Umbrella Sugar Cookies: Dec. 5

Lame, lame, lame. I baked cookies on Dec. 5 and I'm just now posting this?

Tick, tick, tick....

That's the sound of December ticking away.

And this is a photo of my Grandpa Elmer's favorite clock. It hung in his den for years and years. Every Christmas Eve my sisters and I were banished to his den while the women washed dinner dishes. (My grandparents' 1930s house, while charming, didn't have many modern conveniences, like a dishwasher.) And while we waited impatiently to open presents, we watched this clock.

Now it hangs in my family room, and when I look at it I think about those Christmas Eves. I remember my sisters and me in our tights and Christmas dresses, hair all curled, so excited for CHRISTMAS!

Now that clock whispers to me, "You're running out of time! It's not all done!"

What a difference 30 years makes.

Those Decembers dragged by. These days, they're on a nuclear train going 750mph. It's been a busy month.

I baked cookies on Dec. 5 for my friend Shauna's baby shower. I learned something important that day: I hate meringue frosting. That shit leaked out of the pastry bag. It was runny. And it dried in a nasty, sticky mess all over me. And the counter. And the floor. And the cookies weren't nearly as cute as the photos in the book. Instead of umbrella details, I ended up with a blurry mess. But they tasted good and the shower was fun. So whatever.

I can say this about December 2009: It hasn't snowed. Too much. Thank. God. James and I actually sat out on the back porch tonight, and I realized I was barefoot and NOT freezing. Freaky. I keep thinking about last winter and how f&*^#@ that was. Shiver.

I'm close to being done with shopping. Just a few last-minute things. I'm ashamed to admit, though, that I didn't bake for the preschool bake sale. I contributed $4o for the raffle prize and seed money. Can you believe that? Kiki the Cookie Blogger paid off the preschool to avoid baking.

Okay, so I wasn't avoiding. I was busy. Too busy to bake. I got a lot to do, man! Geez. Get off my back.

But I think--hope--I'm in the home stretch. I actually went to a party tonight. With grown-ups. I ate good food and drank beer. I had to leave early because that's just how it often is with me. And, unless Jamey the Proxy barters my white elephant gift for something else, I'll end up with a High School Musical alarm clock.

On second thought, maybe "grown-ups" is stretching it a bit. Check out Girlfriend Linda in her party garb, posing in the Regence stairwell tonight. And this is before the alcohol. (And yes, those are lights.)

Got a lot to do still before December is over. There's the holiday craziness. And a flight to Palm Springs. And a trip to Disneyland, where we'll welcome in the new year. Tomorrow James and I go shopping for a new car (pray for me). And when I come home in January, James will stay in Palm Springs for a month. I'll be the Single Mom for a while.

You're probably wondering, dear reader, what will become of this blog when December is done. When the year is over, is my cookie project complete?

Are you out of your mind? Do you really think I baked all 42 recipes?

The clock is ticking away. There are still Christmas cookies to bake!

Oh, and I've decided: 2010 will be the Year of the Cake!

Nov. 28: Mint Chocolate Sandwiches

Looking back over November, I feel like a cookie/blogger failure. I baked ONCE last month. Do I get a pass for having hosted Thanksgiving dinner?

One brined turkey, two pumkin pies, a double batch of stuffing, one sweet potato casserole, 12 popovers, six pounds of potatoes, one pan of gravy and three kinds of appetizers. God, is that all? Seemed like so much more.

November was a busy month.

First off, the high point of November (after the Girlfriends Trip) was the return of the Pilgrim Family. For those of you who don't know: The Pilgrim Family is a very large (and, ah hem, tacky) Thanksgiving decoration that my mother-in-law paid too much for and then bestowed upon me in 2004 after it had suffered through several years of display and storage (and breakage) at her house. My good friend Denise decided it was HORRIBLE. So, of course, James and I left it on her front porch Thanksgiving Eve of 2004. With a "Will work for turkey" sign around Mr. Pilgrim's neck.

The Pilgrim Family has bounced between the Phillips and Higgins homes ever since, arriving each year on Thanksgiving Eve (usually in the dead of night) and always featuring a new and more original form of Pilgrim Desecration. This year it was our turn to get them back. They came bearing a political message--a reminder of the October night that Christian and I decorated Denise's front yard with political signs. (Not just any political signs, but signs for a candidate whose name was hilariously similar to Denise's name.)

Anyway, the Pilgrims are back with us now. Gotta remember to stuff them in storage for another year.

Also, I'm glad to report that I did NOT get laid off. But friends of mine did. And as a result, I now have a new boss. They start off so fresh and eager. It's a shame how we break them.

As I sit here typing (while my Farmville avatar plows my fields, multi-tasker that I am), I'm trying to think of the other things that happened over the past few weeks. But all I can think about is what lies ahead:

1. Baby shower on Sunday. I'm the hostess. That's five days away. I have a menu scratched down on a piece of paper. Oh, and I bought a gift. Yes, I'm a loser.
2. Christmas. Or as I prefer to think of it, Yule/Solstice/Midwinter. I'm in full-on shopping mode. Lists, lists, lists. Haven't started freaking out yet. That will occur about Dec. 16.
3. Which brings me to Dec. 16: The preschool bake sale. Which I'm coordinating. Ooh. I see a major cookie make-up opportunity. Get prepared for blog overload.
4. Palm Springs: Taking the kids for a week. After Christmas. With husband. And mother-in-law. And mother-in-law's dog. (Note: Refill Xanax prescription.)
5. Christmas decorating: How much to do this year? Leaving on Dec. 27. No stomach for ribbons and bows and sugarplums when we return in January. Thinking minimum is the word here. Lights on the ficus?
6. Snow. Hate it. Fear it. Dread it. See first entry nearly one year ago. It can seriously f%^& up items 1-4 above.

So, weren't we talking about cookies at some point? On Saturday I baked Chocolate Mint Sandwiches (pg. 284). The best thing about this recipe was that I only needed two ingredients at the store. They weren't great. Didn't love them. Boys are not fans of the mint. But the minty filling smelled soooo good. Like a Frango factory. Otherwise, so-so.

Mmmm. Frangos. 'Tis the season. I should buy some Frangos. I could put that on my iList. Which is only one of the features I LOVE on my new iPhone! And iLove to think of ways to twist the name: iCan. iRemember. iLookitUp. iCheckFacebookattheOffice. iDon't care if Apple takes over the world. Just think of how organized and prepared and efficient we'll all be.

Now. If I could just remember to put "bake cookies" in my iCalendar...

Oct. 31: Dulce de Leche Bat Cookies

This is what payback looks like.

On the first morning of our Fall 2009 Girlfriends' Trip, Claudia woke Denise and me up at 6 a.m., taking of photos of us asleep. I woke up to Denise saying "Hi hon" in a dreamy, half-asleep voice. Followed by a less dreamy "What the HELL?!"

Flash. Click.

Then Claudia cackled with delight and boasted in the dark, "Oh, yeah. That's going on Facebook."

She'd already photo-raped Renee, who slept prettily through the whole thing. Denise and I were much more rewarding victims.

Fast forward 36 hours to when we found Claudia asleep in the recliner.

Oh, yeah. That's going on the blog.

The fall trip was fabulous. Our time in the desert is like being suspended in amber--one made of sunshine and idleness. We have no schedules or have-to-dos. We clean only for ourselves. We don't make the beds. We eat ice cream for dinner. We leave dishes on the counters. We don't sweep the floors. It's complete indulgence. Shopping, eating out, drinking martinis, sleeping in, staying up late. Reading. Lots of reading. And talking. Girls talking. And painting toes. Life without men or children. Just for a little while.

Then the plane lands in Washington. We come full circle and jump back into our lives.

Splat.

I returned to a sullen husband and grasping children. Rain. Lots of rain. The next morning--today--James headed south in the caravan that's moving my dad, his wife and their nine pets to Palm Desert. At press time, my dad and his wife and the other four drivers are sleeping off car-sickness and exhaustion in Vancouver. James is behind the wheel of the moving van, somewhere south of Salem.

I also returned to lay-offs. Rumor has it that they'll occur in my department Thursday or Friday. We've known they were coming. So now I hope. And I wait. And I worry.

A lot has happened since the last time I baked. Dulce de Leche Bats (p.297) were disappointing. For one thing, my family was suspicous of dulce de leche. "What is it, what's it made of, where'd you get it?" Sigh.

