Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom acts as one with our very soul.
Day 31 of Free Agency
I pulled myself out of nap mode long enough to try and blog again. It's amazing how time expands when you have no constraints. The same chores that you rush through in 30 minutes in between day job and night job as chauffeur, can take you 3 hours, 3 days, or in some cases, months.
Finishing up the RW Caldwell classes...so what do you want to be when you grow up? Name you three biggest strengths. Tell me your greatest weakness?
Weakness? Chocolate bars dipped in peanut butter at 1 a.m. while watching Conan? Oh, you mean in business. Well, I have no mechanical ability. Zip. Zilch. Impossible. Can't figure one thing out, pretty sure gravity doesn't even exist. Nothing seems to gel inside my brain.
You know the genome project where they are documenting all the genetic codes? I am positive they will find there is a chromosome just for mechanics. And God left mine out. My proof that it's genetic? My brothers, and my twins, both evidence of the genetic predisposition to many things in life.
My eldest brother, Mr. Computer, is a wizard at anything electronic or computer gadgetry. When he was a teenager, he took apart my parents new stereo, just to see how it worked. Then he went out and bought the parts to make his own top notch stereo system. He funded this little project with money he made at school. My brother is a money magnet. From age 6, he knew how to cash in. He used to sell his homemade lunch, his sandwich, his cookies and his chips, and use the money to buy a school lunch and have money left over to save. When he was in high school, he again analyzed the situation and figured out how to profit.
Back in the day, they had lock built into the lockers in the high school. My bro got tired of using a combination for the lock, and wanted a key instead. They school had a master key that worked all locks. My brother bought a blank key, and notched, and filed, and worked it until he made a key that fit the lock. But he did not stop there. No, all his friends wanted keys. He went to the hardware store and ordered a gross of blank keys--144 blanks. He sat in the garage and hand cut and filed all the keys. Sold them for $5 each, at a time when minimum wage was a $1. The school didn't take too kindly, and called my parents to ask him to stop. Can you imagine that today? His butt would be long gone from the school in this age, but all they did was call. Please cease and desist. Funny.
My other brother was a genius with cars. When he was 12, he tore apart his mini bike and built a go-cart. Designed a frame and welded it to fit his 5'6' frame. Made a roll cage for the go-cart and padded it. Put on regular brakes on it. Painted it. He and all his friends tore up and down the fields with that thing. Lots of fun. My brother could look at something and figure out how it worked. Not a lot of training needed, just a natural talent.
And my twins? Luke has a lot of the same talents. He started putting his chain on his bike and his sisters at age 6. We know Mom couldn't get them back on . Once we went to a team baseball party at a private home with a 5 acre man-made pond. All the toys a kid could want there, a trampoline on the water, a diving dock, trout for fishing, a beach, and paddle boats. Now my twins hadn't been on a paddle boat. As soon as we got there, Luke put on the swimming vest and pushed the boat in the water and hops in alone. You see him take a minute, paddle forward, paddle backward, turn right, turn left, figuring it out. He calmly backs up, turns and plays in the boat for 20 minutes. Brings it to shore, backing it in, pulling it on the sand for the next people. Then he hops in the canoe with some other kids, to paddle the lake.
Out comes Maggie, swim vest on, hops in the paddle boat. If her twin can do it, so can she. No fear here like Mom has of new things, but also no natural abilities. She paddles all around the lake, having fun, but ends up in the middle. Going around in circles. No clue how to stop or go another direction or how to get back. Starts screaming, "Mom, Mom, help! help!"
Of course you know I can't help. Luke is on the trampoline by now. Elder son Wild child is swimming. Wild child hops in the other paddle boat, goes to the trampoline to pick up Luke, who hops in the side. Luke doesn't even sit, just crouches ready to jump in the other paddle boat. They pull up along side Maggie, and Luke jumps in, pushing Maggie to the other seat, and steers her back to shore. All at age 8. Amazing.
Mom was on shore watching with amused eyes, trying hard not to cry as I was holding in the laughter. Poor Maggie I thought, she has my stupid mechanical genes. Well, I knew just what to do. Bake cookies. Why cookies? Because I always bake cookies to get what I want fixed. Age old solution, the way to a man's....mechanics is through his stomach.
Come on Maggie, time for that baking lesson. And that entry level mechanics class. It's the 21st century. Women need to do it all. And boys, Luke and Wild Child, come learn how to bake those cookies you love. The way to a good woman's heart is through a gourmet meal, so let's go.
