who are as addicted as we are. Don't think I don't thank Him in my prayers for that.

I flew back to CA a few months later to visit and help my mom pack up for her move. Visiting "my boys" was high on my priority list, so we cooked up a pound of bacon and had a jolly ol' time, though we missed Ted for that game.

To reprise our gaming over Christmas was its own gift. Jamal just got married last October to a fabulous girl, so I spent 90% of the game time engaged in conversation with her and was happy to feel like we all fit together well. And I still managed to win. Neener.

When Jamal was single, I loved going to his apartment because he was the ultimate bachelor. Maybe I shouldn't say "ultimate". He didn't have a "man cave" and his place was clean and hobbit-feet-smelling-free. But the reason I use the word "ultimate" is because of his kitchen, particularly his fridge. It's no secret I love my M&MS (peanut), and in this, Jamal is my soulmate. One night, while Ted and I were there, he ushered me into his kitchen, prepped me for the opening of his fridge door, and watched my reaction once my eyes beheld its contents: not just M&Ms, but Snickers and Reese's and sodas and Grasshopper cookies and chocolate chips for his awesome cookies and more and more. Then he opened his freezer: tiny cups of Haagen Dazs in all flavors and Haagen Dazs bars and more chocolate chips and Ben & Jerry's and and and and ohhhhhh. I made an audible gasp while he grinned at me and briefly considered breaking off my engagement to Ted and throwing myself at this man's feet. He is a sweets FIEND.

Naturally, while at their house over the holidays, I stole into his kitchen to look into his fridge to see if getting married had changed his ways. I saw milk. And cheese. And vegetables. And a couple containers with leftovers. And some chicken or something. What the hell? I expressed my disappointment, but then his lovely (and skinny, which I can't understand given the state of things) wife opened their cupboard and I saw THIS.

You can't see the pillar of light that was shining upon it because my flash was on, but it was certainly there. Look at that thing! A stack of Kit-Kats. Literal BAGS - a pound each - of chocolate-covered peanuts, almonds, cashews, pecans. Gummi rings. Gummi worms. Yogurt raisins and pretzels. Lindt truffles. M&Ms, of course. Licorice, mints, candy bars, oh my! I had to ask his wife, "Did you marry Willy Wonka??"

There you have it. Three more crippling weaknesses. Settlers, my boys, and candy. Yes, chocolate DOES love me back. It loves me on my buns, my boobs, my thighs... It loves me all over.

*I wasn't quite that desperate, but I wouldn't put it past me.

Flosstrophobic

2011-02-01T21:44:00.000-08:00

You know that person who can eat whatever, brush whenever, floss never, yet every dentist visit yields the same phrase: "no cavities here!"? I've never been that person.

Until today!

About a year ago, I went in with a major toothache that ended up in a root canal. Plus 8 cavities. EIGHT. I was a twice-daily brusher, occasionally more often than that. I flossed seldom, but I was very good with my fingernails. I couldn't believe it - who gets eight cavities between dentist visits?? While the hygienist was scraping away, she asked about my flossing habits. I sheepishly admitted I didn't floss as much as I should. I could tell it was a common tale for her to hear - it didn't even phase her. But to cover her bases, she gave me a line she probably gives everyone who comes in with bleeding gums and missing teeth (no, I'm not at that stage). She said, "The more you do at home, the less we have to do here, and it's cheaper."

Cheaper??!? Well, why didn't you SAY SO??? No one had ever put it into bargain terms for me before, and Frugalese is a language I speak. From that day I decided I was going to floss daily. It's taken me how long to get that conviction? You'd think from all the nasty pictures and real-life ugly mouths I've seen, I'd be scared into the best dental hygiene possible, but it's easy to get lazy.

Today marks the second time that I've gone in for a cleaning and 1) the hygienist had very little to scrape, and 2) the dentist looked at x-rays, poked around in my mouth and said, "no cavities here!" It made me feel like this:

So if you're someone who dreads the dentist because you'll need two hands to count the number of cavities you'll have, come and join me on my bandwagon. I've been playing a different and awesome tune.

Northern Exposure

2011-01-29T21:44:00.000-08:00

The Monday after we arrived in Utah for the Christmas holidays, 16 inches of snow plummeted to the ground. It was Dean's first experience with so much white stuff, so I bundled him up and turned him into my kind of snow angel.

He had a gay ol' time, though I worried about his cold tolerance. I shouldn't have - once I got him back inside and undressed, I realized he was sweating up a storm in that thing. I need one in my size.

Best Early Birthday Present EVER

2011-01-28T11:43:00.000-08:00

I got a message on my phone weeks ago from someone I didn't know but whose area code was unmistakably from Utah. She said I was to reserve a particular weekend in January to stay in town, prepare our guest room, and don't ask questions. I was perplexed, intrigued. But with planning to leave for Christmas and everything that went with that, it slipped my mind. I figured that with no more notice or clues, it probably wouldn't end up being anything.

I think I mentioned it to Ted during our 3 weeks in Utah, but I'm not sure.

Sleep deprivation does many awful things to one's brain and body.

Then after we were back, I got a letter with no return address, postmarked Salt Lake City. In it was the same instruction, all typed out.

So mysterious!!!

As the day approached (and I told the news to Ted), we tried to figure out just who it could be. It had to be someone who knows I love (LOVE) surprises, but who would also have the gall to just tell me to be ready for, well, any ol' shmo.

But shmoes they were not! At the stroke of midnight Thursday night, there was a knock on my door and I opened it to behold....

THIS TRIO!!

I didn't get a picture of their arrival because I was too busy picking up my jaw off the floor. My bestest college friends all left their husbands and multiple children with babysitters and carpools and pre-made meals so they could hop on a couple of planes and fly all day to see me. I'm still shocked over it all.

Like all bestest college friends, we didn't have to do much to have a grand weekend. We ordered pizza, watched The Notebook, played Speed Scrabble and Mexican Train, made deep-dish cookies and grilled cheese sandwiches. And we laughed and laughed and laughed!

Amid the cacophony, we did manage to get out of the house for a little sightseeing, hence the Duke Chapel in the background and the grand doors below. There was someone practicing a most incredible organ in the Chapel while we were there, and Shannon, a rather fab organist herself, was in heaven. I, however, was in heaven the whole weekend and still haven't been brought down.

Shan, Val, Ker-dog, thank you so much for your many sacrifices to fly across the country to grant me a most fabulous few days. I heart you guys!

Long Overdue

2010-12-12T22:01:00.000-08:00

My fabulous friend Ashley, who just made her photography business official, spent the day at our house so she could take photos of Dean, who was 16 days old at the time. She would have come over when he was even younger, except that she was in Europe for 3 weeks and just couldn't get away. Brat.

Anyway, her photos are fantastic. I should have posted these long ago, but dragging eyeballs (and various other body parts) and spotty brain function have hindered me. We would have made one of them our Christmas card this year, except he looks sooooo different now. Lots more fat.

Without further ado, here's our latest masterpiece.

This next one was a result of us trying to get him to smile. Babies that young don't usually smile unless they're gassy, but Dean had smiled in his sleep several times, especially when tickled on his cheek. So we were tickling, tickling, cooing, etc, but only got this:

But eventually he came around:

This next one is one of my favorites. I crocheted a swirly scarf the night before because I had this image in my mind, but on the day of, the scarf didn't look right, Dean wasn't cooperating, and that poor cake stand was mighty chilly on a newborn despite the space heater that was causing me to sweat through everything on my end. But thanks to Ashley's ingenuity and a little help from Photoshop, she pulled this off:

That one was for me, and this was for Ted:

We'll see which parent he'll take after more. Then we can say he always had it in him, and just hide the other picture. :)

And I love this one. She called it "Little details."

Thanks so much, Ashley. I know he was a bit of a stinker for you (at one point, quite literally), but you made magic, once again.

I'm too olde for finals

2010-12-10T21:19:00.000-08:00

I'm in the middle of finals, and I'm too old for them. Tests are really something that should be in my rear view mirror, but I'm a glutton for punishment, or I'm addicted to school . . . or whatever. It will make the holidays all the more enjoyable though once they're done. At least law school isn't like my high school where we'd get homework over the break . . . what kind of "holiday" is that? I'm a little anxious to see how the flying-home-for-Christmas is going to be with a 22-month old and a 4-month old. We'll just keep our fingers crossed that Tessa doesn't set anything off in the millimeter wave scanner. This trip just might reveal how old I really am.

Creation: Stitched 'Scream

2010-12-10T08:42:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine recently had an adorable baby girl. She requested no gifts at her restaurant baby shower because this was her third baby and second girl, but come on - even third children need a few new things, right? As a 6th child, I understand how annoying hand-me-downs can get (esp when they're from one's brothers), so along with a little outfit (bought, not made - I'm not that good yet) I crocheted a toy ice cream cone. It's got little jingle bells in there for extra fun.

I used the pattern from this book but added the picot stitch around the bottom of the ice cream so it looked more like a scoop.

Welcome to the world, Lucy! You've got a rad family who will take you for real 'scream when you're old enough!

Creation: Hair clips

2010-12-09T19:00:00.000-08:00

In preparation for a friend's craft fair, I made these to sell. Y'know, in my spare time. I'm pretty awesome like that.

"But Allison, if you're so awesome, how come you haven't blogged in forever?"

Because, dear friends, I like to spread my awesomeness around. Blogging awesomeness will be forthcoming.

If you're wondering if the goldfish are puffy, the answer is yes. I wanted them as close to the cracker as possible, so I stuffed them. I made the prototype for Tess a while back and let's just say she's tried to eat it on more than one occasion. That's not saying much, but I'm taking it as a win.

And now my awesome boobs have to tend to my awesome baby.

huge family concern

2010-11-23T08:54:00.000-08:00

I made breakfast burritos this morning. They were quite good, if I do say so myself. Tessa and I were eating happily, and I had set aside Ted's for when he got done getting ready. We recently discussed how he had become a little bit burnt out on cold cereal every morning, so I figured he'd be pretty excited to have something different.

He came downstairs and saw what I was eating. He hesitated, then said, "I'm fasting today..."

I paused mid-bite to wait for the reason, admiring his tenacity when eggy, meaty, cheesy goodness was right in front of him. In all seriousness he continued,

"...that Bristol Palin doesn't win Dancing with the Stars."

Do you think we're perhaps a bit too invested? Nah....

On the cooling rack: Apricot Window Cookies

2010-11-22T13:23:00.000-08:00

I've been on a kick lately of borrowing cookbooks from the library. It's a win-win. They're free (if you return them on time, ahem), you get only the recipes you want without cluttering up your kitchen, you can preview it before committing to buy, and it gives you the chance of trying something you normally might not.

These came from Martha Stewart's Cookies cookbook. I tried SEVERAL recipes in that book, but I think Ted was getting tired of every single one of them containing chocolate. What can I say? It's not a real dessert unless it has chocolate.

So he took over the book and made these apricot windows because he likes fruity things.. heh.. They were perfectly made - crumbly shortbread-type crust paired with just the right amount of apricot preserves melted right on top and the meticulous piping job. (Scientists make the best bakers, I'm telling you) However, there was no chocolate, so I ended up enjoying them for breakfast with milk. mmmmm....

Dancing with the Stars finale.....TONIGHT!!

2010-11-22T13:17:00.000-08:00

Are you an avid watcher this season? I've been. The drama keeps unfolding because

THAT HORRIBLE NON-DANCER PALIN KEEPS MAKING IT THROUGH, WEEK AFTER WEEK.

I've never been so bored watching someone dance before. She has no oomph, no spice, and she confessed in one of her interviews that she didn't even want to do it anymore. I think the American people need to take that into consideration and STOP FREAKIN' VOTING FOR HER. It's gotten out of hand. This is a dance competition, people. That means you vote for the best dancers. I say that, knowing that people who make for good entertainment are going to get through better than others, but Bristol is neither dancing, nor entertaining anyone with her bland facial expressions and forgotten routines. I'll admit she was never painful to watch, like a certain Michael Bolton I won't mention, but I feel for her partner who has to take her to clown classes just to get a smile out of her.

Gag.

If you have been voting for her, please stop. She's hurting my face.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming of cute children and baked goods.

Winner of Brownies

2010-11-22T13:11:00.000-08:00

It's about time I posted a winner for the captionless picture, don't you think?

Maybe it's because the winner knew that's what his daddy does all the time.

Maybe it was the only caption I read while fully awake.

Maybe it's because it was put to the tune of a Primary song that appealed to my naughty-with-the-nice facade nature.

In any case, the winner is clauss house. Congrats! Hopefully you'll share them with your husband and only gain half the poundage! Yay!

To all who participated, thank you. I had a couple of doozy captions myself, one of which was "Dude, those aren't handwarmers", but so many others were possible that I thought it'd be fun to open it up to anyone else. We enjoyed it!

Giveaway! Bragging Rights and Brownies

2010-11-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not one to do giveaways often, but I was trying to come up with a way to get as much input as possible. You know how sometimes you have pictures for which you can think of absolutely no captions? And then you have pictures that could feasibly have, like, 20? This is one of the latter.

So let's have it. Shoot me your best caption for the above (unstaged!) picture, include your email address if I don't have it already, and next Saturday, Nov 13 at 11:59pm (Eastern time), I'll announce the winner according to the one that makes Ted and me laugh the hardest. Here's the bonus: I'll send you a batch of homemade brownies (unless you live in Australia. Sorry).

On a different note, that's the first time I've noticed how long my nose is.

There's $50 I saved

2010-11-02T17:53:00.000-07:00

It's no secret I love Dancing with the Stars. Seriously, it's the best show on TV. Everything about it works, including the fact that both the competition and results shows are live.

There have been some fabulous moments: Mark Ballas' love for Michael Jackson and dancing to his songs whenever possible, Apolo and Julianne's cha-cha to Salt N Pepa's "Push It", Shawn Johnson's freestyle dance, and basically every time Maksim bares his chest. Yum.

Even the results shows are great because they usually pull in cool acts and have the pros dance during the chorus of the song. Hello, pros dancing the paso doble when Def Leppard performed "Pour Some Sugar on Me"! A personal favorite for me was seeing Heart a couple weeks ago, too. If the music is just meh, I can usually count on the dancing being stinkin' awesome.

Tonight, the dancers couldn't redeem the mess that was Taylor Swift.

I get it - multi-platinum Grammy winner, talented songwriter, hot and smokin', blah blah blah. But the girl cannot stay on the same pitch if it's longer than a quarter note. I can't even remember who danced to her song because her voice was so bad. And it didn't look like a fluke - she wasn't sick, the mic was working just fine, her band did everything right.

Guess who won't ever buy a ticket to watch her live?

Halloween '10: Treats

2010-10-31T21:56:00.000-07:00

We went to a few to-dos this season. Here's what I contributed:

Decapitated bears for the Young Women. I spent more time on these than on the lesson. Oops.

Bananas and cream cake for the ward Trunk or Treat's Cake Walk.

And I think this was my favorite: melon brain. I thought of the sign at the last minute and Ted quickly whipped up the sign on some cardstock. Ten points if you know the reference.

Not pictured because I had way too many other things to think about were the yummy mummies. I wrapped two hot dogs in thin strips of pie dough and used two mustard-covered cloves for the eyes of the "Mummy & Daddy", then wrapped a ton of cocktail wienies as their mummy babies. Served with formaldehyde sauce (BBQ mixed with a little deli mustard). Cute. Tasty.

Halloween '10: Costumes

2010-10-31T20:00:00.000-07:00

This year's pumpkin patch: the neighborhood grocery store. Tessa picked us out a fine one.

I stressed myself out this Halloween. In recent past years, I couldn't give a rat's p'tootie for Halloween. As a kid, I dressed up, sure. Went and got myself a load of free candy, you bet. I might have gotten turned off to it, though, during my freshman year in college. I was told everyone on BYU campus dresses up for Halloween. So I went to my History of Civ class all decked out. I should have reported that person to the Honor Code office because HE LIED. The only other person dressed up was the mega-dorky T.A. It was a very awkward Mitch-in-Modern-Family moment. That night, however, I redeemed myself and dressed as Mrs Roper from Three's Company and trick-or-treated in the freshman dorms, and by then, everyone was in costume. I recall that being very fun.

However, since then, I haven't been as into it.

And then I had my first kid, which changed the fun factor as far as dressing up because, c'mon, babies in costume?? Can't deny that adorable-ness. Ted and I played it mellow last year, but for this year, my wheels have been turning since last Feb or March when I went to an out-of-town fabric store with a friend and saw the fabric that was destined to become a disco dress for Tessa. Then the rest of our costumes kinda came together after that. I've been on a family-themed costume kick the last couple years, and I already have a spark of an idea for next. Why do I do this to myself?

The theme was "Disco is dead", though you know I don't believe that. It was just a good theme to pull off, so I went with it. I had it in mind to make all 4 of our costumes but misjudged the speed at which I'm able to sew. Sew.....I only got the kids' costumes done, but I was pleased with how they turned out. Observe.

Tessa displayed our records (B side: Hot Stuff) and Dean was our reflecting disco ball. I danced the night away in an afro wig which I've always wanted to wear, and the "dead" part was Ted as the grim reaper. It was nice to put that PhD robe to use again. And my "costume"....well...consisted of clothes I already own and wear on a normal basis. Does that mean I'm stuck back in the 70s? Oh well.

Dean's disco ball really was a ball. It's squished in the picture because he weighs almost 50 pounds and he couldn't keep it out of his mouth (I found a sequin or two on his chin at various times. You'd think I didn't feed the kid). I found a great tutorial for a soccer ball and just used a different fabric and lined it so it wouldn't get all wonky (the sequin fabric had some stretch to it). I sewed straps and elastic into the seams so it wouldn't come off, then stuck him in his black felted car seat for a better dance floor contrast. Of the four of us, Dean was the biggest hit. No surprise. A 2-month old wearing a shiny disco ball? There was no hope for the rest of us. :)

I worked all week on getting her to do this pose. I don't know if I'm more proud of that or her dress.

It was the first time I made up a pattern, so it's not perfect, but yeah, I'll admit, I was pretty dang excited about that little number.

She was uncharacteristically shy during this video, but you get the idea:

Proof

2010-10-29T19:23:00.000-07:00

Being pregnant is a pretty incredible thing. After the initial excitement, fear, or possible apprehension wears off, even if it took a while to get to that point, lots of women (myself included) tend to move into moments of complaining. Y'know, constant queasiness, loosening joints, back pain, getting your bladder kicked by your fetus. You feel like you have every right to complain, so you do, and then you feel bad for complaining because you realize what a miracle it is that you can grow an entire human being in your body, and that sometimes, for some women, it's not so easy to do. So you stop complaining. For, like, an hour. Then the process starts all over again.

At least that's how pregnancy goes for me. In all of my pregnified experience.

Several times during the nine (plus) months I also start to wonder about our little offspring's character and personality. Will s/he be mellow and pleasant, spawn of Satan, or something in between? What about sports? Music? Gardening? Chocolate or vanilla? Boxers or briefs? As a former student and subsequent teacher of biology, I'm well aware that the gene recombination combinations are limitless, so I find pleasure in all the speculation permutations. The thought of this little person possibly ending up with some of my better traits is pretty exciting. The thought of him/her ending up with my not-so-good ones (I have fears of Tessa trying to outdo her mom with how many guys she makes out with) conversely scares the pants off me. Either way, as kids grow up, they begin to show little glimpses of what their parents gave them.