And then there was the bat-shaped cut-out. I bought aspic cutters months ago, but just discovered on Halloween that my cutters were too big for the cookies. So my bat (a combo of the triangle and the crescent moon) just didn't fit. My cookie sandwiches (with the dulce de leche filling) had just lonely triangles on the top cookie. When triangles bake and dark filling squeezes out, it looks a little like, well, a poopy cat butt. That'll kill an appetite.

Shortly after Halloween, Christian got sick. My cold turned into a sinus infection. And James developed pneumonia. The nine days between Halloween and my departure were full of anxiety and worry. And even a 911 call. Swine flu? Lay-offs? Hospitalization? Cancelled trip? So much to worry about.

But everyone recovered--in this house at least. The trip was wonderful. James is on the road--alone, but on the road. And the boys and I are on our own for the next week. I hear rain outside. It's not 80 degrees here. And here I have lots of housework to do. But there are trade-offs. I came home to rain, but I brought with me new wool clothes from California. I came home to cold, but my furnace is fixed. I came through the front door alone, but my kids were happy to see me.

Nostalgia and worry are my companions tonight. I worry about my job. And my friends' jobs. I worry about family driving so many miles through the night. And I think about my dad, moving all the way to the desert. The next few days will tell me if they all get there safely. And the next few days will reveal if I still have a job.

When the plane left Ontario at sunset yesterday, I watched California drop away. And I felt a little sad. Washington has its roots in me deep, like a cedar tree. But California is growing roots, too. Roots made of friends and good memories. A safe, familiar place. A respite from worry. And lots of laughter.

Even at six-freaking-a.m.

Oct. 10: Hazelnut Jam Thumbprints

It's pouring down rain. I have a slight cold in my chest. And so far, Christian's soccer game has not been cancelled. But it could be worse: Renee and her family are on a motorhome trip. At the OCEAN. Shudder. Welcome to full-blown fall.

There's no doubt about that when you look at the trees around here. Maple Valley is lit up like a torch--one more blast of beauty before we descend into what I call six months of mud-n-sticks.

Couple of things about fall:

1. Hazelnuts. Did I mention that I spent $8.99 a pound on them at Whole Foods? Then I learn my sister has a freaking hazelnut tree. Well, at that price I wasn't going to waste a crumb. So last week I made more hazelnut cookies--Hazelnut Jam Thumbprints (p. 252). They were okay. Not great. I'm not a nut fan, I guess. And my thumbprint cookies never turn out looking so good. They crack and warp when I thumbprint them. Hate that. (But the jam was spectacular.)

2. Halloween. My favorite holiday. The witches' new year, Samhain, the Harvest Moon and all that good stuff.

3. Pumpkins. LOVE pumpkins. This morning I made two pumpkin pies for a family party tonight. I have my mom's handwritten recipe card for Southern Pastry, and I use her secret for thick, creamy pumpkin pies (no, I'm not giving it up). My kitchen smells like childhood holidays--baking pies. Mmmmm.

4. Boots. I can't believe it took me 41 years to discover fall boots. They're comfortable, versatile, warm, dry and fabulous. So much so that I had to buy a second pair last weekend. Just like the first pair, only black. Girlfriend Princess (not her real name) requested that I post a photo of my new boots. So, this is for Princess. It took Christian only four or five tries to get a decent photo. And I felt like a fool with one boot on and my sweatpants leg rolled half-way up my thigh.

She also asked for a photo of my favorite Victoria's Secret Wave bra in action. But I think a photo like that would push this blog into a whole new category of entertainment. And speaking of the girls, I've been informed that I was "slinging them around all summer." Huh. Guess the Wave works. But now that it's winter, I'm covering them up like a couple of nuns. Come see me in person around July, Princess.

Although, the Wave may make a public appearance in Palm Springs next month. Denise, Renee, Claudia and I just made a last-minute decision to head down for a little Girlfriends' Trip. The funny thing is that the day after I fly home, James will head down to help my dad move into his new house just a short distance from our house. The caravan leaves Edmonds mid-day on Nov. 10.

By early November, Maple Valley will be just a mudhole of sticks. We'll all be ready for a little sand-n-palms by then.

Sept. 26: Shortbread and Macaroons

I'm in a bad mood.

Or maybe I'm just out of sorts. I feel like I need to be recalibrated. Or something.

I've been short-tempered, mean-spirited and cranky. I've been experiencing mini-panic attacks. I haven't been eating right. I'm just not a very nice person these days. I took a picture of Christian today--and his expression looks just how I feel.

It could be just old-fashioned fatigue. I get up at the crack of Sammy every morning. I haven't slept past 6 a.m. since that little bugger came to stay. And I stay up until past 11 p.m. reading every night. That part is my own fault.

My husband and his mother are fighting. Which makes me worried, irritated, angry and mean. Especially when it comes to the two of them.

I haven't been exercising. And we are constantly having to discipline that dog and Ian. Together they are bad mojo.

Oh. And the only thing worse than watching the Huskies lose is knowing you just wasted an entire afternoon watching the Huskies lose. I actually stretched out on the couch--in my coat and shoes no less--to watch them lose to Notre Dame. I hate to lose to Notre Dame.

Maybe it's the weather. Summer took off. Left us overnight. One evening about two weeks ago, I knew it was the end. The boys and I took Sammy for a walk in the last warm night of the year. After Ian went home, Christian and I spun in circles in the park, looking up at the stars. I told him that we were standing on the very edge of summer. That the season was one breath away from changing. We held very still so we could feel autumn arriving on the faintest cool breeze. So we wished the summer sky goodnight. And summer blew away while we slept.

But fall brings boots and tights and plaid skirts. There are trade-offs.

There have been good things, too, though. Like laughing with Denise on the phone so hard that I cry. And having coffee with Renee. And shopping with Sam. And having lunch out with grown-ups during the week. And reading good books. And sitting in the sun while boys play soccer.

And book club! Last Monday I baked the Barefoot Contessa's coconut macaroons, Martha's shortbread and Auntie Karen's Harvey Wallbanger cake for the September meeting. I love book club. But I especially love it at someone else's house. Because my children don't live at someone else's house. They make book club very trying for me. But maybe I'm just cranky.

I'm wondering if I need to see a chiropractor. Am I carrying negative energy in my shoulders? Are my chakras f&#%*$? The Regence health club reopens on Monday. I need to get back into my exercise routine.

I need to do something to bust out of this funk. More cookies? More sleep? One less dog? Better attitude? Alchohol? Xanax?

Probably yes.

Sept. 20: Hazelnut Cookies

Anyone want a dog?

Because I don't.

Our lives have been turned upside down with the stress that arrived with Sammy the Havanese. I don't know how much more clear I can be: I. Don't. Want. This. Dog.

I'm not a dog-hater. I just don't have the time or energy to deal with housebreaking the puppy my mother-in-law had to have but wouldn't train. Even Ian, who loves Sammy, announced amid tears Saturday night: "I want to take Sammy back to Grandma Willie!"

Her idea of training him was to put puppy piddle pads all over her house (including on her bed). So, now he thinks he's supposed to pee on throw rugs. And on my carpet. He takes toys and clothes. He and Ian ransack the house. He terrorizes the cat (who got revenge on us by peeing in James' closet.) He barks in the middle of the night. He won't go outside. Then he won't come back in. He has the potential to be a really nice dog someday. But the puppy stage is killing us. And he's not even ours!

We see some signs of progress: He goes to bed without barking or crying at all. He's not stealing laundry any more. He now keeps a safe distance from the cat. And he hasn't pooped in the house in days. But he still sneaks off to pee on rugs. We're constantly trying to keep track of him because I'm sick of scrubbing floors and shampooing carpets.

James explained to his mom that we are not keeping him. If he doesn't work out for her, we can't be her back-up family for Sammy. She would take him home today, but James won't let her--not until he's housebroken and trained. After all the time, expense and energy they put into choosing and moving her into a retirement home, he said he'll be damned if she gets kicked out because of that dog.

Whew. Glad I got that off my chest.

I was up late last night cleaning and baking hazelnut cookies (pg. 37). But now here I am, blogging at 5 a.m. because of that dog. James headed out for fishing and of course, Sammy thought all the noise and lights meant it was time to get up. He started yipping and barking in his crate at 4:20. James couldn't leave fast enough.

A word about the cookies: I paid $8.99 a pound for hazelnuts at Whole Foods. I could have paid $10.99 a pound for roasted hazelnuts. It would have been worth it. What a pain in the butt. Then, what should have been nut "powder" in the food processor turned into nut paste. Don't nuts have oil or moisture of some sort? Powder my ass.

The first batch burned a little on the bottom. Second batch was better. But James liked them. I noticed this morning that they're almost all gone. They sort of grew on me. But they weren't great.

