Echoes of My Footsteps

So Comfy

2012-02-11T16:48:00.000-08:00

after a nap

on the new bed

He's taken to this position lately. Now when I walk in to get him up after naps, or even lay him down just for a second, he's on his stomach, cuddling with his hands underneath him. It's just about the sweetest thing ever.

You're Invited

2012-02-09T19:55:00.001-08:00

Almost since the day we returned from our honeymoon (and began sleeping on our new bed), Dave has been begging me for a king-sized mattress. We had just paid a decent amount for a good, queen-sized mattress, so I was aghast, and a little affronted. NO, I emphatically told him, we would not be getting a new mattress anytime soon. Mattresses last for a good 10 years, and ours was nice and very comfortable, so I told him that's when we could talk about it again.

But he had a point. We are both ridiculously light sleepers; it took no less than 2 years for us to get used to sleeping with someone else in the bed. Only recently have we been able to touch each other and still fall asleep. And, comfortable as our mattress was, every time we had the opportunity to sleep on a king, we noted how much better rested we felt in the morning.

Dave didn't stop asking, and I didn't stop laughing at him. It became an ongoing joke. He calls our first mattress purchase his biggest regret of our marriage. Every time we talk to engaged couples, his advice to them is invariably, "Get a king-sized mattress."

So, as he prepared to start a new job (and we would have more income) and we prepared to welcome a baby (and we would really need good sleep), he asked again. And I conceded. He's been almost beside himself with joy since then.

Today, it arrived. Behold:

Though the picture doesn't really show it, I spent all day cleaning and making my (very) first decorating efforts. We still had a few unpacked boxes and other items in our room. Sheesh.

Lucky us, we also have a third room in our new place. I've had big plans for it since we decided to get a new bed.

In short, we now officially have a guest room. In it is our very comfortable, still new (in my mind) queen bed, complete with the cozy Hawaiian one-piece quilt we brought home from our honeymoon. See?

How could you NOT want to visit? We're excited that now we can really host people. No more couch sleeping for house guests. So, dear friends and family, consider this your notice. You have a warm bed at our place.

Curls

2012-01-24T17:22:00.000-08:00

I am Kate, thin and straight (my hair, that is). Most of my childhood was spent in search of curly hair. My mom, from whom I receive my straighter than straight hair, sympathized with me and did everything she could to aid me on my search for more body.

There were lots of perms . . .

age 5

age 7

(no post like this is complete without an awkward school photo)

my personal favorite: getting me next to the dog to augment how frizzy my hair really is

Sponge curlers . . .

age 3 or 4

Old fashioned steam curlers from the 70s that burned my hands if I wasn't careful . . .

age 14

(barely clinging to the last vestiges of curl, just 4 hours after it was literally in ringlets)

Even egg whites . . .

age 16

But eventually I came to accept my straight hair. I know now that lots of people would kill for my type of hair, and it has its perks. I may not be able to get away with long hair (you try looking like a drowned rat), but I can enjoy short hair without worrying I'll be Felicity, season 2.

Still, when I saw pictures of Dave as a baby, I longed to have a baby like that.

So imagine my joy last month when, after fluffing up Boybee's hair post bath, I saw his longer top hair springing back into little curls:

Dave keeps trying to smooth down what he calls insane hair, but I keep fluffing it back up. (Yet another good-natured war for us to wage.) I can't help it if I'm excited that all my dreams are coming true for my child – never mind that he's a boy.

Why?!

2012-01-15T17:19:00.000-08:00

Toothsome

2012-01-14T13:30:00.000-08:00

This is a word I learned in one of my editing classes, and it has been one of my favorites ever since:

toothsome (adj): temptingly tasty.

You might say Dave and I find powdered Donettes toothsome:

(there are no more than two left in that bag)

(All examples devoured within the past 3 days. We have a problem.)

But, as I learned recently, this word can also be used to describe people, as in being attractive.

Ha! Do you see that? Evidence of previously mentioned tooth. He's missing at least half his head in all the pictures I took. I had to act fast.

So I think I can safely say, in all senses of the word, that's one toothsome baby.

A Cake, a Tooth, and a Song

2012-01-10T21:51:00.001-08:00

Let's skip the part where I talk about how long it's been since I posted (as well as all the excuses of Christmas, and . . . well, Christmas) and get to the good stuff.

A Cake

The Hubs celebrated his birthday last week, and as I did previously, I made the birthday cake to end all birthday cakes: Chocolate Bombe. Dark chocolate mousse encased in chewy, fudge-y brownie, and topped with ganache.

It was WAAAY better this time. I omitted the rum flavoring (which I substituted last time for the real rum in the recipe), and I changed the topping from solid chocolate to the aforementioned ganache, making it much easier to cut and a little less rich (and a crucial little). If you want the recipe, leave your e-mail (or if I already have it, just tell me you want the recipe), and I'll send it.

A Tooth

The first tooth has made its appearance! Bottom right, to be exact. And not a day too soon. I've seriously thought Boybee was teething since month three, and since he's 8 months today, I'm officially saying I will no longer be so sure about blaming fussiness on teething. But I can say, in retrospect, that last week's horrible sleeping in the night and fussiness in the day was due to that nub of a pearly white.

My attempts to immortalize this milestone were met with a flurry of hands and what my pediatrician affectionately calls "owl head." (Amazing how far babies can turn it.) Plus he's deceptively strong.

I think I can feel a companion to the left preparing for its debut.

A Song

I feel like I may be last to the party on this one. I just discovered Adele. And I am OBSESSED. She's awesome! Her voice is amazing! I've been singing her songs morning to night, particularly this one. I love the the steady bitterness complemented with vengeful gospel.

Winner! + Playlist

2011-12-14T16:27:00.000-08:00

And the winner is:

Diana!

She said:

Dan "It changes every day. But I guess 'Sleigh Ride' by the Boston Pops Orchestra." Me - anything fast that I can dance to with my baby and make her shake her bum because it makes her laugh. :)

No worries, Diana. There are plenty Boybee-approved, booty-shaking songs on this CD (as well as some beautiful ones).

Thanks to everyone who shared their favorite Christmas tune. I found it interesting that many of people's favorites were already on my CD, while several were versions I hadn't heard (but am anxious to hear).

For those who didn't win, here's the playlist:

1. Carol of the Bells – Mormon Tabernacle Choir

2. What Christmas Means to Me – Stevie Wonder

3. Do You See What I See? – Martina McBride

4. I Pray on Christmas – Harry Connick Jr.

5. Santa Claus Is Coming to Town – Jackson 5

6. I’ll Be Home for Christmas – Rascal Flatts

7. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – James Taylor

8. Happy Xmas (War Is Over) – Sarah McLachlan

9. White Christmas – Michael Buble and Shania Twain

10. Silent Night – Zach Gill

11. All I Want for Christmas Is You – Mariah Carey

12. Come All Ye Faithful – Eclipse

13. Winter Song – Sarah Barreilles and Ingrid Michaelson

14. O Holy Night – Celine Dion

15. Baby, It’s Cold Outside – Gabe Dixon and Leigh Nash

16. Last Christmas – Taylor Swift

17. Song for a Winter’s Night – Sarah McLachlan

18. Grown-up Christmas List – Michael Buble

19. Underneath the Mistletoe – Blondfire

20. The First Noel – Bebe and Cece Winans

21. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Sister Hazel

I'll admit, not all of these are perfect (for instance, I'm still searching for a really awesome "O Holy Night," not to mention I'm missing "Silver Bells"), but they're all still pretty freakin' amazing. Hope you enjoy!

Christmas CD Giveaway

2011-12-09T16:08:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I'm totally stealing the idea of my brilliant friend Kristen, but I blame it mostly on the fact that I've been compiling a list of the best Christmas songs I can think of to make the ultimate CD. After all my searching, I've gotten really excited about it, and I want to share the love! So –

Leave a comment to this post by 11:59 p.m. on Tuesday, December 13, and I will randomly select one commenter to receive a first edition copy of Kate's Ultimate Christmas Mix. What shall you comment on?

Tell me your favorite Christmas song and artist.

Aaaaand . . . go!

White Christmas

2011-12-07T20:32:00.000-08:00

No, I'm not dreaming of one. In fact, I'm quite excited to be having a snow-free winter for the first time in years. How I love Oregon.

But this duet of "White Christmas" by Michael Buble and Shania Twain almost convinces me I'm in the wrong. (Almost.)

Note: I talk about my new home state as if it were snow free; we did in fact have a light dusting of snow on the trees this morning. Beautiful. But it didn't clog up the roads or sidewalks and it melted by noon. My kind of snow. Have I already said that I love Oregon?

6 Months Old

2011-11-10T15:20:00.000-08:00

My baby is 6 months old today. I can't believe it. Has it been that long? Has it been that brief? That's the funny thing about life – it goes by simultaneously slow and fast.

Lately the Boy's personality has really started to show. He's patient, silly, eager to please, and most especially tender. He loves to touch our faces, hold them in his hands, and plant big, slobbery kisses on us.

The other morning he woke up a little earlier than usual, so I brought him into bed with me. As I lay there with my eyes closed and my hand on his stomach, I noticed he was completely still (as compared with the almost constant twitch of his hands and running of his feet). Had he fallen back asleep? I opened my eyes to see him wide awake and staring at me with a slight smile on his face. His left hand rested under my cheek that was against the pillow, and it gently closed and opened as he felt my cheek. I could tell his little baby heart loved me, even though he doesn't yet know what that is, and I knew he felt safe and loved by me. Another moment to never forget.

Other things he's doing:

sitting up
trying to put our cups, forks, and spoons into his own mouth (hoping we have a little culinary on our hands)
realizing cause/effect ("If I drop my toy, mom will pick it up.")
loving music and the piano
really laughing (see video below)
growing like a weed – 18 pounds, 26-ish inches long

This little person has totally overwhelmed my heart. Every day I think staring at him will have lost some of its novelty – but it doesn't. I can't count how many times I wish I had a camera inside my eye to immortalize little moments that can't be caught with a camera. Time is just flying by, and while I'm melancholy that I can't get some of the moments back, I'm happy to have experienced them – and I can't wait to enjoy more.

Here's to the next 6 months.

Boybee Laughs

2011-11-04T21:20:00.000-07:00

I've come to the conclusion that I'm a cheap mom. Don't get me wrong – Boybee has toys (a few stuffed animals graciously donated by friends and family, two carseat-attachable toys that make noises, a teething ring). But I've found that my red Sigg water bottle, a wire whisk, and a rubber spatula keep him just as happy (happier!) than their brightly colored, manufactured-for-baby counterparts.

This video yet again proves my theory. If he's so happy with a plastic bag (heavily supervised, of course), why would I buy him expensive toys?

(Sorry it's the wrong orientation. It's not too long, though, so you won't have Taco Bell neck afterward. Does anyone else remember those commercials?)

For Christmas: a cardboard box.

Enjoy, my son.

Recent Food Successes

2011-10-16T20:41:00.000-07:00

I've had some good luck with food lately. (Note: I thought of re-titling this post "Great Foods with Caramelized Onions," since that ingredient is featured in the bulk of these recipes. Seriously. I've been obsessed with caramelized onions lately. So easy! So delicious! Such a simple way to augment savory favorites.)

Peanut Butter Stuffed Hot Fudge Cupcakes (recipe here)
Sooo good. I've made them several times, and they're perfect as is. Thank you, Becca, for sharing these with me. I was already in your debt, but now it's beyond repayment.

Caramelized Onion and Potato Gratin (photo and recipe here)
Because of my recent obsession, I saw this and was determined to make it. Imagine caramelized onions, melted nutty Gruyere cheese, and the tang of wine and vinegar. Yes, please. (Word of advice: potatoes have a habit of sucking up and obliterating every semblance of salt when they cook. If you like salt, like me, you'll have to give a decent supplement to these babies before eating.)

Chicken Alfredo with Caramelized Onions and Sauteed Mushrooms (my own creation; the recipe is rather long and my transcription needs tweaking; I'll publish it soon)
Not much to look at, but so good. It's rich - but I think you can tell by now that most of my favorite foods are.

(no picture; sorry)
Burgers with Caramelized Onions, Gorgonzola, and Homemade BBQ Sauce
This, again, is my own creation. It's so easy. Get ground beef and form patties to your liking; season with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. In another pan, caramelize onions. Make BBQ sauce with 1/4 cup ketchup, 1/2 teaspoon chili powder, 1/2 teaspoon cumin, 1/4 teaspoon onion powder, 1 tablespoon brown sugar (or use those ingredients and tweak to your liking). Broil hamburger buns (Winco bakery buns work GREAT). Spread BBQ sauce on buns and assemble burger with patties, onions, and Gorgonzola crumbles (you can buy them in a container). Devour.

And an old favorite I've recently rediscovered:

Chicken Pomadoro (recipe here)
Love tomatoes. With other ingredients like onions, garlic, fresh basil, red pepper flakes, and cream, this dish just has tons of flavor. (Notes: My picture features bowtie pasta; I've found that mini shells work better, since they catch the delicious sauce. Also, make sure the chicken you use is thin, like a cutlet. If you're thawing the steroidal Costco chicken like I do, filet them in half.)

My next venture:

Blackberry Jam Cake (with caramel frosting)
(Photo from Cook's Country.)
I'll let you know how it goes.

Reasons I Love Fall Even More

2011-10-08T15:49:00.000-07:00

You all know I love fall. It is, by far, the best season. Beautiful colors, the sweet smell of decay, cloudy skies, crisp days – not to mention a plethora of cute clothing options. But this year is even better because:

I have a big kitchen in which to bake pumpkin bread (click here for the best pumpkin bread recipe ever):

I have a real front porch to decorate:

I get to enjoy plenty of gloomy weather:

I have a sweet baby to dress in baby sweaters:

. . . and baby jackets:

. . . and (drumroll) sweet little sleepers:

(This sleeper was my very first baby gift, given to me by my sister, Rachel, when I was only about eight weeks along. She saw the sleeper before she knew I was pregnant, thought, "That would be perfect for Katie if she were pregnant," and promptly ran out to buy it as soon I told her.)

Love little footsies.

Aren't Saturday mornings of pajama lounging with the family the best?

What are you loving about fall?

Milestones of a 5-month-old

2011-10-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been almost a month since we had the 4-month checkup for my little Boybee (our most common nickname for the boy – as in "baby boy," but switched and mashed). He's turning into such a little boy. As I write this, he's sitting on my lap, with his left hand resting on my left arm, and he periodically turns around and looks up at me, waiting for me to smile at him (at which point he smiles, too, and turns around). He's so curious, and he seems to hit new milestones every day.

Here are some things he's doing:

rolling front to back (he's been doing that for a while)
grabbing
gnawing on everything he can get his hands on (we call him the hunter-trapper; if he can get a hold of your hand, it's going in the mouth)
holding his bottle for a little bit on his own
switching things from hand to hand
sitting up with only light support, sometimes on his own for several seconds
looking longingly at the food Dave and I eat (last night, when Dave jokingly offered him a bite of pizza, he opened his mouth and moved his head toward it)
eating pureed fruits with a spoon! (he's getting good at not just spitting it back out)
bouncing vigorously in his door jumper (though only on his right leg - video to come)
blowing raspberries with his tongue
babbling vowel sounds
laughing frequently
REALLY sleeping through the night (like 10 1/2 hours – so nice)

He's so good to me. He always smiles at me if I smile at him for more than a few seconds, and he usually humors my attempts to make him laugh by actually laughing. But my favorite thing that he does happens while he nurses: he extends his free arm up as high as it will go and just feels around for my face and strokes it. Very often his little fingers will find my mouth, and they just rest there, since he knows he'll get kisses. It's just about the sweetest thing ever.

Dave just became a lot more adorable . . .

isn't that the sweetest little body you've ever seen?

(Watching TV.) I have a feeling I'll see this scene more and more frequently as he gets older.

the most heartbreaking face ever

our first attempt with rice cereal (peaches have fared better)

what a little model

(somebody's eyes are turning brown)

And, a couple rare pictures with mommy . . .

A Sudden Case of the "Mommys"

2011-09-22T20:33:00.000-07:00

It happened again. But this time I was actually holding my baby.

There we were, watching the beginning of Toy Story 3 (you know, the part with the video montage), and I started to cry. Before I know it, my little boy will be setting aside his toys and moving out, on to college, career, and whatever else life brings. Maybe the tears come from the fear that, like the toys in the movie, he will no longer need me someday. He will push away from my hugs, roll his eyes at my kisses, and occasionally yell at me and slam his door.

Don't get me wrong – I'm excited beyond words to share the future with him; to learn his personality and make memories with him. I imagine our family trips together; him and me laughing together at something we both find truly funny; that hug he'll give me the first time he comes home after moving away. But with each new moment comes a moment closer to independence, and a moment passes of our time together. I guess that's the beauty and the tragedy of children. They grow up.

I thought of all of this as he stood there in my arms – my pudgy little baby, belly flowing over his diaper top and cheeks sagging slightly, but in his eyes a little of the active, dynamic man he'll become – and my emotions overcame me.

And then he spit up all over me. I still had tears in my eyes.

I smiled, reminded that for at least the foreseeable future, he will still need me to care for him, comfort him, and cuddle him. I'll take everything I can in the meantime – squish in as many kisses as I can give – and hope that someday he'll understand just the tiniest bit how much I cherish him. I would walk to the end of the world and back for him.

After all, he's my little boy.

"Off with Her Hair!"