Recently, there have been a couple of instances that have evidenced my children and I have come from the same gene pool.

First, Tessa. She is sooo affectionate and playful now. She loves to grab a book and come sit on one of our laps to have us read it. She entertains herself easily with a toy or puzzle, and loves the almost daily dance parties we have in our living room. And she has learned a lot of new words. The important ones. One afternoon, we were playing on the floor while dinner was finishing cooking. Tessa was happy as a clam, giggling and playing with us, sitting in between the two of us with a favorite toy in her hands. I asked, "Tessa, do you want to eat?" She immediately dropped the toy, dropped her smile, and got up on her feet and headed to the kitchen without a word. Except that once she got to her high chair, she turned around and repeated, "EEE!" (Eat.) That is one single-minded 20-month old.

Next up, Dean. A while ago, Ted and I watched that "Happiest Baby on the Block" DVD about the 5 S's, which ended up being pretty helpful, but the way it was presented made us giggle in some spots. The pediatrician who came up with all the hoo-ha on the DVD called the first few months of the baby's life "essentially the fourth trimester" because there are so many adjustments a newborn has to go through, and while s/he is figuring out this crazy new body, Mom and Dad are trying to figure out the baby figuring himself out.

Dean totally fit into this description. He is still kind of in this stage. A month or so ago, he was crying and squirming and getting mad no matter what position I put him in, no matter if he was eating from bottle or boob, no matter if he was being swaddled or swung or sound-machined. The fussing went on for half an hour with no relief for him or me. And then. His butt exploded. His body completely relaxed, but the best part was that his head rolled back and he had a HUGE smile on his face. I witnessed my first infant poophoria. And I gotta say, I've had that feeling he was feeling soooooo many times.

Yup. Those are my kids. I love them.

5/12ths of the way through

2010-10-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

Now that Ted's almost halfway through this semester, I thought I'd post the 2010 version of the first day of school. Dean's very proud of his daddy, and has the outfit to prove it. Our own blue devil's threads came in the mail courtesy of Christy, who refashioned it from her husband's pre-loved t-shirt. Apparently, she's had the shirt in her stash for years, waiting for the perfect project for it, then along came our mutual friend's tutorial on making a newborn gown from a t-shirt, and then her absolute best friend in the whole wide world (moi) makes a move to NC because her husband chose Duke. Then they had another baby. It was like the stars aligned. I put him in this gown constantly. I loves.

And here's the 2009 version of the absolute First day of law school, which I don't think I ever got around to posting last year.

We were still homesick, hence the Caltech gear. Also, we're not on the same page as many Southerners here, who have half their closets full of North Carolina college gear the second their lease is signed. It's nuts.

For next year's first day of school, there will not be an additional child. But perhaps we can have both our current ones in the same photo. I forget there was a time when there was only ONE roll in Tessa's thighs.

On the cooling rack: Banana Bundts with Maple Cream Cheese Icing

2010-09-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

I have complained a few times over the last year that we never have bananas ripe enough for me to make banana bread. There are three solid-food-eaters under this roof, and all three of us eat a banana almost every day. Sometimes I share a banana with Tessa in hopes that the banana spared will turn a lovely shade of spotted so I can make a smoothie or a loaf of bread with it. But then it gets eaten. Grrr!

But this week, my friends, this was it. Ted was gone in San Diego for two and a half days, and during that time, I stayed at a friend's house with Tessa and Dean. And our half dozen bananas that were ripe when we left got...riper. Ted had to leave for another trip to DC for two days, and I fed Tessa a pear instead of a banana for breakfast.

HENCE!

Banana baked goodies, here I come!

In searching for my loaf pans, I came across the mini bundt pans we registered and got for our wedding. I'm trying to remember if I've used them yet. My mind flashed back to one of the greatest desserts I've had at Corner Bakery - their Banana Bundt Cake with Maple Icing. It was delish. I figured I have the world's greatest banana bread recipe (courtesy of a recipe my mom created decades ago), so why not turn it into a bundt and throw some maple icing on it? Why not, indeed! So I'm here to share.

Banana Bundt Cake

1/2 cup shortening
1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup white sugar
2 eggs
1 cup mashed banana (from 2 medium bananas - the blacker, the better [like my men {that was for you, Chris}])
1 1/4 cup flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 350. Grease six mini bundt pans. I use spray to get into all the nooks (and crannies). Also, if you only have four pans, like I do, you can also spray a mini loaf pan.

Cream together shortening and sugars. Add eggs and beat. Add banana and beat to combine. Sift together flour, soda, and salt. Add to batter. Spoon batter carefully into bundt pans about 2/3 full. DO NOT OVERFILL.

Bake 15-20 min or until toothpick comes out with moist crumbs on it. Let cool in pans 10 min or so, then invert onto a cooling rack to cool completely.

Cream Cheese Frosting

This is my go-to cream cheese frosting. I would halve it for the above recipe, then just add maple flavoring (which is already a lovely shade of brown) to it.
1 stick butter
1 8oz pkg cream cheese
1 tsp vanilla
dash salt
3-4 cups powdered sugar
Maple flavoring (optional)
Chopped pecans, toasted (optional)

Beat together butter and cream cheese until fluffy. Add vanilla and salt, beat again. Add powdered sugar one cup at a time.

If using this as a maple icing, the consistency is perfect if you zap it in the micro for a few seconds, stir in a little imitation maple flavoring, and drizzle away. If you're feeling randy (always, thank you), chop up a few pecans and toast in a nonstick skillet over med-low heat for a few minutes and garnish while the icing is still wet.

Eat, and moan.

One month old

2010-09-17T18:45:00.000-07:00

Cute little bugger, I humbly opine.

Family outing: Mapleview Farms

2010-09-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

We ventured about 15 miles from our house to indulge in some fabulous ice cream out in the bonafide countryside, made on site from North Carolinian cows. The dairy farm has a quaint country store where you can turn in your empty glass milk bottles and pick up more of their fresh, creamy milk. I hear tell their skim tastes like whole, but who gives a crap about milk when there's small-batch-produced ice cream to be had?

I introduced my mom to the many wonders while she was here. She got coconut, I got banana pudding. I know what you're thinking: "But there's no chocolate in banana pudding ice cream, dummy!" I realize this, and to that rude affront, I reply that to balance out my diet, I occasionally dabble in non-chocolate dessert items and still manage to find them quite delicious. Besides, one of life's greatest pleasures is a fresh banana milkshake, so I figured my flavor choice wouldn't stray too far from the mark. I was totally right, as usual.

The other thing I love about this place is the porch they provide, on which to enjoy said fab s'cream. There are no less than 20 rockers, all lined up. So feasibly I could invite my whole family and only half of them would have to sit on the floor. tee hee.

Last year, I came with Tessa shortly after our NC arrival and got this shot:

I decided to reprise the staging, so here's the 2010 version:

And since it looks like we started a tradition, here's Dean's first (he couldn't sit up well enough in the chair yet, so Grandma's helping him out 'til he can get more starch in him):

Now there's one dessert who's even MORE tasty than chocolate. Big servings of him are TOTALLY on my diet.

Creation: Dress for Tess

2010-09-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, my friend Melanie and I were discussing all our shortcomings in the sewing department. We each have a sewing machine, lots of desire, very little time, and several half-begun projects. It was a few days before she left NC for good (her husband recently graduated from Duke Law) and we were making our attempts to prolong the inevitable goodbyes.

So on that Friday night, I promised to her that I would finish this dress I'd started back in January. I had been scared of it because I was working with a stretchy fabric, a non-stretchy lining (and I've NEVER done lining before, of any kind), and the fluffy ball trim that kept getting caught in places where I didn't want it (isn't that always the case?). But Sunday would be the last day I'd see her. And it was Friday night. So I hunched over my sewing machine a good part of Friday night and Saturday night after Tessa was in bed and just did it. "Hunching over" has a whole new meaning when there's a nine-month pregnant belly to contend with.

Here's the result:

I'm not showing any pictures any closer because there are details I'm not proud of (like the fabric puckering along one side of the zipper in the back). When you're working against a deadline, things have to be sacrificed. Of course, now I see that zipper and just cringe, but I keep telling myself I'm chalking up this dress to a learning experience.

She's my little chocolate covered raspberry in it.

One week old

2010-08-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

When Grandma Kae was here, we were getting a little stir-crazy, so we decided to get ourselves to the fully-in-bloom Duke Gardens near campus. It only took one hour to load up the car with two kids and two adults. The second I opened our front door, I regretted the decision, as I was met with a blast of wet heat. But we had packed and prepared, so off we went.

This was only 10 minutes into the outing, and I was already dripping in all the wrong places. It took longer than I would have liked to get this simple picture. We originally wanted both kids in it, but Tessa was being ridiculous. She knows how to walk, but when she gets onto uneven ground, she freaks out and doesn't want to budge. So in order to get to this point...

... we had to suffer through this.

Enjoying one of the only shady spots in the place. SHADE! I NEED MORE SHADE!!!

And here's one of the main reasons we went. A week after Tessa was born, we went to Huntington Gardens near Pasadena with Ted's brother's family and spent a good part of the day there. (February in Pasadena = MUCH better weather) Ted and I have a series of "foliage shots" that we've posed for in various places, so we thought we'd get Tessa's first foliage shot there that day. So here's Tessa at one week old:

And here's Dean's first foliage shot at one week. What do you think? See a resemblance?

He's here!

2010-08-12T14:01:00.000-07:00

Introducing...

Dean Olin Ririe

born August 9, 2010

9:45 am

9 lbs 12 oz

aka "Fatty"

With a scheduled c-section, there isn't quite as much drama attached to the birth story. No frantic rides to the hospital, no death threats from spouses, no "I was in the middle of saving the whales when my water broke" scenarios. Instead, I woke up early Monday morning, took a shower, drove myself to the hospital, checked myself in, and waited for Ted to arrive. He had taken Tessa to a friend's house while I was getting settled, and other than my veins collapsing every time they tried to put in an IV (I ended up getting stuck 5 times), everything went as planned. My nurses and doctors were absolutely fantastic from beginning to end, Ted was supportive and encouraging, and my mom came the next day with a whole pound of See's candy to speed my recovery.

Ted picked up our daughter a little later to bring her to the hospital because I missed her already. She was quite enamored with the "BEH-beeeee!" and I can only hope it lasts.

One of my first snuggles with the little cub.

When you schedule your own child's birth, you have less of a "nesting instinct" and more of an "impending deadline." The upside to scheduling is you have time to put makeup on for better "after" pictures. The downside is that you get put on morphine (well, it can be considered an upside, too. Let's be honest) which makes your whole body itch for about 24 hours. So after a day of rubbing, scratching, and pulling at my face as if I had a whole-body mosquito bite, I looked more like a typical woman who just gave birth (see photo below. eeks!).

The new "us". Welcome to the family, Dean!

The day before we became four

2010-08-08T19:41:00.000-07:00

It is the eve of (?)'s birth. I felt it was important to document it while I was wearing makeup, for it may be quite a long time before that happens again.

Sure, I can laugh about it now...

2010-08-07T21:36:00.000-07:00

When you visit one particular grocery store about twice a week (lots of ice cream sales lately!), you start to recognize or even strike up conversations with some of the familiar faces. And you begin to learn who's generally friendly and who to steer away from.

I came through one day last week with a moderate-sized grocery load. I'm leaning over the cart unloading the things onto the conveyor belt while Tessa is flirting with whomever is behind us. The checker, a girl who looks like she's maybe in her early 20s (if not younger), is expressionless as she beeps every item across her scanner. She did her requisite "Hey. How are you today" sentence (I won't call it a "question" because it had none of the voice inflection of someone inquisitive, let alone sincere) as she carried on, and completely disregarded my chirpy response (I happened to be in a pretty good mood that day, considering).

But the defining moment was when she held up one of my produce bags containing some beautiful hand-picked greens to her face level and asked, in that same annoyed monotone, "What are these?" Except her version was, "whuddatheez." I half-grinned (which ticked her off even more) and said, "Brussels sprouts", and she let out the most exasperated sigh because that meant she had to look up the number on her sheets of paper. I mean, why doesn't each individual sprout come with a sticker to help out poor people like that!

Then she made some snide comment to the bagger about Cheetos when she saw I was buying some of those, too. Apparently, she hates "stuff with cheese on 'em". And of course I'm an idiot for enjoying those crunchy, neon orange love puffs.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was actually going to be in a public place (the hospital where I'm scheduled to give birth Monday morning), so I spent a little more time looking somewhat presentable, both for myself and for the sake of the nursing staff who will soon be my godsends. Once again, I was in a good mood. I got to have a lengthy phone conversation with my brother on my way to the hospital (for preliminary blood work), I looked relatively cute (which is a stretch to say considering the sheer mammoth of this belly now, AND my doubled chin that doesn't disappear when I hold my head up higher), and I was excited to be getting one step closer to meeting this little boy who has called my womb home for the last 39+ weeks. I called Ted on my way home and mentioned that since Tessa was still napping (he was at home with her), I'd go run to the store real quick for milk and bananas. And all the great cereals were 50% off. I consider it food storage.

Anyway, I see a line that has NO ONE IN IT! Every other line was full because of the 5:00 hour, so I waddle on over to it and start unloading. Then I realize why it's empty. Annoyed Monotone is there, sitting on her duff picking at her nails. I must not be the only one who knows what this means: I'm in for it again.

She's once again expressionless and insincere until I move from behind the scanner thing and she gets a look at my belly. Keep in mind that I thought I looked pretty good for 9 1/2 months pregnant. Her now famous line in our household:

"How many you got in there."

Again, not a real question. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so I tried to cover all my bases.

"I have one at home, and there's just one in here (pointing to belly)."

"Look like you gots twins. Cuz you big."

..................

......................................

Thought process: [Is she joking? Did she really say that to me? Don't females know to never insinuate largeness to other females unless you have a personal vendetta against them? Does she have a personal vendetta against me? How is that possible? I just buy groceries here!]

..........................................

Dash it all. And may God strike your skinny little body to blow up to balloon proportions if you're ever lucky enough to land a man long enough to get you pregnant, you rude little snot.

Fourth Recap

2010-08-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

It's becoming a tradition - Utah for the Fourth. This was our 3rd year in a row that we've made the trip (thank you, Anneli & Glen), and once again, we had a ball.

Two things we can count on every year. One is the ward breakfast for Ted's parents' ward - the one he grew up in. I don't know how long they've been doing it, but "forever" seems to fit the bill. My first year, I played in the band they round up (made up of anyone who's ever played an instrument in their life + their relations) and LaVell Edwards gave a nice tribute to our flag. They raise the flag and the scouts seem to get it caught on a tree every year (this year it got caught AND was upside down - classic), then the Primary sings a song or two out on the grass, we have a prayer, and dig into breakfast while the Young Women sell baked goods for camp. Since lots of people come "home" for the Fourth, it turns out to be quite a reunion, and it's been fun to just hang out and drink chocolate milk with the masses.

This also happens every year: watching the Stadium of Fire (!) fireworks from the Ririe front deck. Last year, P & K hooked us up with tickets to the actual inside of the stadium, so we got to see tweens clutching their bosoms as they sang along with the Jonas Brothers and actually witnessed Glenn Beck shed a tear. Since that never happens, we were so excited to be a part of history.

Planned: lots of booms..

Unplanned: Tessa getting SO excited to see "the baby". It made me hopeful for what is to come.

Planned: Outdoor time with Grandpa Del.

Unplanned: Photo op with the new hat addition to the collection. I think it suits her.

Planned: Spending the actual 4th at my brother's house for a BBQ with 4 of my brothers and their wives and kids. Awesome food, even better company (as in, completely therapeutic).

Unplanned: Not getting a SINGLE PHOTO of the festivities because we were too busy making memories to actually document them. Sigh. Dallin, your wings hold a special place in my heart, and Candacy, Gary, Emily, and Martha, I could have laughed and gossiped with you all night.

Planned: A day up at "The Cabin" in Heber. GORGEOUS day, gorgeous scenery, perfect weather.

Also planned: Bocce ball on Glen's homemade court in the back. Didn't happen because they had way too many other things to do.

Unplanned: (not pictured) Tessa experiencing her first bout of car sickness-induced vomit on the winding road TO The Cabin. Totally threw me a curveball, and it smelled disgusting. Hence the pink shirt with the orange pants. I'm not usually that out of it.

Also unplanned: Me falling twice on the 30-minute hike around the environs. My balance lately has been...not so good.

Planned: A trek to St George to spend a few days with my parents while no one else was there. Tessa got quality time with Grandpa and Grandma K without 23 other grandchildren running around. We visited the Wildlife Museum and were awestruck by all the animals that one man traveled around the world and killed for our amusement.

Also planned: A day of swimming somewhere - we didn't care where. My mom recommended the most incredible pool/mini-Raging-Waters I've ever seen in my life, but in the meantime, we went to this splash pad in the 100+ degree heat.

Unplanned: Tessa being scared of the splashing water. Notice she's at the edge of the dry part. She wouldn't wander in without one of us holding her hand. I didn't mind in the least, but a wet t-shirt contest when one is pregnant takes on a whole new meaning. Thankfully, we were mostly alone.

Planned: Getting used to it, then loving it.

Planned: Tessa's glee at hundreds of apricots from Grandpa's tree at her disposal.

Unplanned: Family hammock time! (Before we become four)

Planned: Meeting up with a BFF, Christy, somewhere in Provo since we seem to have the same mecca-like traditions (we both married Provo natives, and we still can't get them to stop yammering on about the talking Christmas tree that used to be at ZCMI).

Unplanned: Meeting at University Mall, of all places, to enjoy an Iceberg "mini" shake (can we say 32 oz???) and some bland onion rings that had no business being in my gullet.

Also unplanned: A picture of me 8 months pregnant. I don't like pictures of myself pregnant, but I had to document my reunion with this fabulous woman. The other picture didn't have her hand on my belly to ACCENTUATE it, but I made a sacrifice and posted this one because look at little Annie in the corner. I mean, come on! She steals the show!

That last shot is meant to sate all you sick perverts who wanted to see my hard-earned efforts of "cow" status. It's even worse now, but that's for the next post.

A haiku

2010-07-27T09:54:00.000-07:00

Intruder, thinking

You belong in my kitchen.

Die, insectoid scum.

"Hey Allison, how are you feeling?"

2010-07-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

I thought I would let our 17-month-old show you how I look and feel lately.

Of course, my belly isn't filled with dominoes that Ted stuffed down my dress. MY belly is filled with something ELSE that Ted somehow got in there.

And despite the worry I have for transitioning from one kid to two, I'm wanting him out.

Countdown: two weeks and six days.

Creation: Crocheted Snowflakes

2010-06-30T18:32:00.000-07:00

I went to a fabulous Christmas party hosted by my friend and fellow nutjob, Suzy, a couple of years ago. I thought I was the bee's knees bringing an Apple Raspberry Cream Cheese Torte, but then I noticed her tree. It was a green tree decorated in all white lights and the only ornaments were crocheted snowflakes, made by her grandmother and passed down. It was one of the most gorgeous trees I've ever seen. From then on I was a little obsessed with having a tree just like it. The only problem was that I didn't know how to crochet.

