March 7: Cream-Filled Chocolate Sandwiches

Homemade Oreos. What's not to like?

Actually, I can't vouch for how good Cream-Filled Chocolate Sandwiches (pg. 95) are because I didn't even try one. Don't know why. They just didn't appeal to me. But James and the boys liked them. James said they were, indeed, a lot like an Oreo.

They intimidated me, I think, because they are huge. I don't have a 1.25-inch ice cream scoop. Had to use a 2-inch scoop instead. There's just something about a 2-pound cookie that puts me off.

I guess there's another trip to City Kitchens in my future. Unnaturally large cookies are what happen when you lack the right equipment.

I'm looking out the office window at more snow. Sigh. But under that snow I can see Renee's purple heather--and a robin just caught my eye hopping by under our rhodies. So this snow doesn't scare me. As long as the roads stay clear so the buses can run tomorrow, it can snow all it wants.

It has been another intensely domestic weekend. Lots of housework and errands. James is getting the boat ready for fishing and the boys equipped for spring sports. I don't know how we're going to manage with two boys playing three sports through June. And James will be in Palm Springs for two weeks in April. I can't even think about it.

Overwhelmed has been the theme of the week. Tuesday night I was so paralyzed from thinking about all I need to accomplish that I couldn't even eat. Between work (which is uncharacteristically demanding) and home responsibilities, I felt like I was drowning. So, I turned to my favorite coping mechanism: list-making.

Now I have lots of little pieces of paper floating around my purse screaming barely legible words that only I can decipher. I take a distinct pleasure in striking those words out of existence.

For example:

"Call Gretchen" (i.e., make hair appointment). Done.

"Camp Casey stuff" (i.e., get supplies for Christian's fifth-grade camp trip). Partially done.

"Kim's letter" (i.e., write letter about LapCorp dropping off the Regence network). Done.

"Call Trish" (i.e., make appointment for annual physical). Done.

"Jeff's section" (i.e., start working on my chapters of the Regence brand book). In progress.

"Cham" (i.e., brew homemade chamomile hair rinse). Done.

"Pick up book" (i.e., check out on-hold book at library). Library sent book back. But it counts as a cross-off.

One other item on my list was "Call VV" (i.e, call Grandma VeVe to wish her happy birthday). I happily did that Friday afternoon, the day she turned 91. My Grandma VeVe is something else. She still lives in the house my grandpa built during the war. She still drives. She still works in her yard. I know people in their 60s who aren't as sharp and independent as my grandma.

When I was growing up, my cousin Heidi and I loved to spend the weekend with Grandma VeVe and Grandpa Russ. During one of those weekends Heidi remarked to me, "Isn't Grandma sweet?" Always inclined to agree with everyone, I replied, "Yeah." But inside I didn't agree with her. And I felt guilty about that. It was only much later that I could look back and see that I was right--and that I shouldn't have felt bad about it.

I can think of a lot of words to describe my grandma. But my definition of sweet wasn't high on that list. When my 10-year-old self thought of sweet, I pictured the stereotypical sweet little old lady with the white bun. That wasn't my grandma.

Thoughtful, generous and kind, yes. But intelligent, independent, outspoken, stubborn, funny, saucy, sassy--those words worked better. VeVe taught us to play poker and Mercy. She hated it when Grandpa slapped her on the butt and called her "Cookie." She likes fast cars and crime novels and was the only grandma I knew at the time who used the term "piss on you."

My grandma does have her sweet side, but if I had to choose one just word to describe her, it wouldn't be sweet. In my mind, it doesn't do her justice. At 41, I've seen less than half the life that she has. When I think of all that she has seen, done and accomplished in 91 years, I'd say that the term I'd use today is role model.

Ninety-one years. That makes my to-do list look pretty tame.

Happy Birthday, VeVe!

Feb. 27: Chocolate Crackles, Part II

I woke up this morning and immediately thought, "It's March 1!" Hooray! Winter is almost over.

