Is This Fudge Still Good?

Today and yesterday have been purging days. What are we purging? We are purging Christmas from the house. It has been a bittersweet process, since it is always sad to see the sparkly and shine go down, but since this year just did not feel like Christmas to me, it wasn't too bad. And it was nice to be able to see the living room again, now that the seven trees are down (yeah, you read that right, we had 7 Christmas trees).

And in the midst of taking down my tree and packing up my decorations, I also started throwing out the Christmas goodies that have been picked over and left to go stale. We got a good haul, everything from fudge to some kind of relish to sugar cookies to a box of fancy nuts. A good portion of the stuff eaten (and thrown away) was stuff I made, since December seems to signal to my inner baker that it's time to have fun. So I did. Ho boy, did I have a billion calories worth of fun.

First up were chocolate cake batter cookies, my first attempt and it was a glorious success. Fabulous. I added in Andes mint chocolate chips to make them festive, and those cookies were polished off in no time. I didn't even have to take any to work, I was so impressed.

Next up were molasses cookies. Easy peasy, no odd instructions or anything. About halfway through sifting together the dry ingredients, I realized something . . . We didn't have molasses. *Facepalm* I KNOW I bought molasses, at least within the past couple years, and honestly, how many recipes call for molasses? But not a drop was to be found anywhere, so I substituted what Google told me to substitute. And bought molasses on my next trip to the grocery store.

On that same trip to the store, I remembered that I had several recipes that called for chocolate chips, and recently had noticed that we were out of chocolate chips (that was a bad day). Normally I always have a stash of two bags of chocolate chips in one fridge or the other, so being out was incredibly disturbing to me. So I bought four bags to compensate.

Upon arriving home, I put groceries away, and when I opened the drawer in the fridge to toss in the chocolate chips, I burst out laughing. Apparently on my trips to the store that I had taken in the week or two before that, I had remembered to buy chocolate chips then as well. With my new addition of chocolate chips, I had a total of nine bags of chocolate chips in my fridge, 6 Hershey's, 2 Nestle, and one Andes mint. Suffice it to say, we are set on chocolate chips.

Upon acquiring my precious chocolate chips, I also added to my cart that day rice Chex and powdered sugar. Oh yes, my friends. Muddy Buddies. The reason Chex cereal is still in business, in my opinion. Sure, Chex Mix is good, but Muddy Buddies . . . heaven. I made three batches this year, and probably consumed at least one full batch all on my own. I love those things. And my shirt loved them too, because by the time I was done, my nice black shirt had powdered sugar streaked and puffed all over it, with a really nice chocolate peanut butter smudge all over my stomach. I need to stop leaning over the bowl.

With the list of clothing I dirtied up while baking, we can also add another shirt generously sprinkled with oatmeal bits from making No-Bake cookies. And a pair of pants dripped with batter from maple bars (too dry, couldn't figure out why). And I got the toe of one of my white tennies when I dropped a little chunk of warm, gooey, and green colored Rice Krispie treat mix on them.

Like I said, I went a little bonkers. I think the most popular were the Muddy Buddies (duh, I mean really) and the chocolate mint cake batter cookies. For some reason, the maple bars didn't get touched except by me, and the green Rice Krispies ended up in the garbage because they dried out too fast. It was a shame, really. But all in all, I made a whole lot of delumptious holiday treats, and I've got the chocolate still under my fingernails to prove it. And the powdered sugar all over the counter. And the Pam spray on the floor. And the flour in my hair. And the chocolate chips under the edge of the cupboards on the floor.

Now it's New Years, and despite still being in an insane sugar coma from all the treat-bingeing I've been doing over Christmas, I can't wait to tackle the traditional New Years food. Little smokies in their special sauce. A cheese ball with crackers. Shrimp cocktails in that sharp red sauce. The classic vegetable tray. Who knows what else! All I know is my holidays are planned around food, and in a whole lot of ways, dishes and mess notwithstanding, that often makes it feel the most festive of anything.