I went onto websites and checked out books from the library and spent lots of time and money in the yarn sections of various crafty stores. I've done other little crochet projects, but I was particularly proud of these:

They're blocked with a lot of pins and a mixture of glue and water. Details are in the pattern I got from a blog whose owner is quite the snowflake-maker. This is the same pattern, but two different sizes using different hooks. I sent the smaller one to my dad for Father's Day (it fit in the card better) because he's just as meticulous and detailed as a snowflake... get it?

So I now have one snowflake for my future tree. At this rate, that tree should be fully covered by the time I'm a grandmother and can pass them on to someone who just has to be related to me to get them. Gotta love heirlooms.

Father's Day tribute

2010-06-22T20:47:00.000-07:00

I know I'm a little late in publishing my feelings for my dad, but I actually had this written by the time "the day" came around. So neener. It's in the form of a talk I was asked to give for our Sacrament Meeting. Ted spoke as well, and did a fantastic job, but he's not as flagrant with his creations as I am. If you're in it 'til the end, know that it was an almost 20-minute talk, so make sure you have a snack.

Reaching the age of sixteen for me meant one thing: freedom. Freedom to drive anywhere I wanted, to finally date out in the open and with my parents’ knowledge, and in my family, to get my ears pierced. Little did I realize at the tender age of 15, that once the magic day arrived, aside from receiving the official license and two new holes in my head, I was still subject to parental rules and permission and earning the trust that might allow me to gain more of the freedom I craved. I was not given a car; I did not have free reign over my person, let alone my manor, and I slowly realized I, in fact, didn’t know everything and was not as independent as I thought I might become.

Having built up a series of successful car borrowings from both parents, my dad allowed me to take his on a particular outing one day. I don’t remember where I went, only that on my return trip home, after being stopped behind another car at a red light, I felt like proving my finesse with public utilities, so I took my foot off the brake prematurely, thinking I had perfectly timed the moment when the light was going to turn green. It did not turn green, I did not pass go, and instead of collecting $200, I became responsible for much more fiscal damage than that on the front bumper of my dad’s car. It just happened to slide under the back bumper of the car in front of me, smashing it and the radiator fan just behind the grill. The other car was basically undamaged, and thankfully, the owner took mercy on me and let me go without exchanging any information. I still, however, had to answer to my dad. Let me insert here that I have five older brothers who had had their fair share of run-ins with my parents, so I was not unaware of the level of justified anger my father was capable of reaching. I was scared out of my wits, for this time, I would not be listening in the next room as one of them got busted.

I parked the car in our garage at home, close enough to the towers of Dr Pepper, Shasta, and gas cans so that no one could walk in front of it and see the damage. I decided to keep quiet for a day to either a)figure out what I was going to say, or b)hope the problem would go away on its own. Neither happened, and after my dad took his still-drivable car out the next day, he uh, noticed that the front end didn’t look right, and gee, the temperature gauge was slowly creeping up past where it should have normally stopped. When he returned home later that evening, he pulled me aside in private and asked if I knew anything about this mysterious damage to the front of his car. I went into instant defense mode and fabricated some story about how a possible crazy person must have used a sledgehammer to bash in random bumpers of cars as they sat in parking lots. He remained silent, and I felt the hot embarrassment of being caught in my lie as I hung my head in obvious fear. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, but I finally lifted my head and with a quivering soft voice and tears streaming down my face, I admitted that I had hit another car and it had crunched in the bumper and that I was so sorry I didn’t tell him sooner. Then I braced myself for his reaction.

Within a few seconds that felt to me like a slow death toll ringing, his own eyes got a little damp, and he slowly raised his arms to give me a sweet hug. I cried harder as I hugged him back and told him again how sorry I was for the car and that I had lied. He looked at my face and with no malice, said I shouldn’t have to lie to him, and that he loved me. I had seriously misjudged his ability to put himself in my shoes and to remember what it was like to be a teenager who makes stupid mistakes. On that day, my father showed by example what it was like to display empathy, and in the many years that have followed, I’ve realized that is one of his defining characteristics.

Elder Lynn Mickelson of the Seventy said, “Empathy is the gift to feel what others feel and to understand what others are experiencing. Empathy is the natural outgrowth of charity. It stimulates and enhances our capacity to serve. Empathy is not sympathy – it is instead an action of understanding and caring. It is the basis of true friendship. Empathy leads to respect and opens the door to teaching and learning.” In other words, empathy is absolutely required if we are to achieve any level of godliness in this life or the next.

My father could have very easily gotten quite firm with me not only for damaging his car, but also for keeping that fact from him, and then lying once confronted with the chance to come clean. If he had chosen that route, he would have been justified in my mind in doing so, but in retrospect, I wouldn’t have felt any closer to him, and I certainly would not have felt an outpouring of love and respect and comfort in that situation or in many following. It takes strength to consider consequences in the heat of the moment, but it is in those small and fleeting moments when our individual characters are most defined.

One of my favorite lessons on character in the Book of Mormon is in the last few chapters of Alma. Captain Moroni is off being a hero and erecting standards of liberty everywhere he goes, Helaman’s stripling warriors are off reclaiming lands and getting war wounds in the process, and Pahoran, a righteous son of Nephihah, is back home trying to keep the peace from the difficult position of chief judge. Somehow, letters are going back and forth between the three leaders, and we get to read and witness the unfolding of what could be a battle of the egos instead turn into a great display of integrity and empathy.

Helaman, in leading his faithful two thousand, is proving successful, but some have been taken prisoner and almost all of his young warriors have been injured. Still, they press on, but he writes to Captain Moroni, wondering what’s wrong with Pahoran, and for goodness’ sake, why isn’t he sending more troops?! We’re dyin’ out here! Moroni, who feels quite the kinship to his fellow general, couldn’t agree more, but instead of gossiping back and forth with Helaman like I might end up doing with another woman, he faces the issue head-on and sends a searing epistle to Pahoran. For 36 long verses, he complains to Pahoran, condemning him as a traitor, calling him idle, lazy, and slothful, neglecting those who are fighting for him by withholding reinforcements and provisions, and basically bringing down the wrath of God upon him, claiming that in order for them to succeed in their battles, the government would have to get rid of Pahoran as their head, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. And by the way, after we’re done conquering Lamanites, Pahoran, I’m coming after you.

I have read Alma 61 many times with eagerness for Pahoran’s answer, thinking it just has to change after being so wrongly accused of so many awful things. Pahoran’s response is almost other-worldly. “Moroni, your great afflictions grieve my soul! I have been wanting so much to help you the past several months, but there has been some serious dissension here in the government body, to the point where an entire group has overthrown our land.” And this is the part that gets me: v.9 “And now, in your epistle you have censured me, but it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart….My soul standeth fast in that liberty in the which God hath made us free.” V. 19, “Moroni, I do joy in receiving your epistle, for I was somewhat worried concerning what we should do, whether it should be just in us to go against our brethren.” “Moroni!” he says, “I’m still your brother in God! My heart aches for your troubles, but let’s do the best with what we have, together!”

If I had been Captain Moroni, I would have felt like a real heel, and perhaps he had a heely moment or two, but his letter back to Pahoran was one of the greatest displays of patriotism in the Book of Mormon. Then Moroni takes his armies back to help a brother out, they overthrow the dissenters together and reclaim their original land of Nephihah, the Lamanites are driven away, Helaman comes home and starts rebuilding the Church in support of the government under Pahoran, and peace is established once again. At any moment, Helaman, Moroni, and especially Pahoran could have been defensive and justifiably angry, but they chose to walk a higher ground, tread in the others’ footsteps, and as a result, found much success by working together.

This story may have had its happy ending, at least for a decade or so, and it’s wonderful to take from it a lesson to think before you speak, to give the benefit of the doubt, to choose not to be offended, and mostly, to trust in God that He will follow through on His promises. It is not always easy to do so, especially when the going gets rough. We like to think that we’ll be strong enough if calamity hits, but as humans, we are fallible. That is the very nature of human beings. I have made the error of believing that being a righteous priesthood holder or having been called to any position of leadership in the Church somehow offers automatic immunity to mistake-making. It’s easy to feel that way when we are spoken to every General Conference by such upstanding examples of goodness, and when we are even surrounded in our own homes and ward and at meetings by good people striving to be better. In reality, we all falter. We judge others. We gossip, ridicule, and doubt. Even Lehi, facing starvation once Nephi’s bow broke, began to murmur against the same God who had delivered him time and again in the wilderness. In similar weak moments of those around us, it is not our place to judge – it is our place to remember that, in the words of an old roommate, you have a billion sins, I have a billion sins, and though my billion may not be your billion, it’s still a billion. Therefore, we must uplift and lend a hand where necessary. Understand enough to care – that is where real empathy begins. The kinds of actions that follow the caring are the kind Jesus Christ would have done.

Elder Neal A Maxwell described a few of Christ’s own moments of the sincerest empathy: “Jesus Christ, who by far suffered the most, has the most compassion—for all of us who suffer so much less. Moreover, He who suffered the most has no self-pity! Even as He endured the enormous suffering associated with the Atonement, He reached out to others in their much lesser suffering. Consider how, in Gethsemane, Jesus, who had just bled at every pore, nevertheless restored an assailant’s severed ear which, given Jesus’ own agony, He might not have noticed! (see Luke 22:50–51).

“Consider how Jesus, while hanging so painfully on the cross, instructed the Apostle John about caring for Jesus’ mother, Mary (see John 19:26–27). Consider how in the midst of the awful arithmetic of the Atonement, Jesus nevertheless reassured one of the thieves on the cross, “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43). He cared, even in the midst of enormous suffering. He reached outwardly, when a lesser being would have turned inwardly.

“He healed 10 lepers, but only one returned to thank Him. He didn’t chide that leper, whereas you and I sometimes unload on the undeserving. Instead, He simply said, ‘Where are the nine?’ (Luke 17:17).

It takes perceptivity, patience, and love to so customize counsel. Doing so is the very opposite of the unloving and impatient stereotyping we see in so many sad human relationships.

Though sinless Himself, He bore the sins of billions. Thus His empathy and mercy became fully perfected and personalized. Indeed, He thus “descended below all things, in that he comprehended all things.”

Alma 7:11-12 mentions that He did all this for humankind to realize that after all is said and done, He gets it. We can turn to Him because He gets it. In fact, God will run to us and succor us because He gets it.

He understood the incredible emotions I was feeling during one of my own life-changing moments. Making the transition from non-parent to parent was huge and intimidating for me. As my belly got larger and larger, and I realized there was no turning back from this roller coaster, I began to think of all the places where I fall short, and I would lie awake at night convinced I was going to make a mess of our child’s life. Poor Ted got roused out of several peaceful dreams as I relayed how our home and our marriage were in no way ready to receive a sweet and precious spirit from heaven. While we both still feel that way 16 months after she already came, it is comforting to know we are not alone in those emotions and that there are friends and family willing to help during the more stressful times. I asked Ted how, in becoming a father, he has been able to better relate to Heavenly Father and the emotions He faces regarding all of us. Besides feeling like he couldn’t even fathom comparing himself to Heavenly Father on any level, he said, “Maybe I’ll understand more when Tessa begins to learn right from wrong and starts making her own decisions. I’ll be able to see if she follows what we’ve taught, but it will be hard for me to see her make the same mistakes we’ve made.”

I found it interesting that rather than focusing on an exponential love we both feel for our daughter and that Heavenly Father feels for each of us, Ted’s first thoughts were on Tessa’s agency. It is a gift we have all been given, we have probably all taken for granted or misused, but which has the power to bring us salvation if we so choose. I was reminded of Enoch’s conversation with God in Moses 7 when God is looking at all His creations that surpass the number of the sands of seas, including each of us. God begins to weep, and Enoch is surprised to see it, and asks how it is possible that an eternal and omnipotent God can weep over all these many creations. God’s reply is simple: v.32-33 “Behold these thy brethren; they are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them…and gave unto man his agency…and commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood.” Enoch then understood why agency is such a powerful gift, and in the visions that followed, it is recorded that he wept many times for the same reasons, experiencing empathy for God’s sadness. No wonder we are admonished so many times in the scriptures to come unto Christ – the writers of those words have known either from their own experience or from those closest to them the consequences when we do not.

We can use this power wisely to stand for something bigger than ourselves. It is true among our associations at work or at school, but even more importantly, in the home. When my own father was faced with how to best discipline me in my shortcoming with his car, he might have been in a particularly soft mood, or my tears might have had the same effect that swayed that cop down in Georgia to rip up that ticket, but I prefer to think that in that moment, he might have remembered something thoughtless he did as a teenager to his own parents. We cannot always choose the action, but we can always choose the reaction.

I see many of the same qualities in my husband as I do in my father. They both have a quiet strength that is complementary to my own brash rowdiness. As my mom would put it, their still waters run deep. Neither my dad nor Ted are prone to boasting, because their quiet strength means it is not necessary. I’ll never forget the day many years ago when I attended a Church function and I was approached by an older woman who had been in my parents’ ward for at least three decades. She asked where my father was, and I replied he was still doing rounds at the hospital, at 8:00 on a Saturday night. Sister Boyer then put one hand on her heart, and the other gently on my arm to emphasize a point. “I love your father,” she said out of the blue. “He comes to visit me every time I’m in the hospital, and I’m not even his patient.” It was this and many dozens of moments like this that have silently shaped my own father’s character: a man who was stretched thin at work, and with any free time he had, he was giving it to others, most especially his family.

Since he is not one to boast or complain, it has taken me many years to understand that hours I may have missed in his company due to work responsibilities were not spent idly. I could have chosen to understand this earlier in my life, and to be empathic to the many demands on his time. I could have taken a life lesson from a musical I watched frequently in my youth.

Jane and Michael Banks want nothing more than to feel close to their father, but their adventures seem to get them into trouble and further the distance between them and him. On a day when they have potentially ruined his career at the bank where he works, they run into Bert (Dick Van Dyke) who gives them some wise words of counsel:

Bert says, “Beggin’ your pardon, but the one my heart goes out to is your father. There he is, in that cold heartless bank, day after day, hemmed in by mounds of cold, heartless money. I don’t like to see any living thing caged up.”

Jane responds, “Father? In a cage?”

“They make cages in all sizes and shapes, y’know. Bank shapes, some of ‘em, carpets and all.”

Jane is still not convinced. “Father’s not in trouble. We are.”

Bert replies, “Oh! Sure about that, are ya? Look at it this way. You’ve got your mother to look after you, and Mary Poppins, and Constable Jones, and me. Who looks after your father, tell me that. When something terrible happens, what does he do? Fends for himself, he does. Who does he tell about it? No one. Don’t blab his troubles at all – he just pushes on with his job, uncomplaining, and alone and silent.”

Michael interjects, “He’s not very silent!”

Jane then humbly asks, “Bert, do you think Father really needs our help?”

Bert seems to feel uncomfortable that he’s said too much, but he replies, “Well, not my place to say. I only observe that a Father can always do with a bit of help.”

To put it in the words of the late President Faust, “In terms of giving fathers love and understanding, it should be remembered that fathers also have times of insecurity and doubt. Everyone knows fathers make mistakes—especially they themselves. Fathers need all the help they can get; mostly they need love, support, and understanding from their own.”

On this Father’s Day and as many days as possible hereafter, we can reach out and show Christlike empathy to those men whom we admire and revere the most. They may make mistakes, as we all do, but how blessed both parties can be if we choose to focus on their goodness and love. If we can do so, we will be that much closer to divinity.

A shift in focus

2010-06-13T20:23:00.000-07:00

I am often floored, in moments of clarity, how incredibly easy it is for our attitudes to be affected negatively by little things that annoy, stupid decisions we've made, or just things that happen that are out of our control. Example: We've all come into work with complaints about how our whole commute was ruined because this "one guy cut me off and almost ran me into another car". But honestly, that was one two-second event that suddenly we seem to dwell on for minutes, which affects our mood for literal hours. I've been there, I know many who have, and you just might be one of them.

I don't always make a conscious effort to get out of a funk brought on by an unfortunate event, not because I enjoy the sulking or cynical attitude, but because I haven't made it a common enough practice to consider the pleasant or sometimes fantastic things that happen around me or to me. And usually, the good stuff is going on more often than the bad stuff.

Today I could write a whole post on how angry I was at myself this morning when I went downstairs to the kitchen and Ted pointed out that I had accidentally left out an entire bagful of beef and chicken all night long so of course it was spoiled and had to be thrown out. Idiot! Or I could mention my severe daily discomfort lately of being in a 3rd trimester during a very hot and humid summer and how no matter what I wear or how much deodorant I wear (I told my brother that my supply looks like I stockpiled all the deodorant that India refuses), I end up with streams of sweat trickling down various parts of my body, and it disgusts me. I could be mad that I am going to have to put a lot of effort and money into finding/fixing the leak in my car that's causing the carpet right behind my driver's seat to soak and mildew every time it rains, and in the South, it's a lot more than when we lived in CA. I could also talk about how I get frustrated with myself every night because midnight passes, we finally get around to reading some scriptures, but then we read and read and read, and while it brings much pleasure and relaxation to us, we still have to wake up when Tessa gets up, which means we're only allowing ourselves about 5 hours of sleep every night. Do we change our habits? No. We keep on readin'. I could also complain once again about the plethora of dog poops that are everywhere on the side lawn next to our building because the dog owners here can't seem to understand the societal importance of cleaning up after their pets. I can't let Tessa wander around out there without me having to steer her around them, because she will undoubtedly want to pick them up and/or put them in her mouth. It's gross. Then there are the little things that happen when you have a full-fledged toddler roaming around - how quickly she gets bored, how she still can't communicate exactly what she wants, how she is dying to get into everything at all times. I could talk/complain about those, too. And I know there are moms out there who would "amen" me up and down (and some who would even have the nerve to say "just wait 'til you have (fill in the blank). Then you'll really be hating life." Hint: don't say things like that to me. I'll find out soon enough, and I'd rather go into it unbiased).

Any one of these things and any number of other little things are happenstances that could turn me bitter for quite a while. In fact, if I'm not careful, I could be mistaken for a perpetually cynical person, which I really hope I'm not, nor do I care to be. And while I also can't (nor do I care to) claim to be a reincarnated Pollyanna, I've realized I can focus on the great and the fun, or even just the charming and sweet, and perhaps by so doing, refocus my energy toward ac-cent-u-ating the positive.

And so, I give you a Pleasantries List.

