Y, As a Matter of Fact, Yes We Did!

I dragged Dave out on another one of my shenanigans the other evening.  

I made him hike the Y with me.

In response to those of you out there who are asking, "Why (or Y) would you do such a thing?"  My answer?  "Because it was there."  Boom goes the dynamite!

Dave and I took our sweet time getting to the top (liar, liar, pants on fire!), as we huffed and puffed and practically blew a gasket by reaching the tippy top of the Y (that part is important) in 35 minutes.  And, then?  And, then we laid down, right then and there, and gave up the ghost.

And now that we've safely made it to the top of the Y and safely back down, my response to the following quote is . . . REALLY?  YA THINK?!!!!!  Read on:

"If you climb a mountain for the first time and die on the descent, is it really a complete first ascent of the mountain? I am rather inclined to think personally that maybe it is quite important, the getting down, and the complete climb of a mountain is reaching the summit and getting safely to the bottom again." 

                                                   --Sir Edmund Hillary

Yeah.  Like Sir Ed, I'm also inclined to think that not dying on the descent is somewhat important.  Perhaps it might even fit more into the "extremely important" category as opposed to the "quite important" category.  Just my take.  

As I was descending, hoping to complete the entire summiting a mountain and getting safely to the bottom again deal, I was literally mincing!  Mincing, people!  With my feet!  Do you know what that looks like, mincing?  Think of someone taking tiny, teeny, teensy, itty, bitty baby steps so she doesn't experience this monstrous episode once again.  You guys!  That's all I could think of as I was descending from that big white Y.  By the way, that monstrous episode left me with quite the aethsetically pleasing accessory in the form of this:  

So, yeah.  There's that.  Hence, the mincing.

In any event!  Our 35 minutes up and 35,000 mincing steps down makes for a pretty great shenanigan, don't you think?

You Have No Idea How Much I Want This To Be Simply Stellar!

Please, please, please, moviemakers--  
please do right by my favorite musical of all time! 

 *praying, praying, praying*

F.R.I.D.A.Y. Guest Photographer

Don't judge.  I know this looks bad and that I will be deemed such a slacker since this edition of our rollicking F.R.I.D.A.Y. roundup took place ages ago.  Like, uh, years ago, it seems.  But, like I said, don't judge.  It's just that sometimes stuff comes up.  

Hey!  Not that this has anything to do with anything, but have you seen iPinnedIt.com on my blogroll over there?  Look to your right.  Over there.  See it?  Right there on my sidebar? You really ought to go check out that website.  Just for fun.

Anywho!  I am pleased as a petunia to announce that this F.R.I.D.A.Y. photo was taken by none other than the famed photographer, Kimball, P.P.P.G.E.!  Those very hilarious grins on our faces are the direct result of watching Kimball, P.P.P.G.E., trying to manhandle the camera all the while making every effort to simply point that thing in our general direction.  His reputation will only get bigger and better after this photo shoot, no?

Kimball, P.P.P.G.E. even managed to capture Aldolpho who was hanging out upstairs in the VIP suite.

Photograph taken by Kimball, P.P.P.G.E. 

(Professional Photographer and Professional Grandson Extraordinaire)

The photograph below was taken at our previous F.R.I.D.A.Y. hoohah by a passerby we accosted.  Notice Kimball, P.P.P.G.E., trying to hide his trepidation and concern about the passerby's photography technique.  From the look on his face, it doesn't appear that Kimball was super impressed.  

Aldolpho, as usual, was trying to hog all of the attention.  One of these days, he's going to get left behind.  

On purpose.  He better watch his P's and Q's, is my friendly advice.

I Know It's Not Smoked Reindeer Cheese, But . . .

Christian with his icky yummy squeeze reindeer cheese!

Today, in honor of Christian's six-month anniversary of being on his mish (six months!  I know!--sometimes it feels like six months, sometimes it feels like six years, I won't lie), I decided to make a very traditional Swedish cookie as my way of feeling close to my awesome elder!

I just love this guy so doggone much, and I readily admit to missing him like the dickens.  I thought that by my making these cookies and thinking of him while firing up the ol' Kitchen Aid that I might not miss him so.  It worked.  Sort of.  Well, no it didn't.  I now actually miss him more than ever.  BUT!  We've got to remember that we have six months down!  And, Christian is so happy serving where he is serving and doing what he is doing, who am I to be a whiner about that?!  Det är underbart! 