When I wasn't baking cookies last night, I was putting away yet more goodies from Wilma's move. I helped her with some boxes this weekend, and, as I predicted, she overpacked. Her new kitchen is incredibly small. We put away as much as we could. But there are still boxes of stuff to be given away. I brought home four crystal bowls, antique tea cups, a panini grill, a nice candle thing, a small flatscreen TV (for the motyhome bedroom), an old crystal punchbowl with matching cups, another dog leash (we now have four) and a box of dog toys. But does he play with them?

Oh, and I almost forgot my new Maytag laundry machines. I heart them. She has stackables at Shady Lanes. So I got the frontloader washing machine and fancy dryer.

Good thing, with all the rugs I have to wash. Stupid dog.

Sept. 14: Peanut Butter Cookies (Again)

Holy freaking crap.

Since when was sixth grade so hard? My 11-year-old is in tears every night over his homework. I think I'll run away from home. Any of you readers out there have a spare room, a night light and some warm blankets? I'll bring my own books.

The year started out so fresh and new, with him and Sarah heading off to middle school. And then he came home.

In addition to a hysterical sixth-grader, I have a defiant pre-schooler with a superiority complex, a gloomy husband, a howling/pooping/peeing puppy and...well, let me think on it. I'm sure I have more burdens at the moment.

Oh. And one pissed-off 17-year-old cat.

But, dear readers, even though it has been a month since my last posting, I HAVE been baking. Just not cookies. In the past 30 days I have baked three triple-layer chocolate cakes, two bundt cakes, a batch of brownies and six individual molten fallen chocolate cakes. And Sunday night, in honor of the 42-year-old's birthday, I finally baked peanut butter cookies. Again.

I didn't buy him a birthday present. Instead, he bought himself a buffer and a sewing machine. Don't ask.

To catch up on recent events:

1. The RV is a success. We love it. Especially in the rain, wind and cold. We passed the motorhome owner's test by taking DOWN the awning in the middle of the night. In high winds. In the dark. Yay us!

2. School has started. Happy and not happy about it. See intro above.

3. Dave was fabulous as usual. I can't decide if I need to become a professional groupie, a back-up singer, or Dave's second wife. (He doesn't need to divorce the first one. I'm cool with that.)

4. The puppy is not ours and we're not keeping him. He belongs to my mother-in-law. She's in the middle of moving to a retirement community and we've had to face the fact that she has not trained Sammy at all. He's not housebroken. He has no manners. And just 10 minutes ago he ruined one of my sparkle flip-flops. In his first 18 hours in this house, he pooped and peed in the living room, chased the cat, stole a shin guard and howled for two hours during the night. He's really cute and sweet, but God help me, that woman had better get her act together and take him back soon.

5. My calf-building project has failed. I'm returning my ass-kicking boots to Nordstrom this week and hope to find a pair of ass-kickers that actually fit, since, despite my calf workouts, I still don't fill the shaft. Shut up.

6. Farmville has given me a new purpose and passion for life.

I'm determined to get back on the cookie/blogging wagon. We just haven't been home much in the past month. Between motorhome trips, shopping-for-the-motorhome trips, cleaning the motorhome, unpacking the motorhome, getting ready for school, doing homework, going to parties (too much cake, not enough alcohol), and recovering from school, homework, parties and camping, there hasn't been time or energy.

But I have my eye on two hazelnut cookie recipes for the next two weekends. September is, after all, hazelnut month. One thing to be grateful for: With Christian's new schedule, I get to work an hour earlier every day. That's one more hour for trying to get a grip on my life. So tomorrow, I will use that hour walking to Whole Foods for hazelnuts. Once again, not a filbert to be found out here in the culinary backwoods of Western Washington.

You have my word. If there's not another new post by Sunday, I'll do a week's worth of accelerated pre-algebra homework.

Aug. 15: Carrot Cake Sandwiches

Summer is hard on a blog. I'm crossing my fingers that fall will be easier. There's just so much going on that it's hard to find time to bake.

We're finally pulling out from under a couple of weeks' worth of cloud cover. I'm pretty certain that up there above the clouds, the season was changing while we weren't looking. The sun is out again today, but there's a chill in the air that whispers "fall."

I baked Carrot Cake Sandwiches (pg. 202) last night. I hope they were worth it, as in the course of baking them I dropped an egg and then a cookie on the floor. James liked them--especially after I added the cream cheese/butter/powdered sugar filling. Christian, not so much. Ian would eat sandpaper and say "yum." I sent a couple over to the Simmons and will see what they think. I'll probably take some to the office tomorrow. I didn't put any nuts in just so Linda can have one. (Her last nut experience turned into a trip to the ER. I don't want that on my hands.)

Ah, the house is nice and quiet for a change this morning. Boys are playing. James is shopping--out buying new goodies for the newest member of our family.

We call it the "motyhome." I sometimes refer to it as the Mt. Tioga. And some of my friends like the term "James' 31-foot ding-ding." All fit.

It was a long time coming. James has wanted one for years. I've resisted for years. The boat was supposed to have prevented this purchase, as in "I'm buying either a boat or a motorhome. You choose." This was James' ultimatum last spring. Since boats are cheaper, I chose the boat. Way to go boat. You did me absolutely no good.

Our first trip is Thursday. Then we're off to the Gorge for Labor Day, where Dave Matthews will serenade us into autumn. After that the motyhome goes to sleep for the winter. My advice: Buy a motorhome in the spring so you have more chances to use it before a long winter of storage fees and motorhome payments.

In addition to two camping trips, our schedule is full, full, full. Has been for several weeks. But I've squeezed in some baking and jamming anyway. I baked an almond-honey cake last Saturday morning, before Mary and I had a jamming session. Afterward we went to see Julie & Julia. Note: I thought of this cookie blog before I ever heard of Julie Powell and her Mastering the Art of French Cooking blog. (Side note: When I got my copy of that book in 2008, I considered cooking my way through it, too. Again, long before I ever heard of Julie. But I would have stopped at the lobster.)

I have a couple of cakes and brownie batches in my near future, too. Christian has asked for a Chocolate Death cake for his birthday, which is the day we leave for camping next week. Chocolate Death is actually a chocolate blackout cake, but in the course of making my first one, I called it Chocolate Coma. Then when I realized I had to add a layer of cake crumbs to the outside after frosting it, I renamed it. He also wants the Barefoot Contessa's Outrageous Brownies. So, I'll be baking before camping and then transporting to Lake Cushman. Heck of a lot easier doing that in the Mt. Tioga I'm thinking.

Other things to look forward to:

1. A family get-together at my Great Aunt Barbara's house, which is just 20 minutes from my house. I normally drive at least 45 minutes for family things. I think I'll drive up to Barbara's and back three or four times, just so I can enjoy the short drive more than once.

2. Farmville! I'm hooked. I have crops maturing as I type.

3. Dave, Dave, Dave.

4. School!!!

5. Bookclub and an after-hours work party in the same week!

Now, I think it's time for a shower. Then out to work in the yard. My plants are telling me that fall is near. I need to fill the birdfeeder for the chipmunks. And I have quarters to roll. And a house to clean. And groceries to buy. And where did that Costco list go? Cripes. When I'm bitching about the cold in December, remind me of how much work summer is, okay?

Aug. 2: Chocolate Malt Sandwiches

Tonight I'm not inspired. I'm just exhausted. I think the entire Pacific Northwest is exhausted. The heat has been unreal and unrelenting. Wednesday was a record-breaker. All conversations were about the heat: how hot it was going to get, how everyone was handling it and how long it would last. I thought about winter--when I started this blog--and how cold it was. And how I was trapped at home with my family with my Christmas shopping unfinished and snow falling every day. I decided that I prefer the heat. (But thank God for air conditioning.)

On Wednesday I stepped out on our porch to take a photo from the same vantage as the one I took on that cold day in December. I can't believe that was only seven months ago. How quickly time passes and what a difference the changing seasons make.

It's high summer now, and we're in full summer mode.

We camped at Blue Lake last weekend with the Higgins and Simmons families. Despite vicious winds the first night, we ended up having a great time. Looking back, we're grateful for the clouds that softened the sun, as our last day was cloudless and blistering hot. We had six adults, six kids, two boats, two motorhomes, two tents and one dog. We sat around the campfire, tubed, hiked, laughed and relaxed. But it seems to have been the last time we would camp with tents because yesterday James bought a motorhome.

