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Shag-a-delic

I always start my week with ambitious intentions. One being writing at least 4-5 posts a week. Well, we can all see how THAT is going.

We have yet to pick a country for our culinary travels for this week. (slacker) I guess we will be doing that this weekend. If I am done shagging by then, that is.

Instead of being focused on myself goals this week, I have spent it spring cleaning. And we all know how fun that can be with a 4 year old toting behind.

I spent more time picking up his attempt at helping, than I did actually getting anything done.

As a reward for his “help” I let him pick out something from Michael’s last night, while I picked up a few things I needed for a cake due tomorrow! It was 8:50, the store closes at 9:00. It was a mad dash, and an hour past my assistants bedtime. He goes in 12 hour cycles, and when the twelfth hour is upon us, look out. The other half of We decided to take Isaac to find the perfect reward, while I grabbed what I needed.

And guess what they chose? A shag, latch hook rug. SHAG. Hook. Rug. (and I quote the box: “Longer, plusher look!”) Not only is it shag, it is a rainbow swirl pattern. Lovely. All I could do was give the Big Guy a look. He smiled, and said “What, I loved these as a kid. We can all do it. It will be fun”. Mmmhmm. Right. Let me translate this for you; I will be doing all the shag hooking. (wow, does that sound as wrong to you as it does to me?)

The box claims the project to be:

 LIARS.

I had to purchase a latch hook tool. And that little gem is a giant pain in the @$$.

This is what I have done so far: (look how long and plush they look!)

At the rate I am going, I should be done by next month.

Isaac asked if he could help. Absolutely! He gave up within 5 seconds because he could not get the yarn wrapped around the hook tool. Poor guy. So I suggested he hand me the colors as I needed them. He seems content with that job. (and I am content not saying anything about the giant pile of yarn pieces now all over the floor, really – it looks like a rainbow threw up).

We took a break from our psychedelic rug making, and made some cupcakes. Because what I really need right now is a 4 year old tripped out on sugar to help me finish all that needs to get done today. (also I can use them as a bribe to get the Big Guy to help with the rug when he gets home)  Always stay one step ahead!

Vanilla Cupcakes, filled with chocolate orange ganache, topped with ganache buttercream.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on pmpThu, 12 May 2011 12:44:10 +000044Thursday 4 , 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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three kids and a spider…

This is how brave I am.

Today there was a gigantic nickle sized jumping spider in the car. Instead of dealing with it like the adult I am, I squealed like a little girl and ran from the car. Leaving my 4 year old and his two cousins to fend for themselves. After taking a few deep breaths, I headed back to the car. At this point, I am sweating like I just ran a marathon, because I know that I am the only one who can get the spider out of the car. ME. Miss Arachnophobia. (if there was a pageant for this, I would surely win first place in all categories).  I stared at the children, they stared back. “Who is not afraid of spiders” I hear myself ask. Really? Really? I am asking these innocent wide eyed children to, god-forbid, touch a spider.

(Way to go super mom)

My nephew answers with “I’m not. I’m brave”. He is six. “Ok. here is a napkin” I said. And hand him a used napkin I found under the seat. He takes the napkin, and pushes it down into the cup holder the spider is now taking refuge in. “There”. Says my nephew. And then my son screams (louder than I did) and points to the other cup holder. The spider has jumped. Jumped! and is now in the other holder. All three children scream. (I think I may have screamed a little too.)

I decided that drastic measures were needed.

I ran into the house and grabbed a bottle of window cleaner and a clean, new, sturdier napkin, and rushed back to the car. I was now armed. The spider was still hunkered down, and did not see what was coming next.

I proceeded to spray half the bottle a few squirts of window cleaner, until it covered the helpless intruder. Who curled up in ball, on his back.

I said in my most victorious voice, “Yes! I got him”. And this is the point that I started to feel like the biggest jerk ever. Isaac started crying. “You hurt him”.

Uh-oh.

I had to think quick.