I thought about how the bulbs are coming up, the snow should be over (ah, but remember last March?), and the lilacs are just two months away. It's like hitting the crest of a tall, cold hill. We're coasting down now, toward summer.

And then I went grocery shopping and found myself cursing the cold, hard rain. Maybe my relief is premature.

I guess that makes March 1 a tentative mixture of good (spring) and bad (winter). That also pretty much sums up my weekend. Some parts were enjoyable, some parts were just blah, and one small part can be described only as sheer domestic horror.

I baked Chocolate Crackles (pg. 68) on Friday for book club. I thought gooey chocolate was a good match for our February book, Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women. Sherry said "Beauty and the Beast" is ruined for her forever; Denise gave us an enlightening lesson on toes; and Amy admitted that she hid her book from her daughters. We all agreed that we couldn't really fault Snow White for ditching the Prince for the Seven Dwarves since they turned into Seven Hunks after dark. The book was an unconventional choice for us, but it did generate some great conversation, none of which is suitable for printing here. This is a family blog after all.

We're back on track with less controversial choices for March (The Worst Hard Time) and April (Tiny Girls in Shiny Pants).

So far, the low point of the weekend was my decision to finally clean the fish tank. Ian has a beta that Christian calls Super Fish. The poor thing has a bacteria that is draining him of color and making him swim around kind of lopsided. I researched it, and it's incurable. He's been ill since fall; we've been expecting to find him floating for months now. But he's still kicking. I hadn't cleaned the tank since late last year because I didn't want to cause any extra stress on him. But by yesterday, the green water and black slime was too much for me. So I decided to give it a cleaning.

You'd think I'd remember how bad it is to drop little aquarium rocks down the garbage disposal. But I always remember that too late--after I've accidentally sloshed rocks into the wrong side of the sink. Those damn little rocks get stuck in the blades and jam the disposal. I thought I had them all--until I tested the disposal. Stuck. Sigh.

So James came to the rescue with a metal stick to unjam it. He's really good at that, being a landlord and all. Ah, but my "one little rock" turned out to be several little rocks. The more he banged on that disposal, the dirtier his looks were. He went back to the garage and returned with a longer stick for more leverage. I was really disturbed by how much black gunk was coming out from under the disposal drain ring when he leaned the stick on it--I thought my sink was clean!

And did I mention that the dishwasher was running through all this? As I stood next to James, horrified by the black gunk creeping out from under the loosened drain ring, I suddenly felt a delicious warmth on my feet. Nice as it was to have warm toes, I knew that it meant something bad. Actually, it meant that hot water was pouring out from under the sink. In just seconds it was flowing all over the hardwood floor and making a run for the dining room.

Turned out that the long stick had broken a pipe loose--just as the dishwasher was draining into the disposal. Long story short, Christian and I used every towel in the house. James gave me the dirtiest look yet, headed to the couch and waited for me to clean it all up. At least he was quiet about it. Seething, most likely.

I'm happy to report that the story does have a happy ending: There's no damage to the floors or walls (at least none that's visible), the disposal is fixed (after several little rocks flew out) and the pipe didn't need to be replaced (yet).

Fortunately, that episode didn't interfere with our date night. MacKenzie came over to watch the boys, and James and I went out for Italian food in Bellevue and a comedy show in Kirkland. Home by 10:30. Bed by 11:00. Asleep by 11:05. My kind of date night.

Today is just blah. I'm not really into anything today. Cleaned the house. Worked in the yard. Went grocery shopping. Blah, blah, blah.

One bright spot: I discovered that I can make my own creme fraiche, which I need for one of my cookie recipes. I could probably buy it somewhere, but making my own is more interesting. Also, I was thrilled recently to find that Whole Foods carries Dutch cocoa for just $7.99 a box. It's $16.99 at QFC! I was one smug little cookie baker when I made that discovery. Now if I could just find baking-quality milk chocolate.

Isn't that just how life is? Taking the good with the bad. Winter's not quite over, but signs of spring are everywhere. And sure, the dishwasher drained all over my kitchen, but think how clean my floor is now!

