My First Kiss

In fifth grade, I started going out with a boy. Going out entailed...well...nothing really. It was fifth grade and we were still mostly innocent. Kids paired off as only kids barely out of cooties can.

But, back to the boy. Over the years, we had your basic cootie-ridden relationship. I crushed on him when he hated me. He liked me when I pretended to ignore him. I bloodied his nose once. You know, the usual childhood memories.


Dale of Norway Baby Ull. Machine washable merino wool.

And in fifth grade it all came together, so we started going out. One day, some of the couples decided to spend recess getting married. Jon McEuen (shameless name drop...sorry) was the officiant--no one thought to check his credentials--and my boy and I exchanged vows.

And we all know a marriage ceremony ends in a kiss.

He broke up with me the next day.



It knocked my self esteem as flat as my chest and I never kissed another boy until I met the Businessman. *snort* Okay, even I can't hold a straight face at that last sentence.

From what I see on Facebook (and we all know how reliable that is) Mr. Boy seems to have grown up and has a baby due in October. He expressed incredulity that I would partake in such an old-fashioned hobby (proving he never really got to know me at all in fifth grade) and so, in retaliation, I am knitting him a baby sweater.


Sized for six months

It's how I work these days.

My other option would have been to avoid kissing knitting altogether until a truly wonderful frog person worth my kissing knitting expertise came along. But knitting for frogs is just not going to happen.

Kissing for sweaters...that has potential.

The Great Ho Race of 1997

If you've ever wondered why I'm not an outdoor girl, I give you Exhibit A:

I once dated this guy who was an animal when it came to grueling, death-march hikes. He hiked to the summit of Long's Peak in four hours (mere mortals taking six). He trekked for five days across a desert. He proposed to me and I married him.

Like I said, he enjoys a challenge.

Before our engagement, he had this splendid idea to road trip to the Grand Canyon. For some silly reason I assumed this would be a fun archaeological tour through the great Southwest.

When we got to the Grand Canyon, I found a nice little guided walk that talked of rock formations, flora and fauna, and native tribes of the area. Halfway into the walk, he pulled me aside and asked if would be okay if we just hiked in the canyon.

Sure. No problem. What do you have in mind? This was before the ring so I was a bit more accommodating at the time. Sucker.

We He decided to hike halfway down the canyon to a lookout point* and then make a decision to see if we could do the entire canyon in a day.** I was agreeable and off we went.

One of the problems with the GC, is that your hike starts with the downhill part. Another problem is the desert heat kicks in about four miles after you've started. Another problem? The remarkable wildlife we saw included two snakes, one of them a rattler, and a millipede that was at least 8 inches long. Clearly this was not the date of my dreams.

I We decided to turn around after the lookout point. It was past noon and there was no chance in hell I could climb all the way down to the bottom and back out.*** So halfway it was.

It was hot, uphill and for some stupid reason you can only rent burros at the top (totally missing a money making opportunity if you ask me). I was miserable and sweaty. The Businessman was losing patience with my stopping at every switchback and kept pushing me. Gradually, we noticed another couple in pretty much the same situation. We became instant friends, until the other girl and I realized something: The boys were racing us.

I wish it was just hallucinations from heatstroke but TBM admitted it later. The boys had made an unspoken bet that whoever got their 'ho' up the canyon fastest won the Manly award. I was so exhausted at this point there was no way I could lay the smackdown on him.

Can't say the same for the other girl. About 3/4 mile from the top, she started shrieking, sobbing and tore her man up one side and down the other. It was a beautiful thing. Beautiful enough that TBM harnessed my mood and promised me a steak dinner once we reached the top.

Another problem about the Grand Canyon: There are no steak dinners.

He still owes me big for winning him that Manly award.


*, **, ***The literature clearly indicates to never hike the entire canyon in one day. It also suggests not to attempt this lookout in one day during the summer. Don't become a ho.

ETA: The Businessman informs me that he is willing to take me out any time for that steak dinner. Convenient that I don't eat steak anymore.

What She Made-Elizabeth Skinner

Her name was Elizabeth Skinner. She was one of my childhood inspirations. She taught me how to take a small idea and brainstorm it into something big--something that challenged all previous ideas. Something that could make the impossible possible.



She lost her battle with cancer when I was in junior high. I remember her struggle, but I don't remember her ever being weak. I remember her covered in paint, and helping us church kids with our crafts, and encouraging my creativity.



