Fran's Kitchen

A Year with Joy Young McClellan

2012-01-27T05:05:00.000-08:00

Well, I suppose I should say a year and nine months with Joy, as she's been with us since before we ever met this little powerhouse that we call the Monster. Joy has been so good to us, and she's provided us with treasured photographs and a treasured friendship that we will keep forever. Coming to wherever we are, always patient and understanding how crazy life is with a 5-day-old, standing outside in 90 degree heat at 8 AM so we can get the perfect shot, this lady has done it all to make the most precious photographs.

Avery's first birthday has been bittersweet - no more long cuddles, no more sweet baby smell, no more little grunts and stretches - it's all go, all the time now. And we won't get to see our friend Joy as much. Her sweet smile and the fun times we have with her have been the perfect counterbalance to the tears endured at the doctor's office at 3, 6, 9, and 12 months. Avery adores her Joy - she will even without hesitation let Joy hold her - and we sincerely hope to stay in touch.

32 weeks pregnant
Newborn
3 Months
6 Months
9 Months
My goodness, we can't pick out our favorite year shot!

Happy happy birthday Baby

2012-01-17T08:53:00.001-08:00

Dear Sweet, Baby Girl,

Oh my, how his year had flown by. Words just can't express how glad and thankful we are that you have come into our lives. We are utterly besotted with you. This year has been magical. The sleepless nights, the warm, wet toothy kisses. The food splattered all over the kitchen, the sudsy splashes of the bathtub toys. The cuddles and kicks and thrilled, happy expression on your face when you figured out the bouncy. Your determination in accomplishing your goals and love of the backyard. The first time you sat up in our bathroom while I brushed my teeth, both of your arms stretched out for balance and your face in a radiant grin. The first time you surprised yourself and us on August 11th when you pulled up to stand on the couch. The way you cruise in circles around anything that will sit still, including me. The way you rub your nose back and forth and flop your head on my chest when you're sleepy. The "Mamamama," "Dadadadada," "Bababababa-ba" and "Dateeee" and the splat splat splat of your hands as you crawl like a bruiser wherever you like. The way you clap without your hands touching and sometimes spaz out like a crack monkey before you go to bed for the night.

These are just a few of the gazillion ways we love you.

With love and fulfillment,
Mama

11 Months

2011-12-13T03:56:00.000-08:00

Well Avery, here you are, 4 days shy of your 11-month birthday. Where did this year go? It seems like it would've gone by slowly as we were awake for most of it. But your daddy and I were commenting just yesterday about how this by far the quickest year we have ever experienced.

You are a hoot & a half and already have the biggest personality in the house. Watching you play is one of our favorite pastimes: you'll pick something up - anything - and shake the hell out of it. If it doesn't rattle, you go on to the next item to be shaken. And you adore anything with buttons. We've taken the batteries out of both a remote control and a cell phone just so you can play with them, but you want the real ones that work. Last night I caught you with the remote control. You put it in the hand opposite from me, waved it in big circles over your head, and crab-walked across the front of the couch as fast as you could, playing keep away from Mama, laughing hysterically the whole way.

You have also discovered the button that changes the lights on the Christmas tree to various stages of flash/twinkle/scatter/blink/seizure-inducing light display. And you can only reach the control for the bottom half of the tree.

You're so cute, people like to give you free stuff. I can't tell you how many free cookies you've been given, just because you smile at somebody. You especially love the grocery store and going out to eat.

Dante is your special friend, and you adore him. You will reach out your hand to him sloooooowly, and when you finally barely touch his soft fur, you dissolve into a fit of shrieking giggles. He's not so sure what to think about all that, but he loves orbiting your stroller as we go out for our daily run.

Kearney still likes you too. You're too heavy to crawl all over him like you did just a few weeks ago, but he'll still let you pull his ears and tail, and you light up every time you see him.

We are anxiously anticipating the arrival of your third cousin, Ann Trotter, who is due any day now. Bubba is exquisite in her pregnancy, and you think she's the bees' knees.

We took you to Highland Village for your photos with Santa. Again, you were given free stuff for being cute: I paid for five prints, but we were given nine! I thought you would freak completely out with Santa and was prepared for a screaming-fit picture, but you were very, very good and seemed to really like him.
(c) Lisa Patti

You are still a cuddlebug, and my heart melts when you lie your head on my chest or go forehead-to-forehead with me. I hope we can do that always.
Your giggle is the sunshine of the house. I'll sit cross-legged in the floor with you and play with one of the little horses Cindy bought you from the co-op in Hazlehurst. I'll hide it behind my back and have it pop out on either side of me while you like to try to predict from where it will come. Then I'll let the horse attack you, and you dissolve into a fit of giggles and belly laughs.
Your daddy is your HERO. You light up, dance, babble, and DADADADADAAAAA when he comes home.
You are generally sleeping well, but you went on a bit of a sleep strike this weekend that really threw us for a loop. One night you finally went down at midnight and woke up again at 6:30. I think you're gearing up for a big milestone, like perhaps standing on your own. You'll stand right now very briefly - generally you have a toy in one hand and the coffee table in the other. You'll decide you want to play with the toy with both hands and let go of the table. Then, like Wyl E. Coyote, you'll slowly realize you're standing up and bump down on your booty. It's pretty precious.
Nine months old, no teeth.
Daddy took us down the Natchez Trace on my birthday for a picnic with the camera, tripod, and camera remote control for family pictures. You were pretty good......

..... but you really liked playing in the leaves and dirt most of all.
You were a peacock for your first Halloween. We're original like that.

Your first four teeth have popped out! One day you still had your gummy grin, then the next afternoon you cruised over to me and started CHEWING on my hand. I panicked and thought you had broken glass in your mouth, but it was just your teeth. TEETH?!? When did my sweet baby do that? Now you really enjoy crunching on Cheerios with them. You also like to sharpen your new pearly whites on our stone coasters, which sets your dad's teeth on edge. You love it when we brush them.
Dante's toy basket is your favorite place on the planet.

I have officially started exclusively using cloth diapers on you, and we both love it. I wish I'd done it a long time ago and am looking forward to a summer in which you have nothing but cotton against your skin.
Every day with you is like Christmas, and I find myself lying in bed at night looking forward to the joy you'll bring in the morning. Your daddy and I delight in and are so very, very thankful for you.
With so much love,

Mama

Turkey & Dressing Casserole

2011-10-24T04:06:00.001-07:00

While pregnant with Avery, I became a bit of a freezer packrat. I would cook up vast pots of this or that and freeze most of it so we would have something easy to pull out when time was short. Combined with culinary contributions from friends and family, nine months later, our freezer is just now beginning to once again look normal, and it's no longer a fight to close the thing. I'm considering revising my birthday wish from a deep freezer to something from Tiffany.

So it was a welcome surprise the other day to uncover the leftovers from last Thanksgiving: our dear friends Cindy and James gave us the most fabulously smoked turkey I'd ever put in my mouth, and the remaining meat, though not enough to make many more meals, was simply too good to throw away. I'd considered making turkey noodles out of it, but that's something you can do with bare bones, and we still had enough meat for a turkey & dressing casserole.
Though this dish is just what it sounds like - dressing with a little good turkey meat thrown in - it's unfortunately one that takes a little eyeballing to get the consistency right. I don't know why people freak out about dressing so much. It's nothing more than a savory bread pudding. Remember that you need enough broth so that it pours in clumps into your baking dish, and it should be just right.

1 bell pepper, chopped

1 cup chopped celery

1 onion, chopped

1 stick butter

1 10-inch skillet of cornbread

4-6 slices bread (white or wheat - I use the heels)

4-6 ounces mushrooms

1-2 boiled eggs

leftover turkey meat

about a quart of chicken broth

4 eggs, lightly beaten

salt & pepper to taste - rosemary is also good.

Melt the butter in a skillet and saute the bell pepper, celery, onion, and mushrooms if they are fresh.
In a large bowl, crumble the breads.
Add mushrooms (if canned), chopped boiled eggs, meat, raw eggs, and salt & pepper.
Stir in the chicken broth until very moist, almost soupy.
Pour into casserole and bake at 450 until bubbly, about 30 minutes.

Now I need to make some chiffon pumpkin pie.

Nine

2011-10-18T06:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Avery,

So far, you're at our favorite age. You're more fun than ever, but you're also at your most dangerous:
I've watched you climb this step to our bathtub countless times through the shower door as I take my morning scrub but have not yet managed to catch you on film. Your favorite time to pull this stunt is when I'm 8 feet away and soaking wet. Fortunately there's a cushioned mat underneath to catch you, and the one time you fell, your body curled up to protect your head. You are wonderously made.
We took you to the Oktoberfest in Gluckstadt a couple of weeks ago. After setting up camp, strangers came up and asked to take your photo. At first we were nonplussed, then I realized your dad was using your cupholder for his beer. You apparently had a grand time.
You are mimicing everything lately: your Bubba was smushing your face at lunch the other day, so you decided to return the favor.
I took you and the quilt your grandmother made to the MS Craft Quilt Show, and again strangers wanted your photo.
One afternoon you grabbed my hand and started chewing on it. CHEWING. I almost jumped off the couch - how did you put broken shards of glass in your mouth?!? But no, those were the three teeth you popped out in 2 hours. Since then, one more has broken the surface, so you have two top teeth and two bottoms just peeking through. They seem to have grown more every time I pick you up after a nap.

You are going through a phase where YOU want to feed YOURSELF, thank you very much. No spoons for this little kid anymore. You'll tolerate me giving you oatmeal in the mornings, but after that it's kind of a hassle to find healthy finger foods for you. I've managed to cube and steam sweet potatoes, and you'll eat those at every meal along with your favorite staple of Cheerios. We tried eggs and you loved them, but you threw those back up both times you had them, so we'll wait for your system to mature before doing that again. Meanwhile, your dad and I sit by with a spoonful of something green or a protein and do our best. You have figured out a sippy cup, and you suck on the straw of my water bottle, so keeping you hydrated isn't a problem.

You have been quite the party girl this month, going with me to showers, lunches, birthday parties, and celebratory dinners. Here we are celebrating Katy and Ann Trotter, who is due December 12th.
Lately you've become a little magpie: your favorite toy is a blingy, glittery necklace with a big pink rhinestone heart. Last night you slung it so hard the heart went flying off, but I didn't catch that and was worried you had eaten it. Two hours later I found the thing under the couch. It's now one of my little treasures. You can have it back when you're four.
You are pulling up against everything, even sheer walls. And you cruise around the coffee table and couch. Your latest trick has been to attempt to stand on your own, but you usually fall flat backwards. Fortunately I'm always there to catch you. One of your more annoying habits is to pull up against the door to the back patio, so whomever is outside can't come back in without having to gently push you backwards. We need to work on that.
But oh my, you are sweet.
And taking in the entire world. We are loving every minute of taking you in too.

Love,

Mama

Eight Months

2011-09-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Avery Dale,

I sound like a broken record, but where did the past eight months go? Weren't you born just last week? And now you're all over the place: crawling, pulling up, walking your way around the coffee table. If there's anywhere in the house you want to be, you can definitely make your way there with the cutest crawl I've ever seen.

Everyone said, "Just you wait / when she starts crawling life is over / everything changes once they're mobile / etc." That was a load of crap. Just like Dante, you are a pack animal, and you want nothing more than to be RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of your pack. I've eaten many a supper with you pulled up against my chair, and I can't tell you how many times I've almost broken my neck trying not to step on you. You especially like to help me load the dishwasher, and I have to keep you from crawling in to retrieve your favorite toys - knives. But it's wonderful and lovely, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

You like to help me with whatever I'm doing - filing to polishing the silver - and I'm having a great time giving you loads of babywork.
Bathtime is still your favorite. We bought you a set of ten little sea creatures that squirt water at you. You find them all absolutely hysterical, especially the walrus, and if we squirt water directly into your mouth, you chortle with glee.
The windowsills are your favorite places to be, and they're all grimy with drool. Mike had to go around with the vacuum cleaner and suck up dirt and dead spiders between the screens and panes because you think that stuff tastes great.
You have perfected "cheesy-face."
Did I mention? You adore the water, no matter how you can get into it.
You always take life - and the goats - by the horns. You are fearless. You lunge for the vacuum cleaner, even when I threaten to suck up your toes with it. You have taught me so clearly to carpe diem and reach for goals that I thought I might never accomplish.
You have become QUITE the talker. You will look directly at Mike Peacock and say, "Da-da-daaaaa," but he insists that you're just babbling. Little does he know that you don't do that to anybody else. You also like to sing and have the sweetest voice, especially in the morning, when you come up to me and sing, "Tht-thee-thelll-thththmmmmma." I know exactly what you mean.
You are the light of our lives, and we love you more every day. Thank you for coming to stay with us for awhile. Every day is Christmas with you.

Love you,

Mama

Handprints

2011-08-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

Avery is growing by leaps and bounds. So much so that I feel like I've missed the past six, no seven, months, and want to relive them all over again. As tough as it was, I could so easily and happily go through the sleep deprivation, labor recovery, frustration, terror, spray poop, and whiny screaming again just for one or two sweet gummy 3-month-old smiles. So I'm desperate to preserve just a little of this tiny-ness. Sure, I have her clothes, but now that she's outgrown them it seems more like they were for a tiny doll instead of this larger-than-life imp taking a nap in the other room.

My good friend Rebecca has the sweetest handprint hanging in her breakfast nook of her husband and son's hands together, like Avery's hand is in Mike's above. The highest form of flattery is imitation, so of course I was dying to have one done with our little monster. I was thrilled when Rebecca told me that Mitzi, who owns the business Handprints by Mitzi, was coming to Sweet Dreams to take handprints that next week. I didn't want to be left out of the fun, so we asked Mitzi at Sweet Dreams if my hand could be in on it too. I love how teeny tiny her hands are within ours and that we have hard, physical evidence of her size relative to us. And I love how the sandy beige of the glaze goes with the blue in her room. This plaque is now one of my favorite treasures.

Avery had a kick making these prints too. I suppose she felt like a movie star.

Mississippi Hippie Baby

2011-08-20T07:16:00.001-07:00

When I was pregnant, everybody had a product that I just HAD to HAVE, otherwise clearly I could not have a baby without it. Usually it was the pack n' play, which Avery now hates. I'd like to say it's because she's claustrophobic, but the most likely culprit is the fact that she isn't the 1,000% absolute center of attention when she's in it. Everybody said I had to have a swing, and sure, I've used it, but a friend of a friend had a baby die of SIDS in a swing, so that ruined it. I'd often stop it just to be sure she was still breathing.

Nobody told me I had to have this, but oh my gosh. I couldn't have a baby without it. Forgive the crappy iphone photos - these were all taken while poking around the house. Avery LOVES and ADORES her ring sling made by the talented Kate Dyess of Mississippi Hippie Baby. And I LOVE and ADORE wearing her - she's my favorite accessory.
Great for traveling! No need for a stroller - the above pic was snapped in Florida while visiting Mike's parents. Great for errands! You can leave the $#@*%! baby bucket in the car.

Be prepared for the public reaction when you wear one of these - it's like having a celebrity on your hip. Everybody loves it, and every time I wear it somebody wants to know where I found it. Even a lady working at Babies R Us said this is way cuter than anything you can buy there, and you know what? She's right.

Another plus? People can't reach in and touch your baby like they are wont to do. WHAT is WITH complete strangers touching babies?!?
Great for the grocery store! Vacuuming! Emptying the dishwasher! Brushing my teeth! Writing thank-you notes! Folding laundry! Putzing around the kitchen! Making lunch! Eating lunch! Putting on makeup! Fixing my hair! You name it, we've done it in the sling.
Napping! She was fast fast asleep in this picture and had been for two hours, her longest nap on record. At the time, she was 10 weeks old and had terrible colic. The only place she could find comfort was right on top of me. I could have "frogged" her legs up within the sling, but she kicked and pushed until she was all stretched out. Typical.

Thank you Kate, for the product I HAVE to HAVE. Babywearing is the bees' knees.

7 Months

2011-08-19T08:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Avery Dale,

Well, now that you're about 7 months old, you seem to have forgiven us for bringing you to this mortal plane and have finally decided to enjoy it. You are in a constant state of exploration and mischief making, and you have yet to meet a shoe you don't like.

You ADORE the water. Whenever you go into a complete funk, the most sure way to pull you out of it and have you giggling again post haste is to throw you in the bathtub. Your favorite tub toys are rubber ducks, a whale, and a baby-sized beach ball. We have to give you your own washcloth on which to suck and scrub your own face while we soap up the rest of your little body.

You are so obviously proud of yourself whenever you do something new. The first time you sat up was probably more than a month ago, but I remember it distinctly. I was brushing my teeth in our bathroom. You were puttering around the floor. You looked at me, grinned, threw both arms out wide for balance, and sat right up. Then you giggled in your own Avery way. Since then you have really surprised us with your new tricks. Just 9 days ago you pulled up to stand up next to me as I sat on the couch.
I'm not sure if I've trained you, but you've become a little ham, always smiling at the camera. You'll even look up, flash a gummy grin, and go back to whatever you were doing whenever I pull out the camera. Lately you've started scrunching up your nose and kicking your smile up to an even higher notch. Sometimes I swear your ears point and you look like a happy little demon child.