Things I Do That Pete Finds Annoying/Endearing

All of us have those traits, those absolutely idiotic quirks or habits that drive our near and dear completely insane. And here is a list of mine that annoy Pete, although thankfully he can usually find something endearing about the situation to make him not want to kill me.

#1 - Shoes. I am a shoe girl. I love shoes, I think they are fabulous and wonderful and no matter how fat I get, my shoes still fit. Same thing with purses and jewelry. I still fit the earrings that I wore in junior high! Anyway, yeah. I have easily 30 pairs of shoes, scattered all over in our closet and on the floor in front of the closet. Basically anywhere near the closet is a shoe deathtrap. However, I think Pete kinda likes the little squeal I make when I see a new pair of shoes I must have. Until he realizes he has to pay for them.

#2 - My side vs. His side. Of the bed, that is. See, when he's on the road, I can think of no valid reason that I can't just shove all the crap on the bed over on his side at the end of the night when my eyes fuzz over so bad I can't see. That is, until he comes home. And has a mountain-sized mound of crap all over his side of the bed. But don't worry, he gets even. Because he just shoves it all back over on my side.

#3 - Hobbies. I have . . . a lot of hobbies. I do crafts like crazy, including everything from sewing to coloring. Yes, coloring. With princess coloring books and colored pencils. And these hobbies of mine take up a LOT of space. I could fill a room with all of the crafting/hobby crap I have. I have a guitar, a box of items to be used when I someday have the vineyard kitchen I want, boxes of movie ticket stubs and Sammy's old nursery drawings she brought home from church, scads of scrapbooking stuff. It is truly insane. And yet . . . I honestly use all of it. I don't think Pete has found a good side to this yet.

#4 - Freak out at electronics. This happens a lot. I do something to my computer or phone that I didn't want to do, and I immediately throw a whiny tantrum that potentially escalates to sulking, stressing, and even the silent treatment. It doesn't annoy him to have to fix it, usually. It bugs him when I throw a fit at the problem. But then he gets to call me a dork.

#5 - Making him render an opinion. "What color should I do?" "Which shoes look better with this?" "How should I do my hair?" "Does that match?" "What should I make for dinner?" His answer? "I don't know." "I don't care." Do I let him get away with that? Psh. Nope. I bug and nag and pester and annoy until he heaves an annoyed sigh and I get an answer. Drives him nuts!

#6 - When I randomly wander off at the grocery store. We're walking down an aisle, I see something shiny, or cheap, or tasty, or whatever, and without a word I just suddenly start veering off in a different direction to beeline at what I just saw. And right after I disappear, Pete realizes I'm gone and has to go find me. It happens ALL THE TIME. He's taken to standing behind me while I push the cart with an arm on either side of me and holding on to the cart as well. People probably think he's being really cute with me. Nope. He's keeping me from wandering off. I'm like a psycho bunny.

Now . . . there are also a few things about me that he finds endearing. I'm putting these mostly because I can't think of any more things I do that consistently annoy him (and he's denying 3 out of 6 of the above things). I would ask him, but he's half asleep. And I would be fulfilling #5 if I woke him up and asked him.

#1 - I ask questions about video games. I've discussed before my absolute lack of ability when it comes to video and computer games. I have not improved. But for some reason it really tickles his fancy when I ask questions about something he is an expert at. It's the same with Star Wars and Star Trek. Now, I'm a total Star Wars Fangirl, but Pete is a bit more knowledgeable about the stuff that happened before, after, and in between the movies. And he's kinda a Trekkie too. And I think he really digs being the source of knowledge for me.

#2 - I am a klutz. No, really. I can list 3 spectacular face plants right off the top of my head, and I can even tell you which shoes were at fault each time. And two of those were in public! I also injure myself on a fairly regular basis, especially when in proximity to the stove. I have a wicked awesome steam burn scar on my wrist from one of those escapades. But rather than finding me a hazard, Pete just finds it slightly adorable at how accident prone I am. Especially since that means he often gets to roll his eyes at my shoes.