Shortly before her death, she found some old chairs, stripped them down and painted them with whimsical images that may have meant something profound to her. These chairs are a small memento of a truly, wonderfully, creative person. The sight of them brings back so many memories.



She donated them to a church auction. My mother won them. I don't know what the final bids were. It doesn't matter. They were worth every penny.



Thanks for inspiring me Elizabeth.



I hope they put you in charge of zebra stripes up there. And giraffe spots.

This Might Be Why The Economy Sucks

True Story.

I worked in an office of six supervisors with about forty people under them. I was one of the forty and every few months the supervisors would shuffle us around. Of course, this meant we got to learn every sup's style.

Then the technology changed and our supervisor assignments became more permanent. When I learned who my supervisor was going to be, I went home and told the Businessman to knock me up. He obliged and I only had to suffer nine more months with her.

TMI?

One day, she had a meeting with me because she felt I was the best candidate to "update" our fax cover sheet.

"I just took a class and they said the best ways to get something noticed were large words (I assume she meant font size), logos and color. This has our logo already. Let's make the words bigger and add color."
"Um, it's a fax coversheet."
*blank look* (she was good at those)
"Color might be difficult."
"I know, I thought we could print them on yellow paper and fax them that way."

I'm sure the company got back every penny they invested for that class.

What I He Made:

Yummy was a half day kindergartner and usually ate his lunch at home. The end of year field trip required a sack lunch. The morning of the field trip, I got up and told him I needed to pack a lunch.

"Mom...Hel-lo...I already packed my lunch."



This is what he came up with. A bento box with strawberries, carrots, crackers, bologna (cut with a small bat-shaped cookie cutter) and cheese. For dessert he had a fruit leather. He even filled his water bottle (I slipped in a little container of Gatorade powder since I didn't need to add anything else).

Overall I'd say he did very well. I was going to make PB&J.

If I didn't have this truly wonderful child, I might still be trying to fax yellow coversheets. With big words. Like 'yellow' or 'fax'.

Stay tuned for a few more Sunday Supervisor stories.

Mr Biology Teacher

I was thinking about my favorite teachers and my HS bio teacher comes to mind. He was challenging and it brought out the best in me. Even though I always got A's from this decidedly 'hard' teacher, it always seemed most of his classes were spent on tangents far distant from the topic we were supposedly studying.

I learned a lot from him.

One day, we were probably studying the Krebs cycle, its similarities to photosynthesis and how both pertain to microorganisms. Being the advanced class we were, the discussion took a natural turn to...breasts.

"What is the perfect breast size?" Mr. Bio asked the class.*

"A handful?"
"A C-cup?"
"In France, they say it's enough to fill a champagne glass."

This was the point at which the teacher realized he had completely lost control. He turned beet red and probably prayed we were the sort of teenagers that didn't talk to our parents.

All of us, every single one, had pictured this sort of champagne glass:

It wasn't until the next day that someone suggested maybe it was this sort of glass:

We also learned some valuable wisdom from his mother-in-law. She felt you only needed a bra when you could stick a pencil under your breast and it stayed there.**

*I'm pretty sure his point was going to be "whatever you have is perfect."
**My pencil, and any hopes for dating the cute albeit shallow guys, fell with a clatter to the floor that evening.

What I Made:

A pencil holder!

Kidding!

I knit this last summer with a yarn that I still don't know why I bought. I don't even remember what pattern I used. It was a stash buster.



These days, I do need a bra. A racerback one at that.

Go! Fight! W-W-What Are You Wearing?!

I don't have a scanner or I would post tons of humiliating pics of me when I was skinny, had thick hair and unfortunately had these advantages in a fashion disadvantaged decade.

But I perused a classmate's blog today and stumbled upon this:



My 8th grade cheer leading squad. I'm on the right, throwing off the symmetry of the shot. What I remember most about that uniform, was the seven inch growth spurt I after being measured. I couldn't lift my arms without showing some midriff. Quite the trauma back then.

I'm blissfully ignoring my hair, and my bangs. Horizontal stripes? Doesn't look like they helped any of us.

What I Made:

The wreath I talked about here.

After lovingly assembling and promising to give TLC during its first weeks of life so it can take root and fill out, the Businessman called to ask if I wanted to do a road trip this weekend. We'll see if it's strong enough to survive a couple days with no water.