2011-09-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

(this comes from my phone, so it's a little blurry)

The damage: over 12 inches. The combination of scraggly locks uncut for more than 15 months; invisible hairs all over my arms, couch, floor, and child (thank you, dwindling pregnancy hormones, for making me lose my hair like a middle-aged man); and little hands from said child that are starting to grab and pull, was a ringing endorsement to get rid of it.

And it feels so good!

P.S. I will be posting pictures of the boy as soon as I can find the cord that connects my camera to the computer.

Movies I Wish I Could Un-see

2011-09-13T15:44:00.001-07:00

I had the great displeasure last night of watching a movie that, at the end, caused me to say, "I wish I could get back the time I wasted." There are few things as frustrating as realizing you've wasted your time, especially when you put an investment of several hours – and sometimes several dollars. I know this phenomenon with movies is inevitable, but I'd like to think that, if I do my homework (follow suggestions from friends, look at Rotten Tomatoes, read reviews), I can pretty much avoid it. But life is just unfair sometimes, and you get misled.

My experience last night made me think of other times when I've felt this same emotion. So, in order to prevent you from making the same mistakes, here's a brief list of movies I wish I hadn't watched:

Hanna (2011): This is the one we watched last night. (We actually watched it over the course of two days – because we're old like that.) Dave described it as "failure masquerading as greatness." It got pretty good reviews, but it was just WEIRD, and it had a weak plot, and it just made me feel icky at times.

Thor (2011): Another one we recently watched. How did it have so many stars in it? How did it get such good reviews? It reeked of corn, through and through, and not even enjoyable corn. Even Anthony Hopkins was bad. When veteran actors are bad, it typically leads me to believe the director is to blame (as in the case of the "new" Star Wars movies). But guess who directed this? Kenneth Branagh. That's right – director of such awesome films as Much Ado About Nothing, Henry V, Hamlet . . . maybe he should stick with Shakespeare.

There Will Be Blood (2007): HATED this movie. It was boring and just totally negative. I feel so cheated when Hollywood types tout a movie, only to find out for myself that it was all artsy, "I'm more sophisticated than you" hubbub. Aside from inspiring Dave and I to occasionally say "I drink your milkshake" to one another, this movie contributed nothing to my life – and actually stole a couple hours of it. (Jordie, I know you disagree with me.)

Syriana (2005): My timeless un-see example. I watched this while I should have been studying for finals. It was recommended by a friend, and by the end, Dave and I just turned to each other and said, "What happened?" There was no progress made, and it just left me feeling empty. (Sorry, I don't watch movies to feel depressed or nihilistic.)

Honorable mentions:
Burn After Reading (2008): Brad Pitt was hilarious in his role, but it was so minor there was no way it could make up for the train wreck of the rest of the movie. Once again, I don't watch movies to feel nihilistic, and, unfortunately, that seems to be the Coen brothers' main ingredient. I even hated Fargo (which didn't make this list only because I feel like it was enough of a cultural phenomenon that I need to be at least familiar with it).

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008): This movie very nearly destroyed the entire franchise. (Dave, in fact, refuses to admit it exists; he only acknowledges the first three Jones movies.) Good thing the rest of the movies were so great.

Pay It Forward (2000): SPOILER ALERT. My wish to un-see this is all in the ending. Seriously? You're going to murder the kid who just wants to give back to people? Whatever. Still, the movie is inspiring enough in the concept that I don't wish it to be obliterated from my memory like some of the other movies mentioned here.

Your turn. Any "don't see" recommendations?

Weekend Project

2011-09-08T12:41:00.001-07:00

I'm FINALLY getting to the baby's nursery. Last Saturday we painted it from khaki:

to "Blue Dusk":

it's a little greener than this photos lets on

(Dave says he feels like he's walking into a Tiffany's box every time he walks in the room. I'm not opposed to that – I l-o-v-e the color.)

Lesson learned: Painting is WORK. We taped and painted five walls (including ceiling) in about eight hours, and I was sore, shaky, and exhausted afterward. My legs are just returning to normal.

And of course, I was completely paranoid for the first several nights about the fumes and how they would affect the baby. I can't tell you how many times I looked up "how soon can you put a baby in a newly painted room?" on Google, hoping to find more exact answers than the ones provided by Yahoo Answers. (I didn't.) But he's back in the room and acting normal, so I think it's all good.

Stay tuned for further updates – my goal is to have it completely finished in the next two weeks, quilt and all.

Give me strength.

Today

2011-08-23T17:51:00.001-07:00

Today we took a walk.

Best Brownies Ever

2011-08-18T16:40:00.000-07:00

I know; out of nowhere, there's a flurry of activity on my blog. Do you now see how totally that picture post was weighing on me?

So the little man can't hold his dairy. This is a tragic thing for me, being one of those people who actually drinks milk with her meals. I've tried to find my way, but the hardest area to deal with is (surprise, surprise) dessert. I could eat ice cream throughout the day, but for love of the babe, I've been steeling myself against it.

I've had to find alternatives, and though baked goods typically don't cut it (especially without the obligatory tall glass of milk), this brownie recipe has been a savior to me. It is a recipe Dave's dad and mom got while they were in law school; one of their classmates received brownies weekly from his good mother, Mrs. Axelrad. Little did she know that her name would become a legacy to many.

Mrs. Axelrad's Brownies

4 ounces unsweeted baker's chocolate
1 cup salted butter (no margarine!)
2 cup sugar
3 eggs, beaten
1 cup flour
1 heaping tablespoon vanilla

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and flour a glass or ceramic 9x9 inch pan. (Note: These are hard to find, and metal just doesn't work well. I use an 8x8-inch Pyrex pan, which produces slightly more fudgey brownies.)

2. Melt chocolate and butter in saucepan over low heat. Once melted, remove from heat and add sugar to cool slightly. Add eggs. Mix in flour and vanilla until combined. Mixture should be thick and goopy (that's a technical cooking term).

3. Bake for 38 minutes. Let brownies set for about an hour, then cut and serve. (They will be a great mixture between fudgey and chewy.)

4. Try to avoid eating the entire pan by yourself.

High altitude: Add an extra 2 tablespoons flour and cook at 325 for 42 minutes.

Time Management Loser

2011-08-17T23:23:00.000-07:00

Dave and I have been talking lately about improving my time management. I've been working about 15 hours for my old job doing some online articles and editing, which has been great, but has also been a little challenging amid a new baby and a new home. I have been lamenting little sleep, unpacked boxes, a nursery that still needs painting and decorating, and no "me" time.

And, as Dave lovingly pointed out, it probably has to do with a lack of time management. He calls it an extended example of my habit of going to bed. I usually start by brushing my teeth. Then I meander to the kitchen, put some dishes in the dishwasher or organize some project. Then I go back and floss my teeth. Then I dink around, checking my e-mail or looking up some topic on Wikipedia, then I finally wash my face, say my prayers, and get into bed . . . 45 minutes later.

After discussing this last Saturday night, I agreed. I need to be better.

So tonight, after getting some stuff in line for work tomorrow, I found myself saying, "I'm just going to take a few minutes and browse blogs." Half an hour later, at 11:26 p.m., here I am, still browsing. (Cue eye roll.) Surely they have pills for this kind of thing.

I better get going. We all know how long it takes for me to get ready for bed.

Un- (or up-) loading

2011-08-15T21:43:00.000-07:00

I have put this off far too long.

At first I avoided putting up pictures because I felt like everyone had already seen a ton of photos, and I didn't want to be "that mom" who gushes incessantly about her child, past the point of adoration into annoyance. Then I realized, not only should I not care if people think this about me (is it a sin to love your child too much?), but I now understand that he is at least 75% of the reason people now read my blog. So no more avoiding the obvious.

After getting over that, I simply didn't post because it's so overwhelming. I seriously have over 600 photos of Baby J from the last three months alone (not to mention several videos), and between choosing the photos and taking the time to upload them to Blogger (which can take an eternity), I just stuck my head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich and ignored the fact that I would eventually need to give some sort of offering.

I could say that I have far too many photos of him, but that wouldn't be honest. Because I don't really believe that. I find ample opportunities to capture my little sweetheart – from grasping the toys on his play yard mobile, to sleeping on the boppy, from touching his dad's face, to simply looking at me with his big, grey eyes. It's been hard to capture him smiling – he's so aware, that every time I break out the camera, he stops and just stares at it. Another face I have yet to capture is the pre-blow up sad face – the cutest, most heartbreaking face in the world, when his bottom lip sticks out, his brows furrow, and his eyes say, "how could you?!"

I love my baby.

(Organized as best as I can from youngest to oldest.)

throwing a punch

stink eye

on his blessing day (sweet outfit made by my mom)

talking to Grandpa

"You sound like my mom, but you look different."

The Wicked Witch of the East

(love that little beaky look he gets when he concentrates)

look at those cheeks! he's gotten so big . . .

. . . and introducing our interactive 3-month-old (batteries not included)

A Moment

2011-07-18T18:11:00.000-07:00

the babe giving me the first of many smiles

As I sat among moving boxes nursing my boy and reading some beautiful prose about life, love, and families, I sensed the beginning of that bubbling over feeling — the one that starts with a tingle and ends with a larger-than-self feeling of love for the little being who lay in my arms. I looked down. He had fallen asleep and drifted off me as he usually does, and I felt the irresistible, urgent desire to scoop him up and give him a kiss. So I did. And just as I brought his little cheek to my left and kissed it, he awoke and threw his arms all the way around my neck for a tight hug. My breath caught a little, and I laughed, surprised at the tenderness of it all.

There are moments in motherhood when I realize I have deep bags under my eyes. That my hair is greasy and matted because I haven’t showered in three days, and that all my tops have spit/snot/spit up on both shoulders. But almost invariably I don’t care, because those moments that take my breath away make it overwhelmingly worthwhile.

Motherhood is glorious.

Something Beautiful

2011-07-13T16:46:00.000-07:00

Remember when I posted some cool pictures depicting my ideas for the nursery? Well, it's evolved. After seeing our pediatrician's Dr. Seuss exam room, Dave and I fell in love with the idea of a Seuss nursery. I've wanted to avoid going crazy with Seuss like some nurseries do, so we're doing bedding and decorations of basic colors (black, gray, blue, and teal, with small touches of yellow and red to complement) and decorating with books (still in love with the book nursery), as well as some cool prints we found:

(art prints from SeussLand)

Which brings me to something beautiful. Several weeks ago we went to Saturday Market in Portland, and I came across the booth of one Leah Pellegrini, a glass artist who makes Alexander Calder-inspired mobiles. I fell in love with this:

(photo from Leah's Etsy shop)

Now I dream of placing it above the crib (switching out the purple for white). What fun it is to decorate my own space.

Ladykiller

2011-06-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

I mentioned in my last post that Baby J isn't growing as fast as I would like. The other day, Dave came up with a theory for why this is.

"I know why he's growing so slowly," Dave said. "He's putting all his energy into growing eyelashes."

Good theory.

In Retrospect

2011-06-27T12:12:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post is full of unsolicited opinions from a newbie mother. And it's really long.

Last week I hit the 6 week postpartum mark, which is almost universally considered the end of the "healing" period. I can finally start to work off some of this extra baby weight.

While I might be healed, I'm far from feeling like I know even a percentage point of what I'm doing. If my poor baby could talk, I'm sure he would say:

"What do you think you're doing with that wipe?! Don't you know I'm sensitive down there?"

"Hello! I'm trying to tell you I'm hungry. Please don't make me wait until I'm famished and start crying."

"Now I'm NOT hungry. I'm tired. Please don't try to force yourself on me. It's exhausting to push away from you so much."

Luckily I have a wonderful partner who assuages my worries and picks up my slack when I'm slacking (which a lack of sleep makes all the more probable). And I have a patient baby. It's a good thing, too, otherwise I'm sure he'd be screaming at me all the time. He's growing well (though a little too slowly for his OCD mother not to have moments of fretting), and after 7 weeks of doing the mom thing, I'm getting more used to running on little sleep and feeling less guilty about not really starting the day until 11. If only a little less guilty.

I may still be fumbling through the early stages of motherhood, but there are a few things I've learned from my few weeks of doing this.

First, a note on labor: While I was pregnant, I found that most women delighted in sharing the horror stories they or their aquaintances had with child labor. It was less than encouraging to hear. It also seems to be common practice to go through all the gory details in blogs. Don't worry; I won't.

Instead, for those of you who have yet to have a child, I will simply add an encouraging voice the fray and tell you, from my experience, LABOR ISN'T ALL THAT BAD. In all, I was in labor for about 12 hours (counting time spent at home with regular contractions), and I pushed for about 2. At 2 weeks, I was nearly completely recovered from the ordeal.

Still, there are several things (both having to do with labor and early parenthood) I wish I had been more aware of beforehand that some of you might find helpful.

When you start contracting, stuff yourself with as much food as you can. My sister told me to do this when I called her in the early morning asking about contraction intensity. Unfortunately, I didn't listen. I ate some toast and a couple other menial things, but by the time I was checking in, I was hungry. Too late. They don't let you eat ANYTHING while you're in labor . . . aside from flavored ice chips. (So filling!) By the end I had fasted for 12 hours, during which time I labored and pooped out a baby, and I was famished. So, I say: eat, eat, eat.

Be prepared: pushing is really hard work. I was not mentally prepared for how hard pushing was. (I burst a blood vessel in my eye from the effort.) Granted, I had an epidural, so contractions may "really" be more difficult and pushing more natural, but it was seriously the hardest thing I've ever done. At the beginning when the nurse said, "You're a great pusher. I can see his head!", I thought I was only a few pushes away. Then, following 45 minutes of pushing as hard as I could and hearing "you're doing great!" they decided to bring in a mirror so I could see what sorts of pushes actually got me somewhere. They brought it in – and all I could see was a silver-dollar-sized portion of Baby J's head. "You have GOT to be kidding me," I thought. "This baby is never coming out." I'm glad they brought the mirror, though, because it really helped.

I also wasn't aware how crucial it was to keep my legs relaxed (with knees up by my shoulders) and my chin into my chest while I was pushing – and I didn't know how hard that was. When pushing that hard, it's natural to want to arch your head back and push your legs out. In my case, my mom had to come and hold my head down; I had people holding my legs, too.

I wish I had been more prepared so it wasn't such a rude awakening. And I wish I had done more ab exercises – whatever that would have been. Or that I had been aware of all the things that go into pushing.

Maybe this is why people take birthing classes. Kind of missed out on that one.

If you want to breastfeed, be committed. Long ago, I saw a humorous e-mail that purported to give helpful tips for women preparing to breastfeed. One tip was to fasten clothespins to your nipples for two hours each day. I laughed at the hyperbole. Now, I chuckle knowingly. THEY WEREN'T KIDDING. Breastfeeding really hurts for the first couple weeks, especially in the first few days when you don't know what you're doing and latch the baby improperly. And the books say it shouldn't hurt if the baby is latched on correctly, but they're lying. As I said, it doesn't hurt as much with time, but it's important to keep the goal of breastfeeding in mind, because it would be easy to call it quits. Seven weeks in, I'm just starting to get the hang of it.

There have been times when I've been frustrated that he latches then pulls away crying, and times (too many to count, as Dave can attest) that I've worried he's not getting enough food. But I've also had some pretty phenomenal moments of bonding when he puts his little hand on my chest and I have that familiar feeling of attachment we shared for nine months. Or when he smiles as he feeds. And I know it's creating an important bond and a psychological understanding that I am here to love and care for him in whatever he needs.

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed at the magnitude of this task and all I have to learn about caring for another person. In the times when I feel really inadequate, I find great solace in the words my friend and Baby J's pediatrician, Brian Buchanan, said on our first visit: "Far less capable people than you have done this for millions of years."

Comforting words. And at the very least, I know how to love him. Hopefully that bridges a few gaps.

So now I'll just take a deep breath and march onward . . .

(Giggle)

2011-05-29T01:04:00.000-07:00

Apparently the universe didn't think that having a baby and moving 800 miles just three weeks later was eventful enough for our little family.

Yesterday morning, as I was gearing up to finish packing for our Monday move and start deep cleaning the apartment with my mom (a saint who has made the last few weeks bearable), I started feeling some stomach pain. An hour later, it was so severe that Dave took me to the emergency room. Several hours, some blood labs, and a CT scan after that, it was determined that I had acute appendicitis and needed surgery immediately. I spent the night in the hospital and am now at home, surrounded by boxes, and doing my best to recover in time for my flight on Wednesday.

Ecclesiastes says there is "a time to weep, and a time to laugh." Even if all evidence points to the contrary, I firmly believe this qualifies as a time to laugh. I mean, really, this could only happen as part of some major cosmic joke. No one is that unlucky.

Scenes of Family Bliss

2011-05-23T18:24:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post to show off the newest addition. Baby J has arrived and already given us so much joy. We constantly gush about how sweet, wonderful, and beautiful he is. We stare at him for minutes on end and kiss his ever growing cheeks. We are totally in love.

More on labor and early parenthood later. I'm off to stare at him some more.

Becoming a Mother

2011-05-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
~Elizabeth Stone

I can't wait to feel that vulnerable.

Prophetic

2011-05-08T08:35:00.000-07:00

Baby still isn't here (and shows no immediate signs of arriving), but I'm holding up well.

I'm really writing because I find it funny that my ticker says both "41 weeks 1 day so far," "1 day to go," and "1 week 1 day to go." (At least, this is what it was saying after I refreshed the page several times this morning.) It seems to have anticipated the eventuality that baby will come within the next two days or the next week. And I did nothing to tinker with it.

That thing has a mind of its own. Good or bad, I don't know. I'm leaning toward "good."

UPDATE: I now realize those other days ("1 day to go" and "1 week 1 day to go") just keep adding days for every day I'm overdue. Because today – Monday – they say "2." Ah, well.