These cookies were a cinch to make, and they turn out very much like a shortbread cookie.  The next time you are missing my darling Christian, you too may want to give these a go!

Drömkakor or Swedish Dream Cookies 

(Adapted from SAVEUR)
Makes 3 dozen

1 2/3 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
8 tbsp or 1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 Oetker vanilla sugar packets (9 grams each, 18 grams total; see image on right) (I didn't have this so I just dumped in a bunch of vanilla extract!)
1/3 cup vegetable oil

Heat oven to 300°F. In a small bowl, whisk together flour and baking soda; set aside. In a mixer on medium speed, beat butter and sugars until pale and fluffy, 1–2 minutes. The butter/sugar mixture should stick evenly against the side of the bowl. No lumps. Add oil and mix until smooth. Add dry ingredients and stir until just combined.

Dromkakor or Swedish Dream Cookies

I'm going to convince myself that these turned out like they are supposed to; I truly have no idea.

Christian will be none the wiser!

"Oh. There Goes the Brandy. Too Bad."

Who said this:

"Take your casserole and give it a little shimmy!"

Was it:

A:  Lady Gaga

B:  Elvis Presley

C:  Julia Child

And, the correct answer would be . . . 

C:  Julia Child!

And, how would I know such a trivial thing?  Why, I was watching a couple of  original 1963 episodes of "The French Chef" on PBS on Saturday while sweating my guts out on that torture device otherwise known as my treadmill, that's how I know such a trivial thing.  And, I'll tell you what--that Julia Child was so entertaining, so unrehearsed, so unabashed, so at ease, so totally at home in that kitchen, without a care in the world about any misstep (and there were several), that she caused my time of agony on that blasted treadmill to be amazingly fun and fancy free!  That was a muuurrricle, ya'll!

Other notables from these episodes of "The French Chef":

--Julia's awkward sidelong glances at the off-camera clock.

--The kitchen counter hits a 6' 2" Julia at about mid-thigh.

--Julia "accidentally" (yeah, right) pours vermouth instead of oil into the pot.  Twice.  (See the 3:29 mark and the 20:05 mark.)  Says Julia with a shrug, "But, that doesn't make any difference."  Doesn't make any difference?  Vermouth = oil?  Hilarious!

--I kept hearing a train in the background.  I swear I did.

This is simply stellar television in my book.

Watch French Onion Soup on PBS. 
See more from The French Chef.

A Childhood Rhyme

I remember when Ashley started kindergarten at the ripe old age of five (but going on ten intellectually--smart as a whip, that girl!) her teacher taught the class a little rhyme on the first day of school.  I had never heard the rhyme before (but then again, I was 20-something but intellectually going on five--my kids did NOT get their brains from me {boo}).

Anywho!  The little first-day-of-school rhyme went like this:

Make new friends,

But keep the old.

One is silver,

The other, gold.

A circle is round,

It has no end.

That's how long

I will be your friend.

So sweet.  

Last week, Dave and I had the very fabulous pleasure of meeting up with one of those long-time friends (I can't say "old friends" because she ain't old!) from our awesome Naperville days.  WARNING:  Sappiness ahead!  Those dear, dear friends from those Naperville days were my sanity, my lifeline, my family-away-from-family, and I will continue to love them all until the day I up and kick the bucket.  And beyond that.  

As Dave and I spent a couple of ours with darling Kaaren, we were reminded yet again of how blessed we are to have these friends of gold.  With all of our new friends in our friend cache, we're never going to let go of the old.

Hey, Mr. EcoLife! Please Don't Take Away My (Eco)Life!