I Made My Wedding Dress--Finale

Having made the bodice and petticoat of my wedding dress I realized I had a small problem. In finding the prettiest fabric ever, I had severely limited my choices for the skirt. Nothing seemed to work. Ivory/cream was all wrong and brown was too dark--I was already causing a bit of concern with not wearing a white dress. So I was trying to come across a miracle and match the beige-y taupe-y color (Behr Paint number 330F-4 Pebble Path) of the brocade.

I had designed the skirt so I knew I needed exactly five yards of fabric. I found a silk dupioni that would do. It wasn't quite right though. It had the same glow and almost the same shade as the silk but...it wasn't perfect. I purchased it anyway just in case. As the wedding approached, I gave up--there were plenty of other wedding details I needed to work out.

One day, I had a day off and decided to explore a fabric warehouse far to the north of me. I went on this little fieldtrip with no swatches, no plans and no idea what I'd find--my wedding dress was the last thing on my mind at this point. I meadered through a building the size of Costco and while poking through some Calvin Klein end-of-bolt stuff out of the corner of my eye I spotted a satin in a stunning topaz color (topaz is my birthstone).

It doesn't look like five yards. There might be enough. You forget your swatches idiot. I think it might match. Are you willing to spend $50.00 to find out? Shush! It's my wedding dress.

I took it up to the cutting counter where they measured exactly five yards. When I got to the register, my tab was $17.00. I promised them there was a mistake but no; I took the end of the bolt, which discounted it further.



I'm thinking I must have done something really good to have such great karma that day.



I wasn't a very experienced seamstress when I made this dress, just a little too stupid and a lot too fearless. My sewing skills have improved vastly since then but they are by no means professional. I'm sloppy and I leave loose ends all over and avoid hand sewing the same way my cat avoids the vacuum. But I love it.



And I get to say "I made my wedding dress."

I Made My Wedding Dress--Part III

Part I, Part II, Finale

Having made the top half of my wedding dress, I now needed to find the perfect fabric for the skirt. It's possible I loved my silk brocade so much, I never considered how hard it would be to find a good coordinate.

I decided to make the petticoat while waiting for the skirt fabric to find me.



I went through numerous fabric stores and listened. I wanted to rustle. I found the rustly-est combination of tulle and taffeta and got very familiar with making, pulling, and sewing gathers (to this day I wish that I had sprung for a gathering foot).

I didn't use a pattern so I guess you could say I designed it, but I never really thought of it that way.



So many ruffles and I edged every one of them with sequins. Sixty yards of sequins. You read that right--180 feet of sparkly, ruffly, rustling.

There's a rumor that I was dancing around the house in my petticoat recently. I have no idea why someone would spread such lies about me.



Psst...it still rustles.

Why Mountain Mama?

I always thought it might be fun to do a Q & A someday on my blog, but you will have to wait until I get more traffic. Most of you who read this blog know me a little too well and might get a little ornery with your questions.

But I will answer one: Why are you Mountain Mama?

The short answer is...well, there really is no short answer, however:

• The only time I have lived away from the mountains I didn't like it (and the Businessman hated it). I suspect I will always live near mountains.


• I have two children, therefore I will always be a mama.


• I like alliteration.

I have never been to West Virginia, but I do like some of John Denver's music. Last week on The Office Dwight and Andy were playing Country Roads and they kept stopping the song right before "Mountain Mama." I took it as the deepest of insults and refuse to watch the show ever again.

Who am I kidding? It's the closest thing the Businessman and I have to a date. Besides, they eventually finished that line in the song.

What I Made:

I whipped up this little hat (Lidsville by Kellen Wallis) last year right before the St Patrick's Day Parade. I thought it had an Irish feel about it and it made Vish's curls and ears look a little leprechaunish. I think I used Knit Picks Wool of the Andes but I'm not sure.



I did crochet the hat but I did not make whatever it is that is hanging on the right side of this picture. Looks like someone else found time to be creative.

You go creative random parade person!

I Made My Wedding Dress--Part II

Part I, Part III, Finale

The odds of my truly becoming a princess a la Princess Diaries are slim. However, I was determined to feel like a princess on my wedding day--with a princess dress. I had the vision. I wanted a corset bodice that laced up the back. I wanted a voluptuous skirt that was pleated not gathered. I was rapidly steering away from a white, fouffy wedding dress.