I got to teach a lesson today to the Young Women in our ward about the importance of sustaining missionaries with letters. It was a short lesson, with a clear and uncomplicated message, but in so doing, I pulled out the scrapbooks of letters my mom put together for me when I was a missionary and got to relive the moments of glee at seeing some of the great things people wrote to me when I needed them most. Thank you, friends and family, for being the kind of support that every missionary pines for. And thank you, Mom, for not only writing faithfully every week to every one of your kids on their missions, but for taking the time to compile the memories for us at the end.
Last night was an Ice Cream Social for our ward. There was a Homemade ice cream competition. They had two judges for it, and I asked to be a third. They let me. It was...awesome.
Yesterday the spiders that plagued our front entrance decided to leave our roost, at least temporarily. I was finally able to sweep away the webs without fear of being eaten, and now our tall friends won't sneer at me every time they walk through our door. Yay!
We discovered that if we have a movie on with any type of dancing, Tessa will imitate it, and often on or close to the beat. This amuses me to no end.
I'll be 32 weeks pregnant in a couple days, and I've only gained 17 pounds so far. I might have to update that number after last night's ice cream frenzy, but until then, I'm going to be happy about it.
Ted cleans the dishes and countertops every time I make a meal. 'Nuff said.
My mom sent me a small package in the mail a few days ago. It had bacon-covered chocolate, which I've decided isn't my favorite form of bacon, but I was touched she thought of me.
My mother-in-law also sent a package recently, for no reason but to show she loves us and her granddaughter. In it, a highly recommended book for boy-raising and two new adorable dresses for Tess. We are so spoiled.
I was finally able to decipher a pattern for a crocheted snowflake, so I made one, and it looks pretty. I'm also faking myself out in believing that if I make enough, somehow I'll feel cooler.
No pre-eclampsia this time around. Hands and ankles have so far successfully avoided reminding me of Hillary Clinton.
Along with getting more active, Tessa has also recently become more snuggly. mmmm...
I got to spend an entire day with a new lifelong friend, talking, laughing, and crafting.
A 9-yr old boy noticed I was carrying a lot of stuff and held the door for me.
Ted reported that two 14-yr old boys were going out of their way to make Tessa giggle, which I think is adorable. They could have ignored her and played games of connect the dots during Priesthood, but apparently they got more pleasure out of seeing her laugh.
Our backyard scene is gorgeous. I've never known so many shades of green existed.
I finally got to eat at Panda Express for the first time since August. The nearest one is kind of out-of-the-way, but we committed and went and were not disappointed. Orange chicken, I've missed you.
I made a pretty slammin' quiche for dinner tonight: Onion & Kielbasa with Tomatoes, Asiago, and Parmesan. Both Ted and Tessa gave me the unsolicited compliments and pleasure-moans I pine for, so I was in a fog of happiness.

I have much to be grateful for, and already I'm in a great mood. I will certainly be carrying it with me as I go join my husband for some scripture reading, probably followed by additional reading. And what's the time? 12:27 am. Baby steps...baby steps.

Hello My Name Is Ted

2010-05-31T16:00:00.000-07:00

I'm Allison's husband, I used to blog around here, and according to Allison it's high time I blogged around here again. So here I go - bear with me, I'm a little rusty.

Allison and I have a daughter, as you may know. Her hair is growing faster than a goose's liver on a foie gras farm, and for the past several months she's basically seen the world through her bangs. She'll be surprised when she finds out Mom and Dad aren't striped. The bangs-in-the-eyes thing isn't really our fault. We try to keep them out of her face with hair clips, but the only thing she loves more than begging for bites of dessert is pulling hair clips out of her hair and handing them to us with this self-satisfied I-just-found-the-ark-of-the-covenant smile on her face.

The point of my ramblings is that we actually got into a little hair clip making frenzy (maybe we'll be able to trick her into wearing them one day). Here's my first attempt:

Yes, that's C. elegans - complete with stylized anatomy.

And here's the clip in action. Oh, and yes, that's a pink camo t-shirt she's wearing - comes in real handy when we're trying to hide her in the children's section at Target.

Farms, food, and fotos

2010-05-29T19:36:00.000-07:00

Today's post is more about photos than the actual activity. Although for us, the activity was quite fun to do as a family. We went to the local NC Agricultural Festival, which was basically another name for a smaller version of their state fair (which we went to in October). Our biggest draw this time was the fact that they had a petting zoo (with camels! and llamas!) because we happen to have a little girl who has grown quite fascinated with livestock. At one point, we saw her imitating goat sounds, except her imitation sounded more like a dog (she's still quite limited).

Our other favorite part was the food-sampling exhibition. As Ted mentioned, if you're of the entrepreneurial spirit, don't try to break into the BBQ sauce business, at least in the state of North Carolina. It has been there'd and done'd many times over. And most of them were quite good, but I ain't paying $8 for a small bottle of it. Now the blackberry cider drink...that was original. And ridiculously tasty. Especially in slushy form.

There were probably about 100 booths set up in a building with different samplings going on at each one. At least 40 of them were for BBQ sauces, if not more. There was one booth sponsored by a local grocery store chain, and they were passing out their plastic bags for any loot you were going to end up buying. But for the most part, the people I saw didn't have purchased items in there. No, no. They were over at the Malt O Meal booth, loading up FULL BAGS of the company's individual cereal bowls and oatmeals. People, this is not a free-for-all grocery shopping trip. They're samples. Take one and move along. Rednecks... (or, "Mormons"...)

But back to my point. I've been looking at lots of pictures on lots of blogs/online albums/professionals' websites lately and have been feeling a bit of photo envy. Up to now I've thought I needed a much more fancy camera than I have in order to achieve that kind of artistic level, and while that is certainly true, I've also learned there's much more I can do with a little editing software that I've been too lazy or too ignorant to focus on before. So I took a few minutes with a couple of the next 4 pictures to try to make them look a little more aesthetic. If you wouldn't mind, leave a comment and let me know which two you think are the best in terms of the look of the picture (not necessarily the subject matter), so I can know if I'm on the right track. Your input would be greatly appreciated. But not as much as if you showed up at my door with free ice cream. That would send me through the roof with glee.

On the cooling rack: Strawberry cupcakes

2010-05-25T18:21:00.001-07:00

Remember all those strawberries I couldn't stop gushing over? They have found a new favorite home.

We borrowed Martha Stewart's Cupcakes book from our local library in case it wasn't any good. You know how she's sooooo hit-and-miss with her creations sometimes. But this time, it looks like we, ahem, "hand-picked" a winner. I made both standard size and mini cupcakes, and both were excellent, but here's my note for that: recipe calls for "finely chopped" fresh strawberries in the batter. I didn't have patience for finely chopping the berries, and I knew a food processor would just puree them, so I rough-chopped them. Of course, since those particular berries were so darn juicy, it meant that with the mini size, I really had to make sure the batter got cooked all the way because in a few of them, the cake just around the pieces of berry were a titch underdone. Not enough to stop me from eating most of the ones in the picture below, but just so you're aware. This wasn't the case with the standard size - make as many as you want of those.

Also, she swears by this Swiss Meringue Buttercream Frosting. To quote her book, "If there is one frosting a home baker should always have on hand, this is it." She backs up that claim by saying it's nice to spread and pipe, silky texture, flavors and colors perfectly, etc. My personal note is that sometimes Martha can get a little too fussy for my taste. But then, that's why she has a show and hundreds of people working for her, and I don't. I followed her strawberry variation of this particular frosting to the letter, hoping I wouldn't screw it up since it calls for basically cooking egg whites with sugar without letting them curdle. I used a double boiler, and made sure my water was only simmering (not at a rolling boil), and I periodically removed the top pan from the bottom while the sugar was dissolving just to make sure it didn't get too hot. Martha suggests using the bowl of a stand mixer over a pot of simmering water, which I would have done if I had a stand mixer, which I don't. So this frosting took me about 3x as long as it maybe should have, but I must say, I was NOT disappointed. I rarely lick frosting beaters, because I have to draw the line somewhere, but I could not be restrained this time. The end result instantly took me back to homemade strawberry ice cream at Laura D's house every Memorial Day and Labor Day growing up. It wasn't as cold as ice cream, of course, but the flavor was spot-on and incredibly delicious and creamy.

Strawberry Cupcakes makes 34 standard size cupcakes

2 3/4 c. flour

1/2 c. cake flour

1 T. baking powder

1 t. salt

1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temp

2 1/4 c. sugar

1 1/2 t. vanilla extract

3 large whole eggs plus 1 egg white

1 c. milk

2 c. finely chopped fresh strawberries (about 20) plus more for garnish

Strawberry Meringue Buttercream (recipe below)

1. Oven to 350. Line muffin tins. Sift together flours, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

2. Cream butter, sugar, and vanilla until pale and fluffy at med-high speed. Add eggs and the white one at a time, beating until each is incorporated. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture in two batches, alternating with the milk, and beating until well combined. Fold in chopped strawberries by hand.

3. Divide batter evenly (I use a large cookie scoop), filling each liner three-quarters full. Bake, rotating tins if necessary until golden and toothpick comes out clean, about 25-30 min (I checked at 15-20. They were done at 21 min, but my oven runs hot and I also can't stand overcooked cupcakes). Cool in pans 15 min, turn onto wire rack and cool completely. They can be stored in airtight containers at room temp for a day.

4. Frost with buttercream, or pipe onto the tops and garnish with strawberry slices and eat like crazy. note: If you refrigerate your buttercream, you must let it come to room temp before serving. Learned that by experience. Tastes SO MUCH better.

Strawberry Meringue Buttercream (makes about 5 cups, plenty for one batch of cupcakes)

1 1/2 c. fresh strawberries (8 ounces) rinsed, hulled, and coarsely chopped

4 large egg whites

1 1/4 c. sugar

1 1/2 c. (3 sticks) cut into tablespoons and allowed to come to room temp.

1. Puree strawberries in a food processor. Combine egg whites and sugar in bowl of a stand mixer set over simmering water. Whisk constantly until sugar dissolves and mixture feels completely smooth when rubbed between the fingers.

2. Attach bowl to the mixer with whisk attachment. Starting on low, whisk until stiff peaks form (mine never became super stiff like a regular meringue. It was very glossy and got firm, but the end result was perfect. I beat with a hand mixer for close to 20 min). Increase speed gradually to med-high until mixture is fluffier and very glossy and bowl is completely cool (about 10 min).

3. With mixer on med-low, add butter a few tablespoons at a time, beating well after each addition. Once all butter has been added, scrape down sides and switch to paddle attachment; continue beating until all air bubbles are eliminated, about 2 min. Add strawberries and beat until well combined. Stir with rubber spatula until mixture is smooth. Keep at room temp if using the same day. Can be refrigerated or frozen, but allow to come to room temp, beating about 5 min in stand mixer, before serving.

Kudos, Martha. You make me sick.

The day has come!

2010-05-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

I was going to chop off the last second where she clunks into me, but let's be honest. It's pretty amusing.

Sorry about the lack of pants. She had just leaked into them. But this way, you get to see those glorious thighs!

Home SWEET Home

2010-05-21T14:02:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you what I miss about California:

In N Out. badly.
My Diet Coke drinking buddies (you know who you are)
Janet's organ playing
Saladang Thai restaurant
Potluck dinners with my college friends and their families
Normal-sized bugs
The hole-in-the-wall produce store on Lake Ave
Being able to call our Altadena home "home"
Diddy Reese ice cream & cookie sandwiches
A temple that does sessions during the day
Year-round herb garden
Keeping up with my bad Spanish
Settlers nights with my crew

I've written about lots of things here that I very much enjoy, most recently $2.39 milkshakes (and they're big! I can't get over it!). The walking trail near our house has been keeping me from gaining too much weight this pregnancy, the amount of green here is insane, our airport is 15 min from our door (and that's driving the speed limit), and it's so easy to make lifelong friends here because the people are so fantastic.

But until last week, those still weren't reasons compelling enough to put our roots down and call this place home. For last week we discovered pick-your-own strawberry patches.

That's not a stock photo! That represents one fifth of the berries we picked together one afternoon, and I didn't put all the good-looking ones together. They ALL looked that good. Juicy, ready to rupture in your mouth, no white tips or tartness, dark red all the way up to the tops. They are what strawberries were meant to taste like.

So often I have walked right past the display of strawberries in grocery stores because they have seldom lived up to my expectations. I have needed them to make pies and such, but those are only good because so many get pureed or chopped and covered with sugary goodness. Not necessary with these. These are...phenomenal.

Tessa knows the goods when she sees them.

But this is how she really felt. Give. me. that. BERRY!!!!

My favorite Mexican-in-training. Each of those buckets held almost 10 pounds. We filled two of them for $1.35/lb. Worth every penny.

And his little helper (I caught her chomping on half-eaten ones in the dirt):

After washing and sorting them for jam, snacking, freezing, pureeing, desserts, etc, we gave Tessa as many as she wanted. Well, we stopped her at about 25. She could have gone all night. Her bib looked like she just got out of an ER.

This was my favorite. I put her in her high chair the next morning while I went to do something or other. As I walked back I heard the familiar sound of something sliding around on the table behind her (she does it when she gets bored). I grabbed my camera and caught this:

Notice the dribbles down the front. She'd already attacked the flat I left out to dry. Just ate them whole, greens and all.

I already made loads of freezer jam, a very delectable dessert (poorly dubbed "Strawberry Delight" - I shudder whenever the word "delight" is in a food title. It's like naming your kid Chastity and then watching them grow up to be a total skank), and tomorrow I'll post what I concocted today. Just a hint: they made me shudder. North Carolina, you are doing your part in keeping me here.

Happy Confederate Memorial Day!

2010-05-20T18:06:00.000-07:00

Now before you get all excited to honor the dead of the CSA during Civil War times (yes, they all still freak out about it here, though not as much as I remember Georgia freaking out about it), let me just say that there's not ONE official Confederate Memorial Day, which only confirms to me that the South will never really rise again because, well, they can't get their act together. It's generally agreed that those states which seceded from the Union all celebrate the holiday (at least unofficially), but they can't decide when. For instance, Arkansas and Texas both celebrate it on Jan 19 (Gen. Robert E Lee's bday), which may or may not land on MLK day. Kentucky, Tennessee and Louisiana all observe it on June 3rd (coming up for any natives! excited??) because that was Jefferson Davis's birthday (Davis was the president of the Confederate States of America, for all my California or ignorant friends). Virginia lumps their CMD with their regular MD, which is convenient since I imagine most of their residents might not know about it or give a crap. The Carolinas both observe May 10 (the death of Stonewall Jackson in 1863) and Mississippi, Alabama, Florida and Georgia hang their rebel flags on April 26, for it was on that day, in 1865, when the largest surrender (by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston) of confederate troops happened in a mutual agreement with Union Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman at Bennett Place, NC. I'm totally considering that middle name for a child. Darwin Tecumseh Ochocinco Ririe. Nice ring.

Today is May 20, which isn't any of those days. But Ted asked me today if I wanted to go on an educational outing today, so we went to Bennett place where Sherman and Johnston laid out surrender terms for what basically turned out to be the end of the Civil War, and somewhere on the grounds, Ted saw a sign that Confederate Memorial Day was today. Oh well. Somewhere, someone knows the truth.

This was a cool memorial - built to commemorate the agreement between the North and South.

Gotta do something about those bangs...

In the background you see (to the right) the home of the Bennett family. They were taken unawares when the two generals came to their property to discuss the terms, but they obliged and escaped to the kitchen (bldg on the left) so the two men could speak in private.

The first item of business was the very confidential telegraph notice that President Lincoln had been shot three nights earlier and died the next morning (on April 15 - Ted's bday! Bad omen..). The first surrender terms were rejected as too lenient by the federal government, so on April 26th, the two generals met again and agreed on the disbanding of 89, 270 confederate troops stationed all over the South - the largest surrender of confederate troops of the war. Our guide was a little adamant that the war didn't end with Grant and Lee at Appomattox Court House. These people and their hang-ups...

We further celebrated with BBQ pork sandwiches and fabulous hushpuppies and milkshakes from CookOut - an NC chain that I now wish to cart around with me wherever I go. Almost 40 awesome milkshakes for $2.39 each? Yes please! If the South does rise again, it'll be because of the fat in their food, floating to the top. In the meantime, keep waving those CSA flags!

Orange Dream

2010-05-18T15:55:00.000-07:00

I swear, I should be in a commercial. Advertisers need to know how much I fawn over some of the food they come up with. The latest, or should I say, one of the earliest num-nums I just had the pleasure of pleasuring over was a simple Creamsicle. The standard orange and cream goodness on a stick. I bought a box of 12 a few weeks ago for $1.88 (I love a good sale) and I've been parceling them out slowly ever since. Today, I shared one with Tessa - her first. Watching her eat it, with eyes growing wide and little-kid "mmmm"s allowed me to remember how much I loved eating them as a kid (and why I'm such a sucker for them even now). The best part was that she got a little cream on her fingers, so rather than getting my growing belly off the couch to get a napkin, I just stuck her fat fingers in my mouth and sucked them clean. Don't gag. You've all done it. Anyway, she just giggled and laughed and giggled some more, and I was taken back to my own summer childhood treats. I think I still have 5 left in the freezer...

Does it make you want to go get a box? I'm not stopping you. You're welcome, Popsicle brand, for the shameless free advertising.

Being a mom kicks butt

2010-05-09T19:10:00.000-07:00

Last year's breakfast by Ted: crepes and bacon. That's what I'm talkin' about.

I know there are women out there who hate Mother's Day for whatever their reasons (my own mother doesn't like it because she's never handled unbridled and insincere affection very well), but I tell ya, I love it.

We did a little revamping of Mother's and Father's Days this year because of money constraints and to change the focus from feeling like "I gave you a gift - what more do you want?" to "You mean so much to me and I don't just want to tell you, I want to show you." To be fair, we have never been so callous to each other as to have the "what more do you want?" attitude, but I really just wanted the day to focus on service and appreciation more than material things.

Ted did not disappoint.

I consider Mother's Day as spanning the weekend, so Saturday we spent at home together. We had company coming into town (not our own company - the father and brother of a friend in the ward needed a place to crash for the night before his graduation), so I had a loooooooong to-do list written out and after I made a breakfast of bacony eggs and seasoned hash browns (which I finally got right) we started to tackle it. I knew Ted had a Sunday night deadline for future job prospect interviews that he had to focus on, but instead, he took a look at my list and started in on it as well. He took the hardest jobs/projects - cleaning the entire guest bathroom on hands and knees because he knew I'd get major heartburn and poisonous fume effects if I attempted it myself, and tackling the bookshelf in the guest room that had become overrun with all the "stuff" you put someplace because there's nowhere else to put it.

He organized it, then went a step further by putting pictures in books, finding old postcards to put into empty frames, finding nails, hammer and measuring tape in order to hang said frames, putting all dangerous stab-a-kid's-eye-out objects one shelf higher, reorganized all the sewing tools that had accumulated onto the sewing table and moved all computer-related accoutrements to where we keep the computer (usually - it is a laptop, after all). Meanwhile, I switched out all the clothes Tessa's too fat for, put those into bins, and brought out the next batch. No one ever told me about that part of being a mom. I guess I knew babies grow and therefore, their wardrobes must change, but I didn't connect the two with the fact that I would have to do the changing. I think it's my least favorite part of being a mom because every article of clothing requires a decision, which is a pain. But I did it. For Mother's Day.

We washed sheets, made the bed, tidied up the room, brought out towels, stashed the stuff we didn't have time for into Tessa's room, hid the R-rated movies and yarn pile (equally sinful to some), and I finally got to making dinner at around 7pm. The only problem is that I had started brining a turkey boob the night before and HAD to cook it, but since it had to roast about 2 hours, I feared we were going to be eating as the company walked in the door.

I was right.

Thankfully, they were as low-maintenance and kind as can be, so all my anxiety and stress was for naught. Ted is a wonderful sounding board to my stress levels (aka "bitching"), so he heard his share of earfuls yesterday. It didn't help that I was pretty darn grumpy and Tessa had developed a fever and rash from her vaccines the day before.

Ted made breakfast this morning. It's pictured below. It has "Ted's doing" written all over it: orchid that he's kept alive since my birthday (Feb), 10 orange segments all in perfect rows, his mom's fabulous German pancake recipe baked to perfection on his very first solo try, every available sauce in our fridge to put on said pancakes (homemade strawberry jam and chocolate sauce not pictured), BACON (wasn't off the stove quite yet, and actually, that has ME written all over it rather than Ted, but it is my day after all, right?) our fancy silverware, and goblets for the OJ. Oh, but there's more....