Well rounded strengths. That's what we all need. As for me, well, what kind of cookies do you want?
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The little bakers
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very soul.
Valetine's day this week. Yum, the treats. Hershey kisses with raspberry cream centers. Cutout cookies shaped like hearts. Russell Stover little candy heart boxes. Red and pink M&M's. If it's a candy holiday, the food is good.
Maggie had her friend over all day hanging out. Miss J goes to church with the twins now, and I pick her up and drop her off. After church today, the kids were so quiet, I drove home in a trance. Pulled in the driveway, and Luke teases me, "Hey, are you dropping her home?" Huh? you guys are actually in the car? I forgot all about you. Iguess she stays.
Of course, there is always baking when Miss J comes over. They were not overly ambitious today, so they just made a cake. And the frosting. I am upstairs listening to the frosting being made. Get the butter. Warm it up a little in the microwave. Add the milk. Add the sugar. Add the milk. It's too thin, add the sugar. It's too sweet, addl the milk. Next thing I know they are adding flour. When I come down to see how it's going, they are drizzling the chocolate syrup consistency mess all over the cake, and the counter. I could not help but laughing and remembering baking with my best friend, CK.
We loved making brownies and adding stuff to them. Mostly gobs of peanut butter. I don't think they ever actually cooked, but got heated through and quickly devoured. We would often get side tracked playing with makeup and forgot what we were baking. One time, her older brother made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch (ok, maybe not sleeping, maybe passed out from too much beer in Grandma's barn, like we didn't know) and we decided to be evil. We tried out the makeup on him. Full eyeshadow, blush and lipstick. Even did his fingernails and toenails with bright pink polish. Man, was he ever mad when he woke up!! But we already had pictures to blackmail him with forever!
Too bad we didn't have You tube back then! Boy the fun we could have had!
Now, where are those pictures....
Valetine's day this week. Yum, the treats. Hershey kisses with raspberry cream centers. Cutout cookies shaped like hearts. Russell Stover little candy heart boxes. Red and pink M&M's. If it's a candy holiday, the food is good.
Maggie had her friend over all day hanging out. Miss J goes to church with the twins now, and I pick her up and drop her off. After church today, the kids were so quiet, I drove home in a trance. Pulled in the driveway, and Luke teases me, "Hey, are you dropping her home?" Huh? you guys are actually in the car? I forgot all about you. Iguess she stays.
Of course, there is always baking when Miss J comes over. They were not overly ambitious today, so they just made a cake. And the frosting. I am upstairs listening to the frosting being made. Get the butter. Warm it up a little in the microwave. Add the milk. Add the sugar. Add the milk. It's too thin, add the sugar. It's too sweet, addl the milk. Next thing I know they are adding flour. When I come down to see how it's going, they are drizzling the chocolate syrup consistency mess all over the cake, and the counter. I could not help but laughing and remembering baking with my best friend, CK.
We loved making brownies and adding stuff to them. Mostly gobs of peanut butter. I don't think they ever actually cooked, but got heated through and quickly devoured. We would often get side tracked playing with makeup and forgot what we were baking. One time, her older brother made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch (ok, maybe not sleeping, maybe passed out from too much beer in Grandma's barn, like we didn't know) and we decided to be evil. We tried out the makeup on him. Full eyeshadow, blush and lipstick. Even did his fingernails and toenails with bright pink polish. Man, was he ever mad when he woke up!! But we already had pictures to blackmail him with forever!
Too bad we didn't have You tube back then! Boy the fun we could have had!
Now, where are those pictures....
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Apple Soup
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very soul.
It's a cold dreary February day in Buffalo. Slushy snow, melting into rivers on the driveways, soaks us up to our ankles. Snow boots quickly remind us why they are not rain boots. The dampness permeates our guts and bones, making me feel like a little old lady in a rainstorm.
I crank the heat up. Get out the comforters. Throw on an extra sweater. Heat up the rice neck warmer in the microwave for 3 minutes. Still cold. I would really like 30 minutes of slow, deep kisses to warm me up, but its twin movie time, so I must make do.
Luke decides to make Apple Crisp. Does he pull out my recipe file and look for my version, handwritten in my 15 year old cursive? Does he go to my favorite baking bible, The Fanny Farmer Cookbook? No, of course not, that's old school. He goes to the internet, searches the Food Network and checks out recipes. Finds one, writes it out on torn corner of a piece of paper, and begins to cook.