Next to me, your daddy is your most favorite person on the planet. You give him smiles that you don't give anybody else, and sometimes he's the only person you want.
You are crawling everywhere. Just this morning I found you in the hamper cabinet of our bathroom. I'm still not sure how you managed that. Your crawling technique tickles me to pieces: you raise that hand up high and bring it down with a mighty, deliberate wallop, so we always know where you are by the splat-splat-splat of your hands. You go straight for whatever will kill you first, and you have found electrical sockets in our house that we didn't even know we had. Your favorite toys are colored blocks that I stack and you knock down, baby-sized forks, my shoes, and a big can of diced tomatoes.
I make all your food. Prunes are not your favorite.
You have always been a morning person, but now your happy times are pretty much any time of the day. I can tell when you're winding down or running on fumes and when a crash is imminent. But when you're happy, oh my, are you happy. You are the Patronus to fend off any dementor around. You like to sing sing sing with me, to me, and to anything else that will come along, including Dante and Kearney.

Your version of petting is still a little violent for either of the pets - it's more a full-out, straight-arm baby-sized wallop - but Dante often brings you his toys. He desperately wants you to throw them, but you'd rather give them a good chew. Kearney lets you touch him every now and then, but he usually gives you a wide berth.
We love you more than anything in the whole wide world. Through trial and tribulation, you have made our little family (and our lives) complete.
Did I mention that you love the water?

Love,

Mama

Baby Food

2011-08-16T07:33:00.000-07:00

Our Avery will be seven months old tomorrow. I am officially the cliched mom, desperately trying to figure out where all the time went. Photos prove that yes, she has grown from 7 pounds, 7 ounces all the way up to 15 pounds, 12 ounces, but these past few months have flashed by so quickly that I feel like I've missed them.

Breastfeeding this baby girl is one of the pure joys of my life. Sure, it's the most difficult thing I've ever done. In the early weeks, the huge hormonal shift combined with extreme sleep deprivation almost led me to give it up more than once. It would have been so easy to throw a bottle at Mike and curl up back to sleep. But you know I'm stubborn, and I'm so glad I stuck with it.

So it's a surprisingly bittersweet thing to me that she's growing up and ready for real food. I was so proud (and completely in awe) of the fact that all her nutrition up to six months came directly through me. But the signs were there: while Mike and I were eating, she was VERY interested, so we decided to give it a shot, planning to just let her have tastes here and there and to take it one day at a time.

I cried. And cried.

Even though I'm still nursing her, somehow it completely broke my heart that she was no longer so dependent on me. And then Aunt Nancy gave me this:
The Williams-Sonoma Beaba BabyCook. Of course I could have just used a steamer pot and blender, but neither of those are dishwasher safe in my kitchen. And this only messes up one pot! AND it's SO EASY. I didn't even read the directions (didn't have time to!) - just peeled and chopped up a sweet potato, added some water, and turned the dial to steam. Once the little light went off, I dumped the sweet potato back into the water and pureed it to my heart's content. Then I poured it into the freezer trays, and voila!

I'm still making Avery's food!

Since then, she and I have taken the produce section by storm. Her favorites are sweet potato, English peas, and broccoli. I've also fed her bananas, apples, zucchini, summer squash, acorn squash, peaches, avocado, grapes, prunes, sugar snap peas, carrots, chicken, egg yolks, blackeyed peas, butter beans, watermelon, Brussels sprouts,

green beans,
pears,
and sweet potato. It's her favorite. Lots and lots of sweet potato.
I've yet to buy a jar of baby food, and I don't know why I ever would. Maybe when she has two or three little siblings running around, or I'm too busy to make it, I might, but why make a trip to the store when you can just dig around in the fridge and find something she'll love?
Maybe it's not as sweet or mess-free as a nursing session, but it sure is fun.

Pistachio Cupcakes

2011-08-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

So..... Ever since I signed up to bake strawberry cupcakes, I've been in a cupcakey mood. Do you have any special requests? Because if Mike and I continue eating said cupcakes at the rate I'm baking them, we're both going to have coronaries in the next 5-10 years. But oh, we will die happy.

Mike particularly likes pistachios, and this recipe from Real Mom Kitchen was the first to come up when I Googled "pistachio cupcakes." I've never really done an altered box recipe before, and Oh. My. Gosh. Does this one live up to the hype. It's the fluffiest cake part of a cupcake I've encountered in a while. Of course I am enamored of the oddity of ingredients and simplicity of the batter: literally just dump white cake mix, eggs, pudding mix, canola oil, and CLUB SODA (of all things!) into a mixer and beat. I'm seriously considering looking for strawberry instant pudding next time I go Krogering.

The icing is pretty special too: it's whipping-cream based instead of a classic buttercream, so it's light and fluffy. Kinda like me.

Pistachio Cupcakes

Cupcake:

1 box white cake mix
1 (3.5 oz) package instant pistachio pudding
1 cup canola oil
3 large eggs
1 cup club soda

Frosting:

1 1/2 cup whipping cream
1/2 cup milk (I used skim)
2 Tbsp. powdered sugar
1 (3.5 oz) package instant pistachio pudding
4-6 drops green food coloring
1/4 cup chopped pistachios, optional

In a large bowl, beat together all of the cupcake ingredients with a mixer. Mix on low for 30 seconds then increase speed and beat for 2 minutes. Beware that the club soda with cause the ingredients to puff while adding them to the bowl.
Place batter in muffin tins that have been lined with liners. You only need to line 21 muffin tins. Fill tins about 2/3 of the way full with batter.
Bake at 350 for 18-22 minutes until golden. Allow cupcakes to cool.
Once cupcakes have cooled you can make the frosting. In a large bowl, whip together the milk, whipping cream, and powdered sugar until soft peaks form. I did this in my kitchen aid.
Then beat in the package of pistachio pudding and food coloring until combined and firm peaks form. Pipe frosting onto cupcakes. Sprinkle each cupcake with a little of the chopped pistachios if desired. Makes 21 cupcakes.

Photo and recipe courtesy of Real Mom Kitchen.

S'mores Cookie Bars

2011-08-03T04:45:00.001-07:00

A good friend of ours (who will remain nameless since she hasn't yet "come out" in the blog world) is expecting a little girl in November. We are all over the moon excited for her, and we're hosting a couples' baby shower for the sweet expectant couple in September. I've been put in charge of desserts.

Now, this friend is just a darlin' and wants a good, old fashioned cookout, complete with burgers, hot dogs, and s'mores. The guys will probably completely forget that they're even attending a baby shower, and you know, that's probably for the best. Mike once went to a baby shower and took a bottle of Jack Daniels with a nipple on top for the parents. I thought that was inspired for a single guy - that's EXACTLY what we needed somebody to give us just before we had Avery.

But I digress.

Anyway, I started thinking - as much fun as s'mores are, there's also a certain amount of danger involved. True, that danger provides a lot of the flavor, but I'm not sure what the fire insurance policy looks like for the hostess whose house we're using. Fire + marshmallows + long sticks + alcohol + a crowd of people might not = such a great idea. What to do, what to do......

And then our friend Mary Straton sent me this recipe from Crepes of Wrath....... Yes, I made it. Yes, I ate the entire pan.

S’more Cookie Bars
from Baking Bites

1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg, room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (about 8 graham crackers)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 king-sized milk chocolate bars
1 1/2 cups marshmallow Fluff (not melted marshmallows because they harden when they cool)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and/or line an 8-inch square baking pan.

2. In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar until light. Beat in egg and vanilla.

3. In a small bowl, whisk together flour, graham cracker crumbs, baking powder and salt. Add to butter mixture and mix at a low speed until combined. Divide dough in half and press half of dough into an even layer on the bottom of the prepared pan. Don’t worry if it seems thin; the baking powder will allow it to rise.

4. Place chocolate bars over dough (don’t layer the bars, just break them to fit if you need to), then spread the marshmallow Fluff over the chocolate bars. Finally, top the Fluff with the remaining dough by forming the dough into sheets with the palm of your hands and laying it down (as shown above). Don’t worry if the dough isn’t covering everything! It’ll spread out as it bakes.

5. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until lightly browned. If the top is browning too quickly, you can always cover it with tin foil for the remaining baking time. Cool completely before cutting into bars. If you don’t allow them to cool completely, they will crumble when you try to cut them. Makes 16-20 bars.

Thanks to What's Cooking America for the s'more photo and Crepes of Wrath for the fabulous recipe.

Technical Difficulties

2011-07-22T04:42:00.000-07:00

My dear, patient readers,

I've been terribly remiss in blog posting, but I promise I have several excellent reasons. It all started more than a month ago. My computer bit the dust approximately one month after the warranty expired. Convenient! After spending a week at the Computer Co-Op, the guys there very gently told me that though they had put it on life support for several days, the thing was really D.O.A. So here it sits in Mike's office in paperweight mode. My last backup was June 9th, so I've spent the better part of this week playing catchup since then.

Moral of the story: backup at least once a week. At least.

Then we took a trip down to Florida to visit Mike's parents. Avery had a blast and had a lot of firsts. She took her first dip in the pool:

And played around with an abacus...
Flew her granddaddy's plane....
And just hung out with daddy.
And now I'm setting up this new computer and settling into the new groove of this appliance. So more posts should be coming along soon.

Oops, the monster awakes. Y'all have a fabulous weekend.

Love,

Fran

Lessons Learned from Friends

2011-06-16T06:07:00.001-07:00

No... not these Friends.... though I have to admit I love the footwear. Must pick some up before that pole-dancing class.....

A man's character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in converstaion.
-Mark Twain

At 9:03 on the morning of Monday, January 17, 2011, Avery wasn't the only person being born: I was being reborn as a mother, though I didn't realize it at the time. Over the next few weeks, my old identity faded away as we went together through the process of learning how to survive in this world. It was tough: we had to take it one day, one hour, one minute, sometimes one second and one colicy scream at a time, but we made it. And now there's a precious little girl rolling around and trying to blow raspberries at my feet.

And once the dust settled, I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Tax deadlines and fudge recipes no longer held a candle to the new most important things in my life. Poop in the bed isn't a catastrophe - just another load of laundry. As far as Avery is concerned, I'm the best playmate, rocker, changer, bather, and lullaby singer around, and that's all I need.

Or is it?

They say it takes a village to raise a baby, but I believe it also takes a village to raise a mother.

So, without realizing it, I had to enlist the help of my friends to re-figure-out who I was. I started with my veteran friends who had been through this before: my girls who already have a few little ones of their own and still seem to be relatively normal. They reminded me that my life won't forever revolve around feeding times and naps.

From there I unconsciously branched out on a mission to reestablish my identity, and looking back on the past few months, I realize I've learned and gained so much from the girls around me. From not settling for anything than the best, to the fact that skiing is just like riding a bike, to rediscovering the joy of a recipe well-executed, they have unwittingly settled me into a much more well-rounded (pardon the pun) person. And in the process, I remembered who I was before this whirlwind named Avery came along.

Friends to remind us to slow down and stop to smell the roses. And to play dress-up.

Friends to squeal with and help us come up with silly nicknames.

I had to rely on friends who reminded me that I need to take care of myself. After all, if you feel pretty, you look pretty.

Friends who remind me to keep it real and oh-so-stylish with a great sense of humor.

Friends who let Mike and me go out and remember that yes, we are happily husband and wife, not just two sleep-deprived slaves to the littlest Peacock.

Friends who let me be myself and goof around. (Avery is pea-green with envy in this photo.)

..... and reminded me that you have to play in the sunshine once in a while, even if I was wearing a white shirt that was soaked by the fountain.

Friends who will pray with us.

Friends with whom I could share the triumph over a 10-pound bundle of screaming once she finally passed out for that nap.

Friends who reminded me to be true to my roots and to myself and how to laugh loudest of all.

Friends who I know will always be there and who can teach us how to play patty-cake.

Friends to celebrate and with whom we can share the highs and lows of life.

So thank you my dear friends. There are tons more girls whose photos aren't in this post, only because I didn't think to snap a quick photo of you when I had the chance - shame on me. We'll blame that on mommy-brain.

You know who you are, but you'll never know how much you mean to me.

Friends photo courtesy of BolumreBeri.

Elvis Muffins

2011-06-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

The original recipe by Sara Foster at Foster's Market is Oatmeal Banana Muffins with Chocolate Chips, but she included a note that you can substitute peanut butter chips for the chocolate. Woah! Hello, fried peanut butter and banana sandwich! That combination was entirely too tempting for me to resist. Next time I think I'll also try half & half, peanut butter and semisweet chips. The possibilities are endless.

But they're not fried, you say? Not a problem: add a big pat of butter for a more fried flavor. The King would have loved these.

These chunky moist muffins are one of the favorites at Foster’s Market.
Make 1 dozen

1 1/2 cup rolled oats
2 1/2 cups all- purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup sugar
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted
3 large eggs
2 very ripe bananas, mashed
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup canola or safflower oil
1 cup semi sweet chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

2. Line 12 large muffin cups with paper liners.

3. Place the oats on a rimmed baking sheet and lightly toast. Set aside to cool.

4. Combine the oats, flour, baking powder and salt in a large bowl and stir to mix.

5. Whisk together the butter, eggs, bananas, buttermilk and oil in a separated bowl and blend well.

6. Combine the two mixtures and stir just until all the dry ingredients are moist. Stir in the chocolate chips.

7. Scoop the batter into the prepared muffin tin with a large ice cream scoop( 1/3 cup scoop).

8. Place in the oven to bake 25 to 30 minutes, until the tops of the muffins spring back when touched. remove from the oven and let cool slightly. serve warm.

To Sara and The Foster's Market Cookbook for this recipe and SagHarbor for the Elvis photo, thank you, thank you very much.

This car is obviously hysterical.

2011-06-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

Copper Pennies

2011-06-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

When a person is accustomed to 138 in the shade, his ideas about cold weather are not valuable....In India, "cold weather" is merely a conventional phrase and has come into use through the necessity of having some way to distinguish between weather which will melt a brass door-knob and weather which will only make it mushy.

- Mark Twain

It is hot here. Incredibly hot. Open the backdoor and feel like you're opening the oven hot. The thermometer on the grill registering 110 degrees hot. Able to cook an egg on the hood of the car hot. My yard and herbs have almost caught on fire hot. The ice maker in the freezer has broken hot!

I don't want to cook with heat hot.

And yet the cat is LOVING it. He spreads out on the back patio, the same concrete that has burned the bottoms of my feet, and sizzles in the afternoons. I try to make him come in, but I just get a hairy eyeball in return. So I leave him bowls of ice in the shade in case he ever comes to his senses.

Even though this dish does require a hot pot of boiling water, once it's done, it provides several meals of lovely, cold side-dish guaranteed to go with almost anything.

And it's good for your eyesight.

2 pounds carrots, peeled & sliced
1 medium onion, chopped
½ cup salad oil
¾ cup white vinegar
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 green pepper, chopped
1 can of tomato soup
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
Salt & pepper

1. Cook carrots in salty water (like pasta) until barely tender.
2. Drain & rinse to cool and stop cooking process.
3. In a clear bowl, alternate layers of vegetables.
4. Mix all other ingredients & pour over vegetables.
5. Chill in refrigerator.
6. Will keep for 3 weeks – great funeral dish.

Photos courtesy of 2-clicks-coins and Recipe.

Best Banana Pudding Ever

2011-06-02T15:02:00.000-07:00

So I was stalking around on FaceBook the other day, and one of my friends Lola posted a photo of banana pudding that she had made with Chessmen cookies instead of Nilla Wafers. What?!? That's blasphemy..... ...or is it? I poked around on the Interwebs and presently found this amazing recipe for banana pudding.

Ingredients
2 bags Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies
6 to 8 bananas, sliced
2 cups milk
1 (5-ounce) box instant French vanilla pudding (I used plain vanilla.)
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened (I used Neufschatel.)
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
1 (12-ounce) container frozen whipped topping thawed, or equal amount sweetened whipped cream (I used 8 ounces.)

Directions
Line the bottom of a 13 by 9 by 2-inch dish with 1 bag of cookies and layer bananas on top.
In a bowl, combine the milk and pudding mix and blend well using a handheld electric mixer. Using another bowl, combine the cream cheese and condensed milk together and mix until smooth. Fold the whipped topping into the cream cheese mixture. Add the cream cheese mixture to the pudding mixture and stir until well blended. Pour the mixture over the cookies and bananas and cover with the remaining cookies. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Banana pudding will never be the same.

This recipe is super rich and creamy, and it makes a VAT of puddin'. Like take it to Wednesday night church vat. But it won't last long - I've made myself sick on it several times already this week. It makes a great breakfast.

Thanks Paula.

Four

2011-05-24T11:26:00.001-07:00

".... to get the full value of joy, you must have somebody to divide it with."

- Mark Twain

As our third anniversary approached last year, Mike asked me what I wanted. I told him I was ready for a baby, and man, did he deliver. We found out that I was pregnant nine days before our anniversary. This year I asked for something much less labor - intensive: flowers and a card would suffice, thank you very much. We also went out for an incredible dinner at the Fairview Inn, where our wedding reception was held.

A good friend once told me that the third year was the most difficult. I keep waiting for us to have a rough patch, and sure, we have some doozies of arguments, but those are not the norm. Anyway, what's life with a redhead without a good fight once in awhile?

I'm beyond blessed to be doing my dream job.

All my life, through all my education and professional work, I've known deep down that I wanted more than anything to be a wife and stay at home mom. I'll admit that it's been challenging. Several times I've called Mike saying something along the lines of, "I didn't sign up for this! I want to go back to work! PLEASE let me switch places with you and go work at a nuclear power plant tomorrow! I'm going to jump in my car and drive to Utah!" with the baby wailing in the background. But he always manages to talk me down. And then he does something wonderful like complimenting how nice the floors look or leaving me a love note under the coffee pot. He appreciates what I do and reminds me that I really am contributing to this household, especially when I start to fret that I'm not making any money.

Every day I thank God for the man who has made my dreams come true.

And in case you were wondering what we were up to for the other three years.....