It was a long time coming. Years, in fact. I've been resisting all this time. But there's no stopping James once he's made up his mind. And I have to admit that I got sick of camping in the dirt. Not to mention our experience with the broken tent and air mattress in June. As James said as we sunk to the rocky ground at 3 a.m. on the first night: "I bet you wish we had a goddam motorhome now."

And now we do. We pick it up later this week. All 31 feet of it. James and I stood out in the melting heat of the Poulsbo RV lot last Thursday evening, looked at it and said, "that's a lot of motorhome." And we then we sighed.

I wish now that I'd snagged that little coffee pot that we tried to unload at Wilma's garage sale yesterday. It would have come in handy in the motyhome. Denise, Aunt Cheryl and I spent Friday night and Saturday until 4:00 peddling my mother-in-law's treasures for $1 each. Linda joined us on Saturday to help--I couldn't have done it without the extra hands and good company. Wilma's move to the retirement home will coincide with the start of school. That means we have a lot of summer left to pack into the next month.

And that includes cookies. I still haven't added them all up, but I don't think I'm 7/12 of the way through the 42 recipes. I keep telling myself that the big push will come in December with all the Christmas cookies I'll bake. (I say that every year, and then I end up with a couple of tubes of Pillsbury sugar cookie dough.)

So, even though I was exhausted today, I managed to bake Chocolate Malt Sandwiches (pg. 41) tonight. This was a challenging recipe that I've been putting off because it calls for malted milk powder and creme fraiche. I finally found the malt, but I gave up on finding creme fraiche and made it instead. (Thank you Julia Child.) I felt kind of weird mixing buttermilk with whipping cream, heating it up and leaving it on the kitchen counter all day. Setting dairy products out to go sour seems un-American somehow. But I told myself that creme fraiche is French, so it's okay. It's an unclean country, right? All those hairy armpits and small showers and all.

James declared that tonight's cookies are an 8 out of 10. "Too sweet" for him to eat more than two. Christian gave them 1 1/2 stars out of three, the ungrateful punk. And Ian will eat anything.

Me? I haven't tried one. But I sampled the filling--which was, I admit, awfully rich and sweet.

So, now I'm sitting here trying to finish this post. The boys are in bed. The cookies are done. And James is calling me every few minutes: "What are you doing in there?!" He can't stand it that I'm in here writing, ignoring him. The big baby. It drives me crazy.

And so tonight I'm exhausted. It's been a long week. Camping, post-camping, housework, triple-digit heat, garage sales and yardwork have wiped me out. Toss in two double batches of jam (I can't believe I'm admitting to such blasphemy--it was Denise's idea), one divine pedicure, a pre-school field trip, and the biggest purchase after two houses, I can honestly say it's been a full week.

But all things considered, it's still better than a blizzard.

July 18: Gingersnap-Raspberry Sandwiches

Ugh. Tired.

James and I went to a No Doubt concert last night with our friends Rob and Renee. I think I overhopped.

That Gwen--girlfriend has some energy. She hopped, jumped, bounced and ran for two hours. Even did a few push-ups. And her hair horns stayed perfectly in place. Amazing.

(And the people-watching at that concert? Holy. Cow.)

I, however, feel like I'm going to die. It was a very late night. But then, yesterday was a very busy day. Actully, it was a very busy weekend. Earlier in the week I wrote out a to-do list, and I swore I would get through as much as possible. I managed to achieve quite a bit. One item was "cookies." I handled that on Saturday with Gingersnap-Raspberry Sandwiches (p. 105).

I chose them because one ingredient is "good raspberry jam." Please. I make the best raspberry jam. I'm not sure my family liked them; I guess they're not ginger fans. But I was all about crossing things off my list, so I was happy. Also, I was on a ginger kick that started last Monday with ginger/honey/lemon martinis with Renee. Mmmm.

We'd been having a hard time pulling off a Martini Night, but when James took Christian salmon fishing for two days, we found our opportunity. Christian caught a 17.5 pound salmon, and I got a little break from the family schedule.

That schedule can be exhausting. There's always something going on. Some things are planned, like camping trips and concerts and soccer practices. But some things, like yesterday's decision to go innertubing, are impromptu. We spent the better part of the day on Lake Washington with the boys and Christian's friend Nate. The boat is all better after several weeks in the repair shop. This trip we had only two incidents: Nate jumping in the lake and getting his shorts caught on a cleat (he hung there until James could unhook him), then Nate jumping off the boat and missing the dock (he splashed around until James could haul him out). I would have helped him, but I was busy trying to hang onto the boat. Long story.

This week Christian has no summer camp plans, so I'm working from home. It seemed like a good idea in March when I made these plans. But now, not so sure. I like routine. And going to the office is routine.

Is it too early to start looking forward to fall? Renee and I compared schedules for the rest of the summer, and it's overwhelming. Camping trips (three more planned), a Dave concert, soccer tournaments, mother-in-law's garage sale, mother-in-law's move, preschool field trips, birthday parties (Renee and I are having to combine our two 11-year-olds' kid parties to make it work), middle school orientation, family get-togethers, book club meetings. And that's just the fun stuff.
So Gwen Stefani may be able to hop around a stage for two hours at age 40, but can she juggle 24/7?

July 4: Cornmeal Thyme Cookies

Oh, my head hurts.

I wish I could say it's the result of a fun night of drinking, but no such luck. Just a head cold, along with a sinus headache. I hope the codeine kicks in soon.

Already it's July 8. Where did June go? Even the Fourth of July came and went in a blink. We stayed in town again this year for the neighborhood party: BBQ picnic; sidewalk art contest; kid-n-bikes parade; live band; water fights; and illegal fireworks in our park (including two that were federally banned). I hid out in the kitchen a lot of the weekend making jam. I'm already six batches into Jam Season, and that's just a good start. I've got lots of jamming to go.

On the Fourth I also managed to squeeze in a batch of cornmeal thyme cookies (pg. 65). (At least I think that was the Fourth--it's all a blur now.) James made a face when he tried the first one, but he kept asking for more, so I guess he liked them. Ian ate several, but Christian wasn't a fan. They're more savory than sweet, with cornmeal, thyme and currents. I just like baking anything that has ingredients from my backyard. Later on the Fourth I also popped out a batch of profiteroles just for fun. The rest of the neighborhood women were out whooping it up in the park, while I baked. This is precisely why we're not popular. I also hid on my front porch with Renee to read while the rest of the 'hood partied across the street. Call us anti-social, but at least we're well-read misfits.

There's one more weekend of idleness ahead of us before the summer really cranks up. Between camping trips and soccer tournaments, most of the summer is booked. That's why I enjoyed last weekend so much. I love unscheduled time. Stirring a pot of jam while reading a book on a lazy summer morning is bliss. My life feels so scheduled, full of deadlines, timelines and ticking clocks, that any time I get to just do what I want is priceless.

But I do need to work in more time for jam. And I'm feeling like I need to bake some cakes, and maybe some bread. Last summer I had some success with brioche and rosemary bread. I'm also suffering cookie guilt, as--while I haven't actually done the math lately--I'm suspecting that I'm behind schedule. Wasn't the goal 40 recipes in 52 weeks?

I've sort of checked out of the cooking thing lately. But I'm starting to dig my kitchen again. Maybe it's all that time I've been spending with pots and pans and kitchen scales. Making jam is a religious experience in our house. It's a ritual--a rite of summer. The berry is king in my kitchen between June and August. Even my boys, who normally disregard anything I say, know that jamming is serious business. Part science and part art, it's something I truly love to do. The funny thing is that I give most of it away.

Does that make me a generous person or just a Jam Pimp?

Well, no time now to ponder my jam motives. It's 10 p.m., and the boys are still up. My headache is better, but the house is a mess. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, I haven't had dinner, and my husband just discovered my Whoppers stash. And I have a 52"x30" original oil painting of a half-naked Inuit boy on my living room floor.

Don't ask.

June 13: Cherry Cookies

I cheated again. My most recent cookies weren't Martha's. They were Ethel's.

For my mom's 60th Birthday Picnic/Elliott Family Reunion on June 14, I decided to bake one of my great-grandma's recipes--one I've collected for the family recipe book I'm working on. I thought it would be a nice touch. They were actually very good! Although I think that the nostalgia was lost on my family.

I'm guilty of being a loser again. I haven't baked since June 13, but I have many good excuses. For one thing, we went camping last weekend. It was our annual trip to Alta Lake with 300+ Puget Sound-area recovering alcoholics. Those are some crazy mo-fos. These people love to be pulled on inflated rubber behind a boat at 60 mph--especially the recovering meth freaks. Anything for a non-chemical rush, I guess.