I stay out of it, barely, as I answer the 95 questions. "Mom, how many apples should I use? Where are the measuring cups? Where are the teaspoons? Can I use this margarine? Which oven should I use? How big of a pan should I make?" And so on, and so on.
He peels, cores, cuts, mixes and stirs. "Mom, it's kinda runny." Hmm, add some more brown sugar and flour, and some walnuts, it should be good. Bake it. Pull it out. Smells delicious.
But it looks like soup. The whole 13 x 9 pan is under juice. The apples are barely visible. We quickly dub it apple soup and dig in. Wow, those apples were hot, but good. We take it back to the living room to watch the Disney channel. Maggie is buried under a blanket. She asked to be covered up, so I proceeded to give her the bake potato wrap. Had her lean forward, and I wrapped and tucked and covered her up. Pulled down the top so she could breathe. She looks like we could bake her.
Finally, all wrapped up like potatoes, eating their soup, watching TV together, there is a few minutes of peace and harmony. We all smile and feel good. It's nice. But then we finish.
"Take my bowl. No, you take my bowl to the kitchen. You. No You. It's your turn. Is not. Is too."
Yes, a normal Saturday night at last. The soup hadn't turned them into mini-adults. I can stop worrying now. Well, for a few minutes anyhow. I have bowls to take to the kitchen.
It's a cold dreary February day in Buffalo. Slushy snow, melting into rivers on the driveways, soaks us up to our ankles. Snow boots quickly remind us why they are not rain boots. The dampness permeates our guts and bones, making me feel like a little old lady in a rainstorm.
I crank the heat up. Get out the comforters. Throw on an extra sweater. Heat up the rice neck warmer in the microwave for 3 minutes. Still cold. I would really like 30 minutes of slow, deep kisses to warm me up, but its twin movie time, so I must make do.
Luke decides to make Apple Crisp. Does he pull out my recipe file and look for my version, handwritten in my 15 year old cursive? Does he go to my favorite baking bible, The Fanny Farmer Cookbook? No, of course not, that's old school. He goes to the internet, searches the Food Network and checks out recipes. Finds one, writes it out on torn corner of a piece of paper, and begins to cook.
I stay out of it, barely, as I answer the 95 questions. "Mom, how many apples should I use? Where are the measuring cups? Where are the teaspoons? Can I use this margarine? Which oven should I use? How big of a pan should I make?" And so on, and so on.
He peels, cores, cuts, mixes and stirs. "Mom, it's kinda runny." Hmm, add some more brown sugar and flour, and some walnuts, it should be good. Bake it. Pull it out. Smells delicious.
But it looks like soup. The whole 13 x 9 pan is under juice. The apples are barely visible. We quickly dub it apple soup and dig in. Wow, those apples were hot, but good. We take it back to the living room to watch the Disney channel. Maggie is buried under a blanket. She asked to be covered up, so I proceeded to give her the bake potato wrap. Had her lean forward, and I wrapped and tucked and covered her up. Pulled down the top so she could breathe. She looks like we could bake her.
Finally, all wrapped up like potatoes, eating their soup, watching TV together, there is a few minutes of peace and harmony. We all smile and feel good. It's nice. But then we finish.
"Take my bowl. No, you take my bowl to the kitchen. You. No You. It's your turn. Is not. Is too."
Yes, a normal Saturday night at last. The soup hadn't turned them into mini-adults. I can stop worrying now. Well, for a few minutes anyhow. I have bowls to take to the kitchen.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Cookie Day
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.
Elbert Hubbard
My Mom always filled the house with love and cookies at Christmas. Not just a plate of cookies, mind you. But dozens and dozens of 10 different kinds of cookies. Italian Fig Cookies. Mexican Wedding Cakes. Peanut Butter Blossoms. Cutouts. Leuberkiens. Hello Dollies. Rum Balls.
Each recipe was doubled or tripled to make 10 or 12 dozen at least. Baking began after Thanksgiving and was complete by her birthday on December 12. Everyday brought another treat, and we'd get some samples. But most of the cookies went in our cookies closet, which was really the closet by the front door that had no heat. It stored all the cookies perfectly, at around 45 degrees. We'd sneak out a take a handful whenever we could, but especially when my parents napped after dinner. Mom didn't want all the Christmas cookies to be gone before company came, so she'd make a hold over cookies for us:
12 dozen Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip cookies.