The Ticker

2011-04-29T21:48:00.000-07:00

I can't quite bring myself to do it. I've looked at that baby ticker, gone to the website where you get the widget, input my due date plus one week, and gotten ready to switch it. But I just can't.

See, despite my coaxing, baby continually measures higher at my weekly appointments. (I personally think he's a trickster and is taking his mom for a ride right from the start.) In other words, my doctor is telling me that this baby is probably coming after May 7.

Now if you'll look at my ticker, you'll see have just one week left. And while I've considered slyly changing it so that it shows 14 days instead (so that I don't set myself up for disappointment on the 7th), I feel like that's cheating myself. I've put in 39 weeks, gosh dang it, and I want the credit for it.

So, if you'll kindly just consider to yourself that May 14 is the real day (because, one way or another, he will be on the way by May 14), I would greatly appreciate it. I'm already getting flack from people at work for "still being around." C'mon. Give a pregnant lady a break. I want it to happen a million times more than them.

In return for the favor, I won't whine as the days pass after May 7. Promise.

On Easter Morning

2011-04-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

Holidays are something special for me. When I was growing up, my mom did a great job of making each holiday something special.

On April Fool's Day, my mom would dye our milk different colors (it came in opaque cartons back then, so we wouldn't know it was dyed until we poured it). Christmas was always heavy with traditions and activities (decorating sugar cookies, re-enacting the nativity, assembling plates for the neighbors), and Easter was no different. We always had a basket (and we each had special baskets with ribbon woven through them – mine was pink and purple), usually with a gift or stuffed bunny inside, and we always had candy and eggs. Some eggs were special and were filled with Jell-o, that jiggly, weird staple of Mormondom. We loved being surprised with which eggs were hard boiled and which were the trick Jell-o eggs. If we were in Utah, we could partake of my Grandma's annual Easter egg hunt.

(Digging into Grandma's hunt stash – I told you I was a chocolate freak)

Since Dave and I have been married, we have been a bit hit-and-miss with Easter baskets. It's not the same without the thrill of youth. But I decided this year I needed to do it and start the habit, since we're anxiously (very anxiously, these days) awaiting the arrival of a certain small someone.

I bought all the trappings: Robin's eggs, Cadbury creme eggs, Reese's eggs, and Lindt chocolate bunnies. (I was sorely tempted to buy the Reeseter bunnies, if only because the name is so awesome.) I wanted to wait until Easter morning to do the baskets and surprise him with his, but as soon as he found out Reese's eggs were involved, he just wanted his candy.

He also, surprisingly, really wanted to give me my basket. I didn't believe him when he said he had a unique basket in mind for me. (I should have known better than to question. Holidays typically aren't his thing, but in the years we've been married, he's caught on to how much they mean to me, so he usually does something awesome.) Behold:

See the faint outline of a cottage on the box? That See's.

So much better than his. The best part? He doesn't care that mine is better.

We also arranged for Easter gifts. Mine:

Writing this caption as we try to figure out how in the devil to wear the Bjorn . . .

"Nothing special, but efffective," said Dave, just before he gave it to me. "Just like me." (If he's applying it to himself, I have to disagree with the first part of the first statement.)

But the most important part of the holiday, I think, is remembering and appreciating the event that Easter celebrates.

So, this morning, we'll read in the Gospels about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I've so often overlooked this event with relation to Easter and have typically favored the more publicized Christmas – but the events Easter commemorates really are a crucial point of who I am and what I hope for. They're miracles that transcend the sadness and death that characterize life, and they provide the greatest peace and hope I've found.

“There would be no Christmas if there had not been Easter. The baby Jesus of Bethlehem would be but another baby without the redeeming Christ of Gethsemane and Calvary, and the triumphant fact of the Resurrection.” – Gordon B. Hinckley

Happy Easter! I hope your day is full of chocolate, happiness, and love.

Fried Pickles

2011-04-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

I have a thing for fried pickles. (And it's not just a pregnancy thing.) So, when the brilliant online editor from work suggested we in the office make the recipes from our most recent recipe section of recipes from The Roof restaurant in Salt Lake City, I volunteered for the pickles.

Think of it: crunchy, dilly, salty goodness.

They were really easy, and actually turned out pretty dang good. (Not quite as good as they are at the actual restaurant, but isn't that always the case?) Behold:

(Here's a link to the recipe.)

I'm so proud of myself for making something exotic again – even if it was because of a work obligation.

Do you think I should try and eat them with some ice cream, just to complete the picture?

A Few of My Favorite Things - 4/2011 (update)

2011-04-04T20:14:00.000-07:00

1. When strangers tell me I look good pregnant.

Seriously. It's nice when people I know tell me this, too, but when a stranger, with no vested interest, tells me that she couldn't tell I was pregnant from behind and I look good, it puts a significant spring in my step. Because they have no obligation to compliment or even talk, and no matter how many times I've heard it, I still feel like a house. So if you see a pregnant woman and you think she looks nice, go ahead and tell her. It will make her day.

2. Cracklin Oat Bran.

I liked bran before I knew it had . . . um . . . benefits. And I've loved this cereal ever since I was a child – even if it does have coconut oil (which is basically the worst substance you can put in your body). It's so expensive, though, that I rarely get it. Sometimes I come across an affordable box, and for the next few days I'm in heaven. (Tip: let it soak just a little in the milk; it's so much more enjoyable when it's a little soft and doesn't tear up your mouth.)

3. Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie.

What could be better than a warm cookie? A warm cookie inside a flaky pie crust. With ice cream and fudge. We had this at a friend's house recently, and I was craving the gooey flaky goodness until I was able to make it the next week. Here's a link to the recipe. (Warning: you probably shouldn't read the recipe unless you have the supplies for cookies and crust, or fast access to supplies – because you will want it immediately.)

4. Baby toys.

My parents came into town this weekend after spending a few days in D.C. and brought back with them a baby elephant for baby. It reminds me of an elephant I had when I was little. I had to take a picture while it's still cute, since I'm sure (while it will become more dear) it will become endearingly crusty and stained. But right now, he's fuzzy soft and so hugable. Don't you love the half-closed little eyes?

5. Watching my baby's movements.

Sometimes I just sit, stare, and smile at my stomach. People probably think I'm nuts, but it's just so magical to realize that there's a little being in there, moving around. ("Give me more room!" I sometimes imagine him saying.) He's always crazy at night, and I've been wanting to document it for a while now, but he always gets quiet when I turn on the camera. Saturday night I finally caught it. Though I still think it's charming, it's a little alien to see. I'm going to try to upload it, but the camera is low on battery (perhaps from me looking at the clip too much?). Stay tuned.

UPDATE: Here's the video. It takes a little bit of time for him to start moving, so be patient.

Bad

2011-03-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

It's been a month since I posted on my blog. And I'm sorry to say, I don't have much to say.

I've been trying to think of non-baby-related things. Really I have. But I haven't had much energy (or time) to cook cool meals, much less take pictures of them, and the weather/grounded nature of my pregnancy hasn't allowed much in the realm of adventure.

So, here's one thing I've been thinking about that are baby related, but hopefully not so boring:

Nursery stuff.

I've been trying to figure out how I might decorate a nursery. This piece of art is just palette I think I'm going for (emphasis on the grays):

Picture from Sugarfresh.

A friend and colleague, who is also expecting, also showed me this delectable picture of a book-themed nursery:

Photo from House of Turquoise.

(On a side note, that blog, House of Turquoise, is so fun to look at. I highly recommend it. The "nursery" tag in particular has lots of fun entries, especially the coral and turquoise one.)

And this is the crib we're thinking about:

Photo from Polyvore.

Here are some other cute ideas for art, though I don't know how hip Dave is to the whole "sayings" thing. Maybe I can sell him on at least one . . .

Other ideas?

Almost 3/4

2011-02-23T21:02:00.000-08:00

If you'll look at the baby widget, you'll see I'm just a few days short of 30 weeks. Nutty.

Every day I get more excited for my baby to be here. I sometimes wonder if everyone is sick of me talking about it, but I just can't get enough. (And I kind of don't care if they are.) I love feeling him kick me. I love watching my tummy move like some crazy, other-worldly gas has taken over my body.

Then there are times when it hits me. Dave and I got to go visit my parents this weekend in California. (Sidenote: it was such an awesome, super-vacation weekend; we just spent time with them and didn't worry about doing anything. Who cares if you get stuck in traffic when you don't have to be anywhere and you're with people you love?) Anyway, my mom really wanted to take us crib shopping. (As she always reminds us, she is the crib grandma.) We were walking through Babies-R-Us, and I was looking at all the necessary doo-dads – carseats, strollers, high chairs, pack-n-plays, not to mention all the little nail clippers and ear thermometers – and it hit me (again): we're going to have a baby. He's really coming (along with all the stuff necessary to keep him alive). He's going to be there forever after. I'll never not be a mom again.

It's an overwhelming feeling, that realization. But it's overwhelming in such a wonderful way. I don't know how I'll do it – I don't want to screw this perfect little being up. I want life to be perfect for him, but I know it can't be. But even with all the scary possibilities life holds for me and my son, I'm so excited to love more than I ever have . . . and to learn more from him than he probably ever will from me. Luckily I have the help of some very capable women and men, and a Father in Heaven who knows the way and wants me to succeed as much I do (possibly even more). Which is why, even though this big step is overwhelming and a little scary (as every worthwhile life step is), I feel at peace and couldn't be more excited in making it.

More Photographic Evidence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

2011-02-05T14:39:00.000-08:00

At 27 weeks, I'm really starting to feel big.
(Can you see the top of my maternity pants? Sexy.)

So we're still having difficulty coming up with a name for the babe. This morning, as Dave and I lay chatting after waking up, Dave made a very cool connection of our conundrum to Harry Potter. (Trust me, it's cool.) So, until we come up with something, he will henceforth be called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (in the most endearing sense of the name).

I'm just so excited for him to be here. Sometimes I get so excited it wakes me up – kind of like anticipation for the first day of school or for Christmas morning. Recently I found an interesting blog – one of those blogs you follow of people you don't know – and the woman who writes it was expecting her first child, too. She gave birth this week and posted a picture of the newborn, and she was just so beautiful and new that it gave me a little thrill to think of holding my baby for the first time. May 7 cannot come too soon.

(In related news, the blogger I mentioned named her daughter my top girl name (Eleanor), which isn't very common. It made me a little nervous that it's one of those generationally popular names that no one is aware of until everyone of the same age starts using the name, and that any girl I have will know 5 other Eleanors. Hmmm.)

Scary Morph

2011-01-24T18:20:00.000-08:00

Remember on Saturday when I posted a picture of what our child would look like? After morphing our faces into a child, I chose the other option on morphthing.com to simply "morph" our pictures (instead of "morph child"). Below is the image it came up with; seeing it left me laughing uncontrollably for several minutes.

(This is me offering a silent prayer that he doesn't grow up to look like that.)

"Picture" of Our Child

2011-01-22T14:32:00.000-08:00

Apparently this is what our child is going to look like:

Pretty cute, but he looks a little Latin to me. (Also a little like my nephew Mr. M when he was a baby, which is interesting.) What do you think? Is this a plausible version of us?

(Baby Dave with to-die-for curly hair)

(Baby Me)

Happiness Is Peanut Butter and Chocolate

2011-01-19T19:42:00.000-08:00

First of all, I want to thank all of you for your kind comments and suggestions following the robbery. It's nice to have others who feel indignant with me. We have contacted the insurance company (the last of the places we needed to contact), and the claim is in process. Soon we should be able to put this behind us (deep breath), although it has made me even more passionate about having a good alarm system on my future home.

But now for the good stuff. If you look at the title, you may see a similarity to another post I made a while back: "Happiness Is a Piano." Happiness, to me, is still a piano, but happiness is so many other things as well, chief among them being the combination of peanut butter and chocolate.

I daydream about eating these two lovely ingredients together. Alone they are wonderful. But together they combine to make the superdessert – simultaneously sweet, but also a little bitter and salty.

A couple weeks ago I sat dreaming about peanut butter cups. But it was a Sunday (and we don't shop on Sundays). We also happened to be watching an Ohio State game, whose mascot is the buckeye (an inedible, useless nut). Always one to make a connection between life and food, I recalled a nearly forgotten memory from my first job out of college. My employer was from Ohio, and in her office kept a bowl of prized candies called "buckeyes" – creamy peanut butter truffles covered in dark chocolate. We all got one during staff meetings. One day when someone didn't want one, we all fought over who got it.

After the few seconds it took to remember this, I decided to look up the candy form of buckeye. I found a recipe; I realized I had all the necessary ingredients. So I whipped some up.

before you lick the computer screen, remember: this is just a picture

(Click here for the recipe.)

Needless to say, they didn't last very long. (Dave likes peanut butter and chocolate almost as much as I do.)

Since that whirlwind of craving-turned-satisfied-craving, I've been keeping track of just how many different iterations of peanut butter and chocolate I crave. These top the list:

*Walmart brand peanut butter cups (the best ever – seriously. We drove several blocks just to pick these up the other night, because the Walmart near us had none, and the cashier actually criticized us for getting "just the cups." I don't think he's had them).

*These peanut butter filled cookies

(photo from desertculinary.blogspot.com)

*Peanut Butter Cup Perfection from Coldstone (it really is
perfection) . . . which Dave was so good as to get in cake form for my birthday:

Peanut butter and chocolate – why do I love you so?

Aftermath

2011-01-15T09:17:00.000-08:00

So after I wrote down the unfortunate happenings that involved our garage, I talked to my mom. She was so patient with me while I rambled. I seemed to be doing fine (just a little frustrated), until near the end of the conversation when I completely broke down and started sobbing – and I mean really sobbing. I was just so angry. In a rather dark moment, I really wanted to hurt the people who made us victims. Why do people do things like this? It left me feeling so violated. My wedding pictures had been rifled through, objects that mean so much to me (including a stuffed shark and a pillow one of my roommates made to commemorate our ninja turtle costumes) were just left on the ground, cast aside as if they were nothing.

I also felt vulnerable. Every once in a while, I would go outside and look at our garage (which is separate from our apartment) and see if the door was closed, or if there was anybody lingering about. It was such an arbitrary hit. Apparently (as we found out yesterday), we were the only ones hit, and this is the first time something like this has happened in 10 years. So why our garage? What did we do wrong? It just makes no sense.

In the end, we're really fortunate. Dave reminded me we're both safe, we have a baby on the way, and this was just a case of extreme bad luck that has made a few things really inconvenient. But it will be okay. We have renter's insurance (which I now encourage all of you to have, if you don't), and we think that should cover all our losses.

There are a few things I will take from this: (1) Always have renter's insurance. (2) Never keep financial information outside the house, where you have less control over it. (3) Life really sucks sometimes because of the choices other people make. There's nothing you can do to protect yourself sometimes, but you can choose how you react and move on.

(Lest you lose hope on me, something happy and fun is upcoming on the blog. My last three posts have been rather self-pitying, but bright things are ahead, including a stint with chocolate and peanut butter and another with fudge frosting. As you have seen, food makes me happy.)

UPDATE: Since posting this, we went in to take inventory of our losses and saw that, last night, the thieves came back and took more. What the hell?

Okay; I'm done now.

Robbed

2011-01-13T18:54:00.000-08:00

Our garage was broken into. Dave's golf clubs, mine, various electronics, financial information – all taken. It looks like something out of a CIA movie; you know, the ones where a unsuspecting person comes into their apartment and finds everything ransacked? Like them, I stood dumbfounded, wondering what happened. Boxes are turned over, opened, various objects on the ground, our winter coats are strewn around. I've just spent the last hour and half on the phone with various people, trying to do damage control.

Why do people have to be dishonest?

I Think I Strained Something

2011-01-05T18:54:00.000-08:00

Have you ever coughed so hard that the veins in your eyeballs start to dilate? I was doing that this morning. And most of the day. And this evening. And after a particularly rousing round, when my sweet husband went to go get me some soup and a sandwich, I stood up and felt like something on my right side was strained. Lovely.

See, I'm one of those lucky people who seem to cultivate colds like oak barrels cultivate a fine wine. (Is that considered a talent?) Cold viruses find a lovely home in me. They strike, and, not two days afterward, settle nicely in my chest and settle down for an extended stay, usually two to three weeks. I don't know if it's my sunny personality or rapier wit – I'm just a good host. (Ba-dum-ching.)

I have hopes that the bugs won't get too comfortable this time. I'm being as hostile as I can be. I'm trying to drown them out, slip it off, cough it up. But I don't want to rock the baby too much. (He's been pretty quiet during all this coughing, but he gives an occasional kick, as if to say, "Stop it up there. I'm getting tired.") I think I'm going to make myself some lemon water with honey.

And, with that, I will wish you a healthy New Year. May you make it out of the most sickly time of the year unscathed.

It's a Boy!

2010-12-18T08:26:00.000-08:00

(For the record, the minority wins on this one. Only 4 voted for a boy; the other 6 voted girl.)

We went on Wednesday for our 20-week ultrasound, and we were happy to see that everything is right on schedule and developing normally. Though I had become convinced over the past several days that it was going to be a girl, about two seconds in we got the money shot. The doctor didn't say anything right then, but I squeezed Dave's hand and, later, found out that he, too, knew it was a boy at the point. It's pretty hard to miss.

We're so excited. It's thrilling to be able to think of the baby as "my little boy," rather than just "my baby" (although that's still wonderful). The only hiccup? We had plenty of girl names ready to go . . . but no boy names. We have been searching through baby name dictionaries and marking things we like, but we're not feeling the magic on any of them. (At least not yet.)