What a Difference a Year Makes

2011-05-13T11:18:00.000-07:00

A year ago Sunday was Mother’s Day. I was terribly sad that day because I didn’t know if I would ever be a mother. I was impatient with my body and God’s timing, and every month’s disappointment brought me to a new level of sadness. I was beginning to lose hope. We had brunch at the Fairview Inn with my mom and a good friend of mine with her husband and son, and it was so hard not to burst into tears at the table. Even though I had just been on the most incredible girls' trip to the beach, which proved that a childless life wasn't such a bad thing.

A year ago Monday I went to bed with a wastebasket next to the bed. Mike was on the midnight shift, so I was sleeping alone. I thought the overindulgence at the buffet had caught up with me.

A year ago Tuesday I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The nausea was gone (never to return), but I was so grouchy and had the impulse to kick the cat. Mike had come home and was eating his supper after a long night at work, and it was the cat-kicking impulse that led me to take a pregnancy test.

When I wound my way back to the test, I found two faint pink lines. I’d never seen that before.

I stumbled into the kitchen, looking for Mike. He was in the garage, and I leaned against the refrigerator, looking down the hall, shaking, with tears falling from my face. I showed him the test and went to hand it to him, but he recoiled because, well, everybody knows how you take a pregnancy test. He was pleased but cautiously optimistic and wanted for me to wait a few days and take one again. I put him to bed for the day, but I couldn’t stand it. I called the doctor’s office, and they wanted me to come in for bloodwork as soon as possible.

Later that day, I was sitting at my desk at Fondren, and my cell phone rang. It was Carolyn. They wanted an Hcg level of 25 . My level was 62. I was “definitely pregnant.” My heart sang.

I went to find Katy and get a big hug from our baby’s Godmother. Then I went to Albriton’s and bought a sterling rattle made up of three rings intertwined. When Mike woke up that afternoon, I gave him the rattle, but he didn’t know what it was. I almost had to draw the man a picture. He was so happy, hugged me tight, and asked me about every single detail of my doctor’s appointment earlier that day.

A year ago yesterday I went back for more bloodwork. The doctor wanted my level to double, but it almost TRIPLED to 183. My new favorite number.

A year ago Sunday I never dreamed I’d have such a sweet challenge wrapped up in this precious package of a baby girl. Thank you God. I wonder what You'll do in our lives a year from now.

Mother's Day Baptism

2011-05-10T14:50:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 19th will mark four years since the beautiful spring day when I married Mike at Fondren Presbyterian Church. So how perfect was it that we were able to baptize our first baby this past Sunday, my first Mother's Day, at the same place?

Avery's Godparents Katy and Cliff were able to make it.

Katy will be Avery's Bubba, and we are so blessed to have her. I know that Bubba will be Avery's best friend and confidante, the person with whom she can talk about anything, and quite possibly (probably) the person Avery calls for bail money. And I know Katy's the perfect girl for the job.

Just like I did on my wedding day, we had to change Avery's clothes once we arrived at the church. And we proudly walked the aisle for a life-changing event. Mike and I clutched hands - he held mine so hard and rubbed my knuckles, just like our wedding. And Katy and I caught each other's eye and giggled silently at our own private joke just like the day she stood next to me as Matron of Honor.

The service was about the Road to Emmaus, which is particularly special to us. Avery was quiet while Reverend Mat Taylor prayed over her, but she lost it during the three splashes as he said, "the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." All bets were off when he anointed her forehead with oil.

She was obviously hacked off that he messed up her hairdo.

Once we were back in our pew, she started fussing again. I put my head close to hers to shhhh in her ear, which usually calms her down. She rubbed her forehead against mine, which rubbed some of her oil onto me. I suppose she was anointing me too as her mom.

Avery put up with our foolishness for as long as she could, and then she let us know under no uncertain terms that she was DONE. A few friends told me that it's good luck for a baby to cry during her baptism. In that case, Avery's one awfully lucky little kid.

After the service, we had an incredible lunch catered by our friend Martha and enjoyed the same flavor cake - Bailey's Irish Creme from That Special Touch - that we had for our wedding. Later that evening, Mike popped a cork of our wedding champagne - Martini & Rossi Asti - and drank a toast to his baby's mama. The day felt sanctified, just like our wedding day all over again. We are beyond blessed to commit this baby girl to the same God who put us together.

Night Lights

2011-05-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here. Warm summer wind, blow softly here. Green sod above, lie light, lie light. Good night, dear Heart. Good night, good night.

- Mark Twain

I never really used a night light growing up. Sure, when we were kids spending the night in my mom's old room at Cha-Cha's house, we'd always have the bathroom light on with the door cracked. But those were special times with special girls, and it was usually just so we could stay up 'till the wee hours driving my mom and Aunt Rita crazy with our incessant chatter and laughter. As an adult, I grew to sleep in a room that's pitch dark.

That changed when we moved to this house. The green light from the alarm panel and smoke detector cast a faint glow in our bedroom. When I was suffering from migraines, I'd have Mike tape something over them so I could sleep in peace. But once that problem subsided, the tape came down and the effluence resumed.

When I was pregnant, I reluctantly added a night light to our bathroom for my incessant nightly visits.

Then we had the Peachick. And another glow was added to our bedroom in the form of her AngelCare monitor. I often lie awake for hours, watching the reassuring pendulum showing me that her heart is still beating and that she's still breathing.

Even more nocturnal light was shed throughout our house in the path from our bedroom to hers, as I was terrified somebody would trip on a bouncy seat or squeaky toy. The last thing we need around here is a broken bone. And there's a warm glow in her bedroom at night so we can pick her up and rock her at all hours without fully waking her up when the monster fusses in her sleep. So I've grown into appreciating the guidance provided by these tiny devices picked up at the Kroger.

All this baby care is exhausting and time-consuming. So to ensure that we have at least five minutes together - just Mike and me - every day, we have started reading Night Light by Dobson. Now that he can resume the ritual of lying on my belly just before we go to sleep, I'll put aside whatever inane novel I'm working on and pick up this book to read one of the one-page-long devotionals. Sure, it has some sections that feel silly or cheesy to talk about, but it's shedding new light on our marriage, and I love how we are glowing. We sometimes fall asleep chatting about that devotional's topic.

So now I suppose I've come a full 360 degrees, back to the little girl huddled in my mom's old bed, once again loving the light at night and the people whom it illuminates.

Artwork courtesy of David Castillo.

Curried Fruit

2011-05-03T08:14:00.000-07:00

Mike loves curry as a seasoning, so this is one of his favorite dishes. I particularly like how it compliments any white-meat dish. The flavors of the different fruits shine through when you take a piece of pear or peach or pineapple and eat it with chicken or pork. It's divine.

This dish is best with fresh fruits, but with Little Bit it's easier to just pop open a can. I suppose the recipe was modified in the 40s or 50s, when canned fruits were in high style. Then again, when you dump brown sugar and melted butter on anything, it's bound to taste delightful.

1 large can peach halves
1 large can apricots
1 large can pears
3 small or 1 large can pineapple, cut (not crushed)
10-20 cherries to taste
1/3 cup butter
3/4 cup brown sugar, packed
4 teaspoons curry

Drain fruit well.

Mix butter, brown sugar, and curry.

Spread fruit in shallow baker - dot wiht sugar mixture.

Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour the day before serving to let flavors bloom.

Refrigerate overnight, and warm at 350 degrees for 1/2 hour.

Basically, it's a fruit casserole, so changing the fruits included to suit your own taste is bound to only make it better. I'd personally love one with only pears and peaches, etc. Have fun with it.

As usual, I forgot to take a photo of mine, so thank you to Evening Edge for the photo above.

Easter Brunch

2011-05-03T07:17:00.000-07:00

Good morning my dear readers. I've been meaning to write this post for over a week now, but I didn't realize how rude it would be to our monster for me to work on the computer when she's awake and ready to play. I never dreamed it would be so much fun to just lie in the floor and talk with a 3 month old. She's currently in the floor on her tummy, chatting with the baby in the mirror, so I have a few minutes to spend with you.

We had a lovely Easter, and we hope you did too. It was very low-key: we had planned to attend the sunrise service at church, but Avery was sleeping in, and we thought God would forgive us for doing the same. So we just stayed in and dressed up and took pictures and had a lovely brunch.

This menu came together rather seamlessly, and it's by far one of my favorites for springtime. We had some of our favorites: grilled pork tenderloin, curried fruit, asparagus grilled in lemon-infused olive oil that my cousin Katy gave us for Christmas, raspberry congealed salad, cheese grits, and deviled eggs. We were stuffed.

And we had coconut cake for dessert. Avery was impressed and can't wait until next year when she can have some too.

She wasn't so sure about photos but stuck it out with us anyway. I love this picture because she's giving us her signature stinkeye while Mike and I are smiling like goofballs. At least you know exactly where you stand with this kiddo. She keeps it real.

Somebody desperately needed a nap after brunch. And of course it had to be underneath her favorite Georgia Tech blanket.
It's a rainy day here in Mississippi, and our only plans are to recover from this migraine and go make groceries. I am so grateful for so many things: for God's gift of His only Son, for His love and forgiveness, for this man to whom I'm so happily married, and for Mike's work so I can fulfill my lifelong dream of raising this baby girl the way I want.

Speaking of, the monster's on the warpath, so I'd better go entertain. Y'all have a happy Tuesday!

Vintage

2011-04-23T05:37:00.000-07:00

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.

- Mark Twain

And oh boy, does Baby Girl have some clothes. Yesterday afternoon was like Christmas! Below isn't a quarter of what Mom brought from her stash in her cedar closet. All of it hand-made, smocked, knitted, appliquéd, and embroidered. There are a few Feltmans thrown into the mix, but that was usually because my grandmother liked it and wanted to purchase it so she could derive a pattern from the dress itself. Then she could turn around and make dozens for me. And every dress has matching bloomers! I remember wearing some pieces: you can tell my favorites because of the wear and tear on them.
My maternal grandmother, Cha-Cha's, first degree from Auburn University in 1942 was in Home Economics with a minor in textiles, and my mother's first degree from Auburn was in fashion merchandising. I come from a long line of seamstress wizards.

It's a pity too because the streak is ending with Mom. My talent is in the kitchen: sewing, crocheting, knitting, tatting, all that stuff makes me crazy. I was fussing with Cha-Cha all day long yesterday: I'm beating myself up at not having learned at least a little bit of this important trade, but I can hear her right now: "You can make fudge and divinity better than anyone in the family. That's where your talent lies, Honey."

Either way, Little Bit likes her hand-me-downs from her mama.

This pink dress is particularly important: the lace was made by my great-grandmother Leila, for whose son and favorite brother Avery is named. We have more pieces with lace made by Avery's great-great grandmother; they're still safely tucked away. Mom made the dress, and her mom smocked it and stitched in the seed pearls. It's a family affair - I suppose my contribution will be the little girl who will wear it.

Unintentional Routine

2011-04-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

New moms can stress about everything, and to some extent I am no exception. I try diligently to dumb this down - not make it so complicated - but Mike says sometimes it's like I always have my foot on the gas pedal and can't slow up. I'm trying desperately to keep up with everything I used to do before Avery came along, and I'm slowly but surely realizing that's not really an option.

One of my big stresses was ROUTINE. Everybody and everything I read stressed routine, routine, ROUTINE!!! BABIES LIKE ROUTINE. They thrive on it. They have to have it. If you don't put your baby on a routine from day 1, you're screwed for life and your baby will grow up listless and unsuccessful and eventually live in a van down by the river.

ROUTINE.

But how can I establish a routine when I'm not even sure what we're going to be doing from one day to the next? From visitors to visiting, to the grocery store, to church, Monday is never like Tuesday or any other day for that matter. So after a few days of attempting to force it, I stopped beating myself up and decided to go with the flow. Live on the edge, one day at a time, sometimes one hour - one minute - at a time, and make sure the kiddo is pink and breathing every morning.

Lazy bums. This was taken about a month ago. Mike and I were both up and moving, but Avery and Dante had other plans.
She's usually happiest in the mornings, which is kind of a downer because during the week, her daddy only sees her when she's a cranky little kid. But Saturday and Sunday mornings are the best.
Snarky.
I decided to slow down and enjoy this little person while she's still this young and little. Once up, she eats and plays for a while, then goes down for a nap. Then she wakes up, eats again, plays, and down for a nap again. Once more around the bend, and it's usually bedtime. Repetitive, I know, but .... wait.... what's that? I think it is... We managed to fall into a routine!

Holy cow.

It's like the story of the little girl who desperately wanted to catch a butterfly. She spent all morning out in the fields stalking and chasing butterflies, but couldn't catch one. Frustrated and tired, she laid down in a meadow and dozed off to sleep. Once she woke up, she was covered in butterflies. That's what happened here: Avery and I relaxed with each other and naturally fell into our own rhythm.

If I want to run errands, I usually time them around her nap and just let her sleep in her carseat. Or if we have to be somewhere at a specific time, I'll try to feed her right before we leave.

Now thanks to the wave sound app on my phone, baby girl can sleep anywhere.
As for bedtime, we don't do the elaborate bathtime, swaddle, story book, song, rock, rigmarole that we were told to follow. Mike usually gives her a bottle for her last feeding - anywhere from 7-9 - and she conks out for the night. Sometimes it takes some rocking and shhhing or the wave noise machine and patting, but she's usually out until 1 AM. Then I feed her, and she's sometimes good again until Mike wakes up around 4:30. We're a work in progress, and it's an awful lot of fun.

Three Months Later.......

2011-04-17T06:05:00.001-07:00

A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother.

- Mark Twain

Well, I don't even know where to begin. You have been missed, dear readers, and I hope to have more time to write to you. Our little monster and her daddy are sleeping in, and I'm enjoying my morning coffee and catching up. We can't believe it's been three months already - where does the time go? Oh, that's right: it's now spent swaddling and rocking, washing and scrubbing, feeding and burping, singing and giggling. We're having a blast.

You haven't missed any new recipes because I don't really have any. I cooked twice as much before she was born and froze the rest, and we were so blessed with friends bringing food that we still have casseroles in the freezer, for which we are eternally grateful. Both the nourishment and extra time that we can spend with this miss mean the world to us.

Afternoons and evenings are challenging with Avery's colic/acid reflux/bitchy baby syndrome. I really think she's still somewhat hacked off at us for evicting her from my lovely warm body to face the world on her own. But she's learning that we are here for her and will raise her, despite her love of drama. Baby girl works hard and plays hard: when she's happy, she's the happiest kid on the planet. When she's mad about something, people know it in the next county. And when she's asleep, we all heave a big sigh of relief.

We're a team, she and I, and we spend all day together. She's great company, if not the best conversationalist. But that's getting better: we sing to each other. Really, we sing. I'll start, and then she starts cooing, and I mimic her, and she mimics me mimicking her, and it's just a lot of goofiness. She goes with me to work at my church, to the grocery store, and any other errands we have to accomplish. I'm developing great upper body strength carrying her around. Sure, it's tough, but we're making it and haven't yet been "that mom" in the Target with the screaming baby - knock on wood.

I took her to her first DAR meeting this past week, and though she seemed to enjoy it, I was rather frazzled by the end. I'm quickly learning that when somebody tells the baby, "You're so good!" They're really telling the mom, "You're doing great with this kid. Thanks for not letting her cry through the whole meeting." They want her to come back with me so they can keep up with her. Not sure how I'll manage that when I've just been elected treasurer for next year, but as with everything else, we'll figure it out.

Big Daddy Mike is phenomenal with her. Sometimes when I put her in his strong arms, I briefly feel their strength and think, "No wonder she calms down with him. I calm down too when I'm in those arms." Sure, she's tried both our patience, but we're a better team, more in love, and stronger than ever because of it. I can't tell you how blessed I am with this man.

We're still working on a schedule, but I'm not committed to anything really set in stone. I follow my grandfather Papa Doc's recommendation for dogs: if they're eating and drinking, pooping and tinkling, they're OK, and if they're wagging their tails, that's even better. This baby girl smiles all the time, so I'm not too worried.

Hiatus

2011-03-10T08:26:00.001-08:00

Goodness. Where do I begin?

Nothing new has happened since January, but at the same time we have experienced an entirely new world with this little girl. Avery has been a whirlwind, and we love her to the moon and back.

She smiles at her mom and dad, and now we're both convinced it's not just gas.

She's a party girl at night, just like her mom. She eats a lot and often, also just like her mom.

She's happiest right after she eats, and I know her well enough now to see signs that she's run out of steam and about to have a meltdown if she doesn't fall asleep soon.

My goodness, how this kiddo is growing. At 7 weeks, she has outgrown her newborn duds and is already wearing 3 month clothes. Everybody asks us how much she weighs, and we have no idea. Will find out during her 8-week checkup tomorrow.

Her favorite toy is a zebra rattle that her dad picked out for her. She also enjoys pulling hair and pushing off of everything with her legs.

She's a little fish! One of our favorite activities is to take a bath together. I'll fill up our garden tub, and she's so happy to just float around and chill out with me. Definitely something she inherited from her dad, as I apparently hated baths at this age.

I'm loving the extra time at the house and the time spent bonding with her, and I will love it even more when she has outgrown this fussy stage of her life and we have a happy baby more often. But for now we're on a schedule of eat, happy kid, grumppot, nap, wakeup, eat, and so on.

And we wouldn't have it any other way.

Hello, My Love

2011-02-03T06:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Avery Dale,

Here you squirm next to me, a warm baby bun who less than three weeks ago was snuggled up inside me, and we couldn't be happier. You have been a pleasant surprise to us from the very beginning, so we should have expected nothing less for your birthday.