Feb. 22: Almond Horns

Almond Horns, pg. 104, would be great Christmas cookies. It was also soothing to roll them out--although I think they look more like horseshoes than horns.

I'm going to have to bake more cookies on Thursday for book club on Friday. This month's meeting is at my house, and of course cookies will be expected. Not sure if I'll try something new or bake a tried-and-true. I told the girls I'd bake erotic cookies since our selection this month is just this side of porn. Hmm. Maybe the horns...

I can tell already that this week is going to be a ball-buster (pardon the pun). Work today was not good. I don't understand why we can't just all follow the AP styleguide and be happy about it. So now we make copy decisions based own how capital letters look on a page and not on solid copywriting principles? For crying out loud. I've been a writer and editor for 18 years, and that's a first for me.

But that's all I'll say about that. I've read those articles warning people against being too candid about their jobs in their blogs. So, in case the Big Blue Brother is reading this, "Yay Regence! Love ya man!"

On a more cheerful topic, how about that Seattle weather? Gotta love false spring. I wonder how many idiots went out and planted stuff this weekend. Got news for all you optimists and recent transplants: FROST 'TIL APRIL!

It was a good weekend, though, for yard clean-up. Found some snowdrops blooming. They're sweet little flowers. And with all the sunshine, James went outside and got the dirt bikes running. He even gave Ian his first ride. We learned long ago that Ian is our daredevil son. But the dirt bike experience just deepened our dread. He loved the ride--whooping, hollering and waving at the neighbors all around the block. But he liked it a little too much for our comfort.

We also got some good news on the bankruptcy front: We will NOT owe the IRS $250,000. I consider that fabulous news, considering I ran out of options for getting my hands on $250,000. Stocks? Nope. Not there. House? Oh, please. Life insurance? Hmmmm.

Anyway, not only do we not owe income tax on money we may lose and never see again, we don't owe capital gains on it, either. Yay America!

Speaking of America, I'm addicted to Facebook. Is the whole country there, or what? I love the whole Facebook etiquette thing. Is someone "Facebook-worthy?" What do you do about "friends" who e-ignore you? (You know who you are.) Will someone know if you "defriend" them? And how about that List of 25 Random Things? Love those.

I keep hearing predictions about the end of Facebook because it's not making anyone any money. More news for you: THE WHOLE FREAKING COUNTRY IS NOT MAKING ANY MONEY! We can at least be in touch while we go down the tubes together.

I shouldn't be such a pessimist. There are many good things in the world, right? Like my son, who brought home a certificate for fifth-grade academic achievement and perseverance. We're very proud of him (if somewhat a little surprised). I mean, the kid lives for The Simpsons and can't remember to brush his teeth. I like to think that he saves his brainpower for more important aspects of his life. Like school, for example.

And James didn't re-tear his tendons. So that's good news. And he's going to Palm Springs for two weeks in April. Good news for him. (I have to admit, I'm looking forward to controlling the T.V. for awhile. I should have about four months of Desperate Housewives saved up by then.)

And I have a fabulous new office to work in at home. Granted, the wireless keyboard SUCKS.(Feel that, wireless keyboard? You suck.) But the desk is real pretty.

Finally, I don't really hate my job. In all truth, Regence has been very good to me over the years. I mean that in all sincerity. I love being a writer/editor. And I'm thankful for Regence and my job every day. But capitalizing "sales account executive"? Come on. Even the pope doesn't deserve a capital "P" for Christ's sake! What makes insurance salespeople think they're better than the pope? Oh, wait. That's a dumb question.

Yay Regence! Love ya man!

Peanut Butter Cookies Part III

I'm not sure what's driving this project. Do I bake cookies so I can write in the blog, or do I blog just so I can bake the cookies?

Whichever, I've been missing my cookies and my blog! It's been a couple of busy weeks since I baked or wrote. There's a lot to catch up on. In order to do that, I baked James' favorites for Valentine's Day. Now for the blog.