I know that to certain random people, it may mean nothing, but actually my life means a little somethin' somethin' to me and mine.  So, I say, "Hey, Mr. Man Who Was Driving a Very Large and Very Heavy Truck Directly Behind Me, please don't plow your EcoLife truck into the back of my car and take away my (eco)life!  I could tell that you were absolutely fascinated with your texts or your emails or your viewing of 101 Dalmations (whatev) on your phone, but in the future, please keep your eyes off of your phone and put them smack dab onto the back of my car!  Especially when you're vehicle is traveling forward?  Straight at me?  Thanks ever so much.  You're a lifesaver!"  (yuk, yuk)

I took this photo during a stop so I could avoid being a flat-out hypocrite.  I hate it when that happens.  Which it does.  Often.  Well, not too often, but often.  Or, sometimes.  But, not too often.  Just, sometimes.  Let's just say that I do try to avoid it if I possibly can.  Mostly.

The Next Best Thing!

If we can't have Ashley, Jordan, and this adorable little face and his gangster signs (say whaaaaa?) here in person with us, at least we have this!  Kimball's animated expressions simply float my boat!

Just joshin' about the gangster signs, btw.  I wouldn't know one if I saw one.  In fact, I may have even thrown down a sign or two without even realizing what I was doing.  Now that I think about it, that may explain a lot of things, actually . . . .

Now, Let Me Get This Straight . . .

The Princeton Review once again came out with their lists of rankings of U.S. colleges in categories such as "Most Beautiful Campus," "Biggest Public School Bargains," "Best College Dorms," etc., etc.  

For the thirteenth year in a row, Brigham Young University has been ranked the big kahuna, the top dog, the big cheese, the don of the "Stone-Cold Sober Schools."  In other words, you ain't gonna find too much imbibing going at BYU.  (As far as you know.)  They're number one, guys!

So, when I came across this shiny little thing at our neighbhorood Piggly Wiggly the other day, I had to wonder whether The Princeton Review mixed up BYU with West Virginia University which also made it to the top of one of those lists.

Oh.  And, which list was it that put West Virginia University as number one?  "The Top Party School of 2012," of course!  PAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRTTTTTAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY! Yeeeooww!  

*Schools on the "Stone-Cold Sober Schools" list are those at which surveyed students' answers indicated a combination of: high personal daily study hours (outside of class), low usages of alcohol and drugs on campus, and low popularity on campus for frats/sororities.  And, a BYU keg fits in there how?

Our Sad, Sad Loss Is Definitely California's Gain

To steal a line from one of my all-time 
favorite television characters, Lucy Ricardo, I say,

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Suddenly my house is too quiet.
Suddenly my house is too empty.
Suddenly my heart weighs a ton.
I will miss these three like crazy.
My saving grace is knowing 
that I will see them again in only a couple of months.
So--so long, farewell, adieu, . . . for now.
Gosh, I love this little family with all of my heart!






My feelings exactly.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. Octet Plus One!

So our F.R.I.D.A.Y. attendance was stellar on this particular hoohah!  If you include Aldolpho (can you spot that cad in the pic below?), we had enough participants to form our own musical nonet!  I know.  I'm such a nerd.  Nonet.  Good grief.  Who says nonet?  Truth be told, we were really just an octet since one of our party of nine who shall go unnamed {it is me} possesses not a lick of musical talent and this person {it is me} has absolutely no right to be belting it out in public, thus causing embarrassment to him or herself {it is me}, as well as to the rest of the ersatz nonet.   So, in reality, an octet it was. (By the way, did you know that lip synching is awfully fun?  Not that I would know.  Except that I do know.  Unfortunately.)  

[Full disclosure:  There was no actual singing taking place but had there been, someone {me} would have put Milli Vanilli to complete and utter shame in the lip synching department.]

    

no·net

  

[noh-net]  Show IPA

noun Music .

1.

a group of nine performers or instruments.

2.

a composition for a nonet.

Kimball better watch out; Aldolpho is psyching himself up to dive-bomb right onto the top of little Kimball's noggin!

Were you guys looking at this picture thinking that Aldolpho and I had been banished to the "timeout-get-a-grip-it's-time-to-just-calm-down booth?"  You'd be wrong.  So, so wrong.  

Actually, we were merely practicing up for this maneuver, cuz you just never know when this particular skill set might come in handy dandy:

Let's Just Disregard Those Pesky "Requirements," Shall We?

My brain is rattling around in my head again, scheming up some new shenanigans for my family.  Uh-oh.  I think my family can already sense the urgent need to suddenly flee far, far away with the excuse of, ahem, "a prior engagement."  Truth be told, the fam's eye-rolling skills need a good workout, so I thought I would happily oblige.
  