Since I had been dilated 2 cm for a month, Dr. K didn't think that you would come on your own. He offered to induce me the week before you came in case I was sick of being pregnant, but I still felt great, so we scheduled another appointment with him on the 21st. He said that if I hadn't had you by then, we would need to schedule an induction for the week after that.

Around midnight on the morning Saturday, the 15th, I had a few intermittent contractions. One every hour or two - nothing to produce any level of alarm or excitement. They went away during the day but started back up when we went to bed that night. We didn't manage a lot of sleep Saturday night and Sunday morning, but once again they stalled out Sunday morning. Your dad had the idea to load Dante and me up and fill my car with gas, just in case.

Contractions came and went all day Sunday. We started timing them, but nothing was really consistent: 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there, 40 minutes, 12. I'm not sure when exactly we could consider that I officially went into labor with you, but I need to decide soon so that when you're older and we're fighting, I can say something like, "I was in labor with you for 36 hours!"

Your dad and I curled up in front of the fire on the couch and watched movies. The last one we watched before we went to bed was Chicago. Mike didn't really want to watch it, but since the only position I found comfortable at the time was on my left side with my head in his lap, and every now and then I'd squeeze his hand, signaling the beginning of another contraction, I guess he figured he'd let me watch whatever I wanted to. He actually liked it more than he expected he would.
Since you are our first, we thought I could go on like that for DAYS. So your dad turned down the lights and drew me a luxurious warm bath with Chamomile Epsom salts. I floated around in that for an hour and still had six contractions. He sat on the edge of the bath and rubbed my back. We laughed a lot.

Statistics say that less than 15% of women's water will break before they're in the hospital and in active labor. We will just have to add that to your growing list of surprises. At midnight on the morning of January 17th, a contraction rocked me out of bed. You did not mess around, Baby Girl. I launched up and sprinted to the bathroom yelling, "MY WATER BROKE!" Mike was right after me, timing that contraction which lasted a good three minutes. When it was over, I realized I was sitting on the potty, panting, leaning my head against your dad's waist for support. The fact that I didn't care that he saw me in that position told me it was time to head to the hospital.

Your dad loaded up our bags and Dante and Kearney while I tried to gather myself in our bedroom. Contractions were coming every 3-4 minutes at that point, and he found me on my knees, resting my upper body on the chair of my dresser. He brought me a ginger ale and helped me to the car, where he had put towels down in the passenger seat. When he paused in the driveway to go turn out the garage light, I told him it was time to head out: when we returned a few days later, that light was still on. We dropped the pets off at Mom's house and headed for Woman's Hospital.

Once we were at the hospital, we were greeted at an admission desk by a nice nurse who wanted us to fill out paperwork. I said, "Mike I'm going to let you fill out these forms while I sit here in the floor and barf, OK?" The nurse decided it was a good time to put me in a room. I had to agree. It was 1:30 AM, and I was 4 cm dilated.

We labored on together until 4 AM. Your dad never left my side. We kissed and cuddled, and he held my hand. Sometimes the only thing that made me feel better was reaching my left hand (the one with the IV in it) around behind his neck and leaning my forehead against his.

When a contraction came along, I would squeeze him, and he would start talking me through it. He had a wonderful analogy of the steps up to Prague Castle: he would describe our memories of Prague and say, "You are just taking another step up to a wonderful experience. I know it hurts now, but you never have to go up this step again. It won't last forever, and you are doing a fantastic job." After he'd used this analogy for 5-10 contractions, I snapped, "ENOUGH WITH THE STEPS. Shut up about the steps! I don't want to hear about a step ever again."

The epidural at 8 cm was lovely.

On the day we married, your dad and I met in the sanctuary for some quiet time with just the two of us. It was sacred and holy and unbelievably special. That's what the epidural did for us: it quieted the roar of contractions to a manageable level: I could still feel you coming, but I was more in control. Your dad and I talked and laughed. He helped me put on some makeup. Before we married I gave him one last chance to back out, but this time I let him know there was no way he could back out now. He assured me that there was no way he would ever want to.

Nurse Tina held my mother's leg when she delivered me, and she held my leg as I delivered you. Your dad held my right leg and supported my head. He and I pushed together for about an hour. Pushing you out is one of the best, most rewarding and satisfying feelings I've ever had in my life. Dr. K. caught you. The minute I saw you, I used superhuman abs I didn't know I had and sat up and took you from Dr. K to bring you to my chest. Our world stopped turning and was completely absorbed in your hot, wet, slimy body grabbing at me and holding on tight, which I was happy to return. You hollered your arrival for family and friends to hear down the hall. Your dad said you were a wriggle worm, which I'd known for months.

Dr. K. said I looked like I'd been in a fight.

You came at 9:03 in the morning of Monday, January 17th. You weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces (almost exactly in between your dad's and my birth weights) and were 19 3/4 inches long.

The days since have been happier and more exotic to me than our honeymoon was. I will cherish forever the sweet moments in a dimly lit hospital room. Your dad and I would lie side by side in my narrow bed with you in his arms. 9 PM was your witching hour when you were inutero – you were definitely the most active then, and you are the most alert for the day at 9 PM now that you’re here. You become so animated and excited about breastfeeding that you make me laugh out loud.

Even through the recovery of birth and sleep deprivation, the experience of you has been sheer bliss.
I believe that your birth is another happy succession in life: your daddy and I met, then we dated, then we fell in love and became engaged, and then we married. Each event was happier and more fulfilling.

And so far you are definitely the apex of our lives.

It Was Just a Matter of Time....

2011-01-13T12:39:00.000-08:00

"I tagged a deer."

That's the first thing Mike said when he called to let me know he was on his way home last night.

"What do you MEAN, 'tagged?!?' Like, 'TAG, YOU'RE IT!' tagged?"

I can't tell you the panic and adrenaline that immediately surged through my body. Images of him on the side of the road, mangled truck in a ditch, mangled deer on the median, and no telling what sort of bodily harm might have come to him.

Turns out, it really wasn't that bad. Just enough to be a hassle and pain to repair. The door doesn't open right, and the bumper is all messed up, and for some reason the horn is no longer functional.

We had a funny moment last night when filling out the insurance form online. They wanted to know if it was a collision with a standing object, a moving vehicle, an animal, or a pedestrian or bicyclist. Considering the other options, we were happy to report it was an animal. Then they wanted to know if there were any fatalities: yes, no, or I don't know. Mike and I were at a stalemate. Yes, the deer probably died. But would she have counted as a fatality? And if we answered "I don't know," would the police show up at our door because of a possible hit and run to a human being? So we answered "no" and went on with the form.

But Mike is OK and has beautifully survived his deer initiation without a scratch. With it hitting the driver's side door out of nowhere, another millisecond and a slightly larger deer would have been very much bad. God is good.

Dante is intrigued.

Lessons Learned in Pregnancy

2011-01-07T13:30:00.001-08:00

At literally 9 1/2 months pregnant, I'm starting to reflect over this science project experience of making another human being. It's been a dream pregnancy. Sure, there have been a few surprises and hitches in my giddy-up, but on the whole, I honestly can't complain.

Mike, on the other hand, might be able to complain about the mood swings, as he's borne the brunt of them. But I can't think of anybody else who might be remotely responsible for the superhuman surges of hormones flowing through my system.

But I may be the frog in the frying pan. What's a frog in a frying pan, you might ask? Well, try to throw a live frog in a hot skillet. It'll hop right out. But if you put a live frog in a cold skillet and slowly heat the pan up around the frog, he'll sit there and fry (throw in a little mirepoix while you're at it). I think the same holds true with pregnancy: if I went to sleep at 4 weeks and woke up the next day at 38 weeks, I'd freak out. But God has very slowly heated this skillet up around me, and I'm happily cooking away.

So I thought now would be a good time to sit down and think out some stuff about which I had no idea before I saw two lines on that strip of plastic.

There is nothing delicate or fragile about pregnancy. Pregnancy is not an emergency or a sickness, and it's rarely subtle. It is frankly an in-your-face, take-it-or-leave-it, this-is-how-it's-going-to-be experience. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I am stronger, more vibrant, more radiant, more human, and more connected to the world around me than I ever have been in my entire life. The other day I asked Mike if he thought I was less of a woman because it's uncomfortable for me to lift a 40 pound bag of dog food right now. He replied, "I think you're MORE of a woman because you're carrying my baby 24/7." Wow. Good answer.

Though annoying, it's much more polite to grope a stranger's belly than to share a horror story about something through which she has no choice but to go in the next few months. Same goes for comparison stories - they're not helpful in the least. While I'm at it, comments about a pregnant woman's size, either large or small, are unnecessary. All she ever needs to hear is that she's absolutely gorgeous. Period.

As soon as I think I can't love Mike Peacock any more, he says or does something to prove me wrong.

Due dates are a load of crap.

Pregnancy brain really does exist. And yes, I am fully aware that mommy brain is ten times worse.

The female body is an inexpressively incredible creation. Show me the man whose reproductive organ can expand to ten times its size and five hundred times its volume and stay that way for several months, only to go back to the way it was. Gosh, at least I HOPE mine will go back to the way it was.

I've read somewhere that pregnant women produce similar hormones to the ones produced when one smokes pot, and I have to admit it seems plausible. Perspective and priorities have changed, and there are some issues in life about which I now find it difficult to give a hoot.

At the same time, I am surprised by the visceral assertion that I have developed since April. I've realized in stark horror that life is too damn short to pussyfoot through it, and though I'll do my best to be polite and often put on my bridesmaid face, when something is important, I'll definitely let you know.

Whipped cream on Honey Nut Cheerios really is the breakfast of champions.

The kindness and generosity shown by sweet and supportive friends, no matter how small the gesture, is often enough to completely undo a pregnant woman, thereby requiring her to re-apply her mascara.

The couponing system and Babies-R-Us requires a PhD to understand.

Unborn babies often develop their own routine. Peachick's witching hour is 9 PM. She also likes to party around 2 in the morning. Takes after her mom.

Slowly but surely, I'm learning patience. Very slowly. Very surely.

One morning I woke up and realized I deeply love somebody I've never met. I seriously doubted this would ever happen, and it still doesn't make sense. But I can't wait to meet her.

The Nest

2010-12-20T13:57:00.001-08:00

Forgive me, FaceBook friends, for double-posting photos and descriptions. We're just a little excited over here at the Peacock Coop. I'm adding a little more detail here so as to avoid writing a novella in the FaceBook photo album.
... and so, without further ado, I present to you the Peachick's nursery. Come join me for a quick tour of our home since the invasion started. I love the color, even though it really doesn't show up well in photos. Mike picked it out: his inspiration was the color of the water in the Gulf during our trip to Rosemary Beach back in June. It's a sweet soft blue-green that makes me feel like I'm in a giant box from Tiffany's. And hey, there's nothing wrong with that.
I personally think the furniture is Asian-influenced, but Mike (who lived in Japan for four years when he was young) doesn't see it. The panels slide away to give access to shelves, and maybe my favorite part is the light in the top of the armoire that shines through the sliding panel - the perfect night light!
Mike says the mother-of-pearl mirror is "beachy," which was exactly my objective when I selected it. The sterling rattle on the left was how I broke the news to Mike that he was going to be a daddy. I wrapped it up in gold and white paper, and since he was on the midnight shift, I had to wait until he woke up around 4 PM to give it to him. He was still groggy and didn't have a clue what it was - I almost had to draw the man a picture!
The crib still needs a bedskirt, but we decided to forego bumper pads because they're a SIDS risk. At first I was a little sad about that, but then I figured if she's banging her head repeatedly against the side of her bed, we have bigger problems to worry about.
Seems like everywhere you turn in the house, there's a baby thing.
She even has her own drawer in the kitchen! You know I must love somebody dearly to give her one of my drawers and space in my kitchen cabinets. Every now and then, when I get overwhelmed by hormones and all the change that's about to happen and start to think I won't even LIKE this kid, much less love her, I'll go in the kitchen and look in this drawer. Somehow it makes everything fall into place.
..... so one day I was trying to explain to Mike how much work a baby really is. He started comparing her to Dante, and I blurted out, "Yeah, but you can't kennel a baby!" He said that we can, we just have to be more creative. I think we've found our solution.
Dante's bed will be moved over to Mike's side of the bed for a few months. Now Mike will have to learn how to exit the bed without stepping on the dog while I advance to co-sleeper wrangling.
And this is my favorite picture of all. I found it this morning while I was putting away clean grownup laundry - Mike helped me with her laundry yesterday but couldn't figure out how to fold what I like to call her "Hugh Hefner" bathrobes. We plan to hang all of her clothes in her closet, but for the first few months, while she's co-sleeping, her clothes will go in a drawer in her changing table by our bed. I wasn't paying attention to where everything went and never knew what happened to the robes until just now.

This just melts my heart. Gives me the warm fuzzies like when I caught him with a starry, faraway gaze while holding the stuffed monkey that he picked out for her. I can't wait to give that man his little girl.

Martha Washingtons

2010-12-18T13:49:00.001-08:00

This is one of my favorite Christmas candies, and unlike fudge and divinity, anybody can do it. You don't have to wait 'till it stops raining, and there's no mystic mumbo-jumbo of letting it set up and harden. Basically, it's just a chocolate-covered fondant, but oh, what a fondant it is.

When I was little, I didn't like these very much. They seemed really labor intensive, and the dark chocolate just wasn't my thing. But the other day I decided that nothing would do until I'd made a batch. I forgot that one recipe makes a TON of these babies. I made them twice as big as they're supposed to be and still ended up with over 125. But I turned on some Christmas music, started grooving on down, and had a great time making a mess in the kitchen.

The recipe from which I worked comes from More Saintly Servings from the First United Methodist Church in Canton, Mississippi, where Cha-Cha and Papa Doc were members. It's one of those old recipes from the 1950s with vague descriptions like "1 can Eagle Brand milk," "3 boxes confectioners' sugar," and "1 can coconut." I hate those recipes. Who knows how big cans of coconut were 50 years ago?!? Give me exact measurements, dammit!

So I'll leave it at this: these measurements are give and take, as long as your fondant center is a consistency so you can pick it up and roll it in a ball between your hands and it will hold its shape. Usually I do this with very clean bare hands, but the pregnancy hormones have made me such a hot mama that I had to wear latex gloves so as not to melt the mixture. I love latex gloves in the kitchen; they're just kind of a luxury, so I don't use them often.

Fondant

2 Tablespoons vanilla

3-4 boxes (pounds) confectioners' sugar, to the correct consistency. I used about 4 pounds just to make the mixture stiff enough to roll.

2 sticks melted butter

1 14 ounce can Eagle brand condensed milk

1 can coconut (I just used about 10 ounces flake from a bag, but you can certainly add more to taste)

2 cups chopped nuts

Coating

12-24 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, depending on whether or not you want to double-dip

1-2 ounces paraffin wax (you can usually find this in the canning or baking aisle)

Toothpicks. Lots and lots of toothpicks.

Mix fondant ingredients well and roll into balls.
Place balls on waxed paper and refrigerate as you go. Once you're done with the last tray, the first tray that you put into the fridge should be cold enough to hold their shape during dipping.
Using a double-boiler, melt chocolate and paraffin wax, mixing together well.
Stick a toothpick into each ball on the tray and use this as a handle to dip the chocolate.
Once you're done dipping all of the balls on that tray, remove the toothpicks. You can re-use them if you like - just keep a small glass nearby to catch them.
Using a teaspoon, scoop up a little chocolate and use that as a finishing topper to fill the toothpick holes. When I was young, Mom and I used to try to fill them up perfectly so all the balls were neat little spheres. But now that I'm older and more creative, I an reveling in letting the chocolate luxuriously drip down the sides. Then while it's still wet, you can add fun stuff, like nonpareils.

I feel like a Godiva chocolatier. What I wouldn't give for some edible gold leaf right about now.

When you're done, just keep them in the fridge until you're ready to consume. Mmmm. There's something about the crunch of the outer chocolate shell and the soft coconutty goodness inside that tells me Merry Christmas!

Mike asked me why they're called Martha Washingtons, and I had to tell him the same story that my mom told me: I have no idea.

Christmas Candy

2010-12-16T14:57:00.001-08:00

Atmospheric conditions have been perfect to make divinity, and oh boy, have I been cooking up a storm. Three batches of divinity later, I figured it wouldn't hurt to do a few more batches of candy. Nesting instinct? Maybe. But really, I know this time next year I'll be chasing a little kid around, so I decided to make the most of a quiet kitchen while the peachick is as manageable as she'll ever be.

Also, I have somehow been volunteered to do desserts for all of the Christmas parties to which we've been invited this year, and what hostess wants to deal with plates, forks, knives, etc. involved when a pie or cake is brought? This way guests can definitely have their fill of sugary indulgence by using only their fingers!

So it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas in the kitchen with.....

Martha Washingtons
Traditional walnut divinity
Chocolate peppermint divinity, a brand-spanking new creation in the kitchen. I added 2 teaspoons peppermint extract instead of vanilla and 12 ounces mini chocolate chips instead of nuts.
Peanut clusters with and without pretzels
Pecan divinity and...
Martha Washingtons with sprinkles.
'cause life's just more fun with sprinkles.

How We Broke the News to Mom

2010-12-02T14:14:00.000-08:00

These photos are oldies but goodies: I just found them in my little snapshooter camera that I keep in my purse. They're from back in August, when we found out that the Peachick was a girl. Our ultrasound appointment was mid-morning, and everybody had been calling, texting, emailing, even sending smoke signals to find out the sex of our baby as soon as we found out.

In a fit of hormonal rage, I told my mom that we would tell her as soon as she took us to CHAR for lunch. This mama needed red meat. But I also wanted Mike to be the one to tell everybody our big news. What to do, what to do....