What I thought was a Superbowl headache on Feb. 1 turned out to be a sinus headache. I ended up sick all that week. No cookies for me! To my family's disappointment, I saved my strength for travel on Feb. 7.

That's when Denise, Renee and Linda and I headed south for five fabulous days in Palm Desert. It was a much-needed Mommy Timeout. The weather was memorable: COLD! And our furnace was out, so the comfort level could have been better. The sun did show up, though, so we finally got to hang by the pool. Other memorable moments:

1. Renee finding a huge, dead date roach under Denise's bed.

2. Renee finding a huge rocket-shaped pool toy in her own bed. No idea how that got there.

3. Our rain-soaked trip to Cabazon, followed by a syrup-soaked trip to IHOP.

4. The evening we enjoyed edamame, lemon drops and ice cream for dinner while watching What Not to Wear, The Bachelor and John and Kate Plus Eight.

5. Our red rental car turning black in the Blockbusters parking lot. Again!

6. Denise telling some guy in the Albertson's parking lot that we weren't really hookers (even though we were loitering near his car for no apparent reason).

7. Linda spilling her purse in the car. Twice.

8. Breakfast on the patio in the sunshine. Ahh!

9. My dad showing up for one day to shop for houses. (He lit the furnace pilot light, but it went out again.)

10. The football-sized lemon we "found" on a walk.

Despite the rain and my lingering cough, I had a great time.

Once we got home, real life smashed right into my face. There were four pounds of dirt on my floors, the kids had colds, my work email had piled up. And so on.

But home is fun, too, if not as lazy and sunny. Cindy and I met for lunch and got makeovers at Nordstrom. She was gorgeous and I didn't look like my dad in drag! Jamey, Mary and Ellis came down for lunch, a playdate and a dresser. And we got our new office furniture. That should have been a simple thing. You unplug the computer, move the old desk out and the new desk in. Then you plug the computer back in, right?

Not in this house. We now have a new, bigger monitor, a new printer (had to have one that fits in the new desk), a new wireless keyboard, wireless mouse, router (we obviously need Internet connection in the kitchen), and some gadget that will make our TVs talk to our computers or something. Hell if I know. What I do know is that James has been to Fry's at least four times in the past 36 hours and my office is a disaster.

I worked in the yard yesterday! Bulbs are coming up and I see perennials coming back. I think my jasmine is toast, and I really hope my Tom Thumb fuschia makes it. But it was great to get out there and dig in the dirt. I raked, trimmed, pruned, scraped up moss and tidied things up. I'm ready for spring.

Today's Presidents' Day, and Christian's on mid-winter break all week. So it looks like I'll be home with the boys for the next seven days. My challenge will be to work without having Ian watching TV constantly. I know what Christian will want to do: In the midst of all those electronics, an Xbox game found its way into James' cart. I'm so outnumbered.

I guess I could keep them busy by baking some more cookies. Ian informed me the other night that he's a "great helper chef," and they both love cookies. Turns out we all love cookies in this house--just for different reasons.

Feb. 1: Cassis Crisps

In response to National Man Day, I made what I thought would be a totally girly cookie—Cassis Crisps, pg. 253. After all, the antithesis of beer is fruit-flavored liqueur, right? And since I happened to have a bottle of crème de cassis lying around, I decided to give them a try.

Sorry to say, I didn’t care for them much. Maybe mine weren’t crispy enough. I had a hard time rolling out the dough. So they’re kind of cakey. And the crème de cassis has an odd taste. It reminded me why I have a bottle of black currant liqueur in the first place: Two years ago I used it to make cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving. I didn’t like it much, either. I should have taken that into consideration when I chose the Crisps recipe.

Shortly after I put the dough in the fridge to chill, James came into the kitchen looking for his usual sample. But I had already washed the bowl (I was trying to remove temptation out of respect for the diet). Never underestimate James. He just pulled a slab of chilling dough out the fridge, unwrapped it and took a little bite.

