Temporary Bliss

I've been swept up by my typical December knitting jag.  Socks! Scarves! Cowls!  It might be because Anna moved out and I have realized (a full 4 months later) that I now have an extra dresser.  A dresser that might be useful for, say, holding all the yarn and knitting notions I've been keeping stacked along my bedroom wall and hidden under a blanket.  A dresser that Larry, in his innocence, would assume was full of clothing....

Apparently, I'm not the only one who has thought of this...

 So, one happy day, I managed to sort through my entire stash and reorganize it and, well, hide it.  And then, as I have already related, I accomplished the Herculean task of cleaning up my house to host Bunko (permanently traumatizing my children in the process).  So now, not only can I find what I need in order to knit what I want, but there is also a nice tidy living room in which I can sit down and do just that. 

Allow me to gloat - I know that it isn't going to stay that way.  I just need to live inside this fantasy of mine for a little bit.   Reality can wait.


[Yarn image: Living Large With Less]

November? Still?

My leftovers didn't look this tidy.

Oh, hi.  Tuesday, you say?  I've been so busy making the kids cry by forcing MORE Thanksgiving leftovers on them, I sort of lost track of the time.  Used the last of the turkey today.  I think there are still a few mashed potatoes lurking somewhere in that fridge of mine, though.

KIDS! DON'T MESS WITH ME!  I have leftovers, and I know how to use them.

I am completely discombobulated by the fact that it is 5 days post-Thanksgiving, but it isn't December yet.  Also, by the fact that I used the word "discombobulated..."

Larry and I found a bottle of white wine in the freezer yesterday.  That's normal, right?  Wine-sicles, anyone?

If I sound distracted, it is because I am typing this in Starbucks, where I am surrounded by a veritable bevy of Norwegian-looking au pairs.  These girls are beyond gorgeous.  I'm thinking I was wise to avoid ever hiring one, seeing as how I really didn't need my lovely postpartum self to look even worse by comparison.

That's all I got tonight.  I have to head home now and yell at the kids for messing up my Bunko-clean living room.  Maybe I should get a live-in maid.  An old, unattractive one, of course...


[Leftovers image: The Weather Up Here]

What Would Hillary Do?

Easy to use, no training required

My 10-year-old Rachel is enjoying her longed-for tennis lessons this fall; but I was having a hard time that first week watching the 2 girls in the class pick all the balls up off the court, while the only boy practiced his baseball pitches against the court fence.  The instructor was busy talking to Mr. Hot Shot's father, so neither of them said anything to the kid about his shirking.

"Rachel," I said, on the way over the next week.  "Don't let him get away with that this time.  Hit him on the legs with the ball picker-upper tube and tell him to help."

I sensed a doubtful silence emanating from the seat behind me.

"Never mind," I told her.  "I'll show you how it's done."

I fumed about the unfairness of the situation all the way through the 2-mile walk I took during the first part of Rachel's lesson.  If any puffed-up blowhard of a dad thinks that MY DAUGHTER should pick up after HIS SON, I told myself, then he's going to hear about it from me.  I arrived back at the court fired up with righteousness, a post-menopausal avenging angel for all the indignities ever visited upon the fairer sex. 

Hillary would have known what to do.

No wonder Hillary Clinton didn't care about all that crap that was spewed at her in 2007/2008.  No wonder Nancy Pelosi can get through a day without heavy drinking.  They're not at the mercy of their hormones anymore.  And now?  Neither am I.  FIRST I'd tell the kid to pick up those balls.  And THEN I'd tell that dad what I thought of his son AND of his parenting.

My plans were laid.

But, wouldn't you know, that wily kid was actually doing his fair share that day?  I'm thinking that, in typical male fashion, he vaguely sensed the feminine fury headed his way.  So there I was, left with noone to instruct on the nature of true gender equality. 

What happens to a diatribe deferred, anyway?





[Tennis ball tube image: ExpertLaw]

Cranberries Redux

Because SubWife has requested it, I am sharing the recipe for my cranberry muffins (featured at my latest Bunko extravaganza).  No dairy!  No eggs!  Tastes great!


Cranberry Bread/Muffins
(makes 4 loaves/48 muffins)

Santa loves me

Step 1: Buy a KitchenAid Mixer.  No, seriously, I went 19 years without one, all while having to make our baked goods from scratch due to my oldest's dairy allergy.  19 years of baking without the aid of simple technology -- that was all I knew, people.  That changed 2 years ago, however, when Larry surprised me with a stand mixer for Christmas.  I had never dreamed of receiving such an expensive and useful gift, not least because Larry's familiarity with kitchen tools extends only to his little pizzelle maker.   Turns out a friend of mine heard me talking about my penchant for entering the numerous online raffles for a KitchenAid; and, shocked that I had gone all those years without one, she told Larry he had to buy it for me.  She even got the color right.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

Step 2: Gather your ingredients:

4 cups white flour
3 cups whole wheat PASTRY flour (can also be white, if you so desire)
3 1/2 cups sugar
2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder

1 cup oil (or butter, if you wish)
2 cups liquid (milk/soy milk/water or any combination thereof)
1/2 cup orange juice
1/2 cup applesauce
2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp vanilla extract


Step 3: Combine all the above.  Really, it's that simple.


Step 4: Fold in 2 bags of cranberries (preferably frozen, so they don't get mashed). This is the part that used to make me cry when I was doing it by hand.  I guess I should work on my upper body strength more.


Step 5: Pour batter into greased loaf pans and/or lined muffin tins.  Remember to let the children fight over which color muffin papers to put in which tins.  Rituals are important.

See?  It works.

Step 6: Place in preheated (oops - forgot to tell you to do that) 350-degree oven for about an hour (bread) or 20-25 minutes (muffins).


Step 7: Neglect to set timer and spend the next hour obsessively checking with a toothpick to see if the bread/muffins are done.


You're welcome.  You can halve the recipe, of course; but we use the extra loaves as Christmas gifts for our long-suffering neighbors who have put up with the myriad inconveniences inflicted on them by our family for the past 15 years. 

[Mixer image: Everything Kitchens]

You Can Have Anything You Want

...except a singing turkey, I guess.  You see, it's a Thanksgiving Day tradition on this blog to post the video of the turkey singing "I Will Survive."  But this year, due to some copyright thing-y, I am not able to do so. I don't really understand it. I mean, if someone wants me to pay them so that I can post that thing, I will. But there doesn't seem to be any option to do that.

So, I sulk.

I guess I could dress up in a turkey costume and sing the song and have someone film it, if we possessed either the tools or the talent. But we don't, so we shall have to go with a different Thanksgiving tradition this year. You know, the one involving Alice.

Remember, if you want to end war and stuff, you gotta sing loud.