I know that baby names are a very personal (and somewhat protected) thing for people, but if anyone has suggestions, please – suggest away.

P.S. I found this beautiful video on my alma mater's website. It's an animated film on which two BYU professors collaborated – one an animation professor, the other a dance professor. It makes me cry a little.

Thought of You from Ryan J Woodward on Vimeo.

Season of Firsts

2010-12-12T15:52:00.000-08:00

It's funny sometimes how "firsts" can sneak up on you. Sometimes the milestones you reach have been anticipated and planned, and you go in fully aware of the excitement that this is the first time you've done something in particular (driven, gotten married). Other times, the experience can sneak up on you, and it's only afterward that you realize you've reached a new position in life (usually much smaller measurements of your progression, like the first time you take a road trip or the first time you own a television – although sneaky people can make bigger things into unexpected events, like first kisses).

With this sort of introduction, our two milestones will seem like small fries, but we've crossed them nonetheless and had lots of fun in the process.

For the first time in our marriage, Dave and I have a Christmas tree in our home. A small thing, in some ways, but considering how long we've been married and how many times we've talked about it, high time it happened. We probably would have gone another year without one, if it weren't for the charity of my sister Diana and her husband Dan; they had an extra tree taking up space in their garage, and they magnanimously gave it to us. (I even got asked today if it was a real tree, it's that nice.) On Thursday I finished putting the lights up, and after turning off the apartment lights to admire its glowing splendor, I realized it was our first tree. Isn't it pretty?

Then yesterday we made our own turkey for the first time, all by ourselves (though with a few frantic calls to parents for guidance). Soon after realizing we didn't get enough turkey at our delicious Thanksgiving, we resolved to make our own. We planned on something like an 11 pounds bird, but fate had something else in mind – the 16 pounder was just as expensive as the 11 pounder (go figure). More leftovers, please. It took 5 days to thaw in the fridge and a little running water to get rid of innard frostiness yesterday afternoon, but come 12:30 on Saturday, it was ready to cook.

Dave did the lion's share of the work, which I was more than happy to let him do. (I think you all know I have a complicated relationship with poultry.) While he buttered the insides, rubbed the soy paste on the skin for flavor and browning, and lifted the bird into the bag, I cut up a few vegetables and snapped a couple photos. We used the "Turkey in a Bag" recipe from the Cook's Country November 2010 issue. It turned out beautifully – completely cooked and moist. What a man.

Mmm; turkey innards

This is not product placement for Mrs. Cubbinson's Stuffin', nor is it me selling out; it's one of the ingredients to my aunt's amazing stuffing (not stuffin').

(Also, if you're wondering why Dave looks even more svelte in this picture, it's because he cut his hair in between putting the bird in the oven and taking it out. Plus, he just gets hotter with time.)

Then we enjoyed the feast with my sister and her husband (the Christmas tree givers), two other foodies who frequently share their offerings with us.

It's been a satisfying weekend. And we'll be enjoying the fruits for quite some time. (Especially the bird – a monster that even the great Olsen/Ensign-Lewis appetites couldn't conquer, thank heaven. What would it have meant if we could? Eek.)

And because I think it's funny, a picture I tried to take of Dave as he walked by, which ended up looking like something else . . .

(a rare bigfoot sighting)

Belly Update

2010-12-06T18:59:00.000-08:00

I've had some requests for pictures (mainly by sisters who can't be with me).

This is me at the beginning of October (about 7 weeks).

And this is me now (18 weeks). I think I look far more pregnant in these pictures than I actually look; I'm blaming it on the angle. But good progress, huh?

We'll find out in about another week if the baby is a boy or a girl. Make sure to register your vote before then (above Peanut).

3 Things I Love Lately

2010-11-27T08:39:00.000-08:00

Occasionally before I fell asleep as a child, my mom would come in and sing songs with me. One of my most requested was "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music. No dog has bitten, nor has bee stung (and I'm certainly not feeling sad), but I'm feeling particularly grateful for a few things. We'll go backwards, since the countdown is always fun.

3. Peanut butter. My fallback snack when I'm hungry (especially when it's late) is something with peanut butter. Toast. Apples (all my roommates, including Dave, can attest to this as an all-time favorite). Chocolate, when I'm lucky. Peanut butter on a spoon. It's perfect! It's filled with protein and it's easy.

2. Maternity pants. Ahhhh. After my mom came into town and outfitted me (literally) with some new duds, I'm feeling much more comfortable than I have in a while. I tried the "rubber band through the button hole" trick, and it worked for some time, but it's been cutting into my growing pooch for several weeks (especially at work). After my first day of sitting in the elastic wonders, I never wanted to go back. (Thanksgiving was so comfortable; no discreet unbuttoning needed. I just expanded comfortable into my demi-band.) Why don't we wear these all the time? Sure, we wouldn't have the easy "can't button my jeans" test to tell us when we need to lose a few pounds, but what's that to comfort? A whole new world has opened up to me.

Not me; this is the Gap model showing off my favorite pair of maternity pants – sexy boot

And, genuinely, because I've been feeling so utterly fortunate lately . . .

1. Family and friends. Unfortunately, being grateful for these, the most valuable things in life, has become trite. Since when did we start thinking it was corny to say it? Maybe it's happened because sometimes people are insincere when they say it, but I think I'll start giving them the benefit of the doubt. Because in all honesty, I feel overwhelmed, incapable of expressing how [overwhelemed] I am with care and love from those around me.

After my sisters told me they're all going to come into town and throw me a baby shower,
after my mom completely outfitted me (at her expense) with maternity clothes so that I could be comfortable,
after my grandmother made 23 pumpkin pies (yes, 23) for Thanksgiving, planning all along to let each visitor take one home,
after she happily hosted a big Thanksgiving (even though I know it takes a lot of energy) for me and about 20 of my relations,
after my aunt and uncle spent so much time preparing a delicious turkey and stuffing for the feast,
after the same aunt eagerly offered to throw me another baby shower (even though I told her my sisters were planning one),
after my sister and her husband bought the supplies for freezer jam and let me take half of it home, gave us the last of their Thanksgiving rolls because they know we love them, and drove Dave and me to and from Thanksgiving dinner,
after the small and large concessions my sweet husband has made for me in those times,

after considering all that, I feel so completely inadequate at expressing my gratitude to everyone who gives me so much. I try, I really do, but it never seems like enough. I always come away feeling I could have (and should have) said or done more. And when you think of these small things – which happened all within a couple weeks' time and from only a few people in my life – combined with a lifetime of care and attention, it feels like too much for one person to have. How did I become the person put in this life, surrounded by so much? I don't feel like I've done anything to deserve it, and yet there it is.

It's a wonderful (albeit humbling) realization to have. I suppose it's a lesson and reminder to me to give all I can back to those around me. It reminds me of one of my favorite hymns, "Because I Have Been Given Much":

Because I have been given much, I too must give.
Because of Thy great bounty, Lord, each day I live.
I shall divide my gifts from Thee
With ev'ry brother that I see,
Who has the need of help from me.

Because of I have blessed by Thy great love, dear Lord,
I'll share Thy love again according to Thy word,
I shall give love to those in need,
I'll show that love by word and deed,
Thus shall my thanks be thanks indeed.

I can never, ever, ever give back enough to honor those I love including, most importantly, my Heavenly Father, for everything they've given me. But it's the best hope I have for showing how really grateful I am.

I'll do my best to show each of you how grateful I am for what you do. Even when I fail miserably (which, as you can see, is often), please know that I do love you, and as hard as I try I can never do justice to the worth you bring to my life.

In the meantime, let me say to each of you: thank you! (It seems so inadequate, but it's the best I can do on a blog.) I hope your holiday season has opened with joy and excitement.

I Need a Handkerchief

2010-11-15T19:50:00.000-08:00

Thanks to all of you for your congratulations (and suggestions on how to handle the stench. Dave courageously cleaned the fridge and searched the rest of the kitchen, and it's definitely our disposal, although it can't be fixed. The joys of apartment living).

I've noticed my sensitivity (read: weepiness) even more accutely of late. Maybe it's the hormones, or maybe it's the increased awareness/excitement/tenderness at the thought of having a child (I've been known to do this before). For whatever reason, I'm noticing it in some funny places.

Take the following example: Last weekend I cleaned our apartment. While cleaning our room, I found the bag I was given on our first visit to the doctor, a bag which had pregnancy magazines, prenatal vitamin samples, and lots of other goodies in it. I decided to go through it and keep what I wanted. As I went through, I came to a narrow novel-sized box with "Huggies" on it. I opened it, and found fastened inside (with a cardboard buckle) the tiniest diaper I had ever seen; above the diaper it said, "Go ahead – give it a test drive," and told me to feel it, bend it, etc. As soon as I saw the diaper, that I felt that familiar stinging in my nose and pin-pricking in the corner of my eyes. It was just so tiny! No bigger than my hand! And my baby will be that size – a little being completely dependent on my care for survival.

so tiny.

Then, last night, I full-on cried at the end of Toy Story 3 (although this might not be so extraordinary – apparently an Entertainment Weekly reviewer admitted to, along with other grown men, crying at the end of the film). Pixar just knows how to touch the most fundamental human feelings – love, loss, fear. I cry in Up when the wife grieves the loss of a child, and I cry again at the end when her husband realizes she never regretted a moment of their happy but unspectacular life; I've cried when Nemo and Marlin are finally reunited; and I cried last night while Toy Story 3 showed Andy saying a difficult goodbye to childhood by letting go of his friends. Sooner than I know it, my baby will be all grown up – and he/she isn't even out of the womb yet.

recent emotional effusions made possible by an awesome early Christmas gift from Dave – the ultimate toy box (DVD, Blu-ray, and digital copies of three movies)

So it could be hormones. Or maybe it just means that I'm human; these are, after all, pretty primal concepts. Or maybe it's the toxic fumes from our kitchen disposal.

Yes, those must be messing with my chemistry.

New Page

2010-11-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

I've been told by some of my rabid readers that, in not so many words, I suck at updating my blog. Yes, I admit; I've gotten considerably worse in the last year, particularly since we moved apartments. I have many theories for this: melancholy over the state of this apartment versus our last place, fewer new meals to chronicle (a product of our minuscule kitchen), and a general feeling that nothing I have to say right now could be that interesting to anyone.

But there is one excuse that stands out. My mind has been preoccupied for the last few months with something that I couldn't blog about (well, at least that I didn't want to blog about in the off chance that it took a sad turn). Time to remedy that.

I present to you, the Peanut:

this was taken at a screening when I was about 12 weeks along, which explains the disproportionate head size (normal for that age) – this has resulted in another affectionate nickname: "Baby Head"

It's been an exciting time. For the first while, I didn't want to get my hopes up in case something happened. Then, as we gradually got out of the danger zone, Dave and I allowed ourselves to start getting excited and making plans. The evidence started to pile up in our favor; we got to hear the heartbeat at about 10 weeks (first evidence that my symptoms weren't the result of a hysterical pregnancy – yes, I considered that), and then we got the picture, which is worth a thousand words.

We're thrilled. We have been hoping for this blessing for a while now, and while we knew everything would eventually happen for the best (whatever that looked like), we're happy that the suspenseful waiting game has come to an end.

I especially want to let you, our family and friends, know how grateful we are for your support, and that your thoughts and wishes have meant (and continue to mean) so much to us.

So, now that this is out in the open, I can share some of the things that have been on my mind grapes, like smells. I don't know if it's my pregnancy nose or if the smell does in fact exist, but there is something awful stinking up our kitchen. I walk around sniffing and can't quite seem to find where it comes from. In your experience, are these smells phantom or real (just augmented by a sensitive smeller)?

Sugar + Cookies + Power Sugar

2010-10-25T19:17:00.001-07:00

It was a very blustery weekend, so I decided to make some pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies.

They were, perhaps, the best sugar cookies I have ever made – soft and tender, with a creamy, rich buttercream frosting. Mmmm. So why not share?

The cookie recipe comes from a friend I worked with at the Harold B. Lee Library (you can see my HBLL t-shirt collection if you ask nicely). I struggled for years to find a good, soft sugar cookie, and she had the best. So this is from Lisa, wherever I may find her.

Sugar Cookies from Lisa (tweaked by Kate)

1 cup sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg

3 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon soda
1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Cream sugar and butter. Add sour cream, making sure to scrape sides so it is fully incorporated. Add vanilla and egg and mix.

Sift flour, soda, and salt, then add to sugar mixture. Add water as needed to incorporate. Chill for 15 minutes.

Roll dough to 1/4-inch or 3/8 inch thickness on floured surface and cut shapes. Place on parchment- or Silpat-lined cookie sheet and bake for 7 minutes, or until bottoms are slightly golden and top no longer looks doughy. Let cool for a couple minutes on pan, then cool completely on wire rack.

This is a basic buttercream frosting that requires more tasting than exact measurements.

Buttercream frosting
4-6 tablespoons softened butter
3-4 cups powdered sugar (or "power sugar," as Dave calls it)
pinch of salt
cream or evaporated milk

Whip butter until soft. Add sugar and salt and mix until mixture resembles small pebbles. Add little bit of cream at a time, until mixture comes together (don't be overzealous – too much liquid is hard to remedy). Taste. If it's too pasty, add more butter (don't be shy – you want to do it right). If it's too sweet, add more salt.

Sugar cookies are a part of the holidays for me. Decorating and eating them is one of those activities that takes me back to childhood. So I hope you enjoy these. Have fun!

America Doesn't Get It

2010-09-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

Just watched the America's Got Talent finale. (I know; we'll save the ridicule for later – including the fact that I'm writing about it.) The prize is a show in Vegas, so here are the final four acts. See if you can guess who wins: A team of guys who fly through the air and perform acrobatics on a black-lit stage. An classical singer dressed in flamboyant 17th century makeup and garb who sings everything from patriotic songs to Freddie Mercury. A 10-year-old with an operatic voice to rival Charlotte Church's. A male singer with a decently soulful voice.

Who wins? The soulful male, of course. He's got a good voice, but not something that would drive me to visit Las Vegas to see him. Maybe he's worthy of a following, but not a show in a place where veteran singers and one-of-a-kind shows reside.

For the second year in a row, the mediocre male singer won when there was far richer talent eliminated. How does this keep happening? I was honestly dumbfounded. But a small part of me, the part familiar with the unparalleled irony of life, knew it would happen because I thought it wouldn't. Just goes to show, popularly judged talent shows are a sham. I'm done with them.

At least until next season.

In Need

2010-09-08T17:00:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, I had the great opportunity to interview and write about several people who make time to do amazing things for others. One of the people I met was a woman named Nara, a native of Mongolia and a busy mother of three, who makes time to help children around the world, particularly the street children of Mongolia – children who resort to living in the streets and sewers rather than live with neglect and abuse. Her efforts struck me more than many things have, in large part because of the needs of those children. The following is part of what I wrote:

During the harsh winters in Mongolia's capital city of Ulaanbaatar, when the temperature regularly drops below -10° F, you're likely to see several children running around in rags. If you opened the sewer grates, you'd find hundreds more - huddled against the pipes in order to keep from freezing. Some of them choose life on the streets to escape abuse and neglect; some are the lost children of nomads, unable to find their families. All of them live with nearly no food and even less tenderness. These are some of the five thousand abandoned street children of Ulaanbaatar, the children Naranjargal (Nara) Thompson strives to help.
"I've worked with them and I've seen their suffering. And then also I've seen resilience. It's just amazing how those children - abandoned, surviving by prostituting and begging - can turn around and smile and be happy," says Nara, her voice full of tenderness. "This is what God is. It's about loving, forgiving, touching, serving."
"Words cannot describe their destitution," she says, explaining that around 90 percent of them are sexually abused and live with disease of some sort. Because they are not technically orphans, these children do not qualify for government aid. And yet, despite being used and rejected, she continually sees their boundless love. For example, when Nara brought food and clothing last August, one four-year-old boy, who accidentally received a clothing package for an older child, refused to let Nara exchange it for clothes that fit - he planned on giving them to his mother when she "found" him. "When we see them suffer, we want to blame - their parents, the government," says Nara. "But they don't! They just shine through."

A while ago, Nara procured a facility that can hold and care for 60 of these children at a time. Unfortunately, the facility needs heavy repairs, and they have had to close it temporarily. She is currently trying to raise funds (around $60,000) to remodel and reopen the facility. All donations are tax-deductible. Her site, care4kidsworldwide.org, has more information about it, or if you're interested (or know someone who might be), you can e-mail her at nara[at]care4kidsworldwide.org.

There are other ways to help, too. She does a yearly drive for school supplies for the children, among other projects for children in other areas.

For me, donating time is one of the most valuable things I can give, and I know this is one place where time makes a huge difference. Even if those who read don't have the means to help in traditional ways, you can get the word out and involve others, which always has an impact.

A (Teaching) Julie & Julia Moment

2010-08-12T19:35:00.000-07:00

It wasn't a good one. That is, it wasn't a comfortable one.

Last week, I promised the dedicated members of my church choir (which I am in charge of) that, if they made the effort to come to 8:00 a.m. practice on Sunday, we would have cranberry orange nut bread. It's a quick bread, which might as well be called "easy" bread (or "cake").

I made the batter. It smelled wonderful. I stuck it in the oven. And then Dave came home and I realized we were due to be somewhere in 30 minutes . . . and it took 30 minutes to get there . . . and there were 30 minutes left on the bread. A conundrum. So I turned off the oven, knowing ours takes a while to cool and hoping the residual heat would cook it.