See the level of liquid in the goblets? The one closest to you with the overexposed flash is Ted's. The man loves his OJ. Mine looks like it's been half drunk already. This is not because he drank it before I could come downstairs or because he "ran out" after he'd poured himself a hefty glass already. He is fully aware that the one food that gives me heartburn (even when not pregnant) is any volume of orange juice greater than 4 oz. He didn't want to plague my morning, so 4 oz it was. Sooooo sweet.

German pancakes with some homemade strawberry jam and lemon curd was, in a word, heaven. And bacon and chocolate in the same meal? How can you go wrong? I was moaning in deep pleasure with pretty much every bite (what is it about meals you don't have to think about or make that cause them to taste even better?), and before ya know it, we hear Tessa in the kitchen (who was having a smaller version of our meal) moaning with the same intensity and intonation as her mom. Just that alone would have made my day.

But then we went to church. Both talks in Sacrament meeting were fantastic, with special attention given to women who have been dealt sour cards in life situations, and I appreciated the sensitivity that both men used in addressing their remarks. The primary sang (Tessa was riveted) which is always a treat, and my gift from Tessa (other than the moaning) was being fed tiny bites of a PBJ during the rest of sacrament meeting, just like I've done to her oodles of times. And then giving me a very wet kiss after almost every bite.

I taught in Young Women about how we strengthen our testimony through obedience to the commandments. The insight that these 13- and 14-yr old girls have is incredible. They get it - better than I ever did at that age. I related my experience of gaining my own testimony as a teenager and how much strength I've drawn from that experience ever since then, but we talked about how laziness and disobedience can take us farther from what we know or have known is most important. I fall into that category so often. I don't ever intend to flagrantly disobey; I just get lazy. I get discouraged, too, but more often, it's laziness. Building a testimony requires doing, even if that doing is just a desire to do (Alma 32). "Strengthening" denotes an action, so it's only appropriate that our greatest insights and "golden nuggets" (I like to call them) are solely gained by getting off our butts and getting to it. It was a wonderful discussion, and the Spirit was so strong, that it was a shame to see our time together was over for the day.

The rest of the day was just as great. Tessa napped, we ate courtesy of Ted again, and once we stuffed our gullets, we started making phone rounds. My first stop was my "other mother" - the mother of one of my best friends whom I've known since I was 8 and who really has been the main part of the village who had to raise me. She and her family are going through an incredibly difficult time right now, and I've been thinking about her and praying for her every day for over a month, but because of the regular reports I was getting from her blog, from my friend, and from my mom (who is best friends with her as well), I never just picked up the phone and called her myself. Well, today I did, and even though she's the one going through a "rough patch" (and that's putting it soooooooo mildly), she made me so happy. We laughed and cried and talked about boobies. Basically, a standard wonderful phone conversation for me.

And then, my own dear mother. I waited for Tessa to wake up even though she just wants to eat the phone and press the buttons instead of blabber into it, but it was fun to have her there anyway. I talk to my mom all the time, so this was not an out-of-the-blue call for us. We just kind of picked up where we left off (from yesterday) and for the second time, she wished me a Happy Mother's Day, which is an incredible feeling.

Dear Mom,

I understand so much more fully what kinds of worries you were up against, what kind of love you felt for us, and how much we must have driven you crazy. I get why you streamlined your cooking, had a salad at every dinner, and switched to disposable diapers the second they were invented. I never knew about all the behind-the-scenes praying you must have done to keep your sanity, but I know now why you were either reading your scriptures or on your knees whenever I barged into your room at bedtime, why you cling so mightily to wise words and funny moments, and I am honored that you now turn to your own children for advice and a listening ear, even when, to us, you seem to have all your ducks in a row just fine. You've never claimed or given any indication that you think you're perfect, but to me, you are, and I'm so happy that I get to have you as my friend forever.

Love,

Allison

Dear Tessa,

Your Grandma D is quite a woman. She has raised me to be strong for you. She definitely taught me to be better than I am, but luckily, life is a process and God very mercifully gives us a little time to work out our kinks. I have a lot of kinks, but you don't seem to mind. The one thing I've got in spades (besides kinks) is an undying affection for you. I see little fun parts of your personality coming out, and I see some parts of my own personality that I can only assume will drive me as crazy as I drove Grandma D for so many years. But watching you watch me prompts me to be doing the things that are best, not just "good", because no one can ever expect someone to "do as I say, not as I do." Thank you for keeping me on my toes and for being so easy to love, you sassy little vixen.

Love,

Mama

Mother's Day 2009. Three months post-partum. Notice bags under eyes (both sets).

Mother's Day 2010. Main differences: we both have more hair (thank you, pregnancy hormones), her head is bigger but hair accessories are smaller, and lactating breasts turned into pregnancy rack. That necklace is following its path just like a river meandering through unmovable mountains...

Dear Undercooked Son,
I apologize in advance. But I promise I'll do my best.
Love,
Future Mama

On the cooling rack: Soft chocolate raspberry sandwich cookies

2010-04-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

You might look at these and think, "Soft chocolate sandwich cookies?? Ha! Moron. Those are most definitely Whoopie Pies." But I disagree. They've got more chocolate flavor, they're a little more dense than the cakey whoopie pies I've had, and the filling isn't marshmallow. It's waaaaay better. AND they're so easy I'm embarrassed to be posting it.

These came about today because in making this cake, I made the mistake of trying to bring all the frosting makings to the hostess's house and use all her equipment. Don't get me wrong, she was fully equipped, but it wasn't MY kitchen, and I showed up with a baby after getting lost, so my state of mind wasn't what it should have been. I did the math wrong in trying to do 1 1/2 recipes of the buttercream, and ended up adding WAY too much milk. And that's not something you can just "thicken up" with more powdered sugar. So I "ruined" a whole batch before realizing it, but didn't have any more room temp butter to try to "doctor it up", so I ended up taking the whole show back home, tried to fix it, but had to start over anyway. By then, I had three full bowls of frosting, and only needed one for the cake. I got the bright idea to bring one of the bowls to the shower (the runniest/milkiest) for an impromptu fruit dip, which worked out great, but what to do with this thicker-but-not-thick-enough-for-frosting batch that already has raspberry in it?

And then I remembered the homemade Oreos someone taught me a decade or so ago. And I remember how much I love them, even though they're pedestrian because you use a cake mix. I don't care though. They're lip-smackin', gotta-have-another good. And with the raspberry frosting??? To die for!

I feel wrong taking the trademarked Oreo name (those blessed things), and besides, these really aren't that similar because they're soft and the flavor is totally different. They just look somewhat like the famous cookie, but other than that, they're nothing like 'em. But you just might like 'em better. I'M JUST SAYIN'!

Soft Chocolate Sandwich Cookies

1 devil's food cake mix

2 eggs, room temp*

scant 1/2 c. vegetable or canola oil

Mix together in a bowl. Use small cookie scoop (about 1" diameter) to scoop onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 6-8 min, or until tops are puffed up. Remove from oven, and this is the fun part, let the cookie sheet slam onto the counter or stove top. It flattens them slightly and makes the bottoms perfect for the frosting. Leave them on the sheet to cool for a few minutes. Remove to cooling rack. Cookies will be soft and flexible, but should firm up enough to frost once completely cool. Makes about 40 halves, so appx 20 cookies once sandwiched (unless you're like me and you "taste test" a couple before you can slap anything on 'em).

*I left the eggs out overnight (well, because my original plan was to make and eat them last night, but if you read the previous post, you'll know why that didn't happen), and it made all the difference in how these things puffed up. You don't have to leave them out overnight, but you want your eggs room temp!

You can use whatever frosting you want for the middles - buttercream, white, vanilla, [choke] store-bought, but I'll leave you with my go-to cream cheese frosting. It makes enough to frost a whole cake, so....you might want to half it for this.

Cream Cheese Frosting

8 oz. cream cheese, room temp

1 stick butter, room temp (please, for the love, don't use margarine)

dash salt

1 tsp vanilla*

3-4 c. powdered sugar

Beat cream cheese and butter together until nice and creamy. Add salt and vanilla - mix. Add powdered sugar one cup at a time, tasting for sweetness and checking for spreadability.

*If you want the raspberry flavor, add 1/4 tsp raspberry extract at this point. Also, if you're feelin' it, a drop or two of red food coloring. Note: you want the raspberry. OM NOM NOM

On the cooling rack: Burnt soup. Yup. I'll tell you allll about it.

2010-04-24T19:38:00.000-07:00

I don't remember all the reasons why Alexander's day was terrible, horrible, no good, and/or very bad. But just considering the title alone, I hear ya, bro.

It began with a lack of sleep last night - all of which was my fault. I'm a night owl, it's my reading time, so before lights out I read and read and read. Multiple books even. But then Tessa woke up earlier than I had planned (you can laugh). Usually, when she wakes up from the night or from a nap, she'll talk to herself, play with her animals, perhaps sing, maybe whine a little, but when one of us goes into her room to get her out of bed, she stops everything, breaks out into a huge grin, and says, "Hiiiiiii!!!!!" Not today. Full on whining from the get-go. Through the pick-up, through the morning kisses, through the diaper change, bath, and clothes. And the whining didn't stop ALL DAY LONG. In fact, as I'm writing this, I can hear her upstairs in her crib, trying to fall asleep, and whining.

Before I go any further, let me just say that God sent us an angel in giving us Tessa. She is always cheery, friendly, sweet, hungry, and very kissable. I have no problem loving this girl, I adore being with her and watching her grow, and her natural sweet temper makes me look like I'm a great mom.

Let me put in another aside. I can't stand whining. I know there are moms out there who are nodding their heads like "yeah" (can't get THAT song out of my head to save my life) but this is to a debilitating degree. I hear whining, even from a kid I don't know - say, in Target or something - and I just want to march right over there and give her something to whine ABOUT! As soon as the pitch goes up in the voice, I go into bristle mode. If I were a porcupine, this is where quills would shoot out of my body quite forcibly. When I was a teacher, I would often hear students whine. Granted, I didn't hear it as much in my classroom as elsewhere in the school, for I was somewhat known as the Anti-Whine. When a student sent me into bristle mode, and before I got into full attack mode, I countered whatever they were saying in their whiny voice in a MUCH more whiny voice, then took it to the next level, just to show them how childish and dumb they sounded because I'm really mature like that. The following conversation is an example of how a typical whining interaction would have taken place:

me: ...so with each level, or "orbital", the energy of the atom's electrons actually increases. Let me draw what it might-

student: (without raising hand or otherwise asking for help) But miiissss... I don't geeeeett iiiiitt..

me: (obviously bristled) WELL MAAAAAAYBE IF YOU WAAAAAAIITED HALF A SEHHH-COND I COULD HEEEELP YOU UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAND WITH THIS PIIIIICTURE I WAS ABOUT TO DRAAAAAAW VERY POOOOOORLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

other students: hahahahahahaha. She told you!

me: (haven't yet cracked a smile because, well, it's just not funny to me) Would you like to get my attention in a manner more fitting to an 8th grader and not a 2-yr old?

student: Sorry, miss. (student never whines again in my class, but I can't speak for his others)

And that's how the whining issues in my classroom were usually solved. Can't do that with a 14-month old, I've learned.

I have tolerated kids' whining before - it's just a natural occurrence as they develop because they can't form words or signs and can't always walk over and show you what they want (esp if it's our kid). Thus the whine begins before toddling, but the sin of it gets washed away at baptism when they're 8, thank goodness, and then they're supposed to stop whining altogether. Unfortunately, I've known many an adult who's got some repenting to do. Tessa has done her fair share of whining, and I have taken it in stride - I realize she's hungry or tired or in need of a change of pace. I've almost always been able to take care of any particular need relatively easily. As I mentioned before, she's an angel, and we know we got lucky.

But today.... Today, no amount of sweet-talking, cajoling, flattery, enticements, empty promises, or animal crackers could satisfy her any longer than a few minutes. And then it was right back where we started. I knew she was tired, but the girl refused to sleep. So I let her stay up and get under the table where I was sewing (something for her, ungrateful thing). That was a mistake. I then let her play by herself in her room with her new hand-me-down (thanks, Debbi!) blocks. She loves the things, and she loves throwing them, crawling toward them, and then destroying any order whatsoever in her toys, books, and clothing just to get to them. I found her in the closet, banging pieces of my music stand together. I'll chalk that up to another mistake on my part. By the time I'd gotten fed up with that (and after I finished the small sewing project and hairclip I'd done in the meantime), it was - surprise! - time to eat again. So....she was whining. Okay, so, lunch. No prob. Do it every day. Mind you, I'm still not out of my underwear by this time, I'm starting to sweat a little hefting a 30-lb child who can't walk yet while 24 weeks pregnant, and the only thing I can be grateful for at this point is that I remembered to close the blinds the night before.

She whines for more food. Then throws it on the floor. Drinks water. Whines. Throws it on the floor - and thinks it's quite funny. Time to get out of the high chair. Crawls to the bathroom and whines when I don't let her pull up on the toilet seat. Whines when I don't let her break a frame. Whines when I pull her away from the carbon monoxide detector that has that deafening test button (why did they install that huge enticing thing in the hallway outlet???). Gets scissors taken away. More whining. Mama closes the laptop so she'll stop deleting my stuff. More whining. New soccer ball occupies her for about 4 minutes, then it's back to the whining. And I'm approaching bristle mode...

She FINALLY falls asleep and I think this is the end of the satanic drama and I can put my quills away. I get a shower in - yay me - and take 20 min for myself to crochet a flower. But I didn't finish. Because I hear it - and it's not a sweet pitter patter of anything tiny or feety. At this point I'm feeling like the Grinch when he grumbles, "all the noise, noise, NOISE, NOOISE!!!!"

Okay, I have to stop the story here and also say, I know there are moms out there who deal with this on a daily basis. This is nothing to them. In fact, this is a GOOD day! To you moms, I applaud you and have never judged you for keeping it to just one kid. I get it.

Back to the noise. Too short a nap - whiny. Third poop diaper. Whiny. Wants to crawl right off the changing table and I won't let her - whiny. To get back at me, she throws anything within reach off the table, including the large bottle of baby powder. Whines. Yanks brand new handmade-with-whatever-love-and-affection-I-was-feeling-toward-my-sweet-pea hairclip out of hair and throws that across the room, too. Grrr.

Time to fold laundry. She wants to be near whatever I'm doing. I let her. For every item I fold, she has unfolded two (well, until the math doesn't work out anymore), and has strewn them around the hallway. I'm getting serious bouts of heartburn with all the bending over and retrieving I'm doing. Laundry load gets folded in only three times as long as normal. I go take it upstairs to put away, and you can guess what I hear. I give her my phone to play with. She calls Europe. I take it away. Whine. I sequester her in the pack n play with her favorite toys while I fold same load and put it away. Two minutes......and there it is. I know! Let's feed her! That always solves everything!

Only temporarily today.

While she's somewhat occupied and in one spot, I take the time to get tonight's dinner ready. I've got my ham hock all ready (and hocked), even thought ahead and bought celery yesterday for today, got the split peas a-soakin', onions peeled and ready to chop, carrots - check. Sweet! Wait, whine. Ohhh, poop diaper. The fourth today (total for today = 6). I decide we need to take our frazzled selves outside for a little stroll and get some air and look at some pretty green trees. Half a minute in, and, yup, there's the drizzle. Going anyway. To the recycling bin on one side of the complex, mailboxes on the other side, while getting our mail Tessa and I notice a teenager who's walking his dog near the fowl/foul lake (both apply right now) and then watch him KICK THE GEESE! Repeatedly! They weren't even doing anything, but getting kicked sure pissed them off, so flap their wings they did, only to get kicked again. Made me so mad. On the way back, I then notice two more teenagers sneaking between our townhome and the next one, smoking pot (great), which they try to hide when they see I see them. Had a small debate in my head over whether I should call cops or not. Normally I wouldn't bother, but it's right next to our place, they're underage, and we have a little girl who will, (one day) be walking around the premises and considering her knack of finding and eating things I can't even see, well, you can understand my concern.

I decided to let it go for today. But I so badly wanted to be that responsible adult who gets on kids' cases and ends up saving the world. One day.

Walk in the house, time to boil the peas and ham hock, so I turn on the heat, and....whine. At this point, I completely lost it. I got on the floor where she was and had her face me. I told her to stop it in a very loud voice - something I've never done. In fact, I have since tried to recall any other time I've raised my voice at her other than fake laughing and jabbering to get her to talk and giggle, and I can't. I was angry. And I lost my patience. So then I got angry at myself. I put her into bed, hoping that even though it was late in the day, she'd at least get a snooze in and I could protect her from further Mommy Wrath. In taking her upstairs and getting frustrated for getting so frustrated, I...left the soup pot on high and the thing boiled over. That was when I started crying. And I hadn't even started chopping the onions yet.

Time got away from me in order to have dinner somewhat ready or almost ready by the time Ted came home from studying all day in the library, so to cut time, I uncovered the pot and let everything boil longer instead of allowing it to simmer an hour and a half or so. I'd been crying so hard over everything that all holes in my head were clogged and I didn't smell the damage until it was too late. Note: split peas are denser than water and therefore sink. When high heat is applied, there's no water there to buffer the temperature rising, so those peas are gonna burn, gonna burn. And...they did. Allll on the bottom of the pot. My beautiful hunk of pork product! Ruined!

Ted had made it home by then and had been sympathetic to my tears, had asked if I needed anything, but I was too flustered and upset to first, think of any way he could help me, and second, explain why I was crying in the first place except to say "ALL THE WHINING!" I couldn't put into words that I'd just reached my first day of yelling at my innocent child, and then going a step further and wondering what the heck I was going to do if #2 does this every day. That made the tears flow even more, then somehow I smelled the soup, and I almost lost control of my bladder I was so upset. I mean, honestly... Who burns soup??

So that is most of the story. I'm reserving the rest of the story for my journal's eyes only. (Piqued your interest, didn't I? Too bad.) Let's just say it's a good thing Wendy's is so close, because a Jr Bacon Cheeseburger can cure just about any ill.

And just so I don't end this on too sour a note, I've included pictures of the very small projects I finagled while she destroyed three rooms and I was still in my oh-Tessa-you-little-rascal stage.

I bought the purple shorts at the dollar store a couple days ago. Just attached the ruffly trim (which I got from a scrap store) to dress them up a bit. Much cuter.

And I finally summoned up enough courage to try making a felt hairclip after spending an hour on the phone last week with Laura, who has mastered the art. She gave me some tips, then told me to just go for it, even if I make a mistake (you'd think I was auditioning for Broadway or something). It's the experience that teaches you. So, it's not perfect, but it was at least fulfilling and I learned how to do it better next time.

These photos were taken between sessions of whining.

Don't play so innocent, little girl.... I heard you tonight, even when you had fries in front of you!

Have your cake and eat it, two

2010-04-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had an idea pop in your head that was so perfect and got you so excited that you nearly wet your pantaloons and somewhere amidst the swooning at your own cleverness you neglected to care about things that normally would alarm you, like a leaking poopie diaper or the fact that you're in your underwear while the apartment complex gardening company is outside your sliding glass door mowing your lawn whilst you stand there in raptured glee among poo fumes?

That happened to me.

The grand idea popped into my head after much deliberation and pondering upon the subject, so the moral of the story is to always ponder and you will be considered wonderful by any and all.