I found the perfect pattern for the corset--Vogue 1605 (now out of print). The skirt of the pattern left something to be desired, but the corset was just right.



I made a mock-up with some cheap satin (I figured my silk would not be a good thing to practice on). I made some adjustments (discovering I have a long torso along the way) and adjusted the pattern pieces accordingly. I laid out the four fabrics I was using--silk brocade, silk lining, organza interlining and baby flannel interlining--took a deep breath, mumbled incoherently and started cutting.

The whole thing went together in a day. Once I started, I couldn't stop.





Have I mentioned how much I love this silk?

I Made My Wedding Dress--Part I

This edition of What I Made comes in installments. Part II. Part III, Finale

When I started shopping for my wedding dress, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted. I tried on a few, but nothing on the racks seemed right.

Story of my life really.

I quickly decided I had to make my dress (do you know me at all?). My mom, being a wedding coordinator, took the reins of everything else. I was living a different state and knew she had a good handle of what I wanted. I wanted to sew my own wedding dress.

And thus the search renewed, but this time in fabric stores.

I fell in love with this fabric:



A gorgous silk brocade. The beigey taupey background was irridescent and the cherry blossoms glowed. This fabric became the decision maker of the wedding. White tulle and lace? No thanks, they don't enhance my brocade. Floufy poufys? Have you seen my brocade?

Five years later, I found a cheaper (ie not silk) version of this exact fabric and bought yards and yards of it. I now use it to decorate my house and have had paint mixed to match.

It's hard to believe I could love the Businessman more, but I do. A little bit more.

My Spice Racks

When I first set up house with the Businessman, I realized quickly how expensive spices can be. I grew up with my mom's spice rack and wanted to start my own collection. We decided to purchase one jar per week. After a few months, my collection was seasoning our lives nicely.

I then spent a few years looking for the perfect way to store my spices. My mother's racks are perfect and the search began for racks similar to hers. It was an exercise in futility.

Real Simple Magazine came to my rescue. I adopted their method for the following reasons:

I have 70+ different spices in my kitchen.

This system keeps the spices out of the light.

It is uber-compact.

I can access whatever spice I need in less than ten seconds.

Basically, you decant your spices into watchmaker containers (Lee Valley corners the market) and then label them (labelling is so important in organization).



The only thing I would add to RS's system is to alphabetize. This is especially crucial with multiple cases. I labelled the cases 1-4 so I wouldn't be permanently stuck with A-E, F-I, etc. I've used these for years so I know 'cinnamon' is the first four containers of case 2 (yes I have four different kinds of cinnamon).

The whole shebang fits beautifully next to my stove.

I'm about to graduate into a fifth case. I'm worried that this is an obscene number of different spices.

What are your favorite spices? How do you organize them? Do you have a favorite spice blend you like to make?

What I Made:

The Businessman can't handle spices. He likes spice blends (calling them "Man Spice"). Thirteen years ago he got a container of Tony Cachere's Creole Seasoning. One day he panicked because he was in the middle of cooking eggs and realized the container was almost empty. I secretly looked at the ingredient list and whipped up about 1/2 cup of fresh seasoning blend for him and poured it into the container.He still has that same container.

I still fill it. I still don't know if he knows this. I made a fresh batch today.

Stranded at the Drive-In

We are fortunate enough to have a drive-in theater in our town. Drive-in's are slowly going extinct and it's very sad. I love the one here. The prices are great. The movies are current (maybe a week behind) and the concession stand is reasonable (not that seven bucks for popcorn is a little extreme but...). You can bring your own food in and you can make the event as simple or complex as you want. The Businessman compares this to camping but I usually hear a weird buzzing in my ears and an extreme need to bathe when he mentions that word.

Last night, Vicious was sick so I decided to take Yummy on a date to the drive-in. The forecast called for rain/snow so I grabbed a couple sleeping bags (and apples, oranges and whopper eggs) and we settled in to watch Monsters vs Aliens.

A few minutes into the show it started to rain, so I turned on the windshield wipers. About ten minutes before the end of the show we were having problems with the radio turning off. For some reason, I thought this was a protective measure by the car and it was telling me the battery was low. I turned off the wipers and just kept the radio on. Then I had to crack the windows so they wouldn't fog up. Then I had to use the wipers about every minute so we could see.