Fast forward to 12 midnight (and remember I have to be up at 7:30 at the latest to make it to choir). The bread is not cooked through. I heat the oven and start cooking again. I check it at 1:20 a.m. Still not done. I check it at 1:40 a.m., taking a little nap in between. Still not done. Surely, it will be done by 2:20 a.m., I say, and I lie down again.

Fast forward to 3:45 a.m. I wake with a start. And a sinking feeling. Luckily, tiredness overpowers my typically crushing sense of failure, and I simply take the (very burned) bread out of the oven and turn off the oven. I laugh to myself. Oh, the things cooking teaches you.

Sometimes a venture with a recipe fails, and the only thing you can do is throw out the product (or mangle it beyond recognition) and move on.

So it is in life. You can choose to be frustrated by the bad step you took and rail against it until all you're left with is a sense of injustice and regret. But that leaves you with something worse than nothing – it leaves you with less.

Sometimes you can learn from your mistakes. Sometimes it's just an accident with a bad outcome. Either way, it just takes a moment to remember – it happens to everyone. This isn't the first time it's happened to you, and it won't be the last. And you're not stupid or bad or even picked on for being the recipient of the short end. It's at this point that you can do yourself the favor of letting go, picking up, and moving on. And trying again.

Or not. It's your choice.

Written as I procrastinate packing to move . . . after failing to renew our lease in time.

Food-related Things I Have Recently Learned

2010-08-03T19:55:00.001-07:00

I haven't been so good at posting my monthly progress in my goal to cook one new thing a week. But I promise (for the most part) it's been happening. Instead of trying to catch you up on things I have done, let me share a few things I've learned.

1. Read through directions carefully. This is generally my cardinal rule when cooking, but somehow it broke down a couple weeks ago. I was so excited to find a machine-less ice cream recipe in the June/July issue of Cook's Country, and I promptly started fantasizing about making it. I got all the necessary ingredients – including sweetened condensed milk (for creaminess), white chocolate (for texture), and lots of cream (duh) – and made it.

After the first step, I realized I'd made a horrible mistake. I put in 1 cup of sweetened condensed milk instead of 1/2. I was sure it was a cup. How could I have misread it? So I doubled the recipe. Then I whipped the cream to the stiff peak stage. I looked back at the instructions. My heart sank. The recipe clearly said "soft peak." "Oh well," I thought, "it can't make that much of a difference." Sadly, it did. The resulting (half gallon of) ice cream tasted great, but it was icy and weirdly formed. The only thing I can account for is the whipped cream. And I was so sure of my cautiousness.

2. Horseradish in potatoes is the wave of the future. One of the recipes I made, Steak Tips with Balsamic Sauce and Horseradish Mash, was to die for, much of it owing to the mash. (This particular recipe called for Yukon Golds and about a 1/2 cup of cream, along with the butter, all of which augmented the flavor and creaminess.) Seriously, next time you make mashed potatoes, stick a tablespoon or so of horseradish in – it's an easy way to add flavor and welcome bite to potatoes.

3. Summer vegetables are wonderful in rice. I love healthy-tasting meals; you know, the ones that are fresh and hearty. One of the best meals I recently cooked was Garden-fresh Chicken and Rice. Grilled chicken topped rice cooked in chicken broth and thrown together with lightly cooked zuchini, corn, and green onions. Mmm, mmm. You can tell you're doing a good thing for your body – physically and gastronomically.

4. The best cookies in the world are Doubletree Inn cookies, with a few alterations. My surety in this fact comes from an informal poll of everyone I know who has tasted these cookies. For a long time, my brother-in-law held the title of best cookies in the family, but everyone (including him) agrees that these are where it's at. Click here to get to the recipe.

Necessary alterations:

Chop PECANS (instead of WALNUTS) in food processor until very small (about the size of pecans in Sandies)
Add more flour (about 3/4 cup) so that the dough is a little stiff
Refrigerate just as directed, measure and form into balls; cook for 9-9 1/2 minutes, or until doughy and lightly golden on top; let sit on pan for a few minutes before removing to cooling rack.
And a tip: It's easier to process the oats when you do more; 1/2 cup is too small for the blade to really reach, so I do about 2 cups and save the rest. Make sure they're as powdery as possible, or else the cookies will tear up your mouth.

(And though this last one doesn't have to do with cooking, I feel a moral obligation to share it.)

5. Never, ever, ever . . . EVER buy French onion soup from Applebee's. Oh my gosh. This was the worst meal decision of my life. It was the picture that fooled me – bubbling, brown-crusted cheese topping what was surely beefy, oniony goodness. My romanticism took over; I thought of an amazing onion soup I'd had on my cruise (yes, I'm still pining for my vacation), and, with greatest anticipation, ordered and waited for my soup. Not only was the cheese not fully melted (I could still see the individual pieces of gratings, and the two round slices of swiss underneath), but the soup was pure boullion. It was seriously almost black. The texture was like smudge, and I felt sick eating every salty bite. The amazing thing is I still managed to eat about 1/4 of it, no doubt a product of my habit to pick at whatever is in front of me. But I hope my bad decisions will prevent yours. BE WARNED!

And some pictures, because we all like to salivate.

steak tips and mash

Easy Philly Cheese Steaks, courtesy of Dave

the man himself, on his birthday celebration
(I gave you the best cookies ever; those are the best cupcakes ever – recipe forthcoming)

chicken and garden-fresh rice

peanuty banana pudding
(my most recent obsession is cold things that combine peanut butter and banana, like the Peanut Butter Moo'd from Jamba Juice I downed today in 10 minutes. Mmmmmmmm . . .)

Cruising Top 5

2010-07-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

With a face like that, how could you not be excited?

I was planning to do this all along: wait 3 weeks to tell you about my vacation. I've built up your anticipation – made you desperate for news.

So, without further ado (in reverse order, so we know which is the tippy-top):

5. Towel animals.

Somebody else made our bed, cleaned our bathroom, and changed our linens for us every day. And each day after Claudeth, our room attendant, had left, we found a different animal made out of towels sitting on our bed. Observe:

4. Cookies at Cafe Promenade.

Okay, so there's a whole separate entry for food, but this seriously deserves it's own attention. Cafe Promenade, found in the in-house mall (conveniently called the Promenade), had baked goods up the wazoo and chilled milk to go with them. The beauty of a cruise is that (most of the time) you don't have to pay extra for the food, so I could walk into the restaurant every afternoon, just when lunch was wearing off and our 8:30 dinner time was looking too far away, and ask for some cookies. And when you asked for a cookie, they didn't just assume – they would ask , "How many?" Ah, be still my heart.

Sadly, I didn't get a picture of the cafe itself. It's off to the left, with the red sign.

3. Dunns River Falls

An excursion we took in Jamaica. We hiked up a waterfall – the cold water we occasionally stepped in perfectly combating the humid summer air. This was the one excursion we all did together, so it was good family bonding time. (And Dave left a bit of himself there. He lost a toenail on one of the rocks. TMI?)

2. Stingray City

It was just Dave, my mom, and me that went on this excursion. At this sandbar in the ocean off of Grand Cayman, we swam with ultra-docile stingrays that like to swim around you and touch you with their silky fins. Once, while I was just floating in the water watching them through my snorkel gear, one came unbidden to rest for several seconds in my outstretched arms. For a wild animal to do that, voluntarily and arbitrarily, was incredible to experience.

1. Dining with my family.

The Windjammer, the Rembrandt Room, Johnny Rocket's, Cafe Promenade . . . as it is in life, food was an integral part of my cruise enjoyment. Food often provides a reason for gathering, and that's one reason I loved our dining experiences. Most of us met each morning over the breakfast buffet, after some of the more valiant souls among us had visited the gym, and discussed what we wanted to do during the day. Then every night at 8:30, even if we hadn't found one another during the day, we would gather for dinner. We laughed and told about our adventures, shared our latest sunburns, and enjoyed as many appetizers, entrees, and desserts as we wanted. Our waitress, Margaret, made an already good experience excellent. She learned our preferences and our names, smiled genuinely, and didn't let on if she was tired of us being the very last people to leave. More than anything, I enjoyed the time with my family. We just had so much fun together . . .

The list could go on, but I'm pretty sure you're already bored.

So, in closing, I say, go on a cruise! You don't have to stress about planning food, hotel check-ins, or even activities. It's all planned for you. Even the things I could have done without (having to pay 50 cents for a band-aid, and the teenagers who would run up and down our hall at 4 a.m. knocking on our door) pale in comparison.

And because I'm sure you haven't had enough photos . . .

Random Thoughts

2010-06-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

I have a sister that does this periodically; because I can't find connection between some of these intriguing thoughts, I will copy her.

1. When it comes to love, we're all narcissists. I've long believed this to be true (check out Noah Wyle and clone/wife on their wedding day), but my theory was confirmed again last night. Dave and I were uploading photos from our recent cruise (more on that to come), and he was using a Google face recognition software to identify people in pictures. The funny thing? It kept mixing him and me up. Brings new meaning to the proverb, "love others as thyself."

2. Like most people, the U.S. soccer team just needs some love. This is how Americans see soccer: They don't really understand it, so they have mild interest when our team does well. When our team is in the world cup, everyone kind of jumps on a bandwagon and lets themselves care. Then when we lose (which we inevitably will until soccer has more of a stronghold – maybe 16 more years), everyone says, "I knew I hated this sport anyway." And it the cycle perpetuates. If we're gonna be good, we need to be consistent. Can I hear a woo-woo?

3. I wish people could just be honest. So here's the story: when we made port in Mexico, my siblings and I all wanted to buy Mexican vanilla. My grandma has spoiled us by bringing us back bottles from her travels, but we had all run out and wanted that glorious bean juice in our homes again. When I got home and opened the bottle, it didn't smell like I remembered. So I started wondering, "Could the tourist shop people have duped me?" Turns out they probably did. Multiple internet searches, tests, and hours of obsessing later, I know that most vanilla sold in tourists towns is synthetic, and one of the biggest symptoms is big bottles for super cheap. (And some of the synthetic stuff can have a mild toxin in it.) So now I have a large bottle of "vanilla" sitting in my kitchen and I know way to much about the stuff. While I hold out hope that it's real, I don't have a way to know for sure. It will probably go unused. Double dang.

To come: Cruising Top 5

Wizarding World of Harry Potter

2010-06-15T20:10:00.000-07:00

Which park-goer would I have been?

I shudder to think.

Muggles Take Flight at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter

P.S. I love good writing. There's something so refreshing about someone finding the exact words – not one too many – to tell a story. Something for me to aspire for. ("For which to aspire"? Blast.)

3 Prayers for the World Cup

2010-06-05T16:05:00.000-07:00

The 2010 FIFA World Cup will begin next Thursday in South Africa. And in one week from today, our boys will go up against a formidable opponent – England. We've been razzing a few England fans to prepare for the worst, but I honestly hope the game ends in a tie, as I'd love to see both these teams move on (and it seems so unfair that one of them should be eliminated in the first round).

More generally, I have high hopes that the play in this world cup will not be as frustrating as that of the 2006 World Cup. So I offer three prayers (and accompany them with videos for your entertainment) . . .

(1) That the cards will not fly so freely.

(2) That the players will not fall so readily.

[Secret Italian Training Video; refer to 2006 World Cup synopsis if confused.]

(3) That everyone will play tenaciously.

Amen.

Hopelessly LOST

2010-05-25T19:29:00.000-07:00

The end came on Sunday (and it was titled so). Lost, a fantastic series with a great story, ended. And, oh, what an end it was. It was bittersweet, and it was, to borrow a phrase from one of the characters in the episode, "perfectly perfect in every way." Apparently some fans thought it left something to be desired. Sure, some minor questions weren't answered, but I prefer it that way. The best stories can never be completed with a nice, neat bow; they allow you to think beyond their confines while still providing fulfillment. So it was with this; the most important themes of the series – love, redemption, sacrifice – were flawlessly culminated as all the characters came to peace with themselves and each other. I've spent the better part of two days thinking about it, and the best evaluation I can give it is, in all sincerity, "soul sustaining."

But moving along! The episode wasn't all that made it a great night. To help myself deal with the melancholy of saying goodbye, I did what anyone would: I threw a party. With some good friends and in-laws, who are all rabid fans like Dave and I, we created an Island-worthy feast.

The spread (with juice cleverly disguised as Dharma Beer – thanks El and Heather)

Mr. Cluck's flown in (courtesy of Tyler and Danniey) from the Lost universe just for the occasion

roast boar (or pork)

the cake that started a revolution
(I wanted to create this cake, which inspired me to organize the party.
Food is the driving force, as always.)

We like to party . . .

We got a little crazy.

(Check out some even better pictures on my sister-in-law's photography blog, heatherblissphotography.blogspot.com.)

It was honestly one of the best evenings I've ever spent. Even more than the culmination of the great story that brought us together, spending quality time with good friends was just so invigorating and so fulfilling.

Yearning

2010-05-22T07:59:00.000-07:00

(me holding my nephew last year)

Last night I had a dream that one of my friend's sisters was pregnant again (she just had a baby). When I saw her, I started to cry. Why does it come so easily for others and not for me?

Now, I know that's not the case, even though it sometimes feels that way. Each woman has her own struggles with her own difficulties. Some of the dearest women I know have initially seen those two pink lines only to lose the pregnancy somewhere down the line; that's a pain a hope to never experience.

But this is my experience, as well as the experience of 1 in 7 couples (1 in 7!). With numbers like that, it's likely you know more than a few dealing with infertility. And that's why I discuss this. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, and please don't – I have an otherwise very happy life. I just hope that if those who love me can understand some part of my frustration, they can better know how to deal with the frustration of others around them.

This is how it looks in my life: I love playing with and watching babies and children; somehow it increases my hope rather than challenges it. I still enjoy baby showers. I still enjoy finding out loved ones are pregnant and enjoy visiting with them – it's such an exciting time for them. I try to let happiness overpower my jealousy in Relief Society when, during "good new minute," several new pregnancies are announced (some women I know have come to dread this so much they avoid Relief Society altogether, which is too bad).

When people say things like, "It will happen at the right time" or "Once you have children, you can never give them back!" I know they're right. But it still doesn't replace the emptiness that comes from not having them now. I appreciate a listening ear and expressions of love and hope.

Once a month, during that time, it's especially hard. Feeling awful cramps and bloating is always a slap in the face compared to the hope I had allowed to build up over the past few weeks. So if I'm somber or emotional during certain times, please forgive me.

Thankfully, I have rarely felt pressure from other people about having children (sometimes a challenge in my culture), and I have NEVER felt it from family members. When the question about starting a family is asked, I appreciate that it is dealt with sensitively and with no pressure or desire to pry. So I'm probably preaching to the choir about all this; you all seem to practice sensitivity very well. But I think discussing it helps.

So much joy can come from these little beings, and from life in general. And I am very happy with my life; my happiness does not depend on getting pregnant. But since I know the joy that can come with children, I desire that joy for myself.

These are my feelings this morning. Hopefully they can help others besides me.

The Search is On

2010-05-03T19:23:00.000-07:00

(Editor's note: I realize I've used "the" in all of my titles lately. It grates on me, but at the end of the day I have no creativity, and I can't think of any other way to effectively say any of the last three titles without "the." Just some thoughts as I compose . . . )

We'll be going on a family cruise here, soon, which means it's time to face the music and do what all women dread: look for a swimsuit.

I have to say, bikinis just look better than one pieces. That big ol' piece of tight fabric down the front of one pieces tends to accentuate the unflattering. It also doesn't help that finding a cute one piece is nigh impossible (unless you want a bright pink and white rugby-striped suit), adding to one of the reasons that I think many Mormon women simply don't look forward to putting a swimsuit on. They just don't feel attractive.

Luckily, J. Crew has us frumpies in mind. I've found they have the largest selection of true one pieces, and they're classy. The ocassional print, but not loud. And some of the cuts are actually cute . . . even sexy. (Currently I'm leaning toward either the Jersey Lomellina retro bandeau tank or the Breezy dot tie-front tank.) The problem is the price. As my mother's daughter, anything upwards of $100 has me saying, "I could make that in a heartbeat." But the problem is I couldn't.

What do you think? Any tips for places to look?

The Reason for Earthquakes

2010-04-22T22:01:00.000-07:00

Click here. It will all make sense.

The Trouble with Mayo

2010-04-20T20:35:00.001-07:00

No, not fat. And not the raw eggs. The trouble lies in making it.

I won't allow anyone ever again to tell me that mayonnaise is made of "just eggs and oil!" It's so much more than that.

Rewind to Sunday, when I was trying to make my own; a garlic, mustard, lemon juice, extra-virgin olive oil version to go with my Spanish tortilla (basically an omelet with lots of potatoes). "It's easy," I thought. "Just eggs and oil!"

How wrong I was.

Apparently, you have to slowly, SLOWLY drizzle the oil in and allow it to fully incorporate before adding more, or the eggs do not, in fact, emulsify as we know and love them to do. The mixture will "turn" – a.k.a. curdle. So unappetizing. And not nearly thick enough to work as mayo. A runny, oily mixture good for nothing but the kitchen sink.

But I needed it to complete my ideal meal. And it was Sunday. A day on which I don't shop. And I needed my other 8 eggs (now, actually, 7 after I tried to fix the mayo unsuccessfully) for my "tortilla," so I couldn't start again.

Thus, I learned how to fix it, and this is why I share my tale of failure: in case any of you ever have the desire to make homemade mayo. (A slim chance, but not altogether impossible.)