I told them that I did not hurt the spider, that it was just scared. (I know, pretty lame) I then, very, very bravely scooped the spider up with the napkin, and dropped  it onto the grass.

Isaac stopped crying, and smiled. “Now he can go back to his mom”, he said. I smiled, and nodded.

Gulp.

Poor spider.

Moral:

The next time I see an eight legged critter, I will wait until my husband gets home. He is much braver than I am, and will gladly pick it up with his BARE HAND, and let it go, unharmed. Back to it’s mom.

spider photo found on :

http://unrealitymag.com/index.php/2009/08/04/the-final-countdown-terrifying-giant-disgusting-critters-summer-television-blog-and-thirst-poster/

 
6 Comments

Posted by on pmpFri, 06 May 2011 19:55:43 +000055Friday 4 , 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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the rogue egg…

Does anyone else think it odd that we eat “deviled eggs” during religious holiday get-togethers?

Don’t get me wrong, I love them. But as I sat at the Easter lunch table yesterday, I had to refrain from asking why on such a profound holy day, are we making and eating (by the dozens), eggs that are named after the Prince of Darkness. (although I just discovered that in the Midwest and the South people sometimes refer to them as “dressed eggs”, or “salad eggs” ~ to avoid scrutiny I suppose)  This thought process lead to my wondering why they always seem to taste the same. Punishment perhaps for thinking it ok to celebrate with something so devilish? Maybe, or perhaps people are afraid to think outside the box when it comes to a party food that dates back to the 18th century. (you would think we might have come up with something more creative in the last 250 years or so).

This is my attempt at something a little different then the standard.

Sinful. I know.

Deviled Eggs with Dill and Mushrooms

6 Hard boiled eggs

5-6 white mushrooms – chopped very fine

2 Tablespoons mayo

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/2 tsp salt and pepper

2 teaspoons dried dill

Saute mushrooms in 1 tsp butter until golden, remove from heat and allow to cool while prepairing remaining ingredients. Slice eggs in half lengthwise; remove yolks and set whites aside. In a small bowl, mash yolks with a fork. Add all the ingredients, except for mushrooms to yolk, mix well. Once mushrooms are cool, mix into yolk mixture. Stuff or pipe into egg whites. Refrigerate until serving.

Note: You might just find me,alone in the corner, devouring my sinful creation with reckless abandon, at the next  eating frenzy religious celebration.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on pmpMon, 25 Apr 2011 13:35:21 +000035Monday 4 , 2011 in Recipes

 

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the good, the bad and the eggy…

It’s that time of year. The grass is finally green again, trees are budding, flowers are starting to bloom. Spring is in the air. But what is that smell?

Ah yes, boiled eggs.

It is said that in medieval Europe, beautifully decorated eggs were given as gifts. I am guessing that back then, the smell blended in and no one took offense. Why this tradition started, I have no idea, but its something few of us can avoid during this vibrantly fragrant time of year.

(Yes this is all going somewhere).

Today we dyed eggs. I like to think that I have done my part to carry on the Easter funk tradition.

For most people, this may not seem like a big deal. And really it’s not. But in my house most projects turn into major events.

As a mother I have learned to take art projects of any kind done with my children, in stride. I am a bit of an control freak idealist when it comes to crafty undertakings. Countless times I have taken over one of my children’s projects. But as I have fine tuned my parenting skills, I have learned to let go of my ideals and what I think the outcome should be. Who cares if craft eyes are glued on where the mouth should be,  if they mix all the finger paints and make brown soup over the beautiful flower they just painted or that a “portrait” they are so proud of looks more like Sigmund the Sea Monster then me.

I have learned that the less I fret over them, the more fun we all have. And the outcome? Beautiful works of art that I will treasure forever.

So when my 4-year-old Picasso wanted to dye eggs today, I knew I needed to step back and let him do it HIS way.

The results:

Beautiful aren’t they? And all I did was boil the eggs and open the packets of dye.

 
5 Comments

Posted by on pmpWed, 20 Apr 2011 13:10:13 +000010Wednesday 4 , 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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