This year's trip, however, wasn't as satisfying as last year's trip. I'll just share a few lowlights:

The boat broke.
The air mattress broke.
The tent broke.
Even the tent bag broke.

We have three more camping trips scheduled for this summer. Oh joy.

Two of those trips, though, will be with my good friends, Renee and Denise, and their families. They're veteran campers, so I'll appreciate the emotional support. I'm not a huge fan of eating off the dirt.

Denise, especially, is a long-time camper and knows the ropes. Speaking of Denise, she applied last week for a job where I work! She actually worked there too, ages ago--up until the Black Summer of '04. I made a phone call and used my considerable influence (?) to convince the hiring manager of D's greatness. And I didn't exaggerate. Denise is truly fabulous. We've been friends for 18 years, and in those 18 years, she has taught me so much.

Such as the following important lessons:

1. Stealing fruit from the neighbors' yards in Palm Springs is a favor, not a crime. Those old people don't want all those lemons anyway.
2. Pubic hair, dwarf sex and ambiguous genitalia are perfectly acceptable topics of conversation. Even at work.
3. Assuming a funny ethnic accent is high comedy, not a form of racism.
4. As long as you're still in the state of Missouri, you're not really lost.
5. All you need to do is act tough.
6. The etymology of disgusting euphemisms deserves a place in academia.
7. The word "fuckers," when properly emphasized and slightly whispered, is the ultimate declaration of allegiance against foes of the worst kind (particularly the corporate ones).
8. Telling a prospective CEO that you've seen a former CEO naked is not a good idea. Especially in an interview.
9. Now is always a good time for a Girlfriends Trip.
10. If you spontaneously break into song, your real friends will sing along.

To have Denise back on Regence turf again would be sublime. Keep your fingers crossed.

After posting today's blog, I hope to feel like less of a loser. There's so much I need to be doing that I haven't taken care of lately. Like working out and weeding and paying bills. (Utilities are never truly late, are they?)

My goal for this week, then, is taking care of stuff.

I guess, though, that (bills aside) I took care of the really important stuff. Like taking my cat to the vet. And trying to help a friend get a job. And making sure the kids had camping fun even while James and I were mentally calculating the cost of a new propeller and boat engine repairs. And baking GG's cookies for my mom's birthday felt good. If I'm a good friend, pet-owner and mom, it's largely thanks to the excellent role model that my mom has always been (okay, I'm a so-so mom, but that's not her fault).

So, Happy Birthday, Mom! Thank you for teaching us what life's real priorities are.

But, could you come down and weed?

June 6: Rosemary Butter Cookies

God. Where to start? It feels like I have so much to cover.

Should I start with the fact that I'm a horrible mother and served my children Spaghettios and Pasta Roni for dinner tonight? Or with my soul-weary decision to put myself on a local/national/world news fast? Perhaps I should discuss my cat's burst skull cyst or cover James' recent diverticulitis diagnosis. Too gross for you? Then how about the 95-Degree Honey Bucket Incident?

Maybe I should just start with the cookies. Rosemary Butter cookies (pg. 144) are the best I've tried in a long time. My family wrinkled up their noses at the idea of rosemary in cookies, but they were great!

I have to admit I have a soft spot for rosemary. We saw Angels and Demons last week, and I was thinking later about how millions of people find meaning and direction in all of the pomp of the Catholic church while I find holiness in the random crooks of a rosemary branch. I appreciate how its scent clings to my arm when I brush up against it while gardening. Following Renee's advice, I tuck a sprig of it in my pants pocket just before a road trip. I've added it to chicken and egg dishes and even baked it into bread. Now cookies!

Mostly, I think I just like cooking with something I grew. It probably comes from when my grandparents had a small farm near where I grew up. As an extended farm family, we ate and cooked with the seasons: chickens, eggs, apples, plums, corn, potatoes, berries and lots of vegetables. My sisters and I would pull carrots out of the ground, run hose water over them and eat them right there in the garden. Many summer afternoon snacks consisted of green peas and raspberries. We baked with eggs right from the chicken, and could have fresh corn every night August through September. As a child I took it for granted. Now I see how lucky we were.

It just feels right to walk out the door and get some of what I need for use in the kitchen. We always grow strawberries on our patio; this year Ian's growing tomatoes. The boys and I prowl the woods behind our house for the little wild blackberries for an old-fashioned cobbler. These are small things, but somehow they just seem right. I like to think my Grandpa Elmer would approve.

It'll be especially important to take time for these kinds of things this summer. Time for cobblers and and homemade jam. Because it's going to be a cluster$#&* of a summer.

James' mom is selling her house and moving into a retirement condo. That's going to be a lot of work for James. (He's already delegating to me.) My dad is moving to Palm Springs, and I'm trying to figure out how to talk James into agreeing to Sam's and my plan to help Dad get his 52 dogs and 104 cats down there. Road trip! (Maybe.) We have camping trips, Dave at the Gorge (love the new album by the way), soccer up the wazzoo, and so on. I don't want to forget about simpler things, like walks in the woods and trips to the new Maple Valley Farmer's Market.

Okay. I know I titillated you with the reference to the Honey Bucket. Let's start by recognizing that sometimes moms just don't grasp the full urgency of a four-year-old's request to "go potty." "Going potty" is generally translated as "peeing." Unless a child says he's on the verge of a major diarrhea disaster, most moms probably just think the kid needs to take a whiz.

My kids are usually pretty specific and graphic about what goes on in and into a toilet. So, I was pretty surprised when what I expected to be a routine trip to a soccer field portapotty turned into a Poop Holocaust. There was poop everywhere: on the child, on the floor, on the walls, in the clothes. On me.

This I expect from a two-year-old. But for crying out loud--the boy is almost five! I have no wipes in the back of my car! No extra clothes! No industrial-strength pressure washers. Which, by the way, is probably what was needed for clean-up given the piss-poor quality (pardon the pun) of the toilet paper they put in portapotties.

I won't go into any further detail about events of that afternoon except to add two important points:

1. It was 95 degrees that day.

2. Ian had to walk back to the car wearing only his t-shirt and poopy socks.

I have to admit, I have a fair amount of Portapotty Guilt. Especially when a trip to the portapotty in question just tonight revealed that this poor Honey Bucket is now padlocked shut. And it's our fault.

There. Now those of you who asked to see the story in the blog (Denise) got it. And I'm expecting the Portapotty Police to show up on my porch any time.

May 23: Mocha Shortbread Wedges

Let me start by reporting the sad event in our lives this week: the passing of our dog, Misha.

Misha was a quiet little guy. He never gave us any trouble, other than needing weekly baths and a trip to the groomers every other month. He rarely barked--and then only at the squeaky toy du jour. He'd grown grey and lethargic in the last year or so and, in the past few months we noticed he'd gone quite deaf. Silly old dog. He fell ill a few days before his death. By last Sunday I knew it was time for a visit to the vet, something Misha hadn't needed in more than 10 years. He died at James' side in the waiting room. I'm glad he didn't have to be poked and prodded by strangers or stuck with a needle.

It's strange around the house now. Every morning for more than 12 years I've gotten out of bed and gone to let Misha out. I still head for the back door first thing. Sometimes I think I hear him snoring in the corner of the family room. James says he still looks for him when he comes home from work. The house seems so empty without his quiet little presence.

Of course, Ian immediately asked if we could get a puppy, which James and I answered with a unanimous "NO!" Someday, when the boys are older, maybe. But not for a long while. My mother-in-law has a puppy, Sammy the Havanese (or, as I call him, "Sammy You Little Shit"). Puppies are fun to visit, but we don't want to live with one. Besides, our 17-year-old cat, Kizmet, would probably have a stroke.

In other news, I baked Mocha Shortbread Wedges (p. 133) on Friday night. They're super-easy, and I needed easy. They contain espresso powder, so the coffee flavor is pretty strong, and they're not quite the same consistency as true shortbread. But they're cookies, and they're from the book, so they qualified for a blog post.

It's Memorial Day Weekend. Summer at last! We celebrated by taking the boat out on Lake Washington. Seattle native that I am, I warned James that the lake would be pretty cold yet. I grew up swimming in it, and I know that it's not tolerable for me at least until July at the earliest. That snowmelt run-off is still keeping the water pretty damn cold in May. James didn't believe me until he jumped off the boat just off Mercer Island. The look on his face was worth the trip.

But Christian inner-tubed almost the entire length of the west side of the island. We were surprised and proud of him. He loved it, which is a big change from last summer's tubing experiences. Ian, who normally loves swimming, jumped in, then jumped right back out. I laughed from inside the boat, nice and warm in long sleeves and sweats. I'm no fool.

