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.