Needless to say, when the movie was over the car wouldn't start. I braved the sleet to ask the car next to me if he had jumper cables (he didn't, neither do we, what's wrong with the world?). I then did the walk of shame to the consession stand to admit I'm a woman who doesn't know much about cars.

The crew working there was so nice. They immediately grabbed a Magic Box and ran to my aid. Within seconds my car was started and we were on our way home.

I encourage you to find and patronize your local drive-ins. At the very least, you'll have a date. Or possibly, you'll have a great story your 5yo will tell his father.

I also want a magic box.

What I Made:

Another second sock. Feel free to tell me if you're tired of socks yet. I'm just plowing through my 28 27 miles of yarn. Besides, I had to finish this sock...



...the poor kid was walking around like this for four days:



P.S. Can you tell me the movie this post's title comes from?

Tale of Two Boys Gone Awry--Part Two

The day of Yummy's birthday I was in his classroom doling out a fresh batch of cupcakes when the receptionist came into the room claiming there was a tornado watch. Ooh. Our knees trembled. We ran around the school screaming. We curled up in fetal positions under the tables. We sort of rolled our eyes and thanked the bearer of bad news. Tornados don't happen here.

Five minutes later she came around again and said it had changed to a warning and the school was in a lockdown. We needed to evacuate into the gym. Nothing sounds as enchanting as taking a bunch of (natural) sugar-laden preschoolers into a large room and forcing them to sit down and stay still. I grabbed a stack of books and some paper and proceeded to read stories and make origami (and remind the staff not to use the word "tornado") to entertain the troops until the weather cleared up. We still figured this was just a precaution because it was a school. Tornados don't happen here.

Then panic started to creep in. The phone was ringing off the hook. Parents were storming into the school to rescue their kids (why they thought being on the road rather than staying inside was the safer option still eludes me) and rumors started flying about the tornado.

Once the warning had been lifted back to a watch, I drove my kiddos home, called the Businessman, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies in our basement (after sending out an email telling everyone we were safe and not to call). The tornado had been three miles from our home.

Now for Buddy's wife's side of the story (my comments in italics)

After an F4 (they being Nebraskans know what this means) tornado hit two blocks from our house and power was lost, we decided it would be best to stay at my parents' house in Loveland. There was the possibility that another tornado may come through this way. My husband told me that I'd better get what mattered most to me and take it with us. I immediately went to get our wedding album, one of my most cherished things (of course you grab the iPod photographs! I would have to grab my hard drive and iPod but it's the same thing really). After a nice (steak) dinner with my parents that evening, I noticed that my husband was happily drinking what he refers to as an, "IPA", a.k.a India Pale Ale. As IPA's don't come in cans, I knew it was not in my dad's supply. I asked him what "valuables" he brought with from home. He pauses for a moment and tries to hide a smile. He seems to sense that he may be treading on dangerous ground, but takes the plunge anyway. "My IPAs", he responds. (Also, he saved some steaks.)

Men.


What I Made:

This was the cake for Yummy's birthday two years ago. It's the best (looking) cake I've made. As I'm not a professional, feel free to cut me a little slack and not put me into Cakewrecks.


Except the eyes (cat eyes for stuffed animals) the entire thing is edible. I even made the shell-shaped chocolates.

Also, I'll take this opportunity to remind you that I only mock these two men because I respect them and adore them. The last time they took the kids camping this happened. How can you not love them after that?

Tale of Two Boys Gone Awry--Part One

Last May, my oldest son was getting very excited for his fifth birthday. He was no longer going to be a child anymore. We were thick in the details of planning his Star Wars party and every day he was adding more excitement to the event.

There was one small problem. No way, no how, never was I going to invite all fourteen of his classmates to the party. As you may know, it's never fourteen. It's fourteen kids, with their siblings, and parents, and someone who wonders if it's okay to bring their three closest friends who happen to be in town that weekend (that was was me actually, for a different birthday party, but it all worked out).

So I consulted with the Pre-K teacher and we decided it would be okay for me to bring in cupcakes. Since my child was one of the few half-dayers, I promised to find a recipe that wouldn't cause a three hour cacaphony for the teachers that afternoon.