#3 - I talk to myself and lip-sync with my headphones in. I think the rockstar lip-syncing makes him laugh the most. Oftentimes when I make dinner I do so with my MP3 player blasted and wearing my noise-cancelling SkullCandy headphones, and I can't resist that. So I lip-sync along quite enthusiastically, and apparently that is a really funny thing to walk in on. And yeah, I talk to myself. More often than not calling myself an idiot for doing a stupid. He likes to listen to me argue with myself.

#4 - My giggle. Apparently I have a signature giggle. The kind that even when I text *giggling* on my phone, Pete says he can hear it. I know I giggle all the time, I have structured my life so that I have plenty of opportunity for kicks and giggles at every opportunity, and I guess it has paid off. Because I have a Pete-approved giggle, and he gets a dorky little smile on his face every time he hears it.

Next time I think I'm going to have to make a list of the things Pete does that I find annoying/endearing . . . this could be so fun . . .

Santa Is Hiding Behind the Turkey

It's that time of year. With a wonderful smoky chill in the air, the snap of coming snow making you shiver, dry leaves crunching under your feet or tires as you go about your daily business. Autumn is a gorgeous season, the heat of summer finally easing and the excitement of winter quick approaching.

That also means that the main trifecta of holidays has us right in its grip. Three major holidays in three months, quite evenly spaced, and all of them carrying with it an excess of everything from fun to stress. It is simultaneously exciting and exhausting, and it is debatable that Christmas is the biggest of the three. It is for me, anyway.

Halloween is past, and carried off without too much of a hitch this year. Little Tinkerbell's costume went great, didn't look too stupid, and I got to wear 3 of my different costumes this year. And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which isn't really stressful for me at all. Because I am not hosting or cooking. I'm sure if I was, I'd be catatonic right about now like my poor mom who is doing both of those things.

Oh no, so far the holidays of Autumn and Winter have been fantastic. It is the one looming up in December that has me panicking today. Yes. Christmas. In four and a half weeks is my favorite holiday, which is incredibly exciting since I've been waiting for it since about, oh, last February. I'm totally ready for the music, the movies, the decorations, the trees, the lights, the wonderfully fattening food, all of it.

However, there is one aspect for which I am so not prepared. Presents. OMG. I am freaking out. I have presents for my little family, my husband's family, and my family to figure out, and probably presents for some of my friends too! Holy crap! I'm gonna die! Now don't get me wrong, I've been throwing around ideas for presents since about September, but nothing concrete. Shoulda started sooner and poured some quick-dry cement into my thought process. Because now I'm totally having a fit because Christmas is FOUR AND A HALF WEEKS AWAY and I have PRACTICALLY NOTHING DONE!!!!

*Has a seizure*

See? I'm panicking. So today, while dinner is simmering in the crock pot because I actually managed the foresight to prepare for that, I am gathering my scattered brain from wherever it has all wandered off to and forcing myself to get right down to business! I have so much to do! I have so much to prepare! Why did I wait so long?!

I dragged out a handful of my craft items to work on at least 2 presents, and so far we've had nothing catastrophic to cause problems. Of course this is only 2 out of 7-13 presents I'm going to have to do, but still. I guess it's headway. Now I just need to figure out what in the world to do for everyone else and get right to work on it! Don't get me wrong, I still have little snippets of ideas at work here, but nothing actually viable in an "I can do this today" sense. I'm beating myself over the head about it right now, with a Christmas stocking filled with rocks. You'd think I'd learn, but noooooo.

*Sighs* Anyway, I'm pretty sure the paint is almost dried on Phase 2 of today's present concocting, so I'm gonna get back to that now. Wish me luck, and next year please remind me in August that I need to get my brain together so Christmas doesn't sneak up and attack me like it did this year!