Julia Child suggests you mix 1 teaspoon of mustard (elsewhere an egg was suggested) with a tablespoon of the turned mayonnaise. Let it thicken. Then add a teaspoon at a time of the turned mixture (yes, you read that right), allowing it to thicken with each addition. It fixed, hallelujah, but it took a lot longer than having patience initially.

Moral of the story: have patience, or else you might end up needing a lot more down the line.

More of My Obsessions

2010-04-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

I am in love with Lost. I've enjoyed it the past couple seasons, but ever since Dave and I discovered we had every season available on Netflix Instant Play, I've fallen deeply, hopelessly, irreversibly in love.

If any of you gentle readers share this passion (Rachel and Heather), I recommend you read this article. The reviewer is talking about this week's episode, "Happily Ever After," which featured my favorite couple, Desmond and Penny. Check out the columnists other musings, too. (Particularly his run-down of the episode from two weeks ago, paying special attention to his comment near the end about Ben's "twelve-step program.")

March Meals

2010-04-07T19:08:00.000-07:00

Here we go, guys. Three months and going strong . . .

Sole Meuniere (The New Best Recipe, p. 500): A great way to prepare fish. Meuniere is mild fish (such as Dover sole) lightly coated with flour and browned in butter. The sauce is brown butter with fresh lemon juice, and it is poured over the top with small amount of fresh parsley. This simple dish was both refreshing and filling. I wouldn't have changed a thing. (Funny enough, though this was Julia Child's favorite dish, there's no recipe in my compilation of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.)

Lemon Chess Pie, take 2: This time I forgot to turn the oven down after par-baking the crust, hence the browned top. At least it set! Third time's the charm. Cross your fingers for me.

Tomato Macaroni and Cheese (Cook's Country, April/May 2010, p. 21): From the distinctly orange-red picture of this dish in the magazine, Dave was worried it would take like Chef Boyardee. But it was so good. This is comfort food at it's best. Tomato in everything. That's what I say.

Chicken Cordon Bleu (Cook's Country, April/May 2010, p. 15): I was just proud to finish it. In-tense. It took time, which I don't mind, but I would have liked more cheese. The method they suggest is simply to cut the breast with a paring knife and stuff it with the ham-wrapped shredded Swiss cheese. You need big chicken breasts for this. I thought the Costco chicken was steroidal, but apparently it's not big enough. Just a word to the wise. (The most spectacular thing? The Ritz cracker and fresh bread crumb crust. Nice and crispy – no frying involved – and just a little sweet.)

Skillet Pork Tenderloin Stroganoff (Cook's Country, April/May 2010, recipe card): It's not much to look at, but it sure was tasty. And it only took about thirty minutes. The pork was a new twist on one of my favorite dishes, and the sauce was milder than a traditional tomato/red-wine heavy stroganoff sauce.

Chantilly Potatoes (Cook's Country, April/May 2010, p. 10): Yukon Gold potatoes. Fluffy whipped cream. And Gruyere. Wonderful, stinky Gruyere. These were extremely good. The only problem was in the microwave-baked potatoes – some didn't cook all the way through. Perhaps boiling? Or probably cooking it twice, like th recipe called for. Oops.

And just because I was craving them and Girl Scout Cookie season is over . . .

HOMEMADE SAMOAS! After thinking about it for several days, evaluating the cookie and trying to figure out how it was assembled, I decided to take a stab at it. I used a simple shortbread recipe for the cookies (using my O-shaped cookie cutter from my bucket of 100), my sister's caramel recipe (if you make caramel, make sure the pan is spotless and DON'T SCRAPE THE SIDES), toasted coconut, and melted chocolate. The first try was pretty good. I used the rest of the cookies this weekend at my sister's in Boise, where we perfected the recipe. You must dip the cookies in the caramel with a skewer, so the excess comes off; do it while the caramel is still warm. Chop the toasted coconut, otherwise the shreds are too big. Melt chocolate in a bowl and dip the bottoms, then pipe chocolate over the top. They're not exactly the same as Girl Scout's, but they're pretty darn close.

There you have it! Still no Julia, but count on it next month.

Off to bake some challah . . .

Two Lists

2010-03-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

Things I could do without:

nausea

Things I couldn't:

a loving husband to ask "what can I get for you?"
a comfy bed
sick days
bubble baths
ginger ale
Ensure
chicken broth
Harry Potter movies
hair ties
my laptop

It seems that even when things aren't ideal, life has many more blessings than drawbacks.

(Typed with one hand while lying on one side.)

February Meals

2010-03-13T12:19:00.000-08:00

These are the new meals I dared to try during the month of February. Dave also seems to have gotten the cooking bug – several of these are his.

Editor's note: We are loving Cook's Country. Indeed, we're a bit heavy on it this month. But it's only because there is pure goodness to be had on each page. I suggest you run to Barnes and Noble and pick up a copy.

Classic Crème de Caramel (p. 959, The New Best Recipe Cookbook): Almost like flan. Delicious, eggy custard with caramel oozing over the top. Unfortunately, I overcooked the caramel just a tad, so it tasted a little burned to me. My sweet husband didn't think anything of it. In fact, he ate two servings (maybe more to make me feel better than anything else).

Homemade Hostess Cupcakes (p. 27, March/April Cook's Country): Very chocolaty and heavy. My cream was a little too oozy; they're better after one day.

Long Boy "Burgers" (p. 17, March/April Cook's Country): This was Dave's first foray into the land of recipe following. He did a great job of it. The beef was a little dry, as we were missing the Worcestershire sauce required, but they were a great hearty meal.

Chicken Pomodoro (recipe card, March/April Cook's Country): I've made this twice already. Simply put, I'm obsessed with tomatoes. They are so tangy and healthy-tasting that they almost quench my thirst. This dish has a good combination of basil, cream (also one of my favorites), fruity extra-virgin olive oil, and spicy red pepper flakes. Highly recommended.

Herb-stuffed Pork Chops (recipe card, March/April Cook's Country): Dave made this impressive dish. Pork seems to universally come out overdone and bland, but I've found that ATK (America's Test Kitchen) always does it right. These chops were moist and flavorful, combined with the savory filling (cheese and fresh herbs).

Strip Steaks with Balsamic Cream Sauce (recipe card, March/April Cook's Country): We followed up Dave's chops the next night with these strip steaks. The sauce tasted like something out of a French restaurant (Dave's words, not mine). On the side, I served the Cheesy Cauliflower Bake from the same issue (p. 23), but it didn't live up to my high hopes. I think part of my problem was that I didn't cut enough of the cauliflower stems off, so I was left with fibrous stalks clouding my cheese. Ah well. Not everything can be a success.

Which brings me to my next venture . . .

Lemon Chess Pie (p. 26, May/June Cook's Country): I had such high hopes. In an effort to be social (and to dread the meeting less), we invited our friends over for dessert after the adult session of stake conference (a meeting our church has twice a year). I made this recipe from my newest issue of Cook's Country and left it to set while we attended our meeting. Afterward, everyone came over, anticipating a great lemon pie. And it was delicious. But it was, shall we say, soupy. It wasn't even close to set, but we served it anyway. Everyone was very kind and assured me it was delicious, but I was still sad. I hate it when things fail. But it's inevitable. Such is life, and from it I just need to learn to pick myself up and keep moving. I will make it again, and it will succeed. (No photographic evidence of this one. I hope you'll trust me that it isn't so from egotism, only uncharged camera batteries.)

No Julia this month, but stay tuned for Sole Meunière. We found Dover sole at Costco last night, just days after I was lamenting the fact that it's rarely sold this side of the Atlantic. It seems the cooking stars have aligned in my favor. It's all very exciting.

C'mon

2010-02-26T18:58:00.000-08:00

I keep crying at the stupid Olympic P&G commercials dedicated to moms.

Whenever they air, whatever I'm doing, I stop and watch as children compete, their mothers watching on bated breath, hoping for their success and safety. (Seriously. I'm getting verklempt just writing about it.) Nothing's worse than getting all weepy over a television commercial. And I don't even have so much as a goldfish. What gives?

Oh, here comes another one.

It Started with a Passport

2010-02-25T19:09:00.001-08:00

I've realized that when we have to search for something, our work ends up as a blessing for us.

Tonight I was searching for my passport for our upcoming family cruise. I've been desperate to find it; if I don't, I have even more of a rigmarole to go through. A couple days ago, the brain wave came that I should look in my miscellaneous/memory box. As I rifled through, I found some CDs I'd been storing that I have been wanting to listen to. I pulled them out.

Then I came across the old Union Jack that I used to hang over my bed – homage to the land of the history and literature I love. I saw a photo montage of the girls from my freshman dorm hall, with pictures of us dressed up for homecoming, hiking in the Provo Canyon, and dancing at various ward activities. (In every picture of me except one I had my mouth open – what a nerd.) I saw a stuffed shark an old friend gave me.

Then I saw a certain pillow, made by my crafty roommate to commemorate our Halloween spent as Ninja Turtles. (I was Raphael, hence the red fringe.) Remembering what we went through to make those costumes – which were largely held together with duct tape – was the best part of all. It reminded me of all the experiences we had together: the midnight laughing, the movie crying, and the boy pining. It reminded me why, when asked if I could relive any year, I would identify my freshman year.

I took a trip while I was looking for my passport. And while I didn't find what I was looking for, I found memories that are valuable and frequently forgotten.

So go and search for something you've been wanting to find. I bet you'll find something even better.

How Does He Love Me?

2010-02-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

It seems to be a universal fact that men think cut flowers are a waste.

This first became evident to me when Dave expressed his disdain for the idea of buying flowers for my birthday.

Me: "But what if I really want them?" (Which I did.)

D: "I still wouldn't get them." (Insert my disappointed face here.)

Later, at my party, as my girlfriends were admiring the flowers my mom had gotten me for my birthday, the men were discussing how dumb cut flowers are. "I'm not going to spend my money on something that is already dieing," one guy friend said. He and Dave spent the next ten minutes discussing it, while his wife and I just rolled our eyes.

Yesterday Mr. EL and I renewed the debate. Seeing as how Valentine's is on Sunday this year, and we don't go out or spend money on Sundays, we celebrated on Saturday. I was laughing about how I had earlier seen a bunch of men milling around the front of the supermarket, where the flowers are, looking lost and confused at their looming judgment. Then he went into a monologue about how stupid gifts of flowers are.

D: "They buy them out of obligation; they buy them because they don't know what the women in their life truly want."

Me (playing devil's advocate – he's taught me well): "What if they really do want flowers? Who cares if they die if that's what they really want? I'd love flowers."

And this one way I know he loves me:

He reminded me of the best way to love: to provide the people you love with what they want, even if (and especially) it's out of your comfort zone to do it. The flowers are beautiful, but long after they die, I'll have a relationship with him that will endure because of small and large sacrifices we've both made.

(just after we started dating; he's tender even my goofiest moments)

What a wonderful Valentine he is.

Adventures in Cooking

2010-02-09T20:11:00.000-08:00

(getting artistic as I prepare to make a new dish . . .)

Some of you might know that I enjoy cooking. So imagine my joy when I got these for Christmas:

(thanks to Aunt Sandy and Dave, respectively)

This, combined with a subscription to Cook's Country from my brother (yet to begin), and in addition to the books and magazines I already own, means that I'm amassing quite the library. So one of my goals for the new year is to cook a new recipe every week from material not owned before Christmas. Between the 500+ in Julia's and the 1000 in ATK's Best Recipe book, I can make a new recipe each week for the next 30 years.

I'll keep you updated on my efforts to chip away at the iceberg and give you reviews of the recipes. (You can also watch us steadily gain weight.) Here are the recipes of the last month (in order):

Sauce Soubise (Onion Sauce): Considering my aversion to raw chicken, this was a good way to dress up chicken the way I prefer to cook it (not for flavor, for convenience) – boiled. This onion-cream-butter sauce was the epitome of Julia Childs. Very simple, very rich, and very tasty.

Filets de Poisson Bercy aux Champignons (Fish Filets Poached in White Wine with Mushrooms): Take me to heaven. This dish was also rich, and the hair bones we couldn't get out made for adventurous eating, to say the least, but the flavors of the white wine, butter, emmentaler (broiled on top), and cremini mushrooms meant each bite was bursting with tangy, smoky, earthy goodness. Poaching made the fish tender and moist. If we can get our hands on some perfectly deboned fish, this dish will be possibly the best thing I've ever eaten, rivaled only possibly by the next dish.

Boeuf Bourguignon: Julia says it best: "Carefully done, and perfectly flavored, it is certainly one of the most delicious beef dishes concocted by man." A-men, sister. The time put into making this was certainly worth it. The beef was tender and flavorful, but, as Dave said, "that's still only the third best thing."

Chicago Style Deep Dish Pizza: We've made this twice already. ATK got it right: a biscuity crust with thick cheese and sauce. The dough has to be laminated and risen twice (once in the fridge), so it takes too long to make on typical nights, but it's perfect every once in a while. Dave is spoiled; I had to crush his hopes this evening when I reminded him I had no time to make it again.

Spinach Lasagna: Yum. Made with fontina, Parmesan, and a little cottage cheese, Dave told me this is his new lasagna of choice. The sauce is a bechamel with shallots, and since shallots are 5 times worse than regular onions on the eyes, this was a little painful to make. But cooking is a labor of love. It simply adds to the taste.

All of these may have been successes, but I'm sure we'll come across some flops. In the meantime, I hope these might inspire you to dress up your dinner. Happy eating!

A Long Absence

2010-01-28T20:31:00.000-08:00

Did you miss me? It's been far too long. Lately I've felt a little off kilter, like I'm struggling to find the flow that I had in my life before the holidays. I've even dreaded sitting down and trying to account for all the time I've missed, but just now, as I opened my "compose" page, I felt like I was finally getting back into the groove. Baby steps.

In defense of my absence, I was waiting for pictures before I posted about our eventful winter month (if you remember, this is the time of year that EVERYTHING happens in the E-L household), but I have yet to receive some crucial snapshots, so my planned post would fall a little flat. I'm hoping to post about it in the near future, but in case that doesn't happen, here's what did:

Christmas
Anniversary
Birthday (x2)
Texas Jaunt
Wedding

It's been a very full month. (For those of you wondering if I can tell time, I'm aware it's almost been two; but I'm counting time from Christmas.) Dave and I have had some great times (and good eats – stay tuned for Julia and new ATK recipes), and I had the wonderful experience of attending an old friend's wedding. We hadn't seen each other in something like five years, and it was just so good to be with her again. The feeling kind of set me off in a refreshing new direction for life – one where I make a better effort to show love to all the people who mean something to me.

This post isn't anything special. Just think of it like the stilted first steps of a couch potato getting up for the first time in hours – it's not pretty, but it has to be done. I'll get my rhythm back soon.

Dreams Come True

2009-12-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Have you ever dreamt of owning your own Muppet?

If you have, now FAO Schwarz is making your dreams reality.

Go to the Whatnot Workshop, where you can choose from three bodies, thirteen eyes, sixteen noses, twenty hairstyles, and seventeen outfits. Then preview the Whatnot designed to your specifications and proceed to checkout where you can own it for yourself – for the small sum of $129.99. What a steal!

the Whatnot I created for Mr. EL

In all seriousness, this is super-duper fun. (And you know it must be if I'm using words like "super-duper.") Give it a try. I dare you not to take a ramble down memory lane. That is, if you watched things like Muppet Babies, Fraggle Rock, and Muppets Tonight like I did.

Just for fun: my personal favorite Muppet features are Muppet Treasure Island and (appropriate to the season) The Muppet Christmas Carol. What about you?

In which I Cut My Hair and Get Called Parker Posie

2009-12-01T18:37:00.000-08:00

My hair was struggling. For a long time. (A year and two months, to be exact.)

(Eeesh.)

So, following my traditional mode of growing out my hair/being lazy and then chopping it all off, I did this:

We flew to Portland for Thanksgiving only hours later. Dave's sister thought I looked like Julia Roberts in the sci-fi film in Notting Hill. I thought I looked like Natalie Portman in Closer. The hubs and his brother called me Parker Posie. Don't know how I feel about that one, but they liked it. So it must be a good thing.

For the amusement of myself and others, here's a shot at poignancy from something superficial: I promised myself I would never get what a friend once called "duff" bangs. In looking at a picture of the hairstyle, I also recalled a girl from my high school German class, who had thick bangs that acted like a visor. I worried that espousing a hairstyle similar to that which I had previously maligned would would make me a hypocrite. But what's the point of having a mind unless you change it?

This is deep stuff.

When Addiction=Awesome, or Tim Tam Slams

2009-11-24T21:09:00.000-08:00

Warning: acting on this post may significantly affect your waistline.

Sunday night we invited some friends over for dinner. The day had been cold, so I looked forward to sharing a new soup recipe with them. Little did I know that our offering would never compare with theirs. In return for our gumbo, they promised to share with us their winter's day secret: Tim Tam slams.

Tim Tams are a famous cookie in Australia, only recently made widely available in the United States. I can only compare it with what an Oreo might be in America – an integral part of culture. And Tim Tam slams are akin to dunking an Oreo in milk, only much better.

So good, in fact, that I haven't been able to stop thinking of them since our slam party. On Monday, I fantasized about the melting chocolate and tender cookie falling apart in my mouth. I told everyone at work about them. All day I reminded myself to run by Target to pick up cookies and hot cocoa mix and felt an uncharacteristically strong anxiousness for the end of the day. We devoured the two packages I bought, leaving only two of the original sixteen cookies behind. Today I told myself I wouldn't give in. But after teaching my mom to slam, I had to have more. Dave and I, in classic addict fashion, made a quick run to the store to get our fix. And it was delightful.