Dr. K's office is close to Gigi's Cupcakes, so we dropped by after our appointment and picked up a few pink ones. I made Mike carry the box in to lunch with us. Mom was waiting for us at a table, bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement. She never noticed the cupcake box in Mike's hands.
We just weren't cruel enough to make her wait all through lunch to dessert for the big reveal, but I did have the presence of mind to whip out my camera as Mike was reaching for the box:
"Are you having a girl?"
She was thrilled.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I was initially disappointed when I found out she is a she. Because I don't have any problem at all with having Mike's baby, but I know MY baby will be a pain in the butt to raise. But I'm coming around: maybe she'll be a tough little girl with Mike's laid back and easygoing personality. That would be a good combination.

In other news, I'm realizing that all of my posts are quickly becoming labeled "Baby." I didn't really want to be that person, you know, the one who only talks baby stuff all the time. But I guess our lives are pretty boring in all other areas: Peachick is currently our only excitement or interesting thing going on. I hope I'm not bothering y'all with all this baby talk.

Rainy Day

2010-11-30T06:36:00.000-08:00

Ah, my lovely readers, thank you for your patience. It's been a wild and woolly November, and I'm sorry for the breaks in posts. Today's weather is too dreary to take Dante for a W-A-L-K (I have to spell it lest he know what I'm saying and freak), so as we wait for the bands of rain to move on, I'll fill you in on this month.

We both had birthdays in November, so many, many photos were taken. At the beginning of this month, Mike, Dante and I took a drive down the Trace for some sightseeing and a few photos. We came upon Owen's Creek, a natural rock formation that was really surprising in its loveliness and contours. After a walk through the woods, we stopped at a few other attractions along the way to have some lunch at my favorite chicken place in Lorman.

Then the next week, we met our good friend Joy McClellan for some sweet photos of us and the Peachick. I think they turned out really well and must must MUST let Joy know our selection for prints, if I can EVER pick out which ones we like the best!

Mike took me to my buddy Craig's Parlor Market for my birthday, and damn. It was fine. If you live in the area and haven't been yet, you are totally missing out. The prohibition drink menu in itself is worth a trip. Since the Peachick has crowded my stomach considerably, I had the foie gras small plate and absolutely savored every bite. The flavors on every dish were nothing short of phenomenal. Well done, Craig. Very well done. After that, Mike took me to Mom's house where they surprised me with a chocolate ganache cake from my favorite bakery, That Special Touch. It sure was a special touch.

Probably the most fun we had all month was thanks to my good friend Leslie, who graciously invited us to the Slobovia Outernational Pumpkin Drop. Mike had heard of it before, but I'd never imagined this grassy airstrip and the motley crew of planes, anything from a P-51 to experimentals, could come together for such entertainment: they made up a target with old airplane parts and, one by one, bombed it with pumpkins leftover from Halloween! It was a hoot and a half.

Because of Mike's work schedule, I was never able to take him out on a date for his birthday, which made me very sad. Maybe I can do it this weekend, once we eat all the leftovers from Thanksgiving. I'm ready for a big slab of good red meat.

The rest of the month was a whirlwind of family visits, showers, holiday parties, good friends, and lots of mayhem and foolishness. We are humbled and awed at how sweetly family, friends, and strangers are celebrating and welcoming the Peachick and are looking forward to her arrival now more than ever.

Asher made these cupcakes. Chocolate raspberry habanero with white chocolate raspberry frosting and pistachio with white chocolate buttercream. Deelish!
Peachick's initials were on the petit fours and napkins, and I have to admit that seeing them made me tear up a little. It made her more real, more of a person, even though Mike is still reserving the right to change her name once we meet her if necessary.
And how IS our little peachick? She's just kicking along. At 33 weeks, she's measuring right on track at about 4 pounds and 19 inches even though the general consensus is, "My gosh, you're so TINY!" People honestly do not believe that I'm as pregnant as I really am. Yes, at 8 months I'm still wearing some of my non-maternity clothes, which freaks me out a little. But Dr. K says everything is fine and that I just have the bone and body structure to carry an extra few pounds of baby. I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but if the kid's OK, then I'm happy. I was 9 pounds even at birth, and Mike was 6 pounds 12 ounces, so Dr. K is estimating that she'll be somewhere between those two figures. I'm hoping she takes after her daddy. She seems strong like me but mellow and easygoing like him. I can't help but think that combination will make for a good birth.

9 PM is her witching hour, when she's the most active, and you can almost set your watch by my belly dancing. I feel great, but Dr. K has suggested I take it down from walking 5 K a day to only 1-2 miles. I still cheat a little every now and then, if only to see what's going on in the hood. My mom has been kind enough to send her maids to the house so I'm not doing heavy housework any more, and after an unfortunate episode with cleaning out the bathtub, I'm very appreciative. I'm going to see Dr. K every other week until December 17th, when I start going once a week. My, how time flies. The nursery is set up, but I'm waiting for Mike to have a little time to hang pictures on the wall before I post pictures on the blog.

He's pretty stoked about his girls.

Hic.... Hic... Hic.....

2010-11-22T13:14:00.000-08:00

The other day while reading in bed just before turning out the light, I felt a change in the Peachick's movement. She was awfully still, then would twitch. Still then twitch. Still... Twitch. Still.....

"Mike, your baby girl has the hiccups."

"How do you know?"

"Our child wouldn't have that kind of rhythm. It must be involuntary."

Remedy photo courtesy of Life123.

I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty.....

2010-11-21T06:17:00.001-08:00

One of the more disconcerting things to me about pregnancy is how much time I spend in front of a camera lately. All my life, I've shied away from the lens, being much more comfortable behind the apparatus than in front of it. But now that this belly's the rising star of our new family, I've somehow learned to grin and bear it, so to speak, inwardly cringing a little as we look through the belly shots and trying my best to believe Mike when he tells me I'm the most beautiful woman he knows.

But after our shoot with Joy McClellan, I believe it.

We had such a good time with Joy during our shoot. My favorite part was when she sat us on that bench and said, "Just be Fran and Mike!" That set the tone for the afternoon, and we spent the next hour just being Fran and Mike, goofily in love with life and each other.
Even though I was 29 weeks pregnant during the shoot, my black sweater would sometimes hide the belly. Joy would say, "I can't see the baby!" cueing me to turn to the side and poke the Peachick out as far as I could.
Poke.
These aren't just posed shots from a stuffy studio: they're really memories of a fun afternoon filled with laughter and good times with my husband and a good friend. The photos and the people are treasures to me, and I'm so blessed and glad to have them.

What Would You Do if You Weren't Afraid?

2010-10-28T09:13:00.000-07:00

I was in a plane crash when I was six years old.

It was Christmas Eve, and we were flying home in a twin engine Beechcraft Baron. In a one-in-a-billion freak accident, the landing gear malfunctioned and retracted just before we touched down. I remember the bone-clattering jolt, the sickening lurch as the plane listed to the left, the horrific screech of steel on steel and steel on concrete, the sparks of the prop as it hit the runway, the shattered glass, the heat and acrid smoke of the port engine as it exploded, and the unexpected smell of wet dirt as we plowed into an arc off the runway. We took out two runway lights. I clutched my teddy bear, and when it was over, I sat frozen and just wanted to be still for a minute, but my parents literally threw me out onto the cold tarmac to escape the hot flames.

None of us had a scratch. If not for my dad's skill and experience and the fact that I was in the copilot seat of the cockpit, the plane would have cartwheeled. I wouldn't be sitting here, typing on this blog.

It makes sense that anyone who had been through that would develop a lifelong paralyzing fear of flight, but I didn't. Flying is still a thrill to me: there's nothing more exhilarating than a takeoff or more fortunate than a good landing. I even married a pilot. You're probably thinking, what, is she crazy? Why wasn't I clasped in the grasp of fear?

Faith.

I solidly realized that God's Will really is done every day. For some reason we decided that I would sit in the front for the trip, which was very unusual as I couldn't even see over the dashboard. He guided Dad's hands and took care of us. He could take me out in a one-in-a-billion freak heart attack right now as I sit typing just as easily as He could have my whole family that Christmas Eve, but it wasn't our time. Nothing else can explain it.

That knowledge has enriched my life in ways you'll never know and led me to do crazy things you wouldn't believe, and I'm so thankful for that.

Auntie Mame said, "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death," and that line has landed me in more hot water than I'd like to admit. But it sure has been a fun road. And now I'm thrilled to be doing this:

There's so much fear surrounding pregnancy and childbirth. Thank you to my friends who have chosen not to impart on me their horror stories. But through it all, I've felt physically solid, calm, and happy and, as a result, hale and hearty. Again, the only explanation that I have is faith. I fully expect the Peachick to make an ordinary, run-of-the-mill landing into this world, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that if a one-in-a-billion freak accident should occur, God will be there and will take care of us in His own way through our incredible medical team's skill and other factors about which we might never know.

What would YOU do if you weren't afraid?

Baron photo courtesy of Raytheon, poster photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

Pumpkin Pie Ice Cream

2010-10-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

The only drawback of pumpkin spice muffins is that they don't use a whole can of pureed pumpkin. A standard can is 15 ounces, and 3/4 cup is (if my math is correct) only 6 ounces. Sure, I dump in more pumpkin to make it more of a full cup, but that still leaves 7 ounces of pumpkin hanging out in the kitchen.

Then I decided to bake another batch for a friend, so I had the better part of a whole can of pumpkin hanging out. Hmm. What to do, what to do. Mike had the solution:

"Why don't you put it in ice cream?"

Did I mention this man is brilliant?

1 cup whole milk

1/2 cup granulated sugar

8-12 ounces canned pureed pumpkin (NOT pumpkin pie filling)

1/2 teaspoon, or to taste, ground cloves

1/2 teaspoon, or to taste, ground nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon, or to taste, ground allspice

1 teaspoon, or to taste ground cinnamon

2 cups whipping cream

In a medium bowl, whisk together the milk, sugar, pumpkin, and spices until well combined, about 1-2 minutes.

Add the whipping cream and whisk for another 30 seconds or so. Whisk it just long enough to incorporate some air into the whipping cream but not long enough to actually whip it.

Slowly pour into an ice cream maker and churn for 20-25 minutes, or until it reaches desired consistency.

Goes well with chocolate syrup.

And it tastes just like chiffon pumpkin pie.

Photo courtesy of Eliza.

How Many College Degrees Does it Take.....

2010-10-17T14:18:00.000-07:00

To put together a jogging stroller?

Actually, it wasn't that bad, but I'm certainly glad to have a nuclear mechanical engineer around to figure out this stuff.

Dante was excited and really wanted to help.

I figured I'd be more help sitting at attention and being a gofer. The flashlight really helped Mike find the screw holes.
All done! Just hooking up the MP3 speakers. Fancy pants, Mr. Peacock.

Kearney was completely unimpressed. He kept giving the stroller the hairy eyeball. Then he parked himself directly in front of one of the back tires.

So naturally Mike decided to threaten his life with it. Of course. Kearney was so not amused.
Insert snarky caption here.

Naked Ladies

2010-10-16T12:02:00.000-07:00

The garden has been a complete disaster this year. Tragedy and travesty.

In May we had a couple of trees taken out of the back yard for more sunlight, and the crew smashed and took out more than half of my tomato plants. Then when we left town for a couple of weeks back in June, I forgot to set the sprinkler system. The excessive heat left most of my plants looking literally as if they had been set on fire upon our return. I was able to salvage some of the herbs, tomatoes, and peppers, but the damage had been done. We weren't the only ones with the problem: friends and family called us in search of some good home-grown backyard tomatoes. That made me feel somewhat better.

Then in August I took out a flood insurance policy on our house, thereby jinxing us into not receiving a single drop of rain ever since.

Weather forecasts clearly show that it will Never. Rain. Again.

Ever.

Reminds me of a silly song we used to sing as kids:

Oh, it ain't gonna rain no more no more,

Ain't gonna rain no more,

How in the heck can I wash my neck,

When it ain't gonna rain no more?

Once I had an old gray dog,

I wish I had 'im back,

He chased the big pigs over the fence,

And the little ones through the crack!

I found something similar to it on YouTube; the words aren't quite right, but you get the gist of it.

No matter how much water we poured into the yard, the heat and weather factors just would not cooperate. Now I understand Grandpapa's frustration during his farming days. It makes much more sense to me why he wanted a weather/crop report from me when we'd travel through the Delta to visit when I was younger.

So you can imagine my utter shock when I saw this outside the window the other morning!

Mom and Cindy dug up these spider lilies, or lyroris radiata, from Cha-Cha and Papa Doc's house up in Canton years ago. I planted them in the first few months after we moved into this house, but they never came up. I eventually gave up hope and forgot about them.
These were Cha-Cha's favorite flowers. She called them naked ladies because they have no foliage; just a slender green stalk with an exquisite red Amaryllidaceae on top. You should have heard my phone call to Mom, "There are NAKED LADIES in my back yard!" Without missing a beat, she responded, "They're in my yard too!"

If Big Brother was listening to our conversation, I'm sure he's investigating via satellite right now.
But why did they decide to come up this year, of all times? Nothing but dirt is currently growing in the yard. Even our evergreens are browning up. But we have naked ladies all over the place, throwing caution to the wind and stubbornly visiting us, making the yard look not so forlorn and crispy.
The only thing I can figure is that Cha-Cha is pleased about the Peachick in my belly and letting us know it in her own way. I hope they come up every year forever.

Pumpkin Spice Chocolate Chip Muffins

2010-10-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

Well, even though there's no frost on the pumpkin just yet, I decided the cooler weather warranted a hot breakfast. And what better accompaniment to eggs and sausage than pumpkiny muffins to warm us? And even though these would be fine without the semi-sweet addition, is there anything that goes better with a pumpkin muffin than chocolate chips?

I think not.

3/4 cup white sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
3/4 cup canned pumpkin
1/4 cup water
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Grease and flour muffin pan or use paper liners.
Mix sugar, oil, eggs. Add pumpkin and water. In separate bowl mix together the baking flour, baking soda, baking powder, spices and salt.. Add wet mixture and stir in chocolate chips.
Fill muffin cups 2/3 full with batter. Bake in preheated oven for 20 to 25 minutes.

Recipe courtesy of Donna at AllRecipes.

Bousillage

2010-10-13T14:07:00.000-07:00

Mom bought these little dresses for Peachick, and though I initially hung them in her closet, they're so sweet that I just had to pull them out. Every time I walk through her room, I see them and my heart does little flips akin to the ones I experienced when Mike and I first started dating. Maybe this is what life is all about.

Little birds and the poem "All Things Bright and Beautiful," have both become recurring themes in the nursery, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Bousillage (pronounced "BOOS-ee-ahsh") is a Creole word that literally means "big mess." It describes a style of Colonial French architecture in which a combination of mud, sand, horse hair, and whatever else settlers could find was used to make the walls of their homes. It was practical, provided good insulation, and most importantly, was very strong: many Colonial homes along the River Road were constructed with bousillage and are still standing today, despite hurricanes that wreak havoc on the region.

It's a word I associate with Peachick often lately: she's a strong big mess. She must have some Creole in her because she and I both adore spicy stuff. Tabasco on pizza is a particular favorite. She has recovered from her shyness around her daddy and kicks the heck out of me when he's around and she hears his voice. She delights in poking and prodding me while I'm trying to focus on a hard puzzle, and oh my, is she a night owl.

And strong! We had a great appointment with Dr. K last week, and he said her heartbeat was impressive. I passed the gestational diabetes test with flying colors and rather enjoyed the sugar high induced by the glucola. That's the strongest stuff I've had since April, and I can't imagine what a lightweight I'll be come January. Peachick had a party in my pelvis while we worked the glucose off together.

She's quiet during our morning walks with Dante, so I have a feeling she'll enjoy being rocked to sleep, and I can't wait to watch Mike rock her. Dante thinks she's the bees knees. I wish you could see him gently head-butt my belly when we're on the couch together. Then he settles in with his head right against me, just waiting for Peachick to join him in the outside world. I have a feeling they'll be good buddies.

My belly is burgeoning, and we can see her moving around, which is kind of a trip. Mike is having a more difficult time in the evenings finding a spot for his head just before we turn off the light, but somehow we manage it. He can even hear her heart beating just by laying his head against me.

Things are just rocking right along. We're looking forward to meeting this big mess. Our own Bousillage.

Wedding Cake Love

2010-10-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

I adored our wedding cake, but how much fun would this have been? Mosey on over to the Sunday Sweets section of CakeWrecks.com to see more ostentatious peacock.

Missing You

2010-10-02T08:39:00.001-07:00

We love you so, Alan, and we miss you more every day. Thank you for brightening our lives.

What a Lovely Saturday

2010-09-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

Today was just a bunch of impromptu fun girls' stuff.

It all started yesterday when Asher and Ashley invited me out for lunch at the Irish Frog and a shopping trip. The waiter was a hoot, food was great, the company even better.

And dessert was almost the death of us all.

Before:

After:
Notice the lack of anybody's face in the after shot: we were all miserably full; I even found chocolate and whipped cream IN MY HAIR when I fastened my seatbelt once I sat in my car. That's' just klassy with a K. All three and a half of us did our best to finish it off, but the Chocolate Monstrosity really lived up to its name. Peachick has been kicking me all afternoon, asking for more, but I honestly don't have any room to put it.

After lunch, the girls were sweet enough to take me to look for baby clothes, and boy did I find them! I had to use restraint and must admit that now I'm a lot more excited about having a girl. They can wear pretty stuff. Let's just say most of the pieces I bought had ducks on them, and the others made Mike say, "That's cute," when he looked through the shopping bag. One outfit (A & A, you know which one it was) even elicited an, "Ooh, that's pretty," from my stoic engineer.