Do NOT Pick Up the Plunger

See that picture? See how cute and trustworthy that darling spider is? Couldn't you just needlepoint that on a pillow and display it proudly on your couch for Halloween? Precious, isn't it? Well I'll tell you what.

Fricking. False. Advertising.

You want to know the truth about spiders? Oh, I'll tell you. But first, a story. A couple weeks ago I went into the bathroom with a sense of peace about me, one with the universe, doing just fine. As I pass the toilet on the way to the mirror, something on the floor next to toilet catches my eye. I glance down, figuring that it's a clump of dog hair or one of my hair elastics. No. It's a FREAKING GINORMOUS SPIDER. Just sitting there, cozied up against the wall, not even moving.

I froze, so as not to startle the cute little thing before I could call for help and kill the darling. One problem: It was at least after 10 at night, and Sammy was asleep. And Pete was in our room with the door closed. That's two closed doors and half the hall between me and him, and one wall between me and the sleeping child.

Dilemma. Because, as everyone knows, Standard Spider Protocol, or SSP, states that once you spot an unwelcome eight-legged guest on your premises, you DO NOT LOOK AWAY. Seriously. Because the second you do, that sucker will disappear. Sure, you might find it again in a minute, but that is not the nightmare that keeps you up late at night freaking out because you've got a case of the creepy-crawlies and a bug loose in your room. So, rule of thumb in the SSP, DO NOT LOOK AWAY once you find the spider.

Well, guess what. I looked away.

What was I supposed to do?! I couldn't yell for help, I didn't have my phone, and I was barefoot (AKA, no way to kill the freakishly large arachnid). I did try kind of quietly screeching for help, but that didn't work out and the spider twitched. We weren't doing that again. So yeah, upon close scrutiny and making sure the spider was not moving, I opened the door, poked my head out into the hall, and yelled for the John McClane of the spider world, my husband (ask me about his other Die Hard spider moment. It ROCKS!). I went back across the bathroom to where I'd been before, checked on the immobile spider, and guess what.

It was gone.

Poof, disappeared. I had been looking away for maybe 3 seconds, tops. Well, spider didn't need that long. So I'm standing there in my robe and bare feet, checking the floor and my feet and legs and robe and trying to find that &%$@$!& spider. Pete arrived in the doorway, armed with a shoe like the knight in shining armor stud that he is. So I, in my damsel in distress way that I have, pointed at the floor where the creepy thing had been hiding and said, "He was right there, but he moved."

There was a good deal of shoe action around the toilet (apparently spider had hidden behind the toilet where it was nice and dark and hard to get to), but the shoe was too big to get back there (Pete has quite large feet) so then there was toilet plunger action.

After a minute during which I just huddled in the corner and stayed out of the way, Pete stood up and I peeked over his shoulder hoping to see the squished remains of an epic battle on the floor.

"Did you get him?" "He's trapped under the plunger, and if the smell doesn't kill him, nothing will."

I was a little touchy about leaving it at that (what if he escaped?), but left it at that. No way he was going to get out from under the plunger (please don't get out from under the plunger), and either way he'd suffocate eventually. So I put it out of my mind.

May I remind the assembled that this was two weeks ago. Ok? Two weeks. During that time, once or twice I have toyed with the idea of lifting up the plunger just for the satisfaction of seeing a curled up spider carcass on the floor under it. But I didn't. Just in case. Because on the off chance that it was still alive (*shudder*), there was no way I was getting anywhere in the path of a spider that hadn't eaten anything in that long.

Today was the first time the plunger was needed (Sammy did it. Do not ask me how that girl plugged up the toilet because the scientific measurements of that just blow my mind), and I belatedly realized that the plunger was in use. So I checked the floor where it sits, and . . . nothing. I brushed it off, figuring that, seriously, two weeks. The thing was dead. It had probably just died trying to gasp a breath of air from under the edge of the plunger and stuck to the rubber.