These cookies were open season and we could eat all we wanted. If she was lucky, we would chow threw them and leave the Christmas cookies alone.
So as a grown-up (okay, not really, I just pretend) I continue on with this tradition. I force myself to cut back to around 6 kinds, at about 10 dozen each. I have to try and just live with what I can crunch out in a weekend.
This year, my friend the Queen asked if we could do a cookie day together. I don't have any sisters, so this was a special treat to me. I always wanted someone to bake with again. I did it a few times with friends in my 20's (B.C.--before children) and it was a blast. So I looked forward to a cookie day at the Palace (the queen's nest).
So, the questions started. Want me to pick up supplies and you just give me some money? Sure. Okay, what kinds will be make?. Well, whatever. What do you mean, whatever? Well, I'm not really a cookie person. I only make one kind. So, whatever you make is fine.
This should have been my clue "I'm not really a cookie person." (<--major foreshadowing).
So I stopped at 2 different stores, and bought 4 bags of stuff. Then I asked if she had a stand-up mixer? No, just a hand mixer. Hand? Forget it. I am not breaking my hand. So I loaded up the 40 pund Kitchenaid. Then I went to look for my cookie tubs. I couldn't find them anywhere. Oh well, let's just go.
Arrived at the Queens'. Brought in the ton of stuff. And started. Mixed the dough for the pastry with nut filling Croatian cookies. This dough needs to set, so I had to make it first. As I started to mix and pour, the Queen is getting antsy. I don't know why. I am putting stuff away as I go. I am washing as I go. I am only in the one area. I know she's and anal retentive neat kitchen freak, so I am trying to guess what I am doing that is driving her up a wall. She's trying to be what too nice and not tell me, but I can tell by the 2 smokes in 15 minutes that I am driving her absolutely nuts.
Finally I asked. What. What do you mean what? What am I doing that bothers you? The dishwasher. What about the dishwasher? I am not using it right now. Well, you are getting flour all over it and all over the counter. Well, of course I am. It's a dough. I have to mix it, and then I have to knead it on the counter. Well, there's flour in the crevices of the dishwasher. Oh, sorry. Move out of the way. I have to put tinfoil over it or you will drive me nuts. Ok.
So the dishwasher got a bib. And the queen spent the day washing up after me. Now, I know I have to wash as I go and I did. But the Queen takes the cleaning while baking to an extreme. I mean, you do have to use things to bake with. And as I put cookies in the oven, and waited for them to come out, she would wash up the bowl and mixing cups I just used. Okay, not a problem. Cookies would come out, and I would use the metal spatula to take one pan off the sheet to cool, while sheet 2 was still in the over for a couple more minutes. I would take the hot cookies off, and move some cool cookies to a container to make room. Then, I would go get the next cookie sheet.
And the spatula would be gone. Missing. No where to be seen.
Did you take the spatula again? Yes. Did you wash the spatula again. Yes, it was gross. But I was still using it. I know, just get a new one out. But I don't want a new one each time, I just want to keep using the same one. But the Queen would keep taking it. And then the oven mits. I would set them on the counter, waiting for the next batch, and she would put them away. And so on, and so on.
Baking with a clean freak is hard. It's just a lot more work to keep getting the stuff out. Again and again. And then she picked on some of my cookies. Well, my family won't like these. Ouch. But we did manage to make her husband's Aunt Marge's cookies. Can't quite get the shape or texture, but they tasted excellent. So the King was pleased. And now he yells when I am on the phone "Come over and bake some cookies. No scratch that. Come over with cookies. No scratch that. Come and LEAVE some cookies. "
It's so nice to be loved.
And for Christmas, please send the Queen some tinfoil for her dishwasher. And some more dish soap. I am pretty sure I used it up when I was there. Or, just to be fun, spill some flour on her floor!
The Atomic Bomb made less noise then the Queen when you get flour on her flour.
But I love her anyway.
A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.
Elbert Hubbard
My Mom always filled the house with love and cookies at Christmas. Not just a plate of cookies, mind you. But dozens and dozens of 10 different kinds of cookies. Italian Fig Cookies. Mexican Wedding Cakes. Peanut Butter Blossoms. Cutouts. Leuberkiens. Hello Dollies. Rum Balls.