Then on the way to Jackson, I called Mike, who was on his way to take the boat out to the Reservoir. I was listening to the GA Tech vs North Carolina game on the XM Radio, and Tech was not favored to win. It was the last 4 minutes of the game, and though we had been losing most of the time, lo and behold the score was 30-24, Tech! I turned the radio up to a roaring 47 so Mike could hear over the phone. It was a nail-biting ending, but we won!

Once in Jackson, I met Ying for a surprise baby gift for Peachick. It was such a creative gift: Ying took me to Harry the Potter and let me pick out whatever I wanted to paint for the baby. How neat and thoughtful is that?!? Her nursery walls are very bare right now, so I selected a pretty little fleur de lis that will make a sweet accent piece. I'm really happy with the finished product, if I do say so myself, and I was even able to sign and date the back of it so she'll always know her mama made it for her. It still needs to be fired, so the colors will be much more vibrant and glossy when I pick it up on Thursday. I honestly can't wait.
Since the only camera I had with me was on my phone and I've had the thing since May 5, I decided it was high time I figured out how to transfer photos from my phone to my computer. Indulge me in a quick walk down memory lane of the summer:

Kearney finally fell off that pillow.
I don't know if you can make it out, but Dante was all snuggled up in the crook of Mike's arm on the couch. He was curled up into a tight little Dante ball.
And Dante L.O.V.E.S. Peachick's room. I love his tail in this photo.
Beachy goofiness.
My hot husband and his big hat.

And I am still enamored of this cookie Asher made me.

Now Mike's buzzing around inside and out, firing up the grill for some steaks while I blog with my feet up. He's so good to me. And I think we'll watch either Airplane or a Miami Vice for tonight's entertainment.

Do I smell steak?

Here's to hoping your Saturday was just as nice!

A Little Creativity

2010-09-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

Good afternoon, dear readers. What are you up to this weekend? Please join me in remembering the victims and heroes who were created today nine years ago. We will never forget.

Our first DAR meeting of the season was this morning, and I agreed to be head hostess now so that I won't be waddling around in the kitchen in a few months. This meeting was especially exciting, as we were meeting in the Genealogy Room of the new library for the first time. At the same time, this meeting was especially tricky, as food is not allowed in the Genealogy Room, but the librarians were making an exception for us wild and crazy Daughters of the American Revolution.

Our refreshments are always simple: the usual menu involves sweet and salty, so I decided on a pound cake, some fruit, assorted nuts, and cheese straws. I baked a million dollar pound cake with amaretto whipped cream and had my other hostesses bring nuts, cheese straws, and drinks. But what to do about the fruit salad? I had nightmares of grapes rolling off plates and onto the brand new hardwoods floors.

What to do, what to do..... I know! Skewer 'em.

I had the best time making this platter, and though it looks awfully summery for the week after Labor Day, every one of my compatriots were wearing open-toed shoes, so I figured there was no better time than the present to celebrate the end of summer.
I pulled out all the stops and made a whole theme with these little parasols: I put them in the cake and the centerpiece to give the party continuity. Then Mike took photos of the finished work this morning before I left. Love how the sun shines through the jewel tones.

The very best part? My mom was able to come to the meeting too. Two of my three co-hostesses weren't able to come, so Mom jumped into the fray, and with the help of Mary Jo, she and I were able to churn out and serve plates like a well-oiled machine. Thanks Mom.

I always wonder if a cake is good before serving because it's just not the type of food you can sample before the big reveal. But I suppose this particular cake was especially good, as when we returned to the kitchen to clean up leftovers, somebody in the library had stolen the last 5-inch chunk that I was planning to take home to Mr. Peacock!

Photos courtesy of Quisenberry.

Day of Laboring

2010-09-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, what a beautiful weekend, oh what beautiful days. I have a beautiful feeling everything's going our way.

The past three days have been nothing short of idyllic. Maybe it's the (somewhat) cooler weather, maybe it's the fact that we are now able to sleep with the windows open, maybe it's just been the company. But we have loved every minute of it.

Mayhem and foolishness started on Friday, when Mike was able to come home a little early. He brought with him flowers and doughnuts! Lately I've been on a kick about how goooooood a doughnut would be, but I wouldn't break down and buy any because of all the sugar and fat involved. Well, Mike fixed my little red wagon with a baker's dozen of freshly-glazed goodness, enough to keep us through these past three days. Pair them with a cup of freshly ground and brewed coffee, and I'm like a new woman.

Then the girls and I went out for supper Friday night. I know - it's too good to be true! A man who brings home flowers and pastries and then gives me the night off in the kitchen so I can spend time with my two favorite bad influences. The weekend could not have begun better.

But wait. There's more.

Dante started off with a big Saturday morning romp:

Then Mike had to join the fun:

After that, Mike and I had some lunch and stopped off at Discount Hunting on our way to Turcotte to shoot rifles with friends. Peachick was not fond of the larger calibers with whom we were sharing the range, and she let me know under no uncertain terms with lots of kicking and squirming. When Mike saw somebody pull out a big boomer, he would grab me by the waist and hug me up behind him, using his body as the baby's own muffler. It was so sweet, but a little hot. So I spent about half the time sitting in the car, which was kind of a killjoy. But it was nice being outside and enjoying good company nonetheless.

While in the car, we listened to Georgia Tech beat up on South Carolina State 41-10. Mike was enthused.

Saturday night I roasted a rosemary and cracked pepper crusted ribeye with onions and potatoes while Mike tinkered out in the garage and started sanding the side door in preparation for some new varnish. We watched Date Night, and I laughed at the cab driver 'till I cried.

Then Sunday we loaded Dante up and headed down to our friends Cindy and James' place out in the country for a cookout in the dappled shade of the pecan trees. We ate too much but had a great time doing it. The food was great, the company even better. While we were there, we were fortunate enough to have friends take a few shots of the two of us together. That's so rare for married couples: we always have photos of one of us or the other but very few together in the same frame.

Mike is so proud: look what I did!
Of course, I'm proud too: look who I married!!!

Mike also honed his photography skills with some very difficult subjects: hummingbirds.

We came home to an easy evening with a light supper. As soon as evening fell, we opened all the windows, turned off the lights, popped some popcorn with extra butter, and cuddled together to watch the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It was a very intense and graphic film with a very good plot, and I hate to see how much moviemakers water it down for the American version. Though it's filled with unsavory characters with whom I find it hard to relate, I'm so fascinated by their strengths and motivations that I might just have to read the trilogy. But I'm glad to have seen the movie first for the heads-up on some of the necessary plot development.

We took it easy today, taking a leisurely run together with the dog this morning, having an excellent Mediterranean/Lebanese lunch, and enjoying a quick visit with Mom this afternoon. During lunch Mike told me the story of how he flew solo for the first time and the process of achieving his pilot's license. His instructor actually told him to go solo before Mike expected, and Mike admitted (as I would have been too!) that he was scared out of his wits. I love that human part of my 00 secret agent. Now I'm sitting with my feet up, watching my favorite, Pawn Stars, while Mike tinkers with the boat outside.

I hope your weekend was just as wonderful. What did you do?

Photo courtesy of inspirationbit.

Hi Daddy!

2010-09-03T11:00:00.000-07:00

My favorite time of day is at the end, when the world winds down and we settle in for the night. Our ritual has always been for me to keep reading after Mike is finished so he can curl up around me and lie his head on my stomach. I'll absently scratch his head or rub his back while I read until I can't see straight. Then I'll dog-ear my book and turn off the light while Mike scoops Dante off the foot of the bed to gently deposit him on his bed on the floor.

Last night I was reading Dan Brown's Digital Fortress. Mike has had to move his head up closer to my ribs to make room for the peachick, but he's still able to find a comfortable spot on me. I was just about to dog-ear my book when...

THUMP.

Mike's fingers tightened on my belly. "Was that her?"

"I think so. Let's see if she does it again."

THUMP THUMP.

I could feel Mike's grin against my ribs. It was such a sweet, happy time. He's been looking forward to this since July 15th, when I first tentatively felt her while sitting at Mom's kitchen table. Then I felt her more consistently starting on July 27th, as I bumped along the backroads of St. Francisville, Louisiana, exploring while Mike worked at River Bend. Since then she has become stronger and more persistent, but as soon as Mike put his hand on my belly, she would be quiet and still. "Dad's here. I have to be good."

I bet she'll do me like the cat does: a complete mad March hare while Mike's away, but as soon as he comes home, she'll be a little angel.

And she'll have us both wrapped around her finger.

20 weeks - halfway there!

Photo courtesy of vintagegent.

Busy Girl's Chicken and Dumplins

2010-08-30T17:12:00.000-07:00

Just look at that fat on the right side of the pot! Daisy would be proud.

The other day I visited my good friend Leslie while she put chicken n' dumplins in the pot to cook. Does this ever happen to you? When a friend mentions a certain food, and nothing will do until you have some of the same stuff? The first cool breeze of autumn is upon us and has inspired me to fix up a stew. Leslie's were probably better tasting and definitely better for you, but I just had to give dark meat chicken in the crock pot a shot.

Daisy might actually be rolling in her grave, as I didn't have time to hand-make the dumplings for this go-round, and I wasn't available to monitor stovetop cooking. It was one of those days when I'd dropped by the house around 1 PM to realize there was nothing to eat for supper, yet I still had two more appointments to knock out before the day was over. What to do, what to do... Dump something in the crock pot!

1 cup celery, chopped

1 medium onion, chopped

2-3 pounds boneless, skinless chicken. I used thighs, but white meat breasts would be much better for you and would have a lot less fat.

1 can cream of chicken soup

1 can cream of celery soup

1 teaspoon white pepper, or to taste

1 teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

Enough water to cover and make it the consistency you prefer

1 - 12 ounce can of refrigerated biscuits

Handful of mushrooms (optional)

Sauté the celery and onion in butter or olive oil until soft.
Dump the sautéed celery and onion, chicken, soups, seasonings and water into the crock pot.
Set on high for 6 hours.
About 3-4 hours in to cooking, flatten out biscuits with a rolling pin and cut into strips.
Add the mushrooms if you'd like some (they were an afterthought for me).
Add biscuits to crock pot, stir it around, and cover for remaining cook time.
The biscuits will float to the top and probably brown. When cooking is done, just stir it all up and break chicken into pieces.
Prepare to have some meat put on your bones.

Did you notice I said "about 3-4 hours in to cooking?" Well, I'm not exactly sure when I added the dumplins: it was in between those two afternoon appointments, and I was kind of running around like a chicken with my head cut off, if you'll excuse the pun. Since crock pot recipes are pretty forgiving, I bet you could put the chicken on low heat when you leave for work, then add the dumplins right when you get home and kick it up to high so they'll be ready in a couple of hours. This stuff keeps great and is better the next day.

This recipe was adapted from one found at AllRecipes.com.

Smitten Kitchen's Peanut Butter Crispy Bars

2010-08-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

I love how Deb over at the Smitten Kitchen starts off this recipe with the dire warning that these bars are not good for you. But I beg to differ: they have cereal in them! Whole grains! And peanut butter. That's protein, right? And there's no doubt that dark chocolate can be good for you. So there you have it. These are actually whole grain, protein, anti-oxidant bars.

Mr. Peacock, the dog, and I are vegging on the couch this afternoon, desperately hoping for the rainy day that was forecast but will probably never come. The weekend was a lovely, long one: Mike was off on Friday, so we spent the day setting up our registries at Babies R Us and Target. I started off by gently kidding him about all the new gadgets and doohickeys that he would learn about in the next few hours, and before it was all over (and six hours later), we were both shellshocked. The sheer volume of stuff necessary for a new human being is astounding. The pack n' play, the swing, the splat mat, the mobi wrap, the monitors, OH MY. How did our parents ever make it without a rubber whale to cushion the bathtub faucet so we wouldn't bash our heads?!?

Then, so Mike could keep his Man Card, we spent yesterday afternoon looking at handguns. I don't know who had more fun: us or the guys behind the counter working with a mean pregnant redhead who obviously knows her way around a gun. Or the crazy toothless redneck customer who followed me everywhere I went.

It was all fun and games until the smallest piece I handled - a teensy tinesy Walther PPK .380 old James Bond gun (he currently carries a PPS) - bit me on the left thumb. It was brand new, and the spring was really tight and the metal still really sharp. It's certainly not the first time I've been bit in such a manner, and it really didn't hurt much, but dang. I bled all over the place. It was probably the extra blood I'm sporting to support this little girl, but I was positively dripping. There were even drops on the floor.

It's time to pack it in when your husband says, "Um, do you have an extra handkerchief so I can wipe blood off the gun?"

Peanut Butter Crispy Bars
Adapted from Baked: New Frontiers in Baking

These bars are sticky and indulgent and not good for you in any way, so before you even ask, perhaps you can make them with organic, low-fat peanut butter, whole grain bio-crisped rice cereal or a sugar substitute but you shouldn’t. Nobody likes a party pooper.

For the crispy crust
1 3/4 cups crisped rice cereal
1/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons light corn syrup
3 tablespoons unsalted (their recommendation) or salted (what I used, and liked) butter, melted

For the milk chocolate peanut butter layer
5 ounces good-quality milk (their recommendation) or semi-sweet (what I’d use next time) chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup creamy peanut butter

For the chocolate icing
3 ounces dark chocolate (60 to 72 percent cocoa), coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon light corn syrup
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick or 2 ounces) unsalted (their recommendation) or salted (what I used, and liked) butter

Make the crispy crust: Lightly spray a paper towel with nonstick cooking spray and use it to rub the bottom and sides of an 8-inch square baking pan.

Put the cereal in a large bowl and set aside.

Pour 1/4 cup water into a small saucepan. Gently add the sugar and corn syrup (do not let any sugar or syrup get on the sides of the pan) and use a small wooden spoon to stir the mixture until just combined. Put a candy thermometer in the saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat and bring to a boil; cook until the mixture reaches the soft ball stage, 235 degrees F.

Remove from the heat, stir in the butter, and pour the mixture over the cereal. Working quickly, stir until the cereal is thoroughly coated, then pour it into the prepared pan. Using your hands, press the mixture into the bottom of the pan (do not press up the sides). Let the crust cool to room temperature while you make the next layer.

Make the milk chocolate peanut butter layer: In a large nonreactive metal bowl, stir together the chocolate and the peanut butter. Set the bowl over a saucepan of simmering water and cook, stirring with a rubber spatula, until the mixture is smooth. Remove the bowl from the pan and stir for about 30 seconds to cool slightly. Pour the mixture over the cooled crust. Put the pan in the refridgerator for 1 hour, or until the top layer hardens.

Make the chocolate icing: In a large nonreactive metal bowl, combine the chocolate, corn syrup, and butter.

Set the bowl over a saucepan of simmering water and cook, stirring with a rubber spatula, until the mixture is completely smooth. Remove the bowl from the pan and stir for 30 seconds to cool slightly. Pour the mixture over the chilled milk chocolate peanut butter layer and spread (actually, I found it easier to just roll it around until it coated smoothly, avoiding the risk of picking up any of the peanut butter layer with it) into an even layer. Put the pan into the refrigerator for 1 hour, or until the topping hardens.

Cut into 9 (they say, I say 16, at least!) squares and serve. The bars can be stored in the refrigerator, covered tightly, for up to 4 days.

Recipe and photo courtesy of Smitten Kitchen.

I Can't Leave Town for a Minute

2010-08-21T08:18:00.000-07:00

Well, all's well that ends well.

It all began with a mole on Mike's chest. As Mike has spent most of his life out on a beach somewhere and the spot looked suspicious to me, I had been badgering him for months to have Dr. L take a look at it. We both know from prior experience that Dr. L will take a look about 15 seconds before he passes judgement, deadens Mike up, carves out said mole, and goes on to his next patient. I'm not sure if it's because most of Dr. L's patients are women, but he's pretty gruff toward Mike, and we like that just fine: get in, get it off, get out in less than an hour, get results in less than 2 days. None of this fussy come in for a consultation, come back a week later, waste 6 hours of your life, then 2 more weeks to hear from the lab.

Last time we went, Dr. L took a mole off Mike's back. That's the day I knew I could carry Mike's baby: I was riveted. Though Mike insisted that he didn't feel a thing, everything Dr. L did looked like it would hurt one of my own, and I had a visceral reaction to protect Mike. It was surprising that I literally had to sit on my hands to keep myself from stopping the procedure, only because such a deep voice in me was shouting to make that man stop stabbing my husband.

I didn't expect those protective feelings about somebody until I gave birth.

Anyway, it just happens that Mike's appointment was at the same time I was supposed to head to a client's office in Satartia, Mississippi. We agreed that as Mike had to drive us both home (the whole visceral experience left me wiped out and somewhat nauseated), it wasn't necessary for me to tag along and that he would take care of everything himself.

Next came Mom's eye. Have you ever seen somebody blow out a blood vessel in their eye? It doesn't hurt at all, but there's a lot of blood for such a sensitive area of the body, and it looks downright gnarly. Mom had recently changed a medication, so though she wasn't in any pain, she decided to err on the safe side and have it checked out. No big deal, no she didn't need me to go to the doctor with her.

And anyway, you guessed it: same time I was going to be in Satartia.

I was on my way home when Mike called first: "Since it was on my chest, I was able to watch this time. It was pretty gross. I had to sit down." Translation: it was gross enough that Mike almost passed out himself. Ha! He thought I was being a weenie last time. "Mike, do you need me to come and get you?" (knowing it would be at least an hour and a half before I could make it) "No, no, I'm on the road right now. Just wanted to let you know it was done."