I watched him silently thinking to myself, “Well, that’s rude.” Then he screwed up his face and said, “Blech. Tastes like alcohol!” It was only then that it occurred to me, “Oh, shit. That’s right! He’s a recovering alcoholic! I wonder how this is going to turn out.”

I’m glad to say that the Cassis Crisps dough did not result in a relapse on Superbowl Sunday.

I realized earlier in the day that the Superbowl really is just a big Celebration of Being a Man. All across the country, men sit around eating meat, whooping and hollering, talking trash and probably thinking about how big their ding-dings are. Frankly, maintaining some degree of civility on Superbowl Sunday is a lost cause at my house since I’m surrounded by males in various stages of development.

So in self-defense, I invited my girlfriend Cindy down to spend the day with me. We were an Island of Chickness in a Superbowl Sea, from kick-off to post-game show. We had lunch and talked cooking, cookbooks, family, writing, cosmetics (I swear I’m not making this up) and kids. We did watch the half-time show, but quickly retreated back to the relative quiet of the dining room. James has a big-screen TV and surround sound. Three days later, my head still hurts from football noise.

It was wonderful to spend time with Cindy. We’ve known each other since we were four years old. We lived next door to each other and started kindergarten together. Her parents and my mom are still neighbors; I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t my friend. What a treat to have her all to myself for an afternoon!

I have to say, my kids behaved beautifully up until she arrived. They played Legos together for hours. I kept pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I thought, “no way this will last.”

And it didn’t. They’d saved up all the fighting and cussedness for her visit. Lovely. Fortunately, Cindy has two of her own, so I have no illusions about how my kids should behave around her. I’m just glad no one said a swear word. At least none that I heard.

The funniest part about Cindy’s visit was that she gave James an opportunity to show what a he-man he is on Superbowl Sunday: He got to rescue her when she ran out of gas on the way to our house. In her husband’s electric car. Which we, of course, thought was hilarious.

Fittingly, I need to close this blog entry today with a request from Man #2 in my house, 10-year-old Christian. He's so excited about his new bedroom furniture that he asked me to write about it.

It does look really nice (thanks to James' superb painting and my fabulous picks of furniture and décor). Christian, however, gets credit for choosing the wall color and not objecting to my good taste in furnishings.

Granted, he's not moved in yet, so it will never be this clean again. But for now it looks like a grown-up's bedroom, which makes me kind of sad. James said he wanted decent stuff so Christian can take it with him some day, when he's a man headed off to college. That's only eight years away! I guess I should make a point of enjoying those little men in my house while they're still here.

Jan. 31: Classic Shortbread Part II

Today I made Classic Shortbread again. This one was for Denise. Her younger daughter babysit tonight so James and I could go to a friend's birthday party. I've been promising Denise her own shortbread, and today was a great chance to do that.

I'm glad James and I decided to get a sitter and go to the party. The birthday girl is our neighbor and one of James' softball teammates. Many of the guests were from the Clean and Sober Softball League. There's nothing quite like hanging out with a bunch of recovering alcholics. They know how to have fun like no one else I know.

I spent most of the day getting Christian moved back into his room. The furniture arrived today, and it looks great! He's still not moved entirely in; we'll be back to work at that in the morning. Tomorrow my friend Cindy is coming down for lunch; and then there's the Superbowl, which we'll be watching now that we know it's on NBC not ABC (we're switching TV providers anyway).

Today, too, my friend, Marlene, was on my mind a lot. That's because three years ago today she took her own life.

In his inaugural address, President Obama quoted George Washington when he described the struggles our nation faced 230 years ago and the troubles we face today as occurring "...in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive..."

That phrase stuck with me: Nothing but hope and virtue.

I believe that life, like the seasons, is circular. That the darkness of winter is bearable only because we can count on the light of summer coming around again. The Celts recognized Feb. 2 as the day that the snowdrops, the first flowers of the new year, bloom in the cold and frost. They signify the promise that spring is close by.