This is only part of the resulting carnage:

I thought about keeping the knowledge to myself. After all, every one gets a bit of a buzz off knowing something others don't. But every once in a while, something amazing comes along and it seems almost criminal not to share the joy. So, prepare to have your life changed. (Modeling this evening's technique will be Mr. Hot Thang.)

Buy Tim Tams (sold by Pepperidge Farm) in either original or caramel variety. Or both.

Bite off opposite corners of the Tim Tam, making sure you have air flow through the cookie (test by holding one corner to your mouth and breathing in):

Dip the Tim Tam in hot chocolate (hot, not warm; shallow mug works best) and use the cookie as a straw:

As soon as you taste hot chocolate coming through, quickly put the cookie in your mouth, lest it fall apart in your hands:

Savor the melty goodness of the Tim Tam. Give yourself over to it. Travel to the heavenly place only attainable through the slam:

Look at the cookie package and wonder how there can only be two cookies left. As Mr. Hot Thang says, "Why can't there be more Tim Tams? It makes me sad."

Resolve to come up with a new exercise regimen so you can enjoy multiple slams a day.

*Considering the habits conveyed in this and the previous post, it seems there are only two speeds in the our household: "all" and "nothing."

A Little Slice of Heaven

2009-11-24T16:40:00.000-08:00

Provo just got a little more bearable.

The events that brought this about have precipitated some reflection of my life: I remember being six years old, standing by the tether-ball poles next to the metal fence that separated the big kid's playground at my grade school from the kindergarten playground.I glared through the chain links. The summer after my kindergarten year, the playground had been expanded and updated – the new playground included a new jungle gym and a racetrack painted on the asphalt. My first-grade brain reeled at the injustice of it all. Oh, the humanity! Right after I'd left!

Later, in high school, I endured the remodeling that would be complete the year after I left. (One time they blocked off the 100-hall because of the asbestos being released from the remodeling. Charming.) The dirt track would become all-weather. Classrooms would be updated from their 70s wood-panel look.

This and other just-missed benefits filled my youth. It seemed my life was doomed to be one full of opportunities missed.

But not this time, folks. Not this time.

In-N-Out has made it to our little college town. Oh, the hours of joy it has already given to one particularly happy boy:

(That's a giddy school-boy smile, folks. A rare phenomenon.)

We went the day it opened (Thursday) as well as the day after. It's like a sanctuary; it feels more like home than Utah. Being inside, one can almost smell the sweet California air.

These are some pictures from our happy Thursday visit. I couldn't resist.

The crazy drive-through wait (this was only about half; the line wove through the entire parking lot).

The line I waited in (the door was right to my left when I took this).

Ah, isn't it a beautiful thing?

Our cashier, Jessica

Be still my heart (and not with a heart attack).

Sooo good!

No doubt we'll be spending many-a-joyous meal here.

Here's to the times when life surprises you with a big, fat hug.

P.S. This post has been ready to go, minus pictures, since Sunday, but our stupid internet hasn't been working properly. That's why it's so very late.

Sure Glad She Was Born

2009-11-12T21:09:00.000-08:00

She hasn't changed one bit.

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday.

Bon Appetit!

2009-11-01T13:56:00.000-08:00

(Make sure you read the title with a highish, warbly tone, in the tradition of Julia Child.)

Friday was our ward Halloween party, meaning, as Dave and I are in charge of ward activities, it was a busy but fun evening. I decided to dress as Julia Child:

My costume decision grew mostly out of a desire to yell, "Bon Appetit!" at the beginning of the activity, which also included a chili cook-off. (I confess to saying it, along with "I'm Julia Child!," rather more than I should have. I think some of our committee members wanted to slap me by the end of the evening.)

My costume necessitated curly hair, so I wore sponge curlers to bed for the first time since I was 12:

. . . which resulted in Shirley-Temple-like ringlets:

(notice the red morning eyes – sponge curlers aren't conducive to sleep)

But it all sorted out by evening time. I did, however, have to go to work with oddly curly hair, which drew some comments. At least it was the day before Halloween, so most of my coworkers figured it was part of a costume.

At the party, our good friends Danniey and Tyler (who won the cook-off and the coveted golden ladle) dressed as wild things and dressed their adorable baby as Max (he, rightfully, won the baby costume contest):

After the Friday's festivities, Dave and I were downright pooped. Luckily we had a festive but low-key Halloween engagement planned with Danniey and Tyler: Iron Chef PUMPKIN. This meant I got to play some more with Calvin:

. . . spend time with fun friends:

(Sous Chef Carson with Tyler and Danniey)

. . . and eat some amazing dishes made with pumpkin:

(Clockwise: pumpkin with penne pasta and cream sauce, kabocha soup, bread with smoked gouda and pumpkin butter, and pumpkin roll)

It was perfect. None of us were sick of pumpkin afterward because all the dishes were unique and subtle. Afterward, we agreed that our Iron Cheffing must become a regular thing. (I'm pulling for mushrooms next time, but Provo's lack of gourmet variety may prohibit it.)

As for this Halloween weekend, it may very well go down as the best ever.

Phone Problems

2009-10-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

I hate talking on the phone to strangers, which causes quite a problem when I have to set up an interview for an article. I sit there, putting off the call and staring at the phone. (The phone is so strong; so cold.) "I'll call at 2:00," I say. "That way they won't be at lunch; 'two' is also a nice round number."

When 2:00 comes, I stare at the phone some more. "It's too late," I think. "They won't think I'm serious about this. I'll call tomorrow morning." I give the phone a furtive glance. It challenges me in the way it boldly, unwaveringly sits on my desk.

Usually this goes on for a few days. When I finally have an interview set, I'm nervous until the thing is actually over. And almost every time, I finish it very happy to have learned some new things and made a new friend. (Ha!, phone. You're not the boss of me.)

Talking on the phone is even worse when I have to be confrontational.

Which brings me to my current dilemma: I recently made a flight reservation. I deliberately chose the 7:50 flight over the 4:45 flight since I work regular hours and live an hour from the airport. Then, two days ago, I received notification that my itinerary has changed. I am now flying out at 4:45. How is it that airlines are allowed to do this? I paid for the time the flight left. Do they not understand how incredibly inconvenient (and unfair) changing my flight is? It's terrible business, and yet they (much like insurance companies) have the power to jerk me around.

So I want to complain. I would rather e-mail the complaint (because, as I've shown, I hate talking to strangers), but there is only a phone number for my particular complaint. Complaining now puts me at an inconvenience, and, really, will it do anything? I'll probably talk to someone half a world away who will log my complaint and move on with his or her night. (Sigh.) The number is pulled up in a Web window on my desktop, waiting patiently for me to use it. I won't close out of it until either (1) the deed is done, or (2) I lose my nerve.

But time is of the essence. I'm a big believer that once a certain time frame passes, bringing up a problem becomes absurd. Any suggestions?

Surprises and Pork Tenderloins

2009-10-20T21:40:00.000-07:00

Today I came home to find a package waiting for me. Neither Dave nor I had ordered anything. There was no occasion for the package. Yet there it was. A package addressed to me!

Inside I found something a good fairy decided that I, as one who loves fall, needed to have.

Surprises are like the icing on the cake of life. (Not meaning they're extra; meaning they're the best part.)

I also made a pork tenderloin for dinner:

Yum. It had a great, sweet (but slightly spicy) crust on it. But, long after the estimated cooking time had passed, I had to keep sticking it back in the oven because I was afraid it was undercooked (undercooked meat is just one of the things I'm paranoid about; whenever we eat chicken, pork, or ground beef, you'll frequently find me turning to Dave for assurance that it looks cooked). I used an instant-read thermometer like the recipe called for, but it was still pink.

Is this something tenderloin does? Any tips on cooking such meats thoroughly?

Five Years

2009-10-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Mr. Ensign-Lewis and me posing for a quick pic before leaving (look below to see why my roommates were so keen on documenting it).

Today marks five years since Dave and I went on our first date. (Just moments ago I said, "Thank you for asking me out." Dave said, mischievously, "Thank you for finally going out with me." I modified my statement and said, "Thank you for finally following up with asking me out." Those who know the story will get a chuckle out of that.)

He was a class act on that first date, and he has been ever since.

He wasn't even phased when he came home to find one of these on his mirror (the other was on mine):

We were young Mormon girls. What do you expect?

(Today is also the anniversary of one of my best friend's births. Happy Birthday, Becca!)

Sicky

2009-10-09T15:40:00.001-07:00

We've been hit by a bug. A bad one. Who knows what strain; I wouldn't be an Olsen if my naturally worried thoughts didn't stray in a certain direction.

Dave started getting sick on Monday. He didn't sleep all week and sounded really tired and pathetic every time I called to check on him. Then yesterday I called on my way home and got a chipper, "Hi!" Maybe I'd made a clean break!

Then this morning I felt it coming on. After going into work for a couple hours to get some necessaries done, I came home. I slept a little and I've been meaning to get another nap, but I just keep watching the Glee clip of "Don't Stop Believin'." It looks like I've caught that bug, too.

Dave thinks I like the show because it reminds me of my ideal high school experience, and I can't help but think he's at least a little right. It reminds me of musical theater, which I only did for one year; I loved it. And I miss the camaraderie that comes with rehearsing and performing with people who become close friends. The main kid also vaguely reminds me of the high school crush that got away. (Ah, Joel Henning.)

I have no nice bow to tie on this post. I think my head is a little clouded from coughing and body aches. I think I'll just end with the view from here. (Warning: the song will be stuck in your head for days – but I'm not saying that's a bad thing.)

Glee - Don't Stop Believe
Uploaded by Bugabookas. - Check out other Film & TV videos.

A Word on Egg Noodles

2009-10-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

When I make soup, I generally like to keep the pot on the stove on very low heat so that it can stay warm. Because I always like to go back for seconds.

This evening I made chicken noodle soup, and I remembered (because I've already learned) that this strategy does NOT work with noodle soups.

Imagine big, swollen, nearly disintegrating noodles. "Disgusting" is the word you're looking for. There are few forms of ruined food I hate more than overcooked noodles. Burned food I can do (it sometimes even tastes better). I can even handle stale. But not this. Not this.

So, a word to the wise: When you make chicken noodle soup, put it directly away. Otherwise the noodles keep cooking, and, much like the noodles, your world of leftovers will disintegrate.

This post is dedicated in loving memory to Gourmet magazine, which was summarily placed on Condé Nast's chopping block yesterday. Working there was one of my editing dreams. Those were simpler days.

The Woods

2009-10-05T20:05:00.000-07:00

We've just returned (last night) from a foray in the woods. Le boise, as the French call it. Or, to the layperson, Boise.

It was my first visit to the great state of Idaho, and while I didn't eat any potatoes, I don't think I could have experienced a better smattering of the state's offerings – the best of them being my beautiful niece and nephews and their parents.

My wonderful sister, Julia, opened up her home to Dave and I. (Her husband just got his first job as a doctor and they moved to a new place and a home of their own.) As the first of any family to visit, we got the star treatment.

We arrived a little late on Friday, but there they all were, jumping up and down at the foot of the driveway. Dave and I then went with Julia and her DH to downtown Boise and walked around the shockingly clean city (even the allies were well lit and trash free). Something interesting: as opposed to an Asian district, as many cities have, there was a Basque district. Apparently many Basque people immigrated to Boise to herd sheep, and there's still a strong presence.

The next day we watched the morning session of the LDS general conference (and heard a wonderful talk on love), then we ventured out into rain to experience the farmers market. If I had been able to snap some pictures, here's what you would have seen: smiling kids with little red noses from the cold; quaint booths with everything from vintage squash to gourmet mushrooms to crepes; the crepes we ended up buying (including a "smokefire" version with marshmallows, Nutella, and graham cracker crumbs); and tree-lined streets. We had a lot of fun, and we were all very exhausted by the end of the day.

On Sunday we continued to watch general conference (breaking to play some Rock Band on the Wii between sessions), and then Dave and I left around 4:30. It was a quick visit, but it was full of fun. Have you ever had a trip that you wouldn't change a moment of? This was one of those. We got to spend some quality time with people we love, and it was thrilling to see how happy they are in their new life, complete with a great job, a beautiful home, and welcoming friends. It gives me great hope for the future.

Mr. M (whose face was obscured in every photo I took), Little C, and Miss A after wrestling with Drunkle Dave . . .

Gifts of the Season

2009-10-01T19:46:00.000-07:00

Fall decided to arrive this week. On Wednesday, to be exact.

In classic Utah fashion, the season came in less like a lion and more like a slap in the face: on Tuesday it was 84; on Wednesday, it was 42 (that's half the temperature of Tuesday, folks).

I may be laughing about the continued erratic weather, but I'm certainly not complaining. Fall is my time of year. There are so many things to love about it, and I think I'll list some of them for you.

The storms. The sudden change in temperature this week was due to a wonderful storm on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. The lightning woke me up at about 3:00 a.m. when it lit up our room, and I lay there listening for about 15 minutes as the tempest raged on. At work, if you could have been the fruit fly that refuses to leave my work space, you would have seen me looking blissfully out the window at the angry sky and the darkened cityscape. Perhaps I would do well in the Pacific Northwest; storms just make everything seem cozier.

The colors. Saying "I love the leaves of autumn" is about as unoriginal as a woman calling herself a chocoholic, but it doesn't make it any less true. We all know these colors are the best on the wheel.

All things pumpkin. Big orange, green, yellow, and peach gourds are so jolly that they can't help but bring a smile to your face, especially when they're lit and smiling back at you. Then, aside from looking at these merry gourds, you can also eat them. Ahhh, pumpkin. Combined with the right spices (especially cloves), pumpkin goods become a party in my mouth. That great, harvesty taste just makes me want to nestle into the crook of my couch in some baggy sweats and enjoy a good movie.

Halloween Oreos. Nabisco maintains that these festive cookies are exactly the same as their year-round counterparts. I respectfully disagree. Maybe it's the joy of looking down at a cookie that has Halloween colors. Maybe the dye itself adds a special taste to the cream. But Halloween Oreos taste better than all the other kinds of Oreos. And I'm not alone in thinking so. Numerous online peeps agree with me. Even Jamie, my friend and co-editor, agrees. So go out and get some!

Word to the wise: Nabisco got tricky this year and decided to disguise the package to look like all other Oreo packages. I nearly went home brokenhearted in my first attempt to buy them, but persistance (as always) paid off! Also, Walmart is the only store at which I've been able to consistently find them.

And finally . . .

Halloween. I think fall's other factors all contribute to why I love this holiday so much. Afterall, Halloween isn't just the one night of dressing up and getting candy – it's the pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies you decorate with candy corn; it's the crisp, sweet air you smell when you walk from house to house; it's the decorations; it's the funky old Halloween movies; and the list could go on.

(I'm the flower paying attention to the candy in her bag.)

Are you loving fall, yet?

Simply Living

2009-09-12T02:36:00.000-07:00

Friday night is date night.

So I called Dave on my way home from work, as usual, and he began picking my brain for ideas on what to do.

"Why don't we go play catch and then go get something to eat? I want Indian," he said.

Crap. It was time to assume my traditional role of party-pooper. (I'm cursed to always see the flaws in the grand plan.) "We've already spent our fun money, hon. We can't go out."

See, we've really been trying to budget, and since we're also trying to save more, we've also had to cut back. But it's nigh impossible to find date-like things that don't cost.

"Why don't we go on a picnic?" I suggested.

So when I got home shortly after 5:00, we assembled our little picnic dinner. It was simple fare – sandwiches, yogurt, chips and salsa, and chocolate milk. Ten minutes later, we grabbed the fabulous picnic blanket we got for our wedding, snatched our baseball gloves and a ball, and headed to a local park.

We lounged in the shade of a nearby pine, listening to the tranquil music of Jack Johnson and basking in the cool, early fall evening. We threw the ball around a bit and did a little more lounging. We spoke in the calm, contented tones of a couple in love.

Afterward, we made some dessert at home and watched a movie on TNT.

We both agreed it was a great night. No money spent. Nothing fancy. But we got out, we took a little time off, and we enjoyed one another's company. Who would have known something simple could return such rewards?

Now for some brainstorming: what's your favorite outing that costs little or nothing?

U! S! A! Soccer!

2009-09-09T18:32:00.000-07:00

I really need to improve on posting in a timely manner. Let's pretend this is actually Sunday, when I was planning on posting, and not Wednesday.

This weekend we took our lives in our hands and attended a World Cup qualifier game up at Rio Tinto Stadium in Sandy. Really, it wasn't that scary, but we were drowning in a bit of a sea of El Salvador fans, whose team color is conveniently blue. They were all very cordial; aside from the beer thrown on us after the first goal, we enjoyed the company with some good-natured banter. (And I tried to enjoy the nice man behind me who inexplicably kept begging me to cheer for El Salvador. Really?)

This was my first real soccer game, and it met my expectations spectacularly. The turf was greener, the songs were sweeter, and the fans were drunker. Mmm, soccer.

And a good post wouldn't be complete without pictures. (Courtesy of the iPhone.)

(see how we're like the only U.S. fans?)

These were the guys sitting in front of us; sadly, Davy Crockett and Yankee Doodle were busy philandering during this picture. (And don't worry: "Michael Phelps" was hanging crack the entire game.)

Piano P.S.

2009-08-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

Some of the comments made me want to share this: If you're hoping to get a piano sometime, now is a great time to look. According to the sellers I spoke with, the economy has hit the instrument industry pretty bad. Many sellers are simply trying to get their investments back (meaning you can buy pianos for close to what they did).

Digital technology has also grown by leaps and bounds in the last few years, so there's another more affordable route. I did a little research on them before settling on Black Beauty, so drop a line if you want some input.