We cruised all the way from Renton to Fisherman's Terminal in Seattle. There's so much to look at on Lake Union and in the Mountlake Cut. The boys loved it. We pulled up to the Fisherman's Memorial in Salmon Bay and had a great lunch at Chinook's. We learned that Ian loves clams and that one Copper River Salmon lunch is worth $27.

I have a day of housework and yardwork ahead of me. Maybe a walk on the Cedar River Trail with Ian, since James and Christian are out trailriding on the motorcycles. At the moment, Kiz is sitting next to me watching me type, probably gloating about being the Last Pet Standing. She never did like Misha. But we human family members will always miss him.

May 10: Peanut Butter Cookies, Part V

Midnight, May 10

Phone: "Ring, ring!"
Me [after much running around looking for phone in the dark]: "Hello?"
Phone: Silence.
Me: "Huh."

7:21 a.m., May 10

Phone: "Ring, ring!"
Me: "Hello?"
Sam: "Kristy! Did Laura have her baby last night and not tell us and then announce it on Facebook?!"
Me: "Huh?"

Yes, folks. That's how it happened. That's how I learned that my nephew, August Russell, had entered the world, 10 days before expected. My poor sister Laura tried in vain to reach all of us in the hour before and the hours after his arrival. Without telephone success, she went to the next most obvious vehicle of communication: the Web.

Although I visited August the day he was born, I will blame my extended blog silence on my patient wait for photos. No photos, no posts.

Nearly two weeks later, I had to resort to stealing one off Laura's Facebook page.

That makes this my most overdue blog posting to date. I did actually bake peanut butter cookies for my mom the night before Mother's Day. I also took some to Laura in the hospital. But what's a baby post without pictures!?

There are other causes for my long silence. Most notably:

1. The day after Mother's Day I ended up sick with a fever. Normally, I enjoy a good fever. But it was hard to enjoy this one with two kids screaming and fighting and carrying on. Mercifully, I have very little knowledge of what when on during my long day in the guest bed. I will say, however, that James found green jello in our bed that night. I blame Ian.

2. My family will not leave me alone. Any time I sit in front of the computer for more than five minutes, someone is calling for me. It reminds me of when I try to use the bathroom. So, short of updating my blog from the office (which seems unethical even for me), I don't know what to do. Today I'm relying on video games to distract them.

3. The weather has been fabulous. So I've been outside a lot. Those of you who may have been worried about my clematis, I have good news: It's back with a vengeance. And you were worried.

I swear, I'm back too. Back to cookies and back to blogging. Tonight I'm baking a new recipe, so watch for updates tomorrow. I hope it's good. I know the peanut butter cookies were "divine" because even Sam loved them. I know because she texted me to tell me so.

May 2: Chocolate Charms

After two martinis at Wild Ginger and two hours of David Sedaris at Benaroya, my sister Sam and I found it hilarious to discover her name in lights on the corner of Second and University in downtown Seattle. Granted, after two martinis, we found swine flu, breath mints and the Benaroya seating chart to be equally hilarious. Nevertheless, there we were at 10:00 last night, standing on University like a couple of dorks, taking photos with our camera phones.

We're so easily entertained. And such fun when tipsy!

Although, apparently only one of us looks young enough to be carded. (Sam, you whore.)

After our evening of Girls Gone Wild Ginger, I'm now doing the domestic thing at home with Ian. James and Christian are on their annual fishing trip, and here I am, baking Chocolate Charms (pg. 110) for my sister Laura's baby shower tomorrow. They're not too bad--less sweet than I expected, but very chocolatey. I was going to make umbrella-shaped sugar cookies. But, apparently, one needs meringue powder for the frosting details. And, apparently, meringue powder is a specialty item. One not carried in Southeast King County--the freaking boonies where I live.

It's 10 p.m., and I'm very tired after my late night. But after a three-hour power nap, Ian is all revved up for the evening. So cookies it is. I sure wish he'd go play with some toys. At the moment he is staring at me across the desk and sporadically singing a song about lizards and monkeys in a tree. I think he made it up.

I realize now that I neither baked nor blogged last week. I wish I had a fabulous excuse, but I don't. Just been busy. Lots of kids sports, as usual. Lots of work. Lots of housework that I no longer have any enthusiasm for. But I have a vague feeling that happy things have happened in the past two weeks. Kind of like when you wake up with a foggy memory of the feeling of of dream, I sense that good things have been going on. I guess there have been some things to be glad about.

Things like:

1. My CD course on Languages of the World. I LOVE it. And I think I have a crush on my linguistics professor.
2. The Cedar River Trail. My goal is to walk on it at least once a week through the fall with a friend. Or, if I'm hard up, my family. Failed this week. I blame the rain.
3. Expedia.com! Their jobs are cooler than mine. Denise and I attended a meet-and-greet there last Thursday. She was trolling for job leads and I was her wingman. We went away with a vague sense that we are old and we are losers. Why is everyone on Twitter, and since when did Social Media become a function of Corporate Communications?
4. My new solar-powered garden lights. Now my backyard twinkles just like Renee's!
5. Jill Soloway, author of Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants. I love me a Chicago hoor.
6. Southland. After 40 years of watching cop shows (anyone remember Adam 12?), I think I could actually be a cop. Or successfully date one.
7. My new Victoria's Secret Wave bra. Now I understand how those skinny models can look so stacked!
8. Dave's new album. Pre-ordered and eagerly awaited. But I'll never be able to say Grugux. I keep pronouncing it Grugrux. That Dave. He's so deliciously odd.
9. The whole concept of drinks after work.
10. The "21+11 Run." More on that later.

But I'd say that, consistently, my favorite thing has been sharing a laugh with my favorite funny people. And there are so many! What a bunch of wackos I hang out with. Do the crazies gravitate toward me or vice versa?

There's something to think about. But then again, I'm not the one whose name appears in giant blue lights just a few short blocks from the Lusty Lady and the Deja Vu Triple X Club for Gentlemen.

April 21: Buttered Rum Meltaways

Autumn in April. It's 77 degrees outside, and my kitchen smells like turning leaves, college football and woolens.

Buttered Rum Meltaways (pg. 138) would be fabulous with a mug of hot cider. So it was a little odd to be baking them on the hottest day of the year so far. Note to self: excellent choice for Christmas cookies.

James was in Palm Desert for two weeks and is on his way home as I type. He's probably somewhere in the Portland vicinity right now (I asked him to moon downtown on his way through). In his absence, I've been flaunting the booze bottles, including the rum I used to make these cookies. Renee and I squeezed in two martini nights, and my vodka bottle served as a very able bookend for the past 12 days. I never did, however, crack the cosmo mix I got from the Safeway clearance display.

I guess it's one of those things; when given the freedom, we want to do all those things we normally never get to do. Hence the Absolut on my kitchen counter.

I didn't get to all the chores I said I'd do while he was gone. I didn't sort and print all my digital photos. I didn't go through the boxes of kids' artwork. I didn't work on my recipe collection. But I did savor every moment after the kids went to sleep, reading in bed late into the night. We turned off the TV early every evening and we didn't use the heat pump. Instead, we cooled the house the old-fashioned way, with open windows. We planted flowers and herbs. I washed my face twice a day. We sorted baby boy clothes for my sister's soon-to-be newborn. (It's a girl! No, it's a boy! No, we don't know what it is!)

It sounds like James enjoyed his break. He golfed, lounged, soaked, ate out and just chilled. I could hear the tension draining from his voice every day. I hope it stays that way.

Meanwhile, the boys are excited about his return. Christian just taped a note to the front door for him. Ian keeps asking when Daddy will be home. The dog and cat, I'm sure, are ambivalent.

I think he'll be surprised when he sees the yard. Things grow quickly in a two-week period in April. Especially the lawn.

The clematis, however, hasn't grown fast enough. I'll have some explaining to do there.

Other developments during his absence:

1. The school is recommending the accelerated math course for Christian starting next year. That means more homework for him and more Xanax/deep breathing for me.

2. Ian finished soccer. He won a trophy and thinks he's God's gift to pre-k sports. Next up: t-ball.

3. I bought two new pairs of jeans, four shirts, a pair of bling sunglasses and a bra. And I got my hair highlighted. I needed all of those items (or so I tell myself) due to my whopping gain of 2.6 pounds of muscle and 1 pound of fat. Well, except the highlights and the bling. That was just vanity.