So I'm vacuuming after dinner, making my way down the line of rooms, and I get into the bathroom. I'm vacuuming up all the dog hair off the floor, I go into the room to get the corner by the tub really good AND ON THE WALL RIGHT THERE ACROSS FROM THE TOILET IS A FRICKING HUGE SPIDER!!!

I did not panic. I was armed, and I sucked that puppy into my vacuum hose with a slightly maniacal smile of satisfaction. I also did not turn the vacuum off for a good 15 minutes. Good thing I still had Sammy's room and the rest of the hall to vacuum.

Which brings me back to the truth about spiders. Here it is: those buggers are immortal. There is no way, in a similar circumstance, that a human could survive in a big rubber dome for two weeks without food or water and likely no air. No way.

I'm sure some of you are rolling your eyes right now, thinking, "There's no proof that was the same spider." WELL YOU CAN JUST SUCK MY TOE, DUDE! It was totally the same spider! No dead spider carcass + spider sighting within two hours of previous trapping spot being opened = SAME FRICKING SPIDER.

It's a conspiracy. All you aracniphobics out there, listen up, because this is important. The spider population of the world that probably outnumbers us humans about a billion to one is breeding a new kind of super power spider. And they are planning on taking over the world, one bathroom at a time. Think I'm wrong? Exhibit A: Immortal Plunger Spider. I don't feel that I need more evidence to support this.

Now, I am going to distract myself for awhile. Listen to soothing music and do some relaxing breathing. While wearing shoes. With a fly swatter and a can of Raid in my hands. And a shotgun in easy reach. *Shivers with creepy-crawly sensation skittering all over my legs, keeps eyes peeled watching the perimeter*

Come to mama, freakies. Come to mama.

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This . . .

No, really, I can't believe it. I am pimping myself out/advertising on my blog. Ok, so technically I've wondered about this for quite awhile now, and this is me pulling my balls together and finally doing it.

So, I have created another blog, under my same profile and all that jazz (at least, I think so, I'm still pretty much new at this whole blog thing). But on that one . . . *starts to blush and fidget* I am going to start putting up different selections of the writing I've done. *Mumbling to self that this looks extremely, shall we say, CAN I GET ANY MORE EGOTISTICAL THAN THIS?!?!*

In all actuality, I'm quite insecure about my writing, and if anyone is getting a different impression, it's just the other 85% of my online personality that is all fake swaggering bravado and a whole bunch of arrogant fluff that I like to imagine makes a more endearing picture of myself. At least, more endearing that the somewhat cute fat girl sitting on her bed with her jeans unbuttoned and her bedroom in shambles around her because she's spent all day doing what she loves (writing) instead of doing what she hates (cleaning).

Anyway, I'm going to shut up this fountain of verbal diarrhea before I embarrass myself further (it is actually possible). And just leave you with the address to my other blog (http://smilingmuse.blogspot.com/) and say good night!

*Slaps self for being a retard and wanders off while muttering to self about what to do about the collective idiocy in this brain*

A Word On Fries . . .

There is something magical about the French Fry. A potato, one of the world's most wonderful foods, from such is brought magic things like the chip, mashed potatoes, au gratin potatoes, and a whole host of other delicious things, can also be manipulated by a thread of genius and turned into a french fry. Slice that puppy up, deep fry it in oil, sprinkle with salt, and you have a food so glorious that you just know God loves us if He gave us such a miraculous edible.

There is really just one problem with this perfect food. And it is that, after about 15 minutes, a fry transforms from a hot, crispy, salty, mealy, wonderful snack . . . to a limp, soggy, cold, pasty mouthful of yuck. In a matter of minutes. It is astounding how fast this happens. Good to evil, just like that. And once they go evil, there is no bringing them back. You can't microwave cold fries and bring back their fabulousness, and why would you bother sticking them in the oven and hovering around it for up to 15 minutes trying not to burn them but trying to get them warm enough to tolerate? It's just not worth it. Not when you can just go back to McDonald's and get a whole 'nother box for less than two bucks.