What have I got up my sleeve, you say? 


Well, this sure ain't it. 

Neither is this.  Oh, you guys are so silly!  Which reminds me, does anyone remember the pushmi-pullyu from that horrid Dr. Doolittle movie starring warbley Anthony Newley?  If you haven't seen it, don't bother.  Seriously.  Yawn.

Uh, no.

Hot dog!  Now you're speakin' my language!  Isn't this the cat's meow?  The last time* we hopped upon one of these tandem bikes, I thought I was going to flat-out die of laughter.  I haven't had that much fun since that one time when I was in the fifth grade and my friend, Kathleen Oaks, and I were rolling around inside of a huge refrigerator box, and I ended up wetting my pants from laughing so hard. Ha, ha, just kidding!  Psst!  Not really kidding.  DO. NOT. TELL. 

                            

I'll be back with photo evidence of the latest in epic family shenanigans, so gear yourselves up for a good laugh at our expense!

In the meantime, I was perusing the website of the joint which will help me in my latest plot to once again spectacularly embarrass my family, and I noticed that not everyone is required to abide by those annoying rules designed to keep us from harm.  Huh. It seems like letting this little detail slide is just asking for trouble, but whatev.  BTW, what is that adage that people say?  Practice what you preach?  Who can spot the "oopsy daisy" in the screenshot below? 

Did you spot the "jeepers, guys!" discrepancy?





*The ghosts of shenanigans past:

Sean, Christian--your hair!

Isn't this adorable?!  My mom was ALWAYS, ALWAYS up for some fun 

. . . and a good wipeout.

Counting Our Blessings

I ask you:  Could a papa and a deedee be any more blessed?  My, my, my, we are so in love with this little man.

Could a dad and a mom be any more blessed?  

My, my, my, we are so in love with this beautiful girl of ours!

*Sigh*  

These are but two of our bounteous blessings. 
I have such a grateful heart.  
Just an FYI. 

Happy 100th Birthday to My Culinary Idol!

HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY 

TO JULIA CHILD!

Remember this? Don't we look like quite the Julia wannabes!

{There's that darling boy of mine.  Have I mentioned how much I miss his happy little self?  

Give me strength, people.}

I just adore this woman!  Watch how Julia simply rolls with the punches as she ends up feeding David Letterman completely raw hamburger in the clip below.  She didn't miss a beat.  She is my hero!  Wish I could be that unflappable whenever I end up serving my family raw beef.  Whoa!  Uh, uh, just disregard that, guys.  Humina, humina, humina, er, um, raw beef?  Me?  You?  Heh, heh.  Oh, jeepers.  Busted again.

Revisit our other Julia Child loopiness here and here. 

Yeehaw! Ride 'Em, Cowpokes!

Remember this missionary merriment?  Here, I'll just go ahead and show it to you again since it is so ding-dong hilarious:

Christian launching himself into the Swedish smörgåsbord stratosphere!

I don't know why, but I suddenly feel so much closer to Christian after a recent outing I went on with Ashley, Kimball, and Dave.  It's as if the thousands of miles separating my young elder and myself have suddenly melted away.  You'll see why in just a jiffy.

(Sidebar:  Looking at Christian's picture makes me realize something.  I'm sure I'm completely wrong about this, but the thought did occur to me that perhaps I possess very dominant "goofball genes" which then got passed down to my offspring, causing them to be doomed to a life of shenanigans and harebrained-ness, just like me.  If that is the case, Mama is so sorry, children. So, so sorry.  But just look at that pic of Christian!)

Not one to be out-goofed, I insisted that the gang and I give Christian our full support in everything that he does, which, surprise!  surprise!, includes this:

Kimball wants to be like Uncle Christian in every way, even to the point of stooping to doing "babyish" things--things for which he is much, much too mature but does them out of complete respect and love for his 
beloved Uncle Christian.

Ashley really poured her whole heart and soul into this effort, putting the rest of us springy-sproingy cowpokes to shame.  Just look at that perfect form! You can see that even Kimball, a veteran of sproinginess, is in awe.  Ten!