Great. My recently-grossed-out-and-cut-up-husband is driving around and talking on the cell phone.

I was in the middle of a cotton field in the Delta when Mom called next: "I'm in the recovery room. They had to cut something out of my eye." What do you mean, out of your eye?!? Lymphoma is a weird thing and can apparently manifest itself on the eyeball. And the only way to find out is to actually cut out a sample and send it off to a pathologist.

Excellent. My recently-dilated-deadened-and-biopsied-on-her-eyeball mom is about to be woozily driving around and talking on the cell phone. And the doctor said it was OK, so there's nothing I can do about it.

No wonder I have migraines.

It's a wonder I wasn't stopped for speeding: my mind in a thousand different directions, and none of them included the road on which I was driving at the time. The day had snowballed from no-big-deal doctor appointments to samples taken out of somebody's eye, and that was just not acceptable. And though I was not necessarily needed at either of said appointments, it would have been nice to be there for moral support, hold a hand, or even to be able to drive the wounded home.

Welcome to motherhood: check your control over life at the door.

I found Mike at the house, gearing up to move furniture in the office. As he was supposed to keep the bandages (!!!) clean for 24 hours, he figured a trip to the pool was out. I had also convinced him not to mow the lawn or go for a run. So the next logical step would be moving filing cabinets and a pre-World-War II desk that weighs roughly 2.5 tons. Um, no. His bandage was so packed, it honestly looked like he had been stabbed.

In an effort to keep the man still, I decided we had to go check on Mom. She didn't look much better: the eye looked like she'd been socked. Between the two of them, they made Fight Club look like a bunch of pansies.

(You're welcome for the gratuitous Brad Pitt bare chest pic. Even if I did call him a pansy.)

But as I mentioned, all's well that ends well. Over the next few days, we learned that neither Mike's mole nor Mom's eye had any traces of cancer, and though they were the worse for wear, they have both almost completely recovered. It was worth it in the end to know the good news. Mom will have to return to have her eye checked on by professionals, and Mike and I both were surprised at the size of the incision on his chest.

It's ok Honey. Chicks dig scars.

Photos courtesy of icanhascheezburger and Huffington Post.

"Sakes Alive" Chocolate Fudge Bars

2010-08-15T11:26:00.000-07:00

Life is so good around here lately. Sure, I'm worried about Mom's potential cancer coming back, but I'll worry about that on Wednesday, when we meet with her doctor. The sermon at church today was about how God will take care of us, and I have to trust that. Even though last week I had a bit of a panic attack of worry regarding how I'll be able to handle the next six months of potential chemo on top of my own doctor appointments on top of an already busy schedule.

And January. Goodness, how will I make it through W-2s, W-3s, 1099s, 1096s, financials, State transmittals, sales taxes, and all the other good stuff that comes with the end of the year, on top of being 40 weeks pregnant?!? God will take care of us and not give us more than we can take.

Where was I? Oh yeah. The good. There's a sexy man sitting on the couch next to me, watching Star Wars. A sleepy dog is sacked out next to said sexy man, and a bratty cat is meowing at our feet. We have a busy and productive week ahead of us that's sure to keep us relatively out of trouble. I can feel the beginning vestiges of the welcome fall creeping up on us (knock on wood), and if you live within 100 miles of where I sit, you can appreciate that.

What sort of foods do you like best during the autumn? Any recipes you'd like me to research and try out? I'm looking forward to spices like nutmeg and cinnamon and savories like pot roast and shepherd's pie. Snuggling with a hot toddy and a hot man and a warm puppy dog while watching Miami Vice reruns. Football games and back to school....

Oh damn. I forgot the maniacal school buses that drive like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride through the neighborhood. Truly, I believe they think they'll win a prize if they hit us.

But if it means temperatures and "real feels" (what the heck happened to heat indices?) below 112 degrees, Dante and I will happily brave the sadistic bus drivers.

We had dinner with some really good friends last night, one of whom commented that my two biggest sections of this blog are Desserts and Travel. Those are just two of my favorites in life. The thing is, I've learned during my short tenure on this planet that families who know what's coming for dinner are generally happier, so I incorporate a new entree only once or twice a month. Otherwise, I tend to do similar entrees to the recipes I've already posted,and as there are currently only two of us, leftovers are an inevitability. But I figure desserts are special and can be varied. So that's where I find my adventure.

This recipe actually turned up in last Sunday's paper, next to a coupon for Martha White muffin mix. I thought that was a particularly fun way to sell muffin mix, so I decided to take them up on it. And boy, am I glad I did. Even though they perhaps should be renamed "Dirty Every Pot in the Kitchen" Chocolate Fudge Bars.

No-stick cooking spray

2 cups firmly packed brown sugar

1 cup butter, softened

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 large egg

2 (7.4 ounce) packages Martha White Chocolate Chip Muffin Mix

1 1/2 cups quick cooking oats

1 (14 ounce) can Eagle Brand Sweetened Condensed Milk

1 (12 ounce) package semi-sweet chocolate chips (2 cups)

3/4 cup chopped walnuts (of course I used pecans)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.
Coat a 13 x 9 inch pan with no-stick cooking spray.
Beat brown sugar and butter in large bowl until light and fluffy.
Beat in vanilla and egg.
Stir in muffin mix and oats.
Reserve one cup of mixture.
Pat remaining mixture into prepared pan.
Combine sweetened condensed milk and chocolate chips over low heat until chocolate is melted, stirring constantly.
Remove from heat and stir in walnuts (PECANS!).
Spread over muffin mixture to edge of pan.
Drop reserved oat mixture by teaspoonfuls over chocolate mixture.
Bake 35-40 minutes or until golden brown.
Cool completely (in pan) on a wire rack.

Once reheated, this stuff is SO GOOD with vanilla ice cream.

Mike and I are Having A.....

2010-08-13T17:28:00.000-07:00

Oh, I don't know. Take a look and you tell me:

Couldn't tell? OK, how about now?

Ladies and gentlemen, we are so proud to introduce to you our daughter.

It's been a big, beautiful day here at the Peacock Coop. The sun shined while it rained on our way to Dr. K's office. Here in the South, we'd call that the Devil beating his wife. Either way, rainbows were prolific. Tracy, our ultrasound tech, said that she would leave the screen on while taking measurements, but that we wouldn't know what we were viewing. As soon as she started, I was blurting out, "That's her skull!" "Aww, look at her feet!" "Mike, look at her heart beating!"

"That's a femur!!!"

Tracy and Dr. K were both impressed at this little girl's activity. The measurements weren't recorded on this DVD, but she wouldn't be still for Tracy to size her up. She even performed acrobatics while Dr. K was trying to listen to her heart. And for all you naysayers, both said it's definitely possible and most likely that I've been feeling this kid's antics for the past few weeks.

We think she's very pretty. After lunch, Mike and I went to look at handguns, specifically Kimbers and the Ruger SR9C. He also checked out a couple of shotguns.

Maybe she has Mike's nose?
I am completely enamored with her feet. Her legs are crossed, so they look backwards. I know because this is how I sit at the end of the day, when I finally have time to put up my feet.

All the wives' tales are wrong, wrong, WRONG. As I've mentioned before, I will knock you down for some fried chicken. Or a good BLT, so salty cravings don't indicate a boy. I haven't been sick for a minute, so she hasn't taken my health. I'm way more gorgeous now than before I was pregnant and my hair is so thick it requires chunking shears to thin out, so she didn't take away my beauty.

And my butt hasn't spread an inch, thankyouverymuch.

Since technically Mike is responsible for this little beauty, I'm delighting in insisting that he tell family and friends when we're together. And I have to admit that my heart melts a little every time I hear him say, "We're having a little girl."

Mike paid me a huge compliment on our way home. I asked him how in the world I would raise her to be a strong, effective, capable, intelligent, compassionate, intuitive steel magnolia. He replied, "Just be yourself, and lead by example."

Wow. Thanks Babe.

Keeping it Together

2010-08-10T12:45:00.000-07:00

Physically, this pregnancy has been a dream. Annoyingly so: I glow. I radiate. My body is doing exactly what it's supposed to without the expected sickness, nausea, or fatigue. No major weight gain so far - my hairdresser gently asked if I had miscarried as I'm still not showing at 17 weeks. The kid is on the move, and I feel great. Empowered. Energetic. Ready to take on the world. I'm even caught off guard when sweet concerned friends ask me how I'm feeling: the other day a male pastor friend of mine asked, "How's your pregnancy going?" To which I absently replied, "It's great! How is yours?" Ugh. So much for decorum. I just don't think about it as the only physical reminders are good ones.

But I'm bitchy. :)

I try to keep it under wraps, but let's face it: there are a lot of hormones and stress factors coming together to create the perfect storm for some pretty imperfect (and often hilarious) mood swings and freakouts. You can tell me 'till you're blue in the face that I'm going to love this kid with all my heart and soul, but for right now, I just don't get it. And I probably won't get it until at least January. Of 2029. The reality is, I'm about to give up my body and our entire way of life for an angry little uncommunicative relative who just won't leave and who will probably poop on us for the next eighteen years.

What the hell have I done?

Me: What if I don't love this baby?!?
Mike: You said the same about the dog, and you love him, don't you?
Me: Sure, but people tend to frown on kenneling your kid.

Mike: OK. I'll love him enough for both of us.

And somehow that made it OK. I like best what Christina Applegate said about pregnancy psychosis. Just watch :40-:58 for the gist of it:

Don't get me wrong: I'm not stone-cold crazy all the time. My personality has always been somewhat saltier than sweet, but now it's like the Tabasco sauce of which I currently can't have enough has been thrown into the mix. My fuse is a little shorter. My temper a a shade hotter. And when something kicks me off, just sit back and enjoy the ride. We will laugh about it later, I promise. (I hope!)

After all, "assertive" often starts with showing your ass.

But I'm starkly aware that God paired me with the right man with whom to have a baby. There's no way I'd make it through any of this if not for Mr. Peacock and his quiet (often equally hilarious) solutions.

Me: What if something happens and I have to have a C-section and I'm not able to take care of the baby and change diapers? MIKE, HOW AM I GOING TO CHANGE THE BABY'S DIAPER?!?

Mike: I'm an engineer with a master's degree from Georgia Tech and access to duct tape. I can handle it.

Maybe it'll be OK after all.

When in doubt, pinky out.

Photos courtesy of daddytypes and bustedspoke.

The Methodist Ladies' Chicken Lasagna Florentine

2010-08-09T04:52:00.000-07:00

It's a glorious Monday morning here in beautiful downtown Burbank. 74 degrees (I know - shocker!), the sun is rising, and I am up, dressed, and ready for the day. Taking Dante for a W-A-L-K? Ah... No. Going outside to work in the garden? Nope. Off to the grocery store while it's still cool? Of course not! I'm sitting on my duff, waiting for the painters. Last time they were two hours late, and they said they would arrive at 7:00 this morning, which I suppose translates to sometime around 4 this afternoon. The day is totally shot.

Well, not completely. Laundry is running, dishes are washing, and here I sit, making good on my resolution to blog more often.

This is another excerpt from my current favorite read, Being Dead is No Excuse. Despite the subject material, this really is a funny cookbook written in somewhat sarcastic hyperbole (yet the truth comes in jest, you know) that strikes a chord in me. If you live in the South, these people are your neighbors.

For once, we're at a loss for words. Pecans and lasagna? But this is the quintessential Methodist death dish, and it's so good it'll kill you.

Ingredients:

6 lasagna noodles, uncooked

1 (10-ounce) package chopped frozen spinach, thawed

2 cups cooked, chopped chicken breasts (about 3 medium breasts)

2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

1/3 cup finely chopped onion

1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons white pepper

1 Tablespoon soy sauce

1 can (10 3/4 ounce) cream of mushroom soup (of course.)

1 (8-ounce) carton sour cream

1/3 cup homemade mayonnaise (I used our olive oil stuff, and it came out just as well.)

3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (or to taste)

Butter Pecan Topping (see below)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Cook the noodles according to the package directions, drain and set aside.
Darin the spinach well, pressing between layers of paper towels (or kitchen towels).
Combine the spinach, chicken, cheddar cheese, onion, nutmeg, salt, pepper, soy sauce, soup, sour cream, and mayonnaise in a large bowl; stir to blend.
Arrange half the lasagna noodles in a lightly greased 11 x 7 x 1 1/2-inch baking dish.
Spread half the chicken mixture over the noodles.
Repeat this procedures with the remaining noodles and chicken mixture.
Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and Butter Pecan Topping.
Bake, covered, for 55 to 60 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.
Let stand for 15 minutes before cutting.
Serves eight.

Butter Pecan Topping

Ingredients:

2 Tablespoons butter or margarine

1 cup chopped pecans

Melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat; add the pecans and cook for 3 minutes.
Cool completely.

Beware: this stuff is super-duperly rich, so have a side salad nearby. The spices are great though, so I would recommend following that part of the recipe rather closely, which you know is odd for me. Especially with a casserole. Mike calls it "the chicken stuff," and requests it often.

Now for a little lagniappe: the photo below was taken at Grace Church Cemetery in St. Francisville, Louisiana. The structure is in the back of the antebellum churchyard, and Mike and I were transfixed by the architecture, brickwork, and current state of ruin. My guess is that it was some sort of crypt - there was another opening on the other side - but Mike didn't seem to agree. The other entrance was below ground level and had been haphazardly covered up with a road sign by some authority, only to be pushed aside by teenagers looking for a spooky thrill.

What do you think it is? Can you imagine the stories, sordid and toe-curling, that might have occurred at this eerie kind of spot?

Nesting Under Duress

2010-08-07T14:25:00.001-07:00

I'm very glad Mike and I are together for many reasons. Lately I'm most glad that we have been feeding off the other's energy, alternating turns in being the horsepower behind necessary renovations brought about by this kid in me and a bit of a disaster this week.

In the beginning of all this mayhem and foolishness, I was the catalyst that turned the house upside down, moving all the equipment in the gym to the garage and all the guest room furniture into the gym-turned-guest room. My reason was pragmatic: I realized that in another couple of months, I won't be able to move much anything (Mike took care of the big stuff, but I probably lifted more than I should have anyway), so I wanted to take care of the heavy lifting as soon as possible.

But as soon as the nursery was empty (and I was completely worn out), Mike took the reins and could not wait to paint. Since he would be actually painting, I happily gave him the task of picking out the color, and I. AM. ENAMORED. Inspired by the green-blues in the waves at Rosemary Beach, he selected a hue entitled Waterscape. It feels like you're sitting in a big Tiffany box, only not so bright. The pictures below are awful of the color - there is a lot more green - so you'll just have to come see it for yourself. He chose very, very well.

OK, the painting was done. Then as soon as Mike was worn out, I decided that our furniture would be scratched at Cullen's Playpen (which, of course, it wouldn't. I was being a worrywart.), so we had to have that delivered. Then began the task of unpacking the stuff, which was truly set up to withstand a nuclear meltdown. I've never seen so much packing material: the boxes were bigger than I am.

Dante helped.
Some people might say, "Aww, isn't that sweet? She's nesting!!!" Trust me, all ideas were produced solely out of practicality and snowballed into complete havoc.

I have some ideas to finish the nursery, but we'll wait until Friday the 13th, when we discover the sex of our bun. We will recover the rocker and add a mirror and a few lamps to coordinate with the bedding, and I hear blackout curtains are popular for nurseries, even though this is a north-facing room with plenty of shade. We'll figure it all out in the end. The point is, we worked for days and weeks on this project, and as soon as we thought we were finished with home improvements for a while.....

.... it rained.

And rained.

Rain would not have been a problem had our roof been on the house during said rainstorm. But we were having it replaced, and God thought now would be a good time to bring us even closer together. I was at a funeral when it rained. The roofers were on the south side of the house and didn't see me when I came in. Going to turn off the alarm, I slipped in a puddle of water and almost busted my tail. My first thought was that I'd left on a faucet... No. Washing machine blew? No... And then I looked up.

About the time the alarm went off, the roofer was ringing the doorbell to apologize profusely for the rain in the house. The garage, back hall, utility room, dining room, foyer, hallway to the office, office, jack and jill bathroom, and the door framing in the nursery all have damage. Some of the carpets were soaked, especially the one in the office, and some of the hardwood floors had standing water on them.

It was a big, fat mess.

So the next few days were spent moving everything in Mike's big, messy office into the nursery to clear the wet carpet. The good news is that we now have no option but to organize it when putting everything back together.

I could find the bright side of a plague.

Painters came two days later to make repairs, but there are some spots that still need work. They are planning to come next week to finish up the door framings, and I hate to tell them they'll have to do something more about the back hallway. Probably the most frustrating part of the whole deal is that I can show the painters 6 times where the paint is cracked and warping in a spot, and they won't do anything about it. But all Mike has to do is call them once, and they take care of it.

Grr.

I've mitigated this ineffectual female syndrome by having Mike write up a list of things for them to do. Maybe that'll help next week. Wish me luck.

But all's well that ends well: Dante has a new favorite spot in this world.

Dante's "How I Spent This Summer"

2010-08-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's been a big summer for our pup. He turned 2 years old on June 10th. In celebration, we sent the Pearl River SPCA, the organization that found him, a donation along with a letter and some photos. Dante also received a new bed and a new Kong, as both were almost as old as he and had seen the worse for wear.
About a week later, I received a phone call from Bonnie at the SPCA. She said that my note came at the perfect time and that she needed a human-interest story for their newsletter. So I sent her a grown-up photo of Dante, and she sent me his baby picture.

From this (they don't come much cuter):

To this:
Dante made the cover story of the newsletter, which is proudly displayed on the fridge, right next to his latest two achievements: he passed his Love on a Leash Therapy Dog test and his American Kennel Club Canine Good Citizen test!
We celebrated THAT with a new collar to go with his new CGC tags. Very proud indeed.