Seriously, dogs won't even eat that stuff. I know, I have two of them living with me. Today, twice now, I have come to my room to find the contents of my garbage can spread all over the floor. The empty soda cups from Dairy Queen and McD's were licked clean, a couple tissues were ripped apart, the empty box which at some point last week encased a paper wrapped burger was torn apart and licked clean. But the bright red carton half full of cold McDonald's fries? It wasn't touched. The thing was not even tipped over!

Ok, we are talking two Labradors right now, these dogs routinely swipe food off the counters, Sammy's plate, and the garbage when they believe they are hungry enough (they really aren't), but they didn't touch half a carton of cold fries! I was a little astounded (when we say astounded, I mean I sat there with a handful of damp dog-chewed tissues for a solid ten seconds with my mouth hanging open) until I remembered the occasions when I have been silly enough to give cold fries a try. Gag me.

It is fascinating to me the shocking difference that only five minutes of room temperature can make on fries. Such manna from heaven, turned vomitious. It's so sad. I mean, chocolate doesn't go bad. You can unearth a bag of Hershey's Kisses form your cupboard left over from last Halloween (or even the one before that) and eat them with a smile on your face. It's so bizarre.

Anyway, thank you for reading tonight's episode of "Junk Food Theater". We hope you join us next time, best wishes and good night.

Not Quite a Baby

So, last week I had a little round toddler living in my house with a softball shaped face (barely discernible chin)and little fat legs and baby feet and sparse hair that liked to get snarled while said toddler was asleep.

This week, I all of a sudden have a tall, almost gangly little girl, with a thinner face, long lean legs and the kind of feet that love to walk on tippy-toes and pose, and hair that still gets tangled and snarled in a mess, whether she is asleep or awake. Um, where did the time go? It was like when she was a baby, and the most adorable thing about her was her big toothless cheeser smile, then suddenly she had teeth and she wasn't a baby anymore, she was a toddler. The new phase was fun, in a lot of ways much funner than the baby stage, but the baby was gone.

Now the toddler is gone, and in place there is a little girl that will be turning four in a couple months and going to preschool. A mouthy and stubborn little girl, to top it off (yes, Mom, your curse worked and she's just like me).

A little girl that loves cartoons and Disney movies, mainlines Nesquik chocolate milk, string cheese, and hot dogs. A little girl that has, over the last year, become the dog's little master and best friend. A little girl that is so smart she can play games on Bumpa's old laptop on the internet and work the buttons on the remote control. A little girl that loves to play outside, rain or shine, and has no problem whatsoever with becoming absolutely filthy in the process. A little girl that loves to hand out hugs and kisses and high fives to everybody, who has inserted her bossy little self into all the lives around her and nestled in permanently.

It is amazing, considering the scope of change a little bitty baby has on a person's life, that they don't require background checks at the hospital after you have one. Competence testing. A whole slew of ability and aptitude tests to see if a person is actually prepared and capable of handling the cute soft thing wrapped in the blanket in the corner making cooing noises. You'd think they'd make sure you can handle it before just handing it over and sending you on your merry way!

Also, on a side note . . . I just cut Sammy's hair. Yeah, me, with no hair experience at all aside from the odd hack job on an unfortunate other person or myself, I cut my daughter's hair. I think it looks ok . . . at the moment it looks a little uneven, but I'm pretty sure that's just the way her hair lays. That, or I just destroyed her hair and this is going to be a horrible phase in her life where we don't take pictures for a few months and never speak of it again.

Well, the little girl is currently eating all of my coveted cheddar and sour cream Ruffles potato chips and watching Fantasia and tossing around her new short hair, so I think I'm going to join her.

Keep a sharp eye on your kids . . . next week they aren't going to be like they used to anymore.