Happiness Is a Piano

2009-08-25T16:39:00.000-07:00

It's been six long years since I've had a piano in my home. No more. With the help of my parents (as a belated graduation present) and a salesman willing to come down enough on price, I am the proud owner of a Kawai UST-9 upright piano. And I really couldn't be happier.

These last six years excluded, pianos have always been nearby. Even before I started taking lessons at age 5, I can remember trotting into the front room after one of my sisters finished her practice session and trying to plunk out the tune she'd just played. Sometimes I wouldn't even wait until I'd gotten my clothes on:

I still can't really even walk by a piano without touching it – playing a short song or releasing even just one note. Growing up, I would play on my desks at school when there was no keyboard there and imagine I was hitting all the right notes.

With the fun, crazy days of college came separation from a piano, and I slowly drifted into a dark place with little music. Playing became the exception rather than the rule.

About a year after we married, I heard Dave tell someone he wanted to make sure we had a piano, because playing was important to my "psychological health." I hadn't thought of it that way before, but I realized it was true: those times that I did have a chance to play, I felt calmer and happier afterward.

Thinking about this has brought me to the following conclusion: Everyone has an ideal outlet for their energy. For some who have physical energy, like Dave, it's sports. For some who have creative energy, like my mom, it's using their hands to create something. My energy is musical, and I think it's been festering inside for quite some time, trying to get out.

So perhaps it's not the piano that brings the happiness. It's the knowledge that my music again has its ideal outlet.

Mom and Dad, I can't thank you enough. I could say other things, but they would sound silly and insincere when compared with all you've done for me. I love you!

What's the Month, Again?

2009-08-09T09:37:00.000-07:00

August is so three months ago. In fact, I'm well past "back to school," and I'm settling nicely into Christmas.

What's my problem? I work in magazine publishing.

This problem isn't quite so bad as it could be. Big, mainstream magazines work at least six months ahead, meaning most of them are wondering where their Valentine's chocolates are. (At least it allows one to enjoy things twice – once in the planning, once in the doing.)

The fact remains, however, that I feel out of place with where I am in time. A month ago, as I read over one of our big November/December articles, I sat in my office blithely singing, "I Saw Three Ships on Christmas Day." One of my coworkers who is not so involved with the magazine asked me, with a worried tone, what I was doing.

Now I understand why they have "Christmas in July" programs. It's not for commercial benefit. (Well, not solely.) They're watching out for us crazy publishing people.

But this problem isn't something unique to me. My dear mother, to her own admission, struggles to keep up with the present (something I also sometimes struggle with). And I know there are people in the world who live only in the past, regretting choices they made or else longing for "the good old days." Most of us are, I think, a mixture of the three. And perhaps that's the way a balanced life is supposed to be led; remembering the past, living in the present, looking forward to the future.

One thing I know: we humans are not at home with time. Why else would we need so many clocks around to continually remind us of the hour? Time remains simply a touch-point for us with the goals we have – where we've been and where we need to go. I just hope I can make use of all these clocks, and my constant awareness of the future, and not let it slip by me too fast. "Do not squander time," Benjamin Franklin said, "for that is the stuff life is made of."

Once in a while, the world catches up with me. The past two days have been absolutely beautiful – sunny, with scattered clouds, breezy, and not above 72. So it is with joy that I combine my physical time with my subconscious time and, looking forward a second time to what's ahead, sing, "It's beginning to look a lot like autumn . . . "

Ode du Campfire

2009-07-27T20:33:00.000-07:00

(Note: I fear this post will read like a journal entry. If you get bored, just look at the pictures. I know that's what I do half the time anyway.)

I smell like campfire . . . again. This is the second time in a little over a week.

Dave and I have had two of the craziest weeks in our married life. All of it was wonderful, and most of it was tiring.

It started with my whole family coming into town for my big sister's wedding, which took place on July 15. The week before, we spent time planning a ward campout for our church (more on that later), sorting candy for Diana's candy buffet, helping the bride move to her new home, and visiting with all my siblings. I was so happy to be able to help with it; she kept me sane while I planned my wedding and helped with more things than I probably know.

The happy day arrived, complete with a beautiful and radiant Diana, and a sobbing me during the toasts. (Curse these ready tears of mine.) It was such a blessing to watch her and her sweetheart joined together, and it continues to be a blessing to see her so happy. We snapped a few pictures at the temple:

she is the favorite aunt . . .

my family!

The day after, a Thursday, Dave and I stole a few hours and went to Harry Potter with my mom. It was a-maz-ing. I highly recommend it. Though I was disappointed in some aspects (as any true fan would be), I was impressed with how well they told the story and the sheer amount they were able to fit in so short a time. ("Short?!" you say. "It's nearly three hours long!" Consider that the book is nearly 700 pages, with nary a pontification. But we won't quibble over quantitative words here.)

The day after that, Friday, Dave and I hosted our ward's campout. We are in charge of the "activities committee"; it might sound like fun (it's your job to plan parties), and it is, but it's also quite taxing. We spent most of our time cooking and cleaning (and none of it sleeping – I never sleep when I camp). Despite this, it was worth it to see people from church get to visit, learn about one another, and build friendships. We got back on Saturday.

We said goodbye to a couple friends the following Monday. It brought to light again the truth that is life after college: our friends are moving on with their lives – a wonderful, bittersweet thing. We'll miss you, Watanabes!

Other crazy things happened, but they're too simple to recount.

And it all comes full circle: After the campout, we were left with OBSCENE amounts of food (80 hamburger patties, 100 buns, 60 slices of cheese, and lots of Nature Valley granola bars, not to mention all the breakfast stuff), so we put on a BBQ for the ward tonight. Again, we spent most of the time cooking and standing in smoke, but we had some good help. We couldn't have done it either time without the help of some wonderful leaders, who saw the need and stepped up to the plate. I love good people.

One last thought: The day we got back from our campout, after the two hour trip home, I saw this little scene on Dave's car window. It perfectly depicts how we feel after the past couple weeks (imagine heads and all legs still on, clutching the frame like a pole they've just run into; they've fallen off in the days of hot sun since):

Da Bombe

2009-07-07T19:44:00.001-07:00

Yesterday we celebrated Dave's birthday – operative word being celebrated. His real birthday is actually in January, but as all of our festivities take place within less than a month in winter (Christmas, anniversary, his birthday, my birthday), Dave took one for the team and decided to start commemorating the day of his birth on its half-anniversary.

To make the whole thing official, he requested the "cake" his mother used to build (literally) for family birthdays: Bombe aux Trois Chocolats, or Chocolate Bombe. Basically it's brownie encasing dark chocolate mousse topped by melted dark chocolate. (Do you hear the coronary alarms ringing?) His father warned me it was a pain to make, and it did turn out to be very involved, but I loved every minute of it – even the cutting part:

I just kind of like how crazy I look in this one . . .

Here are some other highlights of the shindig:

the beautiful mother of the baby above (love that look she gives him)

an all-around great picture to end with . . .

As Dave's dad said to him when he called yesterday, Hap Birth!

View from an Airplane Window

2009-06-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I had the joy of making a weekend trip home for my sister's bridal shower. We assembled invitations (lots of them), ate at Chevy's, and made breakfast for my dad on Father's Day. There really is no place like home – smelling the distinct scents of the place where you grew up and being able to just live, without feeling the need to measure thoughts or actions.

Because Sacramento is such a tiny airport, I took a total of four planes to get home and back, and three of those times I was able to sit by myself – just the way I like it. Don't get me wrong, I like a good chat, but I've found more often than not that the person sitting next to me doesn't want to chat or isn't a natural at the art of conversation, and either we sit in awkward silence, or the conversation is stilted and tiring as we try to stay enthusiastic about what each other is saying.

While only three were spent alone, on all four legs I was able to sit at the window, which I love. I got to see some beautiful sky and sea from my seat. How often do you get to look down on the wide world as an observer? It was calming, and wonderful. Here are a couple snapshots that I wrote as I made the journey home and back again.

Airport employees are finishing with the baggage loading and are speeding off in their refurbished golf carts. What is it like to work on the ground and see, from the other side, the longing faces of passengers as they prepare for the journey ahead – yearning for rest, adventure, home? (Me, I want D – all of the above.)
The jet is climbing, and we're veering further from the city. In rapid succession, my eyes cross the uninhabited hills of San Francisco, the city itself, and the smog resting dolefully in the crevices. A nothing-special view made enchanting by a few thousand feet. In the same frame, six grayish tankers are making their way into the harbor, streams of smoke trailing behind them. The tankers are small and slow from up here, and I realize that life and what we must do to sustain it take a proper perspective up in the air. Not like ants marching, but like tree roots, trying to carve a safe and happy existence in ground that can be hard and toilsome. Suddenly magic catches me again in the form of a rainbow starburst on the window frame – the effect of the setting sun on the token of my marriage. Like the magpie that I am, I sit transfixed for several moments watching the rainbows move back and forth with the movement of my hand. And I'm grateful for my happy little life.
I try to withstand it, but the sun gets to be too much, and I pull the shade to narrow my view to a small slit. But I keep looking. Through my peephole, I see the glow of snaking rivers, polka-dot lakes, and the Bay.
Outside the window is a skyscape as beautiful as any of the mountains I live by. Stratocumulus clouds line up like church pews below us; I can even see an aisle where a couple rowdy children are playing.
We're descending for the last time and – seconds before it's too late – I look out to see the sun supported by the plane's wing just before it slips behind the clouds for a night's rest.

Nothing like an amazing view and a little time to think to yourself.

Top 10 Kitchen Tools

2009-06-04T16:24:00.000-07:00

The other night I was preparing dinner when I realized how grateful I was for the tools I was working with. One particular tool (you'll have to read on to find out which) I am considering having buried with me. This shocked me when I first realized it because I can count on one hand the number of times this appliance has been used in the house of my origin (and I probably used it all those times).

This got me thinking – what are my top tools? Which simplify my life most? And which ones simply make me happy?

The main reason I'm publishing this is because I thought others might find the list useful, too. So, discounting my stove, oven, knives, cutting boards, amazing pans, and other basic tools of food preparation, here are my top 10 favorite kitchen tools. How do yours match up?

10. Zester. My mom got me this handy little tool soon after I was married. I don't use it too often, but when I do, it gives me perfect, thin shavings. Plus, for some reason, it just makes me happy to use it. Very culinary.

9. Pasta attachments (to my KitchenAid). Another tool I don't use too often, but just a fun one to have around. Homemade noodles really don't take that much extra effort with these babies, and the taste is heads above store-bought. (Interjection by Dave: "Homemade noodles in chicken soup alone make these worth their weight in gold.") Though I'm still looking for an amazing recipe. Thoughts?

8. Griddle. What can I say? It's ghastly to cook a large batch of food one item at a time; the griddle just increases efficiency. Our griddle has a grilling side, too, and because we don't have a barbecue, it also doubles as a grill.

7. Pot rack. Not the same as my other kitchen tools, but it saves a ton of space. Very helpful when living in small apartments. It also looks pretty stylish. Dave says that the only place to find the specific one you want is (originally enough) potracksgalore.com.

6. Napoli Pizza Maker. My brilliant Aunt Lorelei turned me onto this one. Once it's properly heated (which takes about 10 minutes), you can make a pizza in about 7 minutes. We can churn out four in about 3 hours (including dough making and rising time). It's fun and it makes homemade pizza a snap. Only available used (eBay or Amazon).

5. Oven thermometer. Absolutely essential for baking. The first oven of my marriage cooked 50 degrees too hot, and many-a-cake was the drier for it. When I finally got one, my baked goods took a dramatic turn for the better. Get one. They're only $5.

4. Four-cup Pyrex Liquid Measuring Cup. Microwave safe and big enough for people who don't go small (like me). My mom used this all the time when I was growing up. She made homemade syrup in it. She put gravy in it. And, of course, she measured liquids with it. I didn't have one during the first year in my marriage and I was lost (all I had was a 1-cup liquid measuring cup).

3. KitchenAid Stand Mixer. Yes, it's shockingly not my #1 (or #2). But in its very nature the Kitchen-aid must be a top tool in any kitchen; cakes, cookies, breads, anything, really, are a cinch. It's an investment, though, so I will make a recommendation: Go for the Professional 600 series. My HD mixer (special to Costco and Sam's, I believe) has difficulty reaching the lowest parts of the bowl, and I have to stop and scrape a lot.

2. Garlic Press. Any of you who have painstakingly chopped garlic by hand know what a pain it is (and how impossible the smell is to get off your fingers). In truth, any garlic press is better than none, but I'll go one step further: the OXO press is tops. It's heavy duty and hardly wastes any garlic (and it has a cleaning feature on the opposite side).

And the #1, top tool in my kitchen:

1. Cuisinart Food Processor. Aaah! Be still my heart. This is the unlikely tool I use all the time. It's so sturdy and versatile. I can use it to make pizza dough (which I do often, as evidenced by #6), hummus, crumb crusts, flaky pie crusts, and – my newest favorite – pesto. For some reason my family thought this gadget was unnecessarily complicated. Granted you do have to put the top on right or it won't work, but it takes two seconds to set it up and only a few minutes to clean it. This is my challenge to you (mom): if you have a processor collecting dust somewhere, break it out and explore the possibilities! You won't regret it.

Please bring me to the truth if I'm missing any amazing tools! I want to and must learn more.

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

2009-05-24T13:07:00.001-07:00

Dave and I have been married for almost 3 1/2 years. Before the happy day arrived, we met with our bishop (pastor) for several pre-marriage discussions, and I vividly remember one particular meeting. He said, "Life will take you two away from each other more than you would like."

We soon learned the truth of his words. School kept me away from Dave to the point where many nights the ten minutes before bed was the only time we had to talk. Sundays became my favorite day; we had all day together. That is, when he wasn't sick. Those times I had to go to church alone, and going alone really isn't fun.

Today I again sat on my half of the pew without Dave. (He is driving to Oregon so his brother wouldn't have to make the trek by himself.) While this seems to happen more for us than other couples, I haven't yet had to go it alone with kids like many women I know, including my mother. (My hat goes off to all of you.)

But I'm sure my day will come. Whether it be Church assignments, work, or other future responsibilities, I have a hunch we will continue to be separated more than we would prefer. Which brings me to two thoughts:

(1) I'm glad I'm so fond of my husband that I dislike being without him, even if it's for the typical 8-hour work day.

(2) I need to learn to deal with it in a constructive way. I was reading this insightful post today about dealing with an away husband (you'll laugh at my whining when compared with this woman's experience). Her talk of realistic expectations made me realize again how counterproductive I can be. Sometimes this is how it goes: I miss Dave. When I don't get to see him, I get sad. Then I get mad. When we finally reunite, I'm pouty and angry with him (even if it's not his fault), and I mar the time we finally have together by mourning over the time we didn't. Now tell me, does that sound constructive?

On this vein, I resolved to no longer waste time wishing for time I can't have and to start enjoying the time I do. To be happier, I will stop planning on things going as I hope they will go (e.g., he'll come home early from basketball on Tuesdays, or he'll magically start feeling well enough to go to Church with me) and plan things on a worst-case basis. I will choose harmony over being right. Well, at least I'll really try.

Until the days of more separation come, I'm blessed to learn step by baby step. Let's see how well I do.

P.S. I stole the title from the illustrious John Donne. Check out the actual poem. It is some of Renaissance love poetry's finest.

The Burdens of Being a Grown-up

2009-05-19T18:41:00.000-07:00

I have recently had the joy of reapplying for health insurance – the first time I am doing so for an individual family plan. This one-of-a-kind experience has brought me to the following hard-won conclusion: insurance companies can burn in the fiery pits of hell.

It all started innocently enough. I got applications for two different companies and filled out Dave's and my information, including our medical history. And, being the pure of heart person that I am, I carefully acknowledged every problem in my past. Headaches, broken rib, dislocated shoulder, you name it. Even with that, I only marked "yes" for 5 questions.

The day after I faxed the applications to my insurance broker, I got a call from the kind woman who works with him. "The companies have a few additional questions," she said.

Okay, I thought. No big deal.

"They want to know the date of your last period."

Ahem. Well, a little intrusive, and it certainly wasn't on the application, but not unheard of.

"They want to know the prescribing physician and the name of the ointment for your eczema."

Really? It's an OINTMENT. And it expired over two years ago.

"They also want to know how many migraines your husband has had in the last year," she says in a way that tells me they're not asking for an estimate.

This is getting ridiculous. Do they honestly think I keep a running tally of every migraine he gets?

Here's the classic request I got today: "They want all the medical records on your headaches."

What records?! I take Tylenol, people. Aleve if they're really bad.

This is where the nice lady with the insurance broker informed me that insurance companies are not really asking for any incidence of headaches, stomach problems, etc., like the wording would make it seem. They're only asking for incidences you have been to the doctor for. How was I supposed to know that? I was just trying to be honest, for heaven's sake!

Now, after three additional conversations and continued research on my part, I'm still not sure my applications are complete. Honestly, are they trying to guarantee that they don't get my money?

The frustrating thing is that they can do this. They know we all need health insurance, and I think they all have an agreement to be as uncooperative and nit-picky as possible, just so we have to grin and bear it. (This is where you hear me growling.)

So here is my other nugget of hard-won wisdom: honesty is not the best for your insurance policy.

Update: I just spoke with my wonderful sister Julia, who is in the process of buying a home, and it appears the nightmares do not end with insurance. "Use more than one credit card," she sagely advised, "or it will be nigh impossible to get approved for a home loan."

Maybe I can use my new credit card to buy some calming teas.