Dave was sadly mistaken when he thought an umbrella would be just the ticket to spur his  camel, horsey, moose, molded plastic whatever to victory.  As you can clearly see, he lost the race.  The instant replay will bear me out.

I'm simply doing what comes naturally to me--acting like a complete goober.  But I swear, I feel Christian is here, if not in person, at least in his 
unfailingly happy-go-lucky spirit :D

If all of this is not a tribute to Christian and all that he means to us, I don't know what is.  We'd do anything for that awesome elder!  Right, gang?  Guys???  RIGHT?!!! Thank you.  That's more like it.  YEEHAW!

Dave's Chocolate "Keck"

I don't know about you other mom-types out there, but sometimes I think that the dads in this world get to have an awful lot of fun with their kids at the expense of being responsible and accountable parental examples.  And, I don't think that the dads in this world do so with any sort of naiveté or ignorance.  Nuh-uh.  They know exactly what they're doing when they offer their kids chocolate cake for breakfast and then play dumb to the wife.  Are you kidding me?  They only want us to think they're totally innocent of child-corruption so they can do super-immature stuff and still escape with their lives.  They don't care if they receive a little bit of, "what were you thinking, anyway?" if it means they get a sincere high five, down low, too slow from their kids.

But you know, when it comes right down to it, I'm thankful there are dads out there who will do the child-corrupting, super-immature stuff with their kids so moms like me don't have to.  Stuff like, camping in the frozen tundra in the dead of January so a merit badge can be earned.  Risking life and fingers while assisting in the making of a cardboard maze for a pet hamster.  Volunteering to be the family member who gets dunked at the carnival.  Going on the roller coaster just one more time with a pleading child even though the point of nausea had been reached two hours prior.  Changing the oil in the teenage daughter's car.  In the rain.  So she doesn't throw a rod.  Yeah.  Child-corrupting, super-immature stuff like that.  I'm glad there are dads out there fighting that good fight.  So in honor of all you dads, and especially Dave, I give you:

Glory be.  Love that.  So much.

And, since you guys are just so stellar to keep coming back to this dippy little blog every once in a while, I think I'll also give you this:

Dad is Great Chocolate Cake!

  That's a mighty fine breakfast if you ask me!

Here's the lowdown:

Bake up a delicious chocolate cake in a 9X13 pan.  I know.  For some reason it doesn't look very pretty, does it.  Well, just hold your horses, people!

Use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke holes all over warm cake.  This part was way more fun that it should have been.

“You see... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?" "Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go with holey?” 

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Badda bing!  Badda boom!

Thank ya.  Thank ya very much.

This is the caramel ice cream topping goodness.  Licking fingers is allowed.

And, you've experienced this goodness, right?  I always score extra points if I leave a little bit in the can for he who shall not be named . . . 

Working up a sweat here.  I should get paid for this.

Now, just sit back and let the glory rain down upon thy head.

Dad Is Great Chocolate Cake

1 box chocolate cake mix

Ingredients indicated on box to make cake

1 jar caramel ice cream topping goodness

1 can sweetened condensed milk goodness

8 oz. Cool Whip or the like

1 cup Heath Bits or Score Bars*

Wooden spoon for rapping knuckles jk! jk!

Make and bake cake in a 9x13 pan according to directions on cake mix.  Allow to cool for five  minutes.  Use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke holes at 1" intervals in warm cake. Pour entire jar of caramel ice cream topping goodness over cake. Do the same with the entire can of sweetened condensed milk goodness.  Goodness gracious, sakes alive!  Place cake in refrigerator for one hour uncovered.  Remove cake from refrigerator, cover with plastic wrap and return to refrigerator for several hours or overnight (preferable).  Just before serving, spread whipped topping over entire cake.  Sprinkle with candy bits.  Rap some knuckles with the wooden spoon if a breakfast consisting of chocolate cake becomes a habit.

Dave celebrating his birthday way back in April with his "Dad Is Great Chocolate Cake"

*I was fresh out of Heath Bits or Score Bars, so I improvised and used old Butterfinger Bars left over from, oh, I don't know, Halloween perhaps? So far, so good.  Cross your fingers, though.  We've racked up enough medical bills this year as it is :D