The subject? Upcoming baby shower for a friend.

The deliberation? I volunteered to help with the shower, so what cake to make? What flavor? Frosting or ganache? Which frosting? What decoration? Why is her favorite color blue when she's having a girl?

Further deliberation? What do I do for a gift? I've always been the practical type who gives diapers and wipes and boobie pads because EVERY MOM NEEDS THOSE and we all hate paying for them, but they're necessities of life, like Diet Coke and Peanut M&Ms. And bacon.

The pondering? I have recently become....obsessed? no. Addicted? no...Curiously engaged in pursuing acts of craftiness as long as 1) it can be perfect the first time I make it, 2) it's not something someone would throw away after looking at it and moving it around your dining room table for a week, hoping it will find its own niche in your home (sorry, papercrafters), and 3) it doesn't cost me more money to make than it would take to just buy a completed and better version of it.

Further pondering. I went through a gamut of ideas to hopefully fulfill the "what can I make to add to the diapers and boobie pads?" conundrum. Dyed and appliqued onesies? Never done them before. Freezer paper onesies? Still haven't purchased my own fabric paint and I remember the good designs being tedious. Sew a skirt? Maybe I could swing it, but there are a lot of women who could do it way better and might try, thereby making my skirt look like something a hobo would wear. Bead a few bracelets? Done that - have the materials, but want to try something different.

And that's when the almost-pantaloons-wetting and poo-fume-ignoring and Mexican-gardeners-getting-a-free-PG-13-rated-peep-show-cluelessness kicked in.

The cake would be chocolate chunk raspberry because she's had it before and couldn't stop foogasming over it (which is the basis of our friendship). That was the only given in this scenario. Everything else came together in a flurry of converging neural synapses that almost exploded my brain. The convergence went something like this:

Cream cheese frosting won't hold up as well as a buttercream so I'll do the buttercream even though I haven't made it as often OOH! and since the cake has a hint of raspberry the buttercream should too and I suppose I could decorate it with raspberries but I had such a bad experience relying on that last time because when we bought them the day of the party all the good raspberries were gone so we had to pay a dollar more per box for the last two organic boxes where half of them were already beginning to mold or mush under the weight of the others God bless pesticides screw the raspberries strawberries are looking gorgeous right now and huge so I'll use those does that mean I should try to find a strawberry extract? maybe I can if not I can soften the raspberry extract with some vanilla after all I only want a hint and I don't care if her favorite color is blue she's having a girl so she's just gonna have to get used to pink dammit we all do so the frosting will be pink which will be perfect since it's going to be raspberry buttercream anyway besides who wants a blue frosting that tastes like raspberries it's not like I'm running an Icee machine out of a 7-11 so pink it is with strawberries and OOH! there's a pattern for a crocheted slice of cake in that book Ted gave me and it's easy enough to change the frosting color from white to pink yarn but that pattern only has it as a two-layer cake and this one will most definitely be four layers with berry bits between because that's just what I do so I can't settle for a two-layer slice of cake but the rest of it looks pretty cute so maybe I can adapt it to three layers instead because if I try to do four layers it will be monstrous and this is supposed to be a little crawling baby's toy and OOH! I can put jingle bells in it so it's like a little rattle but would that be too much like a cat's toy I don't want this thing to look like it came straight out of PetSmart so OOH! I'll crochet a few strawberries to go with it since that's what's going to be on the real cake and then it'll look even more like food and I'll add bells to those too so when she opens it and shakes it around I'll say it's CAKE AND JINGLEBERRIES!

Here was the cake:

Here's the inside, which we'd already cut into before the present-opening (all part of the master plan):

And after pulling out the diapers and boobie pads, she saw this:

And she promptly freaked out. So much that I forgot to say "CAKE AND JINGLEBERRIES!" And here's the side-by-side:

PS - thank you to Ted for buying me the book that prompted the fun in enough time to have it ready for the shower and for coming up with the "two" pun in the post title. You didn't really think I was that much of a grammar idiot, did you?

On the cooling rack: Birthday "Pizookie"

2010-04-17T19:50:00.001-07:00

I say "Pizookie" in quotes not because my version was a cheap, sub-par imitation, but because if it didn't come from BJ's Brewhouse, it's not technically one of their someone-needs-a-medal creation. But heaven help me, I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference in a blind taste test.

The actual word "pizookie" is so catchy that it took me until only recently to realize that it's a combination of "pizza" and "cookie'. Duh. But it's not just a pizza cookie because it's bigger and more perfectly round than a normal cookie.... No, no, no. Some genius up there in the BJ's R&D department came up with a beauty. They cook a phenomenal tasting cookie dough at a high temperature in a 6-inch diameter deep dish pizza pan with a little butter on the bottom that makes the bottom and sides ever so delicately crispy while the inner 4-inch diameter stays gooey, but nice and hot, which instantly starts melting the LARGE scoop of vanilla ice cream they plop on top. It's a simple dessert done to perfection, and anyone who's had one will swear by it.

Ted does.

Let me start by saying that this success story didn't come easily. As an amateur baker, I like to try new treats and experiments, and of course if you live under my same roof, you're subject to the tasting and forming of opinions about them. Ted and I have now been married three years, so that's three birthdays, three V-days, three sets of the Fat Holidays, and 156 weekends, most of which have sponsored some sort of concoction-making. Gee, and I wonder why my rump is lumpy.

When I do make something, especially if it's something new, I guess my need for accolades hinders honest opinions from the man. He's not one to emote effusive compliments if they're undeserved, and even if they are deserved, they're nearly impossible to eke out of him. He just doesn't moan in epicurean bliss, whereas I do it on a pretty regular basis. So I've had to learn to take anything above "It was good" as something that really blew his socks off (I have a translator in my brain, thankfully). For instance, when I made a turkey and rice soup from scratch the other day and he said, "This tastes just like my mom's", I about fell over and thanked my lucky stars (she's a great cook and I've witnessed him get wistful every now and then about certain meals and treats of hers).

There's the background to the next chain of events. We were on a walk a few weeks ago, and Ted was pushing the stroller. We had somehow gotten onto the topic of BJ's in general or Pizookies specifically, and either topic induces a wave of nostalgia for a chocoholic version of their Pizookie that I had about a year ago when a gaggle of girls from our freshman year at college got together for a weekend. I shared a Chocolate Chocolate Chunk Pizookie made with Ghirardelli chocolate and double chocolate ice cream with a square of dark Ghirardelli chocolate on the side with a friend at that meal. Neither of us can figure out why we shared. One bite and we almost ordered another one. So when Ted mentioned the word "Pizookie", he was speaking of the original and my brain had skipped right to the too-chocolate-for-words version. I replied with something like "Well, the original is good but that choc-" when I was EMPHATICALLY interrupted by my dearly beloved. He stopped the stroller mid-push, stuck his hand out in front of me and yelled, "Stop! You can't just stand there and say, 'the original is good.' You know it's way better than 'good'. It's freaking incredible, and I will not let you take another step until you acknowledge that."

I was blown away. In our three years of marriage, 5 months of engagement, 1 month of second-time dating, 6 months of friendship, 1 year of not talking at all, and 2 months of first-time dating, I have NEVER heard him speak so highly of a single dessert in such a tone. Yes, I wish it had been about one of my desserts, but I loved the effusive outburst so much that I really didn't care.

So for his birthday last Thursday (tax day), it didn't take too much to come up with what I would make this time.

I was given the recipe for some of the BEST chocolate chip cookies I've had in my life, so instead of using store-bought tubes of pre-fabricated cookie dough, which I've known some people to do... (you know who you are), I took great care in making the best version I could. I have a 6-inch deep dish pan (what self-respecting amateur baker doesn't?), but I opted for the heart instead because despite his lack of food-induced moans, I love my birthday boy very much.

So you can use any good recipe of cookie dough you want (or cheat - it's not like I'm going to know), but preheat the oven to 425. It's not your typical 350, but this ain't your typical batch of cookies. The higher heat cooks the whole bottom, edges, and top of your pizza cookie and keeps the very middle in its highly desirable salmonella stage. Cooking times will vary with the size pan you use (I really don't recommend you go bigger than a 9-inch cake pan, but even that's pushing it. The heart pan is 7" at its widest point), so watch it. Mine cooked about 13-15 min if I remember correctly. Should look like this:

Notice it looks completely cooked (I just typed "cookied" and I'm drooling). You don't want to take it out before the top looks done like that lest you have just a raw liquid-type thing you have to drink with a straw. Wait. Hmm.. next experiment?

WHILE STILL HOT OUT OF THE OVEN, plop a hefty amount of quality vanilla ice cream on top (pictured is Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Bean) so the contact heat starts melting it into pure sweet cream that creates rivers of pleasure all through your little hills and valleys of dough and chocolate. Eat immediately. DO NOT let this thing cool down, DO NOT be scared to blow on your first few bites of it, and DO NOT ever reveal to your cardiologist the real reason for your skyrocketing cholesterol. Blame it on genetics.

The aftermath:

I'm embarrassed to admit that I almost needed an oven mitt to remove the pan off the table. That's how warm it still was...

Oh, what bliss. Happy Pizookie Birthday, sweetie. I hold your food orgasms in my heart.

Pep Rallies: They're not just for High School Anymore

2010-04-15T20:31:00.000-07:00

I think I remember enjoying high school pep rallies, but I'm not sure. Sometimes it was fun to see what the ASB had cooked up for a skit, it was always amusing to watch our hoochie cheerleaders with their latest booty-bumping choreography, and if there was some sort of court for some sort of dance, I enjoyed looking at the male eye candy. Never cared for the dates on their arms, but teenage boys cleaned up in suits, you betcha.

However, I was usually playing in the band for said pep rallies, so... you may understand why I say I think I remember enjoying them.

But this one was totally different. The day after Duke took the title of NCAA champs in Men's Basketball, the campus was a-flurry and they quickly set up a "Welcome Home" rally-type pep thing. I was going to go swimming at our complex pool since it was pushing 90, but a friend talked me into going. I guess it was a good thing, too, because the only Duke blue shirt I have is a maternity shirt, so it forced me to finally pull THOSE things out again. (It used to be my Dodger blue shirt, but look what a cross-country move makes you do - change loyalties.) But honestly, the event turned out to be much more cool (as in "hip" or "rad" or "groovy", not temp-wise) than I thought it would be. I texted Ted to join me, but some mean ol' professor had him in a mandatory meeting right through the whole thing. It was like Christmas on campus (as in "exciting" or "anticipatory" or "pine-scented", not temp-wise), yet there were Scrooges keeping their Bob Cratchits clustered away in air-conditioned classrooms. Meanies.

Don't know what kind it is, but I stopped mid-stroller-push to stare at this Pinky-Burst tree. The business school is right behind.

This was the scene upon entering - scoreboard was set to the final score of the championship game, and they were replaying the entire 40 minutes from the night before. Every once in a while they'd cut to the news coverage of the team landing at the nearby airport, getting on buses, and traveling back to campus. Each cut to the live transport was accompanied by raucous applause. Southerners and their sports... Gotta love 'em. Yes, I totally joined in.

The disgusting aftermath of the haul up the hill in humid 90-degree weather, pregnant, pushing a fat baby. The only redeeming quality is the nice rack I'm a-sportin'. Go, girl!

If you didn't watch the game, shame on you, but if you did, you know that it was a nail-biter right to the end. Even the last seconds were filled with stomach-churning agony as we watched that last half-court shot get so close to completely changing the outcome. So when that scene replayed on the scoreboard, the entire stadium erupted in cheers as if it had just happened, and amidst all that cheering, the team walked in. NICE TIMING, WHOEVER WAS IN CHARGE OF THAT.

The illustrious and now more decorated Coach K, saying some very kind words (sans crazy game eyebrows and pursy lips) about his team:

And...the very cute and very charming and very kind Jon Scheyer. He was one of the seniors who just said a few words of thanks to everyone. They all kept it nice and short and sweet and grateful - not cocky at all, so it was right up my alley.

And while I was caught up in all the hullabaloo, this was the scene just below me.

You'd think I never fed the girl. Her thighs say otherwise.

Gotcha, little girl. Step (crawl) away from the animal crackers...

You pay attention when history is being made! Or else!

Creation: Crocheted Spring Purse

2010-04-15T19:42:00.000-07:00

Spring is here! Time to celebrate and wear it proud. I saw this pattern in a book, and though I think it's adorable, there's no way I can fit my wallet, camera (though it's small), keys, phone, diapers, sippy cup, wipes, toys, a couple of pens, a spoon, applesauce, and pretzels in there. So I made it for someone else. TWO someone elses. I photographed the first one, but had a Moron Day and deleted the pictures before I could download them.

The first edition was for my sweet sister who had a birthday at the end of March. Her life has been topsy-turvy as of late, though I can't say I really pity her. She was a nanny in ITALY, of all places, from August to January, and when she got back after Christmas, someone somewhere told her that the work visa she currently held wasn't gonna cut it, so she had to come back to the U.S. to try to work it out with the consulate. They gave her the run-around, in way more detail and paragraphs than I'm going to get into, but in the meantime, my brother's family in Heber, UT, had quite a scare with their newborn boy. He contracted RSV, had to be lifeflighted (is that a verb?) to Salt Lake, and the parents were quickly in tow. However, they had 4 other boys left at home. So my sister dropped everything with consulates and visas and flew to Utah to stay in their home while little Jake recuperated in the hospital. She took care of four CRAZY boys so our brother could still go to work and Sara could stay with her son in the hospital. What a dear. What an unselfish thing to do. It's so like her to do that, too, so I made this for her.

Edition #2 was for our neighbor and friend, Ashley, who is constantly tending and tickling our little (huge) munchkin while I go do various errands. She's got her own day job and an additional side job, she's putting her husband through his last year of law school and planning grad parties and baby showers, but she always has time to take Tess under her wing. I told her I would have made her a scarf from a cool pattern in the same book, but it was probably too warm for that. She happened to be over one day when I was crocheting this purse, and she decided she wanted one, too. Same color, same handles, same size. (phew) I was only too happy to oblige.

So thank you, thank you to daily heroes who make the world go round. I love you immensely and think you're pretty stupendous.

It's not much, but it's from the heart.

Charleston: A day on the town

2010-04-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

Charleston was so beautiful that we spent two days "just walking around" instead of the pre-planned one. Ted (trivia receptacle) mentioned that this is one part of the country that has very specific laws regarding what can be built and where, what color it can be painted, any and all signage, and even landscaping the city wants to use. All of this is done in an effort to preserve as much as possible the look that has existed for hundreds of years, and I must say, the efforts are well worth it to tourists like us. Not only was it a gorgeous spring day (which one hopes for on their spring break), but the scenery was enough to just want to sit on one of the large rocking-chair porches and drink it all in. But there was too much to see! So, walk we did.

Some streets were brick, while others were cobblestoned. I expressed my love for the cobblestones until I had to push an umbrella stroller across one for an entire two blocks. Then they weren't my favorite. But they were cool to look at!

We visited Fort Sumter, the site of the beginning of the Civil War on April 12, 1865. It has been excavated and somewhat restored, with some of the original cannons, and they've built a museum to showcase some of the artillery and a HUGE original flag. I was focused on how crazy it must have been to be a part of nonstop blasts coming to and going fro, but I also couldn't get out of my head that this was the place the four girls in the movie Shag told their parents they were visiting and instead went to Myrtle Beach for the weekend. It's not like the Fort was THAT big! How were their parents so easily fooled that it would take them an entire weekend to see it all?!? Of COURSE they were going to go to the beach and meet boys and enter shag contests and throw a party in the senator's house! I mean, the Fort was cool and all, but those things were much cooler when I was 18 and about to go off to college. I'm just sayin'. Sometimes parents are stupid and gullible.

I got a picture of my two favorite people closer up in front of this house, but then I realized the whole reason I took a picture of this house was because it reminded me of so many gorgeous houses and magnolia trees that I miss in my hometown. The scene could have been straight out of Pasadena, for all you know. But nope, Charleston, SC.

There were fountains a-plenty:

Our friend Ashley happened to take this shot right after Tessa stuck her hand in the stream of water and splashed it all over herself, inducing gasps and whimpers. Notice how great a mom I am - laughing at my poor unfortunate child. Whatever. She got over it.

This was one of many incredible-looking churches. But I included it because it was my favorite.

Spanish moss EVERYWHERE:

A small stretch dubbed "Rainbow Row". Fitting name, obviously.

As I crossed one of the streets, I noticed the sun was at a perfect point for a perfect photo. Unfortunately, I'm not a perfect photographer. This was me trying to be fancy.

Our group decided to try one of the restaurants that had been recommended in our "1000 Places (in USA and Canada) to See Before You Die" book. All of Charleston was in there, but they made special mention of this restaurant: Bowen's Island. We would never have just happened upon this place on our own, because it was on the edge of town, down a remote paved road that turned into a remoter dirt road full of huge ruts and bumps, and into a remotest cul-de-sac that housed a barn, a shack, and near-mountains of oyster shells. The barn was the restaurant, the shack was where you pre-paid, got your drinks (go with the cans, folks, because I personally saw a rat walking near the "water cooler"), and could watch your food get deep-fried. If you ordered oysters, you witnessed the little critters getting scalded to death in the huge boiling kettles you passed on your way to the barn/restaurant. Also, if you ordered said oysters, they came to you in an industrial-sized shovel, and the waiter just plopped them on your table. Good luck shuckin'.

None of us ordered oysters.

Here's our group in the quaint surroundings. Patrons were encouraged to write/carve on the wooden panels and 2x4s that made up "the walls", and there was a very fat dog lying in wait to receive any ill-placed table scraps. It reminded me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and our chubby daughter simultaneously. Note to self: when fat and pregnant, always move to the back of group pictures.

The oyster carnage. This was only one of the dozen or so piles of shells out there. Oh, and go Duke.

Tessa is a bit of a flirt, but even she has her limit. This was about the 14th hug she got that night. From the same cute boy. I hope she keeps this attitude as a teenager, but it's probably wishful thinking considering who her mama is.

Creation: Flower Headband

2010-04-09T11:41:00.001-07:00

There are now two very cute Mias in my life - one in CA (who is actually living in our old house) and one in a nice neighborhood in our new ward. I've babysat the one here a couple times, and I thought she might like to do a craft today. Really, I wanted to do the craft, and I made her join me. I've been gathering materials slowly after reading this tutorial from a friend's blog, then I put it off because Tessa not only doesn't keep things on her head very long - she drools all over them and bites parts off (still searching for a missing button, but I stop at rifling through poop).

So when Mia came over for an afternoon, I decided to make the best of it. I did most of the work, but she picked out the beads and ate the rest of the Jelly Belly centerpiece. I appreciated the 4 calories per bean that won't be packed onto my own jelly belly.

Perfect little headband to go looking for bugs with.

Blue Devils are National Champions in 2010!!!

2010-04-05T21:53:00.000-07:00

This 90-degree day was gorgeous, pollen-filled, and fruitful!

As Ted's first year of law school comes to its final weeks, we have found ourselves totally devoted to the NCAA basketball outcome. Of course, we have a slightly more vested interest than if he had chosen to go to University of Michigan.

We invited ourselves over to our friends' house - they're both avid fans, and even though John has been a bball junkie lately, he wasn't there to watch it with us and his wife Melanie (who made some slammin black bean salsa). Because he WON TICKETS to be there in Indianapolis!! This guy gets all the luck - it's pretty uncanny. He paid 25 bucks and got tickets to both semifinals and the National Championship game. He graduates law school in a month, and from his phone call after Duke won a thrilling final game, it was the icing on his illustrious law school cake. I mean, career.