I was excited for this challenge and prattled to the Businessman about it for at least two weeks. I told him I had found the perfect carrot cake recipe that would actually introduce nutrition into these children and I would use mini muffin tins and there was nothing about this idea that the teachers could find fault with. I was just dreaming about all the Mom-of-the-Year votes that would come my way because of these cupcakes.

So the day before Yummy's birthday I made them. The recipe made 6-8 normal sized cupcakes and I got 15 of the cutest little minis you have ever seen. I made a creamcheese frosting and piped an adorable little swirl on each one. I was going to be the Best Mother Ever with these.

Before I continue I will tell you about a rule in our house. When I go on baking rampages, the Businessman is allowed to take the remainder of the goodies to work the next day--it keeps me from eating dozens of chocolate cookies, eclairs, and ciabatta and it gives me office points in my effort to be Supermom--and those office points are important!

So the morning of the "school party" I meander downstairs to discover every single one of my cupcakes is missing.

!?!

Then I remember our house rule and realize the Businessman must have taken them to work. But, as it is still early, I can just call him before the rest of the office can get to them.

B: Hello?
MM: Hey, did you take the cupcakes to work?
B: You mean the muffins?...*pause ....Oh! Where those the ones for the party?
MM: Yeah. No problem. I'll just run over and pick them up when I take him to school.

*pause*

B: I ate them.
MM: What?
B: I ate them. They were so good, and so little. I mean it took about eight of them to equal one muffin...
MM: Cupcake
B:...whatever. And usually my breakfast is one of those large sized muffins and I ate all of them.
MM: You realize that was the equivalent of eight normal cupcakes...
B: muffins
MM:...whatever. And four of the size you usually eat.
B: They were so good!
MM: Not to mention the brick of cream cheese.
B: Do you want me to buy some at the grocery store?

*click*

He ate all of them. I didn't know which shocked me more; the calorie consumption, the idea that store bought cupcakes would make me mom-of-the-year, or the fact that he hadn't listened to a word I had said over the previous three weeks.

I made a new batch, sans frosting, and the kids never noticed. But I have never really gotten over the fact that my husband, the best dad in the world, ate his child's birthday cupcakes.

I intended to spread this saga far and wide (even then I realized this would be a funny someday) but his buddy, later that day, topped it.

And how do you top that?

Stay tuned...

What I Made:

This was the cake I made for that Star Wars Themed birthday party. Except for the candles and guns (lollipop sticks), it was all edible.



Next time, I will buy an X-Wing Fighter, rather than make one out of gum paste.

Natural Women

I know I hung up that big old carrot yesterday. I know you want a real sweet, juicy story that will make you 100% happy with your current partnership arrangement. I will provide I promise. I asked the wife of The Businessman's buddy if she would like to contribute her side of the story (I'd hate to openly mock someone without the accurate details, wouldn't you?).

To tide you over...

I had good luck with college roommates. My first roommate, the one the campus chooses for you, shockingly got along great with me. Shocking because she entered every situation with the purpose of being the bitch. The worldly, sophisticated, bitch. I was dorky and naive and had no social skills (some things never change). We managed through all four years as great friends and we still keep in touch. She's still worldly, still sophisticated, but I don't think she will ever be able to pull off bitch to me. My other college roommate, whom I am also still in touch with but she doesn't read the blog (something about time commitments...), was one of my best friends. She was fun, adventurous, and wanted to experience life. The three of us were always together.

So, the above friends and I are watching TV and the following commercial comes on:



I laughed and said "I can so see that exact scenario happening to me!"

My second roommate looked up at me and said in all seriousness, "I can see that happening to you too." The other one almost spewed her drink out her nose.

Not "Me too!" Not "It could happen to anyone." Just stuck it right out there: You are the one who is just weird enough to dance around and then get caught.

Guess what? I am the one who gets caught. Doing random yoga positions, talking to myself, singing showtunes...I get caught. But I just gotta be me.

What I Made:

I learned to imbed a video clip.



Oh the doors that have opened now.

Prologue or Payback Is A Bitch

I love my husband, the Businessman. He makes me laugh. He beats me a trivia sometimes. He's a great dad. He's taking me to Hawaii. Again.

He has a buddy. Another smart, funny, dad. Together they preserve the sanity of their respective wives by taking the children away from us for various lengths of time. They also have aspirations of escaping into the wilderness together and having scary adventures that make me glad he has life insurance.