Each recipe was doubled or tripled to make 10 or 12 dozen at least. Baking began after Thanksgiving and was complete by her birthday on December 12. Everyday brought another treat, and we'd get some samples. But most of the cookies went in our cookies closet, which was really the closet by the front door that had no heat. It stored all the cookies perfectly, at around 45 degrees. We'd sneak out a take a handful whenever we could, but especially when my parents napped after dinner. Mom didn't want all the Christmas cookies to be gone before company came, so she'd make a hold over cookies for us:
12 dozen Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip cookies.
These cookies were open season and we could eat all we wanted. If she was lucky, we would chow threw them and leave the Christmas cookies alone.
So as a grown-up (okay, not really, I just pretend) I continue on with this tradition. I force myself to cut back to around 6 kinds, at about 10 dozen each. I have to try and just live with what I can crunch out in a weekend.
This year, my friend the Queen asked if we could do a cookie day together. I don't have any sisters, so this was a special treat to me. I always wanted someone to bake with again. I did it a few times with friends in my 20's (B.C.--before children) and it was a blast. So I looked forward to a cookie day at the Palace (the queen's nest).
So, the questions started. Want me to pick up supplies and you just give me some money? Sure. Okay, what kinds will be make?. Well, whatever. What do you mean, whatever? Well, I'm not really a cookie person. I only make one kind. So, whatever you make is fine.
This should have been my clue "I'm not really a cookie person." (<--major foreshadowing).
So I stopped at 2 different stores, and bought 4 bags of stuff. Then I asked if she had a stand-up mixer? No, just a hand mixer. Hand? Forget it. I am not breaking my hand. So I loaded up the 40 pund Kitchenaid. Then I went to look for my cookie tubs. I couldn't find them anywhere. Oh well, let's just go.
Arrived at the Queens'. Brought in the ton of stuff. And started. Mixed the dough for the pastry with nut filling Croatian cookies. This dough needs to set, so I had to make it first. As I started to mix and pour, the Queen is getting antsy. I don't know why. I am putting stuff away as I go. I am washing as I go. I am only in the one area. I know she's and anal retentive neat kitchen freak, so I am trying to guess what I am doing that is driving her up a wall. She's trying to be what too nice and not tell me, but I can tell by the 2 smokes in 15 minutes that I am driving her absolutely nuts.
Finally I asked. What. What do you mean what? What am I doing that bothers you? The dishwasher. What about the dishwasher? I am not using it right now. Well, you are getting flour all over it and all over the counter. Well, of course I am. It's a dough. I have to mix it, and then I have to knead it on the counter. Well, there's flour in the crevices of the dishwasher. Oh, sorry. Move out of the way. I have to put tinfoil over it or you will drive me nuts. Ok.
So the dishwasher got a bib. And the queen spent the day washing up after me. Now, I know I have to wash as I go and I did. But the Queen takes the cleaning while baking to an extreme. I mean, you do have to use things to bake with. And as I put cookies in the oven, and waited for them to come out, she would wash up the bowl and mixing cups I just used. Okay, not a problem. Cookies would come out, and I would use the metal spatula to take one pan off the sheet to cool, while sheet 2 was still in the over for a couple more minutes. I would take the hot cookies off, and move some cool cookies to a container to make room. Then, I would go get the next cookie sheet.
And the spatula would be gone. Missing. No where to be seen.
Did you take the spatula again? Yes. Did you wash the spatula again. Yes, it was gross. But I was still using it. I know, just get a new one out. But I don't want a new one each time, I just want to keep using the same one. But the Queen would keep taking it. And then the oven mits. I would set them on the counter, waiting for the next batch, and she would put them away. And so on, and so on.
Baking with a clean freak is hard. It's just a lot more work to keep getting the stuff out. Again and again. And then she picked on some of my cookies. Well, my family won't like these. Ouch. But we did manage to make her husband's Aunt Marge's cookies. Can't quite get the shape or texture, but they tasted excellent. So the King was pleased. And now he yells when I am on the phone "Come over and bake some cookies. No scratch that. Come over with cookies. No scratch that. Come and LEAVE some cookies. "
It's so nice to be loved.
And for Christmas, please send the Queen some tinfoil for her dishwasher. And some more dish soap. I am pretty sure I used it up when I was there. Or, just to be fun, spill some flour on her floor!
The Atomic Bomb made less noise then the Queen when you get flour on her flour.
But I love her anyway.
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