To further cheer on the team, I stopped in "the Jelly Belly aisle" of our local Target to purchase this: coconut, french vanilla, black licorice, and plum. NO blueberry - you know how we feel about those.

(When I got home I noticed on the receipt that instead of charging me the $7/lb for the things, the cashier typed in the wrong PLU and only charged me the $0.57/lb banana rate. It must have happened because Tess was distracting her with her flirty "hiiiiiii!" which obviously turned our cashier into butter. Sheesh, it works on me every day.)

So with treats a-plenty, a crawling one-year old who threatened to push any and all buttons on the TV, and some old school recording of the game onto VHS, we witnessed history being made, cheering the Blue Devils along in our Duke blue. Hey, I'm 22 weeks pregnant. It was the only correctly-colored shirt I could muster.

And then Tessa's poop diaper leaked onto my white pants. Thanks, girl. Go Duke!

ps - You know you have kids when your team wins at midnight and you have to celebrate with "silent screams".

Charleston: Fantasy trees

2010-03-29T18:35:00.001-07:00

We spent four beautiful days in Charleston over Ted's Spring Break. It was a break he sorely needed, and this time (as opposed to his Fall Break when we went to Hershey), everything was due before the break, so he could actually relax. We went with two other families, stayed in the same hotel, ate at the same joints, toured the same sights and everything. It was such a gas! We had a ball, even though the other couples left a day earlier than we did. On our last day, we visited an outdoor market with vendors who sold much of the same thing (so of course it reminded me of downtown L.A.). Some was kitschy, some was quite pretty, and some of it belonged in the garbage.

We looked through some photographed prints at one stand, and stopped at one incredible image of a tree. We asked the vendor what it was, and he said it was an oak that was 1500 years old, called the "Angel Oak Tree", and it lived on St John's Island, which was about 20 minutes away. After grabbing lunch and driving through the Citadel, we headed over there, not knowing exactly where it was, but hoping our GPS could give us some info. It did, and we found it, and we were SO GLAD we did. It was even more incredible than the pictures showed, because this thing was so huge, there's no way it could be captured in just one shot. The branches actually spanned almost two acres and had to be propped up off the ground. Keep in mind these next four shots are all one tree. By my calculations, the seed must have taken root only one lifetime after Moroni buried the plates in the hillside. So cool! ;)

Our last day together, all three families went to visit the Boone Plantation, made famous by the movie The Notebook. The house, Boone Hall, was grand, but the grounds were what was really impressive. There were fields galore for strawberries, pumpkins, green beans, melons (the kind you eat), eggplant, grapes, and all sorts of other things. They even made their own honey on the plantation. The whole place used to grow indigo, but once cotton became "king", the Boone Plantation (and most others) switched to cotton.

And my favorite, these oak trees that were just dripping with Spanish moss were glorious. On a whim, we popped the kids up into the branches and got them giddy with laughter.

Couldn't you just EAT THEM UP???

On the cooling rack: 3.14159265...

2010-03-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

Yes, friends, today we have pie in the kitchen. Well, not today. I made them Sunday and they were gone by Monday, but I'm blogging about them today.

We REALLY wanted to celebrate Pi Day (3/14) ON pi day, but with meetings from morning until late afternoon that Sunday, and friends having the nerve to leave town, we couldn't make it work. So we postponed it until the following Sunday and gorged ourselves on, first, a Chocolate Pear Tart (maybe not technically a pie, but it had my homemade pie crust, so I say it counted. This tart has a great flavor, aided by a little almond extract and 5 oz of grated Belgian chocolate on the bottom. I didn't have pears that were as firm as I wanted, since the tart has to bake for about half an hour, so I made do with my riper ones, but it was still good.

Then we moved on to the Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry Pie. Man, oh man. This one was the star of the night. I've tweaked it several times over the years, and I must say, I think I reached near perfection with it this time around. It. was. marvelous. The berries were juicy and red and flavorful, the sugar/cornstarch/corn syrup/whipping cream/chocolate ratios were spot on, the pie crust was flaky with a little bit of crisp, and the painted chocolate on the crust had just enough thickness to perfectly complement the glaze on the berries without the chocolate itself turning soggy. Oh heavens. I'm not usually one to totally fawn over my own concoctions (I will most often say "thank you", "glad you liked it", or even downplay its taste by revealing a mistake or two), but I save the following praise for especially incredible things, and you have to imagine it with a lot of attitude:

"I just got two words to say: DAY-AM!!"

Once the farmer's markets here kick in for the late spring/early summer, this pie will be revisited and regorged upon.

Halfway mark

2010-03-26T22:09:00.000-07:00

Well, he better!

Another milestone

2010-03-23T22:08:00.000-07:00

Today I had to purchase our first baby gate, and in doing so, realized those things don't fit inside a Target cart ("buggy", if in the South) very well. Tessa gnawed on the box while we were shopping, so it looks like a keeper.

She has moved out of the army scoot and into actual crawling. We realize she's behind the norm, but I haven't minded as it has meant I've only had to have one eye on her instead of two. Those days are quickly diminishing. Case in point: the other night she thought our kitchen garbage receptacle would be strong enough to anchor her 30 pound (no joke) frame, and only pulled up on it because she could see from the overflow that there were strawberry tops and a chicken carcass, and that girl will go to any lengths for a bite (yesterday I pulled a dead ladybug out of her mouth, bitten perfectly in half - jury is still out on whether it was alive or not when it went in). Alas, the garbage toppled over onto her stunned and chubby body, and Ted had to mop up the floor because I said it would make a pregnant woman gag (I'm very good at lying).

At this point, I'm reconsidering having baby #2, but since I'm 20 weeks, it's not likely I can go back on that decision. We made it when #1 was still immobile, and my naive brain figured I could handle one, even if it was crazy, since Tessa was so good-natured. Note to self: children grow up and get into everything. Occasionally they break some things, and in our case, eat most things. Be advised whenever you revisit another "having another child" conversation.

Oh, and tomorrow will be "pulling out the maternity clothes" day. I can't stuff my lower gut into my regular jeans anymore, even though they do have stretch (and thank the fashion gods for that!). Poor kid's going to come out with a zipper impression across its backside.

On the cooling rack: Mexican sweet corn cake

2010-03-18T08:16:00.001-07:00

You know when you go to a chain-y sit-down Mexican restaurant (think El Torito or Chevy's) and they bring you your entree with your sizzling fajitas or steaming tamales or chimichangas (my fave) and all the fixin's are on the side, like the guacamole, pico de gallo, sour cream, and shredded lettuce? I love that. But more than that, we love that itty bitty scoop of sweet yellow corn goodness that's tucked in alongside the beans and rice that's good enough to eat for dessert. Ted and I, after several conversations, have agreed that that little scoop is hands down the best part of the meal, and the only thing wrong with it is that it's too small a scoop.

We had an activity with all the youth in three wards to expand their cultural appreciation, and 60 people were asked to bring a dish from either a country they were from or somewhere they visited or served as a missionary, or just plain ol' had a fascination with. For weeks I hemmed and hawed over which country to do since I've only been to three and they were popular and I figured they'd be taken. Come to find out, Mexico wasn't taken. So I made it my duty to find and, if necessary, tweak a recipe for that sweet corn blessing for everyone to try.

Mexican Sweet Corn Cake

1/3 cup butter, softened
1/3 cup masa harina (Mexican corn flour found in baking aisle or Mexican aisle. My California friends should have NO problem finding this stuff - also sold under brand name "Maseca")
1/4 cup water
1 1/2 cups frozen whole-kernel corn, thawed
1/4 cup cornmeal
1/3 cup white sugar
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder

Preheat oven to 350. In a medium bowl beat butter until it is creamy. Add the masa harina and water and beat until well mixed.

Using a food processor, pulse thawed corn a few times, but leave chunky. Stir into the butter mixture.

Add cornmeal, sugar, salt, baking powder and cream last to corn flour mixture and stir to combine. Pour batter into an ungreased 8x8 inch baking pan. Smooth batter and cover with aluminum foil. Make a water bath* by placing smaller pan into a 9x13 pan. Slowly add water into 9x13 pan with small pitcher or spouted cup until water reaches about halfway up. (If you add too much, just take some out with a turkey baster)

Bake for 50 to 60 minutes. Top should barely spring back to the touch and be ever so slightly crisp around the edges. Leave foil on, and allow to cool for 10 minutes. Use an ice cream scoop to serve onto plates or a regular spoon to eat it from the pan (Ted's method).

*Don't skip the water bath! The steam ensures a very moist cake (since this is NOT a cornbread) and prevents overbrowning.

Here are a few of the other entries from the International Food Night. This English Trifle was the bomb. Whoever made it didn't bother with regular old chocolate cake. They were awesome brownies, and it was probably the first dish to be completely gone. ("What?! instead of clotted cream on under-seasoned beans?", you say. I know. I was as shocked as you are.)

France represented with a Quiche Lorraine and brie on baguette. Simple. Yummy.

And a beautiful and crispy Norwegian "wreath cake" from Norwegia. Tasted like crisp, flavorful ladyfingers.

Overall, a smashing success. Encourage your uncultured church teens to do the same.

Creation: "Converse" high-top booties

2010-03-12T12:59:00.000-08:00

Last week I went to a baby shower for a new friend who's having her first baby in a few weeks - a boy. Her husband was nicknamed "Playa" (as in player, not the Spanish word for beach) by Ted because, well, he looks like a playa. But he's in medical school, so I guess he's a smart playa. Anyway, I thought these would be perfect for their offspring.

I am certainly not clever enough to come up with the pattern myself. I got it here, and they took me a LONG time since it was only the 6th thing I've crocheted since teaching myself from this fabulous book. Thanks again for it, Ted!

What's in this?

2010-03-09T20:08:00.000-08:00

Ted and I agreed that neither of us like Blueberry Jelly Bellies (do you write it "Bellies" because it's the plural of "Belly" or do you write it "Bellys" because "Jelly Belly" is trademarked? I couldn't find the answer to that in Eats, Shoots & Leaves). They kinda taste like soap and not like delicate, pop-in-your-mouth, slightly sweet but slightly tangy blueberries. Most flavors they just nail, and I loved seeing the process when I visited there some time ago, but Blueberry....sorry guys.

Then there's the color - and that's where today's story begins. They're a deep blue, not navy, but a little darker than royal. Kinda like a Duke blue. More reason to want to love them, but we just can't. So we decided to give the few that we had to our resident garbage disposal. She doesn't care about the nuances and notes of flavors so much, for she has yet to gain sophisticated palates like her parents (said tongue-in-cheek, but right now I wish I was saying it donut-in-mouth). She gobbled them up, and though she slapped Daddy's thigh for more, we were strong. She wasn't getting our root beer ones.

But these tiny beans! They must be made up completely of dye and sugar (not that I'm against those things)! I can understand these effects directly afterward:

But I was not prepared for the next day. Her diaper manifested that she had eaten very concentrated color pills. Though the output stank to high heaven (which is coincidental, since I was changing said diaper during church), I still got a few giggles out of it because I was reminded of when one of my mission companions and I bought blue dye for fish tanks and put them in some brownies and Kool-Aid for the elders. We nabbed the whole zone, and had a dozen or so of them calling the mission office with some "serious medical issues" because they were suddenly peeing green. You can understand why I number it among my greatest mission success stories.

On the cooling rack: Valentine's Day cookies

2010-03-02T20:56:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why it took me so long to post these. My friend Ashley invited me over to decorate cookies with royal icing as a birthday present last month, so while her husband and our home teacher played with Tessa for two hours, we whipped up icing, colored it, piped it, flooded it into the cookies, and voila:

I'd never worked with royal icing before, and I must say, though the final product is smooth and pretty, it was a royal pain to work with. It's a finicky frosting and it takes a lot of time, and quite honestly, I like the taste of a good buttercream MUCH better. True, you can't decorate all fancy with it, but taste is the #1 criterion for me with any food, especially dessert. I like my sugar cookies soft and sweet and buttery, like my boobies when I'm nursing, and like Jana's incredible recipe that she has perfected over several years. The royal icing dries quite hard, and I wasn't fond of biting into such a crispy thing. I'll save that for my chips and toffee, thank you.

I think the lips were a favorite among the three women doing the project. I provided the cookie cutter with the arrow going through the heart, and after seeing the cookies it made, it looks like I'll have to go and bend it back into a decent shape. The upper left hand corner cookie had me singing the 80's band Human League song "Poison Arrow", except I forgot it was "poison", so my lyrics went something like "shoot that broken arrow through my heeaaaart", and only when I tried to picture an image of shooting something already broken, expecting it to pierce your target and how ridiculous it was did I realize I must have it wrong. Oh well - it fit my cookies.

My Mount Everest (well, one of 'em)

2010-02-28T17:08:00.000-08:00

Like many of you, I grew up as the daughter of a very talented mother. She could sing, dance, cook, bake, play multiple instruments, sew clothes for her family, earn money from home, chauffeur, direct a choir, teach little kids, and my siblings and I were particularly proud that she could eat breakfast AND nurse a baby while driving the kids to early morning seminary... in a stickshift.

As the 6th of 10 kids, I didn't get to benefit from any of my mom's signature hand-made clothing (showers and laundry were more of a priority), so I really didn't have any idea about how good she is with a sewing machine. I spent many a Saturday over at my friend Shannon's house, whose mother is an interior designer and decorator and therefore had a workroom with a half dozen different sewing machines that rivaled the local downtown LA sweatshop. Shannon, being the fearless talent that she is, learned to sew on them from a young age and intimidated me with her mad scrunchy-making skillz. I remember being crazy jealous at the time, but didn't act positively to my jealousy until I was about 14. I told my mom I wanted to make a pair of pajama pants - a project I decided on because I figured if they didn't turn out well, I was only wearing them to bed anyway. So we bought a pattern and thread and she helped me begin. In my naivete, however, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to begin sewing on a knit, and to begin with a pair of pants, even if they did have an elastic waist. The result before I even got to the waistband was a pair of "pants" that MAYBE a human-sized penguin could wear, but would probably be very embarrassed. I didn't know what happened! But in my frustration and embarrassment, I threw the whole thing away and didn't look at another sewing machine until I was much older.

Fast forward to a post-mission love affair and suddenly I wanted to make a sassy patchwork quilt for a boy. Love makes you do crazy things. Like revisit a black spot from your past. Well, by golly, the quilt turned out just like I wanted it, so I started to teach myself how to make pillows to match it - with my own piping! I had no idea at the time that I was making progress because I sure did break a lot of needles.

Rather than jumping off from that point, the boy and I broke up before I had a chance to give him the goods, so I kept them for myself and to this day, they adorn our guest bed in what Ted likes to call my "boudoir". With the boy gone, and me back at college and without access to Mom's machine (and never thinking to ever ask or save for one), sewing went by the wayside, and after several years, I began to be in awe of others' talents and claim I didn't have any sewing know-how to speak of. Yes, I am the epitome of burying one's talents.

Then our move to NC with a 6 month-old meant I became a stay-at-home mom, and I spent her naptimes (and much of what should have been my own sleep time) FINALLY reading one of the several thousand crafty blogs out in cyberworld. This particular one belonged to a girl I knew in my old ward but was afraid to get to know better because I was so intimidated by her many talents and personality traits. At the time, I remember wanting to be just like her (a common feeling for me regarding many people who excel in areas I don't...yet) but didn't know where to start. It took me a few weeks, but I read that blog from beginning to end, and with such a concentration of creativity and goodness, I was inspired to get over my sewing fears, stop telling myself I didn't know how, and deal with any discouragement or disappointment along the way.

It all began when we were having a meeting with all the leaders of our church's girls' group. We were planning a Halloween activity that required some "gunny sacks" to be sewn out of thick fabric, and none of the four leaders piped up. I sheepishly volunteered, but said I didn't have a machine (thinking that would get me off the hook). No dice. Another leader had a machine, but didn't know how to use it. Turns out the other three had less experience with a sewing machine than I did, and that ain't sayin' much.

I made six gunny sacks, showed up with them all cute and what-not to the activity, then during the first race, two of them popped open at the bottom, allowing huge feet to sprout forth. I was SO disappointed. I wouldn't allow them to go into storage at the end of the activity until I fixed them, so I took them home and reinforced the bottoms of ALL the sacks. We'll see if they work next year.

After that debacle and the fixing of it (I hope), I decided to revisit this sewing business for good. Basically, I told myself "there's absolutely NO reason why I can't do this. It's a learnable skill, I am a learned person, and I even taught others how to learn, so I can teach myself this." I borrowed books from the library on the subject, visited a fabric store or two, found a pattern I loved for Tessa and made sure it had the word "Easy!" plastered somewhere on it, and proceeded. I laugh at myself when I think I brought the pattern and pieces of the dress to various church activities over the next few weeks to try and corner anyone I knew who could interpret the hieroglyphics that is a sewing pattern. Pockets, bias tape, zippers - what the F? But I did it. I didn't give up - I conquered my mountain. And here is the fruit of my labors.

Tessa opened it up on Christmas morning in front of my family, and the people who were most proud were my mom and my used-to-make-a-living-as-a-seamstress sister-in-law. I'm going to pretend it's Tessa's favorite thing to wear.

First Birthday, pt 2

2010-02-22T21:25:00.000-08:00

I finally got my gloms on Ted's camera and therefore present to you the aftermath of the cake frenzy. I think the video is my favorite. Had she taken a more substantial nap before the festivities began, I'm sure we would have seen it in her hair and such, but even so, she ate that whole piece. She's my chubby love-bug.

A quick picture and a quick whisk into the tub. Note to self: chocolate cake looks like poo.

We gave her a present after she got all cleaned up. This was my first attempt at applique.

She woke up later that night with a serious sugar high, but I don't think she cared. Happy Birthday!

One year old today

2010-02-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

I pulled out dessert stops for the birthday girl. We invited a few friends over to our place for chocolate chunk raspberry cake and ice cream. As planned, we stripped Tessa down to her skivvies so she could go as crazy as she wanted on her first whole piece of cake (which, mind you, was bigger than her mama's). I admit, I thought she would show a little more excitement at the sight of a fat load of chocolate than she did, but she was running on empty from lack of a nap. Still, she managed to gag it all down.

The light is bad in this next one, but it shows the goo of the cake. LOVE the goo.

Oops! Doesn't look like cake anymore...

Meh. Still edible. I used to think we were raising a bit of a foodie until I caught her one day, picking up milk curds she had regurgitated and shoving them back in her mouth. Maybe I shouldn't take her pleasure in my cake too much to heart...

I have to swipe Ted's camera so I can show the aftermath, but you get the general idea. Perhaps not piranhas on a whale carcass, but still frenzical enough for her parents' entertainment. Happy birthday, sweet puddin' pumpkin pie!

If I was still a teacher...

2010-02-04T07:10:00.000-08:00

If I was still teaching, this week would have been one of my favorites. See, last Friday, the local radio DJs were basically warning their audiences of the impending doom that was sure to come from the sky later that night - a snowstorm.