4. I've decided that making the bed is over-rated.

5. Speaking of beds, I've also decided I like the left side better than the right. We'll see how that flies at about 12:15 a.m. tonight.

Speaking of tonight, I should get the boys to bed. But they're playing so nicely out there. No TV blaring, no yelling, no hitting.

Yet.

I need to get busy enjoying my last few hours of reading leisure. Curl up on the left side of the unmade bed with a good rum cookie and a mug of vodka, with the lamplight shining on my blonder streaks and my new bra dangling from the ceiling fan.

Okay, so maybe not the bra part. But the rest, definitely.

April 11: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines and Lemon Madeleines, Parts II

"GO TO BED!"

I think I have made this statement at least 400 times since Tuesday. It's Spring Break, and my boys refuse to go to bed.

As I type, Ian is passed out on the couch and Christian keeps prancing into the office to ask if the Easter Bunny is real.

It's 10:30 p.m.

"GO TO BED!"

I just wrapped up one batch of Lemon Madeleines and Orange-Cardamom Madeleines each. My contribution to Easter brunch at my Auntie Karen's house tomorrow. I'm exhausted. But not from the cookies.

It's probably from staying up until 1:30 a.m. this morning reading Metro Girl in bed. Quiet alone time is so precious that I'm willing to give up sleep to enjoy it. But now I'm paying the price. By 8 p.m. tonight I was on the verge of a panic attack. I blame the exhaustion and all the mysterious sounds I hear after dark. One night I was sure someone was on my roof.

This is all because my husband is lounging in Palm Desert. For two weeks. When I talked to him tonight he had just climbed out of the hot tub. His biggest problems? He shot a 97 today and our TVs down there don't have DVR or Tivo. His biggest challenge today? He had to convince the gardeners to trim the citrus trees for no additional fee.

He didn't have a four-year-old huck a small electronic blackjack game at the dashboard of the car while he was pulling into traffic. He doesn't have arthritis in both thumbs from repeatedly grabbing a 55-pound four-year-old around the upper arms to drag him to his room/hoist him off the floor/pull him off his brother. He's not having to watch the clematis die. (See last week's entry.)

Am I bitter? No, not really. Seriously. I'm glad he's enjoying himself. But I swear to God, I've never loved my job more than I do right now. I am so excited about going back to the office on Monday, words just can't express.

I felt bad, though, by Friday that the boys had been cooped up here while I worked most of the week from home. So, I shut down Regence early on Friday and took them up to Seattle to go plant shopping and have dinner with my mom. It was a fun afternoon and evening. The boys love their grandma and her plant store. They charmed everyone with their dimples and freckles. And everyone came home happy with a car full of new plants.

We bought a climbing rose, a clematis (yeah, I know--one's not going to cover it), a cute dwarf columbine, several other perennials and a bunch of herbs. We planted most of them today, out in the April drizzle. It was really nice. Until Ian yanked a bulb out of the ground and picked a fight with Christian. I'm sure our neighbors think we're trash.

Tonight Sam and Al stopped by for mac-and-cheese then followed us to Tukwila to watch Christian play soccer. It cost me $7 in quarters at the gumball machines to keep Ian half-way entertained, but it was worth it. Christian scored four goals and his aunt and uncle were so proud of him. I'm the mother of a soccer star!

Alright. He was just back in here asking about the freaking Easter Bunny. And I have to go put a nighttime diaper on a sleeping Ian. Ever try to lift a sleeping 55-pound child into a bunk bed? With arthritic thumbs?

I should tell Christian flat out that yes, there is an Easter Bunny. I've seen him myself. Many years ago in my Auntie Karen's front yard. He had a basket of eggs in one hand and a drink in the other.

On that note, I don't want to stay up too late and surprise the Bunny. It's time for me to GO TO BED.

April 4: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines

Mmmmm. Cardamom...

Orange-Cardamom Madeleines (pg. 210) smelled amazing even before baking. Butter, honey, sugar, vanilla--all good stuff. The final touch: an orange glaze. I might make these for Easter Sunday. You start baking cookies and writing a cookie blog, and people start expecting a higher level of baked goods.

It has been a beautiful weekend in Maple Valley. In honor of the first true day of sun and warmth, I went out and butchered my clematis.

I didn't actually mean to butcher it. I started out just thinning it. But one clip led to another, and before I knew it, it was nothing but a few hairy sticks coming out of the ground. I feel really bad. I know our neighbors are driving by and saying, "Oh my God! What did those morons do to their clematis!?"

Okay. I feel really stupid, too. But there's new growth on it! I swear. Just the same, I may pick up some new ones at the nursery. We had to plant the clematis six years ago to block the view of our heat pump from the road. Homeowners' association rules. Watch us get an "unsightly appliance" ticket or something this week because boy, that heat pump is fully visible now.

As I type, James and Christian are playing a loud and obnoxious video game. Ian is howling because he ran into a table and bumped his chin. Overreacting as usual. Actually, I think he's really crying because he wants another ice cream cone and I said no. The glutton.

Ah, chaos. Speaking of which, James leaves for Palm Springs at 4 a.m. Tuesday morning. I get to spend the next two weeks with the boys. Half of that time I'll be working from home. And don't think, dear reader, that it'll be some idyllic Spring Break, with me writing fascinating copy while the boys happily play Lincoln Logs at my feet in a beam of sunshine. That's a bunch of crap.

The boys will be begging for video games or TV and I'll be yelling at them to Shut the Hell Up. I'll have to leave the computer 52 times a day to serve food, clean up a spill, break up a fight, send someone to his room, let the dog in/out, mop up cat puke, pour juice, and turn off the TV. If it's nice, I'll be sweeping dirt off the hardwoods, throwing rocks out of the house and chasing Ian after the little escape artist levitates himself over the back fence.

It's going to be a long week.

I'll hold onto my sanity by looking forward to good things, like:

1. Going to the David Sedaris book-reading with Sam on May 1! Love that angry gay man.

2. Grilled cheese sandwiches, mochas and edamame for dinner while James is gone.

3. Sleeping in while "working from home."

4. The new Dave Matthews album! Oh my God. I'm so excited. Also, I have tickets to see Dave at the Gorge over Labor Day. Friday and Saturday nights. Again. It's the closest I get to going to church. ("And the congregation responds: People in every direction. No words exchanged. No time to exchange them.")

5. Martini Night!

6. Watching whatever I want on TV, April 7-22.

7. The end of Spring Break.

8. My new boots! I bought knee-high, high-heeled, ass-kicking boots. They'll be here in 3 to 6 business days. I'm currently on day 2. I swear to God, I clapped my hands like a toddler during story time right after I hit "Make purchase" on the Nordstrom site.

9. The whole bed. To myself.

10. Uh. Plant shopping at Sky Nursery.

I'm also looking forward to my sister Laura's baby shower the first weekend in May. I love babies. I even kind of liked mine. But other people's babies! Mmmmm. So sweet. Today, as a matter of fact, is Laura's birthday. Happy Birthday, LaLa!

She's having another girl. I hope that the family Curse of the Second Daughter doesn't fail us. Second daughters on my mom's side are hellions. Heh, heh, heh. I have two wild boys. It's only fair that someone share my pain. But just to be nice, I'll bake something fabulous for her shower.

March 29: Lemon Madeleines

Last week sucked. Well, it ended up good (fingers crossed), but it's a week I'd rather forget.

I find it ironic, then, that for this week I made Lemon Madeleines (pg. 190). The French writer Marcel Proust made madeleines famous when he featured them in the opening scene of his novel Remembrance of Things Past.

So, Friday was my birthday. I turned 41. I spent part of the day on a table in a medical clinic having what was supposed to have been a biopsy. That's because on Tuesday I discovered a lump. A large, painful lump. And it had a swollen, painful friend up where lymph nodes usually are. Wednesday it was nothing to worry about, per a general practitioner. Thursday it was a "mass with a blood supply and an enlarged ancillary lymph node," per the radiologist at the breast clinic. Sigh. Hence the biopsy.

But it turned out, we hope, hope, hope, to have been an infected abscess. So, now I'm on antibiotics and am waiting for test results. I may be back for a biopsy on Friday, depending on what those lab results and a follow-up ultrasound show.

It's scary and humbling to have the firepower of American medicine aimed directly at your left breast.

And what's the cause of all this excitement? Possibly the painful blow Ian gave me with his elbow. Right to the boob, last Friday.

Okay. So enough of that.

Those lemon madeleines are yummy! Delicate and very French, I think. Like little cake-like lemon bars. I can't wait to make the orange-cardamom versions. My cousin Heidi gave me the madeleine pan for my birthday, and I was very excited about it. I heart kitchen stuff.