But this summer wasn't all about work. He's had a great time hanging out at Mom's house with Jack and Darlin' while Mike and I have been out of town, and he has broadened his horizons by meeting new friends. This is Dash, a friend's pet dragon. Dante was intrigued.

Right now he's in the back yard, helping Mike pick up sticks. Glad to know all this mayhem and foolishness haven't gone to his head.

St. Francisville Jaunt

2010-08-07T06:56:00.000-07:00

Dante, Mike, Kearney, and I are all piled up on the green couch this morning, a creepy ghost movie on the TV, a cup of coffee perched precariously on the arm rest, the comics in Mike's hand, a baby wriggling happily in my belly, and Dante's head resting peacefully in the crook of my arm. It's a nice morning.

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity, and as per usual, I'm sorry for not keeping up with it here. I suppose as I enjoy writing, this blog is somewhat of a luxury for me. But years down the road, I'll wish I had written more. Last night our good friend Jessica told us about her friend who sets up spa expenses as part of their family budget because it makes her a nicer person. I like that idea. So I made a new entry every week on my calendar - "BLOG!!!" - and maybe now since I've carved time out (I mean, really, as luxuries go, this one is pretty cheap.), you'll hear more from me.

Meanwhile, we need to catch up.

How about I start with Mike's recent dispatch down to St. Francisville, Louisiana, to work at the power plant? He had a project to do that had a somewhat indefinite period of time dedicated to it, but I thought it would be a fun adventure to join him. It always is.

When we first arrived in the pretty little town, we stopped by Grace Church, where we walked through the cemetery and took a few photos. It was a neat experience, walking amongst the peaceful dead and feeling our little life kicking and squirming at the same time.

The next day, I dropped Mike off at work and set off exploring on my own. I started off at the Main Street and enjoyed the architecture.

The rest of the week was spent bumping along backroads of Louisiana and the Mississippi border. I really felt the baby kick while I was driving, and I found myself talking to him in the car.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful - just scene after beautiful scene of majestic live oaks, bucolic fields, and ancient architecture. A big craving for fried chicken raised its ugly head, and boy, were we in luck! I subjected Mike to some of the best fried chicken in the world: first at Eight Sisters Kitchen in St. Francisville, and then at the Old Country Store in Lorman, Mississippi.

That was a trip.

We arrived early for supper - around 5:15 - and once we walked through the doors of the 130-year-old establishment, we were transported back in time. Mr. D. and an employee were sitting at a table and asked how they could help us. I explained that we were looking for some fried chicken. They were unfortunately not open for supper yet, but Mr. D. set us up with some to-go boxes to take home with us.

I was in heaven.

Daisy would agree that this stuff is almost as good as hers. Which makes it currently the best fried chicken in the known universe.

Million Dollar Pound Cake

2010-08-06T14:46:00.000-07:00

I've read somewhere that your sense of smell is most closely linked with memory. For instance, Mike gave me a perfume for my birthday one year when we just started dating, and to this day, that scent takes me back to the first fun days of falling in love.

Every now and then a recipe comes along that makes the whole kitchen and parts of the house smell like my grandmother's. I don't know if it was her cooking or Daisy's (I flatter myself to compare m creations to Daisy), but it feels like coming home and taking a trip back to my roots. Poached chicken breasts with onions and bell peppers and bacon for BLTs cooked in the cast-iron skillet are two in particular that hearken to the old days in a kitchen with brick floors.

And now I've found another.

This recipe is another that came from my new favorite book, Being Dead is No Excuse, and I love the simplicity of it. Truly, some of the most simple things in life are the best. Give a kid a gift wrapped in a big cardboard box, and you'll see what I mean.

1 pound butter, softened

3 cups sugar

6 eggs

4 cups all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon salt (I added this to bring out the extract flavors)

3/4 cup milk

1 teaspoon almond extract

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.
Cream the butter; gradually add the sugar. Beat well (as in, fluffy. I beat it for a full 5 minutes.)
Add the eggs, one at a time, beating after each.
Add the flour and salt to the creamed mixture, alternating with the milk. Begin and end with flour. Do not overmix.
Add the flavorings.
Pour batter into a greased-and-floured tube pan (10-inch tube pan or 10-cup pan).
Bake for 1 1/2 hours, or until slightly firm to the touch.
Cool in pan for ten minutes.

Voila.
I know it's odd to show the bottom of a cake, but it was just too pretty and decadent not to take a photo of that. I mean, look at all that lovely caramelized sugar. Yum.

Dump it out, and this is what you get. Can be topped with anything fancy - homemade whipped cream and raspberry coulis is one of my favorite combinations. Or you can be a purist and just enjoy it warm. This cake freezes exceptionally well, which makes it a great funeral dish.

But my favorite way to serve it.....

.... is toasted. With coffee. On a cool autumn morning (I know it's hot as hell out there, just bear with me). And not just any toaster will do. You have slice it up and broil this baby old-school. One day I'd love to have an honest-to-Pete gas broiler, but Mr. Peacock (wisely) doesn't trust me with an open flame in the kitchen. I suppose I'm lucky to have my gas stovetop.

Antiques Roadtrip

2010-07-25T18:15:00.001-07:00

Meet the first million-dollar evaluation found at the Antiques Roadshow.

Our experience was somewhat less exciting, but interesting, informative, and entertaining nonetheless. Mike and I set out yesterday for a day trip down to Biloxi, Mississippi, where I had won free tickets in a lottery to participate in a filming of the popular PBS show. The day did not disappoint.

The reality of the Roadshow is very different from our expectations. First, we stood in line for the "triage area," where somebody would look at our stuff and give us a ticket for the next level. Then we would go stand in line outside this complex, behind which they were actually filming:
THEN we would go stand in line within the blue panels where the cameras and lights were set up (don't pick your nose or your underwear!). Then, after a couple of hours, somebody would cursorily look at our stuff and give us a 2-minute chat about it without really telling us anything we didn't already know.

It was a lot like socialized healthcare.

But the real fun was in the Southern experience of chatting with the people who were standing in line around us and having the chance to see their treasures. The day was a grown-up show and tell. We saw everything from porcelain to muskets to a hand-carved coconut shell somebody's great-grandfather made while a prisoner of the Civil War in the Customs House in New Orleans. We heard sordid and juicy stories of love lost and family found. We made new friends and expanded our horizons.

I wonder if it's the same up in New York.

Our first stop was to check out a Marie Hull oil painting of a pot of flowers with a Chinese figurine that Mom loaned me for the trip. That line was relatively short, but the "expert" made up for that with her snootiness, "Ah, another Marie Hull. That's the fourth one I've seen today. I like the ones with birds better...."

I considered showing her a bird of my own.

Then we took Mike's American Indian corn grinding stones to American Artifacts. That evaluator was really very nice, giving us helpful information about how we could find a local artifact association in the same region where the stones were found (Georgia and South Carolina) to better date them and perhaps even tie them to a tribe. Though it's doubtful that we'll do that, it's an idea of which we hadn't thought. He also suggested that we let our child take them to show and tell because they were excellent examples of everyday life of the Indians. And they weren't likely to break.

Next we stood in line for Asian art to have Mike's hand-blown glass net floats checked out. I was excited about meeting Lark Mason, who was very nice, and though Mike's floats weren't worth a lot of money, Lark was intrigued by one that was an oblong shape: he seemed to think it was actually a pastry roller. But Mike corrected him, relating the fact that he found it on the beach of Okinawa, still wound up in its original net. Lark did make the point that they will probably increase in value, as those floats are no longer used and have been replaced with plastic parts.

Last but not least, we stood in line for TWO HOURS to have my KPM porcelain plaque evaluated. Once finally at the front of the line, Mark Moran was nice enough to have a look. He didn't tell me anything about it that I didn't already know, but he was very complimentary, saying that the value of KPM comes from the artistry and beauty of the piece, that one of the figures looked a lot like me, and that it was a remarkably beautiful piece. Toward the end of our conversation, he said it was the "nicest piece he had seen all day," but fortunately he did not want to put me on TV. We were finally able to head home around 4:30 - we had arrived at 11!

Do the math: 5 1/2 hours of standing in line and 6 hours of driving for 8 minutes of evaluations. But you know what? We really enjoyed every minute of it. We were able to meet people that we had watched on TV for years, and now we are intimately familiar with the entire process.

And who knows? Maybe we'll be the people in the background picking our noses when the show airs in January.

Well damn indeed.

Photos courtesy of NYDailyNews, GulfLive.

Stephenie Meyer Overload

2010-07-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

This weekend Mike and I went along with some friends who will remain nameless (to protect the not-so-innocent) for dinner and a movie. Dairy Queen is one of my favorite cravings lately, and they were game for an old-school date at the DQ, so we met there for supper. I'm still dreaming about those onion rings. Yum! But as much fun and as camp as our supper was, the company was even better. We soon realized that with all the talent at that table, we could easily take over and rule the world.

As the two of us girls had read the Twilight series, we decided to go watch Eclipse, while the boys headed to the theater next door to watch Predators. As much fun as it was to giggle and heckle at the vampires and werewolves, I'm beginning to think the boys might have had the better end of the deal.

Reading Stephenie Meyer's novels has been a guilty pleasure for me: I'm actually somewhat ashamed to admit that I've done so. The sophomoric behavior - meaningful glances, burning touches, reading way too much into any given situation - is tiring for me, and there's no way I can sober up and take it seriously. But somehow it's like a train wreck: I just can't seem to stop watching. Though the Eclipse movie was much better than either of the other two movies, it was far worse than anything I've watched in a long time.

And the audience didn't seem to feel the same way as we did. There were times when my friend and I laughed out loud while everybody else was ooh-ing and aah-ing. Like when Bella and Edward were talking about having sex. Edward said, "But Bella, it could KILL you! I could split you in half." Really? REALLY?!? HAHAHAHAHA!!! I mean, I think some guy tried that line on me in college. Of course I never took him up on it: I couldn't look him in the eye without drowning in a fit of giggles.

Oh wait. We weren't supposed to laugh at that line?

There was also what was supposed to be a super-intense scene between Jacob and Edward in a tent on a mountainside, hence the photo at the top. It looks like the silhouettes are kissing, and that's kind of what my friend and I expected Edward and Jacob to do, not Edward and Bella. The guys were probably going for serious and deep, but it just looked to us like they were about to make out with each other.

The fact that the makeup artist used the same eye shadow on both Bella and Edward didn't help matters.

But despite my complaints, it was a pretty good flick. The crowd was almost as entertaining: everybody stood up and cheered afterward, and there was actually a group of about 6 girls taking each others' picture with the credits. Like they were tourists. Standing with Robert Pattinson.

Yeah, that was a little creepy.

Meanwhile, and completely by coincidence, I just finished reading The Host by the same author. I did not like this book: it gave me nightmares. Not from the story line so much as the monotony and predictability of plot and characters. It even had the same odd and seemingly impossible love triangle between an all-too altruistic girl and the two men who love her.

I have enough cookbooks. Don't give me one in literary form.

The story itself could easily have been condensed into 200-300 pages, but with all of Stephenie's beloved details and Steinbeckian plot twists, it easily topped 600. As a good friend of mine said, it became a lot better about 3/4 of the way in, but gosh, isn't that a lot of time and effort to devote to plot development?

Surprisingly enough however, just like in the Twilight Series, the ending was good enough to justify the means of suffering through every punch and abuse thrown at our beloved heroine and heroes.

So I'm glad to have experienced Meyer Mania, but I think I'm set until the final movie or movies come out. For now I'll stick to something a little more light and fluffy.

Have any suggestions?

Photos courtesy of Bowen Summer Garden and Lyricis.

Pregnant Pause

2010-07-17T14:29:00.000-07:00

A few of you beloved readers have commented lately on how sparse my posts have become, and I really do appreciate that. It means you like me, you really like me! And that I am missed. But I have a good reason for it:

I'm pregnant.

The thing is, I'm a terrible liar. And an even worse omitter-of-truth. We've known about this bun in the oven since May, and man, has it been hard not to spill the beans. But after a fantastic doctor's appointment yesterday, Mike and I figured it was safe to open the floodgates and let you in on our little secret.

AND most of my recent eating habits have been dictated by a 3-inch-long kid inside me who isn't really even showing yet. This child loves protein and dairy. The macaroni and cheese and ice cream are two particular favorites.

I'm going to have to be careful these next six months.

So, the details: I'm 13 weeks pregnant and due in mid-January of 2011, just late enough to miss the tax deduction for 2010. Yes, we will find out the sex on Friday, August 13th. That's a great day for me because my grandfather was born on Friday the 13th, so it's always been lucky.

I am one of those irritating pregnant women who feels FANTASTIC. I radiate and glow. Everything is wonderful - eating is wonderful, smelling is wonderful, all my five senses have kicked into high gear, and I don't even have to squint at road signs anymore. No symptoms at all. No throwing up, no breakouts, no wild and uncontrollable emotions. I do like to sleep a lot now, and during my first trimester I would pass out if I stood up too fast, but that has eased up. It would freak Mike completely out though, and he taught me the fighter pilot trick of tightening your legs to alter your blood pressure, which has helped tremendously.

Oh, and my breasts are already enormous.

I have noticed that I am a little more emotional than usual: The Blind Side made me cry last night, and I'm much more assertive than I used to be. It's like there's a little voice in my head saying it's OK to speak my mind.

Which probably had something to do with the bar fight I in which I found myself at 5 weeks along....

Mike has noticed that I need a cranky pill when I haven't had enough sleep or am hungry. One of our reoccurring conversations involves my asking, "My gosh, why do I want to eat ALL THE TIME?" To which he replies, "Because my baby's growing in you." Oh. Well that makes sense.

We're having a great time and enjoying our last few months in which it's just the two of us and a dog and damn cat. Because all too soon some little monster will come along and destroy all of our carefully-laid-out peace and quiet. And we absolutely cannot wait.

By Popular Demand - Mint Chocolate Chip

2010-07-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

Mint chocolate chip has always been one of my particular ice cream favorites. So much so that I've become a bit of an aficionado - Baskin Robbins is the best while Bryer's just doesn't cut it. Perhaps because Bryer's is missing the distinctive green flavor in its quest for all-natural ingredients. I remember as a kid my dad would take me to Baskin Robbins for a mint-chocolate-chip-Sprite-float, and boy was it good. Completely hit the spot on a hot summer day.

So I was SO pleasantly surprised when this Cuisinart recipe worked out perfectly.

Ingredients:

1 cup whole milk, well chilled

3/4 cup granulated sugar

2 cups heavy cream, well chilled

1-2 teaspoons pure peppermint extract (to taste)

2-3 drops green food coloring

1 cup mini semisweet chocolate chips or your favorite bittersweet or dark chocolate bar, chopped

In a medium bowl, use a hand mixer or a whisk to combine the milk and granulated sugar until the sugar is dissolved, about 1-2 minutes on low speed.
Stir in the heavy cream, peppermint extract to taste, and green food coloring.
Turn machine on, pour mixture into freezer bowl through ingredient spout, and let mix until thickened about 25-30 minutes.
Add the chocolate chips during the last 5 minutes of mixing.

Photo courtesy of Sodahead.

I Scream, You Scream

2010-07-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but there are few things in this world on a hot day better than homemade soft serve. Maybe ice cold watermelon, but usually ice cream just can't be beat.

Then again, one Thanksgiving Mike's aunt Nancy made a cinnamon ice cream to top pumpkin pie. It was so good, I made myself sick on that stuff. I still dream about it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, hot summer days, a melty cone of the freshest, softest cold stuff you can imagine. Don't forget to put a marshmallow in the bottom of the cone to prevent drips.

Unfortunately, it takes some investment for homemade ice cream: I highly recommend the Cuisinart model, as the brand is great, has excellent customer service, rarely breaks down, and comes with a fairly foolproof recipe booklet that covers all your basics and then some. Of course, I could also have used the KitchenAid ice cream maker attachment, but I just didn't think about it.

But consider the benefits to homemade ice cream: you know exactly what's going in there. You know there are no preservatives, no weird hormones, just what you put in the pot and nothing else. And really, I don't think you can buy ice cream that tastes as good as you can make it.

Because I happened to have a bunch in the fridge that were about to go bad, the first batch I made was strawberry. I followed the Cuisinart recipe rather closely, and oh my, it was F.I.N.E. fine. The only difference is that I blended the strawberries in a blender with the lemon juice to make a more smooth cream and a more fun pink color. Will have to make some for Mike's buddy Karl when he comes to visit.

Ingredients
3 cups fresh ripe strawberries, stemmed and sliced
4 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1-1/2 cup sugar, divided
1-1/4 cups whole milk
2-3/4 cups heavy cream
1-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Instructions

In a small bowl, combine the strawberries with the lemon juice and 1/2 cup of the sugar.
Stir gently and allow the strawberries to macerate in the juices for 2 hours.
Strain the berries, reserving juices.
Mash or purée half the berries.
In a medium mixing bowl, use a hand mixer on low speed to combine the milk and remaining granulated sugar until the sugar is dissolved, about 1 to 2 minutes.
Stir in the heavy cream, reserved strawberry juice, mashed strawberries, and vanilla.
Turn the machine on; pour the mixture into freezer bowl, and let mix until thickened, about 20 to 25 minutes.
Five minutes before mixing is completed, add the reserved sliced strawberries and let mix in completely.
The ice cream will have a soft, creamy texture.
If a firmer consistency is desired, transfer the ice cream to an airtight container and place in freezer for about 2 hours.
Remove from freezer about 15 minutes before serving.