North Carolina doesn't handle snow well, come to find out. We were admonished to "get to the stores and buy bread, milk, eggs, and canned goods before the storm hits" by multiple sources, including a couple of radio stations and TV news reports. Ted got emails from school, canceling a T.A. session and to be on the alert for any class cancellations the following Monday. An announcer on the radio even made the quip, "One day, you'll be able to tell your grandchildren that you survived the Great Winter of 2010" - a hilarious statement, yet he was completely serious. But my favorite was from an email I got. I signed up for a newsletter and specials from a local bead/craft shop, and their email again advised bulking up fridge contents, but also mentioned we might want to make sure we have enough craft supplies to keep us occupied for the few days we might be "snowed in." So come in and get your decoupage paper and flexible beading wire! Um, I have enough to keep me occupied, thanks. It's called LAUNDRY.

Sure enough, the snow started falling, lightly at first, and then in large, pretty flakes. We went out to eat to celebrate Ted's grades and Tessa saying "mama" for the first time (took you long enough!) and by the time we were done with our filet mignon, there was a legitimate snow covering on bushes, cars, buildings, and roads. And it was stinking cold. We drove home, got Tessa's full belly tucked into bed, and continued to watch the snowfall. Total damage? Six. itty. bitty. inches.

The next morning, everything was white and crunchy. It looked like a scene from some Norman Rockwell painting. Our neighbors in our complex invited us over to watch the Duke game and to bring our Cocomotion, so we spent a good part of the day being embarrassed by our team vs. Georgetown and drinking delicious, perfectly whipped, frothed, and heated cocoa. At one point, we started watching all the "closings" at the bottom of the screen, and commented that there sure are a lot of baptist churches in the area! Our bishopric cancelled church the next day, and then we noticed all the school closures.... ALL the schools, public and private, closed for Monday. Two days away! Monday came, and the sun was shining, some snow was melting, and Tessa and I went to run some errands. Lo and behold, they cancelled school for the next day, too. And the next! And today (Thursday), school is starting two hours later! THE SNOW IS CLEARED AND MELTED, PEOPLE!

However, if I was still a teacher, I would have been praising God for this week.

Creation: New Wreath

2010-02-03T18:53:00.000-08:00

If your door is ready for Valentine's Day, does that mean you are? I wish, but there's a lot of chubbsy for me to lose in a week and a half before I can look hot in lingerie. I don't even have a menu for that night yet!

But the best thing to do with $5 for now was decorate my door. I got the twiggy wreath at that huge superstore that starts with a "W", and as a result, I felt guilty paying only $3 for such a good sized wreath. In my heart, I asked forgiveness from the 6 yr- old Chinese orphan girl who has swollen, bloody fingers for putting it together for me, then moved along my merry way.

I got the flowers from Michael's - they're selling red rose bouquets for $1.50 right now, and the ribbon came from the ridiculous stash I still have from our wedding.

Not shabby for a few bucks, and it sure beats a bare door.

Creation: Cupcake Stands

2010-01-24T16:27:00.000-08:00

It's been a month since I've blogged. Though I don't have friends or family who make me feel guilty for slacking off, I apologize to anyone who has been crying bitter tears upon their satin pillows at night.

Prepare for a blog post onslaught.

To start things off, I was inspired by a friend's blog to finally get myself over to a local thrift store to put a couple of these together. One was for a friend's birthday and the other was as a thank-you for taking time out of her busy GRE-studying time to watch Tessa a couple times when I was in a pinch. The cupcakes are chocolate chunk, one with cream cheese frosting, the other with Barefoot Contessa's Peanut Butter Frosting which rocks my cake-loving world.

Christmas reflections

2009-12-25T23:00:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas to one and all. I know it's common to say things like, "I hope we all remember Christ and the meaning of this time of year not just now, but all the year through", and I echo those sentiments. However, it's also good to know that because of what I know and believe, being grateful for my many many blessings comes easier all year. There is something special about this season, though, and this year, it was even more palpable.

Ted and I feel so blessed to be in North Carolina, even if only for a short time. We've often talked about how we've never lived with this much debt hanging over our heads (and it's only going to get worse over the next few years), but at the same time, it helps us communicate and realize all the things we do have and all the things we can really do without. (We used to go without cable, but now that we get it for free, I also have to include that I'm very grateful for the food channel.) This year, our budget was tighter than it's ever been for Christmas, and though I'd like to experience maybe just one year not buying one gift for anyone and instead reveling in the music and togetherness and traditions of the season, I'm a product of Christmas Consumerism, and I have to confess that along with many other things, it does bring joy.

This was Tessa's first Christmas, and though she woke up with her first present - a bad cold - she was the number one reason I enjoyed the day so much. To see a 10-month-old baby perfectly happy with ripping wrapping paper and shoving it in her mouth while looking adorable in a Christmas dress is sheer joy. We tried to think of little things that really would make her happy, so we bought her BIG bottles (she instantly tried to gnaw on the plastic-covered nipples) and wrapped a bow around a banana, and we just laughed at her reactions and thought everything coming out of her mouth was nothing but genius. Several of the presents we gave this year were homemade, and therefore, more personal and special (and, I found out, much more fulfilling than just picking something off a shelf and laying down money for it). Ted and I spent many hours working and talking together about the things we wanted to give to our loved ones, so we came away not only with fun trinkets and games, but a stronger relationship, which is a much better feeling than the stress and hullabaloo that often surrounds this time of year.

I remember being about 7 months pregnant this time last year, and every time we'd sing a carol about the sweet baby boy Jesus, I got teary and tried to blame it on the hormones. The truth was I couldn't wait to hold and swaddle my own little sweet baby, and every day, I feel grateful for that chance. Christmas is about love and giving and celebrating Our Savior coming into the world to give a gift only He could give. In so many ways, I know that gift of His Atonement was for me, and He shows me that mercy by blessing us with a sweet child to love and raise the best we can. We often reserve Christmas for His birth and Easter for remembering His death and Atonement, but I recall one Easter when a friend wore a bowtie to church to honor our Bishop who had recently passed away. Bowties were this Bishop's trademark. I smiled and complimented him on it, knowing why he had donned it that morning, and he grinned right back and said, "I'm celebrating the resurrection." I've never thought of the Atonement and His mission the same way since that day. Every day is a day to celebrate that gift, including Christmas day.

I always find it so interesting that those who claim they're atheist or agnostic have no problem buying up a frenzy of gifts for their friends and family members. What are they celebrating if they claim to not know, care about, or believe in Jesus Christ? Is Christmas just a day for passing expensive baubles around? A chance to get the latest gadget at 10% off? Do they sing carols about angels proclaiming the Savior's birth? Do they have an inkling of what that means? I'm so glad to say that I do. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I choose to know Him, to sing praises, to commune in prayer with the One who makes it possible for me to learn from my mistakes and improve on them. He makes up for my imperfections, and He deserves my gratitude daily.

Today I was reminded of all the reasons I am a happy person. To be with family, to recount memories, to laugh until your face hurts, to give without expecting anything in return, to bring joy to someone else, to sing your heart out, to remember all your friends who feel just like family - these are the things that make Christmas grand. I hope all of you were able to revel in such joys this season. Let us remember His gifts to us and give of ourselves as much as we can.

Merry Christmas!

Yum Day 6

2009-12-17T20:22:00.000-08:00

I know I JUST did a post about food, so I wasn't going to do two in a row, except that there were extenuating circumstances. 1. this was too delicious to pass up, and 2. right after I made it, I watched an episode of Iron Chef and my favorite, Chef Bobbly Flay, busted out the SAME DISH to be devoured and judged. Of course, his was fancy and had some raw quail egg or something on top and a few drips of a roasted red pepper sauce (the man loves peppers), but the way he described making it was essentially the same. So here it is:

Risotto with Prosciutto and Peas
or, Bobby's name: Bacon Risotto
Makes 4 good-size servings

4 slices prosciutto
5 cups chicken broth
4 T. butter, divided
1/2 onion, diced
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 cups arborio or other short grain rice
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1/2 cup frozen peas, blanched
fresh ground pepper

Cook up the bacon (or prosciutto, as it were) until crisp. Crumble or chop and set aside. Meanwhile, heat up the chicken broth on the stove or in the microwave until almost boiling.

In a large saute pan, melt butter over med-high heat and add onion and garlic until edges are brown - about 3 minutes. Add rice and toast a few minutes, making sure you stir enough so that it all gets buttery. Mmmm. Once it's toasted, add about 1 1/2 cups of the broth and stir until broth is absorbed. Repeat twice more until rice looks nice and creamy. Taste test to make sure it's not too al dente. If so, add a bit more broth, but 5 cups should do it. Remove from heat.

Add the other 2 T. butter, the parmesan, the peas, and the prosciutto. Stir until parmesan is melted and peas are hot. Serve immediately, and prepare to have your world rocked.

Tonight it was served alongside the Prosciutto-wrapped Tilapia with Sage that I blogged about earlier. Quick splash of lemon juice and olive oil on those bad boys, and my mouth was in flavor heaven. The picture also shows a sweet potato with brown sugar, but my daughter ate all of that, so I can't report on how it tasted. I spawned a piggy.

A quick word on the Iron Chef episode that seriously came on right after I finished making this: the secret ingredient was BACON! I've often wished I could be a judge on that show, but this was the first time I was ready to put a fist through that fat "man who ate everything" judge because he didn't need all those incredible-looking dishes to add to his huge belly. I did. And I know, I know. My anger only stems from jealousy. One day, one day...

Yum Day!

2009-12-14T18:16:00.000-08:00

I realized I haven't had one of these "yum day" entries in a long time, and I'm fully convinced I haven't been able to make the food look as good on camera as it tastes in my mouth. So I employed my friend to come over and take pictures with her shmancy camera - and she happily complied (for the small fee of two slices of pie).

So here it is: an Italian Three Cheeseburger with Roasted Rosemary Fries.

Inspiration came from the one and only Bobby Flay, who, since we now have cable, has become as much of an idol as that there Barefoot Contessa. The man is a master, further evidenced to me when I borrowed a cookbook from the library (should have added that to my "Living on a Budget" post) entitled "Burgers, Fries, and Shakes", written by none other than Bobby Flay himself. Well, the man owns a burger joint where he does nothing but, so I thought he knew his stuff.

And boy, does he. He's quite particular how a burger should be cooked, and until I gave it a whirl, I realized I'd been doing it all wrong. Here's a sum-up:

-Patties should start out at about 6 oz - a little more than 1/3 pound
-Make a nice indentation in the center on both sides of each patty - this prevents the "puffing up" in the center
-Salt and pepper both sides of the patty. Don't bother adding egg, bread crumbs, and what not. That's a meatloaf. This is a burger.
-Use a grill pan or outside grill - a little vegetable oil should just start to smoke over med-high to high heat. My stove runs pretty hot, so I keep it at medium high and get a nice little char on both sides.
-Cook about 3 1/2 minutes on each side, adding cheese during the last minute and covering it with a metal pan or lid to steam up and melt the cheese. According to Bobby, it's not a proper burger without melted cheese. Amen, brother.
-DO NOT SQUEEZE THE PATTY WITH YOUR SPATULA WHILE COOKING. If you do, congratulations, you've just cooked one of the world's driest burgers.

Seems simple, but I was making all the mistakes I just told you not to do. I made some burgers a couple weeks ago with tomato and gorgonzola... YUM. And I decided to do it again tonight in honor of Ted finishing one more final (one more to go). So tonight, we took a tastebud trip to Italy. It's much cheaper than actually going there.

I cooked the burger as above using mozzarella, parmesan, and asiago cheeses during the last minute. I then toasted the buns in the oven while the fries were roasting, transferred each patty to its bun, and topped with a slice of cooked prosciutto (Italian bacon - can't go wrong there), caramelized onions, roma tomato slices, and spinach. We THOROUGHLY enjoyed them. And then I spanked my little guido and told him to get upstairs and keep studying so that one day, he can bring home the prosciutto.

Living on a Budget

2009-12-13T17:55:00.000-08:00

Lately, I can't just buy something for our sweet morsel just because she looks like the cutest baby on the planet in it. Therefore, living on a budget means keeping your camera in your purse for moments like this in the store. I'm sure I looked like an idiot pulling out my camera while others were pulling out their wallets, but hey. Now I have more money for bacon.

Giving Thanks

2009-12-01T07:34:00.000-08:00

It's wonderful to know that no matter where you are, Thanksgiving is pretty awesome. I went to a meeting tonight and we all gabbed about what we did for the holiday. One woman hosted in her home. Another hosted in her home WITH two other families, and every year they pore over past issues of the Bon Appetit magazines to try new recipes to round out their dinner. Three different baked bries, a Clementine and citrus salt rubbed turkey, and streuseled sweet potatoes with a lemon gingersnap cheesecake. Yes, of course I remember all the food. And I wasn't even there. Another woman went to her parents' house for all the usual, another goes out to eat Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant every year with her family, then drive down to visit a local dam and drive back. (And for Christmas, they go to Cabo - EVERY YEAR!! I started considering family restructuring...)

This was the second Thanksgiving I spent in the South. The first was on my mission in Georgia, and I can remember the members who invited us over (I made an apple pie) for dinner, but mostly I remember the Turkey Bowl we played with the ward members that morning. I was new to the area, so it was a little surprising when, during a game of flag football, I lunged for the flags of the 17 yr-old Bishop's son and ended up ripping his pants off. Not just the drawstring coming undone - actually ripping them off his body. It was pretty embarrassing for both of us, and I gained a reputation really fast.

This second Southern Thanksgiving wasn't as naked. Ted's parents flew out from Utah to join us for a week, and during that week, we drove up to Virginia with 3 desserts and a big batch of Apples & Yams (though a couple nights before, we learned from the Food Lover's Companion - thank you, Christy - that they're actually sweet potatoes and that most yams are improperly named). For the fourth time in two months, I made the pie pictured above - Chocolate Butterscotch Pecan. I can't get enough of it. Literally. Every time I make it, it's for some sort of function or party, so I get maybe a sliver or one bite and then pine for more until I make it again. I think I'm sated now, at least for another month.

Ted's aunt put on a huge spread, which is pretty typical of a Thanksgiving "Feast", but everything tasted so GOOD, too! Lemon & Chive Carrots, Garlic & Sour Cream Potatoes, Herbed Turkey with homemade cranberry sauce, Grandma's homemade rolls, Frosted Pecans, Zucchini Bread, Cranberry & Orange Pull-apart, Stuffing, Green Beans, and the Rasmussen special - a Shrimp Cocktail to start things off. In addition to my three desserts, she had made a divine Key Lime Cheesecake and Pumpkin Pie, so once the whipped cream was whip-it-good, we gorged all over on those, including my Apple Cream Cheese Torte and Caramelized Cranberry Tart.

Excuse my drool.

I could make an extremely long list of things I'm thankful for, and it still wouldn't be exhaustive, so I'm going to focus on the six things I've been especially grateful for (and that I've been thinking about at a near-constant rate).

1. I'm grateful for my husband of two and a half years. He cleans up after my messes, all while being as studious and patient as any man could be. Plus, he's a most sweet and wonderful father to #6.

2. I'm grateful that I lucked out in the in-law department. Not all folks can say that (but my husband sure can - and he better.)

3. I'm grateful for Chocolate-covered Peanut Brittle. Yeah, you heard me. Williamsburg hooking me UP.

4. I'm grateful that Christ allows me to screw up and start afresh way more often than I would ever let my own kids. That's why He's perfect and I'm, well, less than.

5. I'm grateful for my mom's unwavering dedication to the greater good. It's hard, it's often a huge sacrifice, but her example is something I've looked to countless times.

6. I'm grateful for this little morsel who I get to hug and slobber over every day. Tessa, you are the frosting to my cupcake, the peanut butter to my chocolate (ha! you thought I was going to say "jelly", didn't you? No comparison), the pride to my joy, and soon, the Merry in my Christmas. I love you, my little pumpkin pie.

Miss Ririe Regrets

2009-11-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling regrets lately. Not huge life-decision-making-gone-awry kinds of regrets - just things I wish I had done or said or handled better. This is not a very common thing for me to feel, since long ago I adopted the mantra "Live so you never have to look back and think, 'I wish I would have...'", but I admit I do reflect every now and again about what could have been different in my life (for better or worse) had I chosen a slightly different path.

These feelings began some weeks ago, but came to a head last weekend when I went back to California to help my wonderful mom with the final phase of their move. She's been working for the last two years clearing out the house they lived in for 43 1/2 years, selling, packing, sorting, delivering, tossing, donating, and deciding deciding deciding. During the weekend, Mom and I had a chance to have some really great heart-to-hearts about life, marriage, kids, futures, goals, and even dreams lost. My relationship with my mom has been especially strong the last decade or so, but this weekend I felt an even deeper sisterhood with this kindred spirit. We drew many parallels between our two lives, and are convinced we chose to be in the same family whenever our earthy time was supposed to begin. She said the conversation must have gone something like this:

Her: Hey, should we ask if we can be in the same family so we can talk to each other all the time?

Me: Totally. Do you think we should ask to be sisters?

Her: Nah. We need to learn more than that. Let's be mother and daughter! Which one do you want to be?

Me: Well, you're more bossy, so you should be the mom.

Her: It's not like you're going to do what I tell you anyway, so it doesn't matter, but okay, I'll go ask.

And that is how we came into the same family. Scout's honor. And as I was helping pack up memory after memory after memory, I got nostalgic and homesick and yes, even regretful about the times we had and the times we never did because I was too hard-headed and Miss Know-it-all to really know any better. And now I've been called to help in the Young Women program at church, so I find myself wanting to shake them and say "Do it this way!" so they don't fall into the same silly traps the rest of us did. Here were some of mine:

1. I'm sorry I didn't tell my dad about the oil light coming on in our 1984 Honda Civic hatchback before it was too late. Not only did I have to help pay to replace the entire engine because it had run dry, but I got busted because it broke down on my way back from my boyfriend's house, where I'd made an early morning visit instead of going to seminary.

2. I'm sorry I gave up sewing after I attempted one pair of pajama pants that a penguin would have been embarrassed to wear. It took me almost a decade to work up the courage again, and by then, it wasn't as easy to learn at my mother's knee.

3. I regret that I didn't keep a more consistent journal. We helped a couple move today, and I lugged a very heavy bin that had "all the journals" she's kept since she was 6. I have, count 'em, two journals other than my mission journal, and the second one isn't even half full. So all of you I've had conversations with over the years, recount to me what I said so I can write it all down and make this list longer. :)

4. I regret not following the incredibly strong prompting to send a Book of Mormon to my high school history teacher. Now I'll never know.

5. I'm sorry I was SO CLUELESS to so many friends who needed my help over the years. I shied away from tragedy because I never knew what to say or do, but working at a mortuary finally taught me that people just need someone to listen. I could have been that for so many, but was too insecure to realize it.

6. I regret never confronting Carol W. from high school about why she hated me so much. I still wonder about that. Maybe I made out with her crush or something - that's entirely possible.

7. I regret that I developed a bad habit of comparing myself to others for so many reasons. I know it's a cankerous way to live, but sometimes, I can't help myself. I make my jokes about hating them, but really, I'm just jealous. If you're reading this and I know you, go ahead and insert your name where you see "others". I'm positive it applies to you.

I need to stop there, or at least pause while I go find some Prozac somewhere.

To be fair, I have talents and happiness that I have fostered and nurtured through the years, so it's not like I'm that bad off. And one day, I will write about those. Today, though, I needed a little self-chiding to get myself back on a track I can look back on and think, "Well done." Mom, thanks for the inspiration. I think I'll start doing what you tell me to.