Right now, for example, I'm roasting a whole chicken in my Dutch oven (one of three different sizes that I own). Inside the chicken is a sprig of thyme (home grown) that I cut with my cute, green herb snips. The chicken legs are tied together with my kitchen twine, and I basted the chicken in melted butter (unsalted, of course) using the best basting brush ever made (the one that comes apart for cleaning). I could go on and on, but I won't. Some people say that my blog posts are "long-winded." Hmph. But since those people don't read the blog, I'll just continue on my merry way.

Didn't Maya Angelou say something about caged birds singing not because they want an answer but because they have a song? I have a song, godammit, and I'm singing it. La la la la la la!

So, anyway, back to the birthday. Yeah, it sucked at the beginning, but I was very happy and relieved at the end. I just hope it stays that way. I'm hoping that someday I'll look back with nothing but gratitude--someday when the shear terror wears off. Meanwhile, there are chickens to roast, fifth-grade projects to manage, cookies to bake, runny noses to wipe and lots and lots of kids' sports to juggle. Someday, I hope, I'll look back and say, "remember that birthday when Ian almost gave me cancer?"

March 20: Peanut Butter Cookies, Part IV

My mom finally got her peanut butter cookies!

I baked them Friday night because I knew I'd be at Sky Nursery on Saturday. Now it's Sunday, and I'm just sitting down to work on the blog. Typical.

It's just me, a dirty house, a purring cat and the feeling that I need to get this written before the day really starts. James is at a meeting and the boys are asleep. And I still have housework to do, birthday presents to wrap, a shower to take and this to write by 12:30 p.m.

Another weekend at warp speed in the Phillips family.

Highlights of the past seven days:

1. Grandma Lorraine's stay in the hospital: She's feeling better and we're crossing our fingers.

2. My mother-in-law's new roommate: Her English Setter passed last week; on Friday James and Christian delivered Sammy the Havanese Puppy.

3. Ian's Poopy Water Toilet Overflow: Responding to screams of terror, I found him standing at the top of the stairs, pants around ankles, pointing in horror at the mini-Mississippi flowing through the upstairs bathroom.

4. My haircut: It's been 53 weeks. Enough said.

5. Ian's first soccer game: The half-time oranges were his favorite part.

6. Parent Information Night at Tahoma Middle School: James watched all four kids while Renee, Rob and I went to learn about middle school. We concluded that our 10-year-olds aren't ready, the parents definitely are not ready and it's never too soon to start freaking out about the teenage years.

And have I mentioned yet that I'm working out? Linda is my exercise buddy, and we head down to the Regence gym around 3:30 almost every day. Last week I exercised four times. That's some kind of record for me. I've concluded that after two weeks, I'm now in the maintenance stage. I'm also sensing that I'm probably the only gym member who keeps Whoppers in her gym bag. This is because my new fitness focus has taught me something profound: I don't eat enough.

Shut up! My body composition analysis reported that I need to gain 15 pounds of fat and 8.4 pounds of muscle. So, because Friday's 20-minute treadmill walk (remember: maintenance stage) showed I'd burned 97 calories, I enjoyed a handful of Whoppers on the way out of the locker room.

But seriously, I'm finding that when I don't eat properly (i.e., enough) on the weekends, I'm tired. Hmm. I'm just now figuring this out?

I have to add that those 15 pounds of fat are not going to happen. But I'm working on the 8.4 pounds of muscle.

Don't hate me. It's not so great having to work at keeping weight on. And my frame isn't my doing. It's all genetic. I get it from my Grandpa Russ, who, by the way, would have been 94 years old yesterday. I got a lot of things from my grandpa, in addition to the metabolism of a hummingbird. Like really long legs, a sense of optimism, blue eyes and an unabashed desire to drive a "look-at-me" car. He also taught me how to love a good project. So I guess I can sort of blame this blog on him.

I thought of him yesterday when someone mentioned how it was the Spring Equinox. Coincidentally, this occurred at my Great-Aunt Carol's memorial service. She died in December, but her family chose to celebrate her life on the first day of spring. Carol was my dad's aunt and my grandma's baby sister. It was a nice service, and it was interesting to see all those Lovaas and Shold family members we'd either never met or hadn't seen in many years. But in true Molzahn fashion, my sisters and I slipped out quickly, quietly and early. We're Larry's Girls after all, and we need to keep up our anti-social appearances.

When I reported to my mom on how the service was, she said, "You guys are just lucky you had me to dilute all that Scandinavian blood." My mom: one of the world's last anti-Scandites. Ah, but that's a blog entry for another day.

She was pretty happy to get her cookies, though, even if they did come from her mixed-race daughter.

March 14: Milk-Chocolate Cookies

I finally found milk chocolate for baking.

After checking and rechecking the shelves at Safeway and QFC (just to make sure I didn't miss it the first five times I looked), I concluded that it wasn't going to be easy to find this crucial ingredient in so many recipes. Next stop: specialty stores. And I do love my specialty stores.

I found it on my first try: It was only $12 per pound at Williams-Sonoma. My lucky day.

So, last night I made Milk-Chocolate Cookies (pg. 79). They were easy and smelled really good. The boys loved them (especially accompanied by the last of the milk at 9:30 p.m.). They're a little crunchy for me. But they look real pretty all stacked up in my glass cookie jar.

Would you believe that it's snowing? Again? It's 7:19 a.m., and I'm preparing to head out to Starbucks and QFC with Renee. I realized last night that someone was going to have to go to the store bright and early for milk. Needless to say, we're not walking. The last time we went, James caught us returning in Renee's minivan. Well, I didn't think of it as being caught until he started exclaiming about how he always thought we walked up there for the exercise. Snort. We go to coffee to get away from our families! We do walk, but only between May and September. And never in the rain.

I don't think the snow is sticking. And it doesn't look terribly cold. But cold enough to snow. So that's cold enough. I've had it with winter. After the cluster$%&*that was December, we've all had enough of it.

I'm not really motivated to do anything today. I have no momentum for housework, having spent a big chunk of yesterday in an urgent care clinic waiting room with Ian. He's had a cold for about two weeks, but as of Friday night, his eyes looked terrible--all creased, baggy and red. His normally big, blue eyes were nothing more than swollen little triangles. My eyes itch just thinking about it. James claimed it's a normal cold symptom, but my Mommy Instinct insisted it was something more. So we spent three hours at MultiCare because our pediatrician's office is closed on Saturdays.

Three hours in any waiting room with a four-year-old is hard enough. But urgent care clinics are a special kind of torture. To keep him busy, I dug a pen out of my purse and had him draw pictures of animals on the back of the HIPAA brochure. That worked great until he dropped the pen. He dove under the chair to get it, then came up with a grin, announcing that, "I found something yummy to eat!"

I like to think it was the look on my face rather than my exclamation of "What the heck were you thinking?!" that made him burst into tears. Mid-wail I could see the blue residue on his molars that I assumed came from the yummy something. So I immediately went into freak-out mode, envisioning the stray pharmaceutical he probably consumed. I was trying to decide which would be worse--painkiller, antibiotic or Viagra--when it dawned on me that we were probably in the best possible place to be when consuming unidentified "somethings." So, after impressing upon him how we just don't eat things off the floor and trying to see if there were any more yummy somethings under my chair, I decided to just wait and see what happened.

I'm pleased to report that he suffered no ill effects. Nor, however, did we ever get a diagnosis. We did get a prescription for $45 allergy eye drops. His eyes do look better. Now, instead of looking like he's been beat up, he just looks hungover.

If I could just get myself organized and motivated, there's a ton of housework needing my attention today. I did manage, though, to dispose of Super Fish last night. He succumbed to his bacterial disease sometime on Friday. I almost flushed him without telling Ian. But then I decided that would be dishonest, so I broke the news on my way to the bathroom with net in hand. Ian jumped up, grinned and said, "Ooh. Poor little fishy! Can I touch the dead, little fish?"

I explained that we don't touch a dead fish unless we're planning to eat it. We said goodbye to Super Fish, told him we were sorry he got sick and sent his stiff little body "back to the ocean where he came from." Ian already wants a lizard.

Okay. It's official. I need to get up and get moving. There are rooms to clean, things to put away and school papers to sign. Christian needs help with a big school project, there's grocery shopping to do, dinners to plan, eye drops to administer, a contaminated fish tank to toss. Etc., etc., etc. Why is it I can make a mission of finding specific kinds of baking chocolate, but sometimes when it comes to picking up the family room, I'd just rather read the paper?