They meet for coffee every Monday morning. It's become their Christian men's retreat of sorts. They share hopes, fears, dreams. They listen, help, pray. It's like MOPS for fathers, only there's only two of them and no children, speakers, or crafts...or estrogen (which is probably why there are no crafts).

The Businessman may have let it slip that this meeting is also the only opportunity they have to determine whose wife is crazier. I wasn't sure how to properly process this information. All I wanted to know is if I win the title more often. The answer? It's a dead heat.

So, as payback, over the next couple posts I will narrate a tale of two men. Two men who, on the same day yet totally independantly of each other, won the "Crazy Husband" contest. Hands down.

It's a dead heat.

What I Made:

I was concerned there might be an intervention if I made muffins again, which is silly really since I don't have a problem. So I made Cinnamon rolls.



They are wonderful. But I still like my recipe better (so sorry PW). After I get done with the 2376 cinnimon rolls this batch made, I'll dust off that old recipe and make it again. A back to back judgement is only fair, right?

Does anyone want any? Seriously. I have 2352 rolls worth of dough living in my refrigerator right now.

In Touch With His Feminine Side

The Businessman came into our room the other night with one of those smug grins of someone who made a truly revolutionary discovery.


"I did it!" He proudly proclaimed. "I don't have porn in my Yahoo mail anymore!"


He had been complaining of this for some time and I always mentioned I was surprised. I get those emails too, but most of them filter into my spam folder. But this night, he told me it was the advertising all over the page that had sexually explicit content. Ugh! He didn't feel comfortable reading his email at work, home, Starbucks, anywhere, because X-rated images were plastered all over his screen.


"So what did you do?"


"I marked that I was a woman!"

What I Made:

Here's a picture of my soap. After that post you might feel the need to scour yourself virtually.

A bet? A Dare? Sea Water in my Hair

A couple weeks ago, the Businessman told me he would take me to Hawaii for our ten year anniversary if I ran 4.2 miles on the treadmill.

Hang on...

Let me back up before you send me comments about standing up for myself and not putting up with his jacka$$ ultimatums.

The Businessman wants a vacation. One that involves palm trees, sand, and frosty beverages. Okay, he wants to escape for fourteen days into the wilderness with nothing but his backpack and knife but he thinks we might have fun together with palm trees, sand, and frosty beverages. He knows me so well.

I am too cheap to let him take a vacation. I do the finances and I would rather save any excess pennies we have (and miss the days when they were excess dollars) than blow them on a trip to the beach. So we agreed to disagree and I hid the knife...and the backpack.

I ran 4.0 miles one day (with a .1 mile cool down). The next day he told me if I ran 4.2 miles he would take me to Hawaii. See number 39. I can't go back on my blog now, can I?

I ran 4.3 today.

We're leaving early November. Hey, if we could afford it when we were poor newlyweds, we can afford it now as poor parents. And I need a vacation...

With palm trees, sand, and frosty drinks--no knife.

Rhapsody In Powdered Sugar

Several years ago, two poor but very in love and newly engaged college students decided to spend Spring Break in New Orleans. Armed with every cent of money they were able to earn in the six weeks before the trip, they rented a car and made the long, perilous journey to the Big Easy.

After checking into their bed and breakfast (newly engaged, remember?) they decided to hit the French Quarter immediately. They fell prey to Pat O'Brien Hurricanes, hot dog carts, and scam artists. The evening left their meager cash reserves substantially lessened. They lost heart and worried they wouldn't be able to last a week.

The next morning, they dined on their breakfast (thankfully already paid for) and headed back into the Quarter.

They discovered Mecca, Zen, and Enlightenment.

What I Made:

Beignets:



I used a coupon and got a fryer yesterday just so I could make these (they were awesome). This morning I made beignets. Recipe from Joy of Cooking. While mine weren't like the ones at Cafe Du Monde (theirs are more like a fried dough and these were more a pate a choux), they certainly tasted great with coffee.




This one was my favorite. I named him Octi.

Now that I got the deep fat frying out of my system (and need to run a few on the treadmill) I have put myself on an oil-buying freeze. But I think my kids loved 'em.

If I had any technical skill I would make a mini movie of these two pics repeating. Because that is exactly what happened.

As for the New Orleans trip, we got smart, did a driving tour and found a local at a cigar shop who gave us all the insider tips we needed. It was a great trip.