On Feb. 2, 2006, I pointed out our blooming snowdrops to Christian on our way to the bus stop. Thirty minutes later I learned that my dear friend Marlene had given up on hope and virtue.

Marlene was quixotic, unpredictable, wickedly funny, fearless and fiercely loyal. We met in January 2002 and became fast friends. She traveled through life like a tumbleweed, and I knew she'd move on again. She did, indeed, leave Seattle in December 2005.

Marlene lived passionately. She cared deeply. And she reached out and seized experiences. She dragged me to piano concerts, plays, book readings and movies. Once we cut work to see a foreign film in the middle of the afternoon. It turned out to be soft-porn! Neither of us had been prepared for that. We we were horrified--but we giggled through the entire thing, slumped down in our seats, afraid of getting caught like kids. It was bad enough to sneak out of the office to see a movie, but to do it to see a dirty one?

I have a photo that I took of Marlene on Jan. 31, 2004. She and Denise and I were in Palm Springs. It was a fabulous trip. On that day in the depth of winter, we lounged in the warmth of sun and laughter.

That's how I like to remember her.

Jan. 26: Chocolate Crackles

Linda said these are the "Best. Freaking. Cookies. Ever."

But I suspect she would say that about any cookies that magically appeared on her desk.

Chocolate Crackles (pg. 68) are pretty good. But messy to make. I accidentally got some chocolate on a library book because my hands were covered with goo.

I'm preparing to head to Book Club and am enjoying this quiet house. James swooped in, grabbed the boys for soccer practice, and headed out. And may I say that he is a major pain in the butt? Crabby and short-tempered, thanks to Day 4 of no cigarettes.

I keep reminding myself that it's the withdrawals and that I just need to ignore him. But it can be hard. It's not my fault he started smoking again or that he needs to quit. But apparently it is my fault that I exist in the same universe he occupies. For this I must be punished.

In happier news, I booked a Girls' Trip to Palm Springs with Denise, Renee and Linda last week. We leave next Saturday. We hadn't planned on a trip, but the airfare got so low it seemed criminal not to take advantage of it. After companion fares, the Alaska sale, and a rental car coupon code, the entire trip (minus gas, food, movie tickets and martini ingredients) will cost less than $200 per person. For four nights! Who could resist? I took a similar trip at exactly the same time of year in 2007 with many of the same Girlfriends. (Princess, we'll miss you!) There have been at least two others since then. I wish I could get ALL the Girlfriends together for one big Palm Springs slumber party sometime! Gee--that sounds kind of like my 40th birthday party last year....

Before, dear reader, you think that I'm some privileged, pampered wifey who jets off to Palm Springs on a whim, let me set you straight about a few things:

1. The vacation house ain't mine. It belongs to the mother-in-law. But I do control the calendar.

2. I clean my own house--including bathrooms.

3. I get my hair cut once or twice a year. And it never turns out the way I envisioned.

4. While I do enjoy an infrequent pedicure, my version of a manicure is clipping my nails over the sink every few months.

5. My nicest clothes are hand-me-downs from my sister.

6. On any given day, my socks either have holes in them, don't match the rest of my outfit or don't match each other.

7. I don't wear make-up. (Okay, rarely. And never well.)

8. Many of my neighbors refuse to acknowledge me. (See #2-7 above.)

That's just a taste of the not-so-attractive stuff. What's the flip side?

1. I have access to a vacation house. DUH, mean neighbors! You're missing out.

2. I'm a damn fine housekeeper.

3. The money I save on haircuts and color I spend on fancy kitchen equipment.

4. I'm not afraid to dig in the dirt.

5. The money I save on clothes I spend on books.

6. I don't feel pressured to waste time looking for matching, hole-free socks.

7. My morning routine is smokin' fast.

8. I don't need to dress up for the school bus stop because no one will notice anyway. And if they do, it won't change their opinion of me.

What a thrify, practical and down-to-earth wife I am! James should count himself lucky. The crabby bastard.