Scrambling for the finish

What happens when bad weather forces your husband to be stuck out of town for two extra days right before the Pinewood Derby, with unfinished cars sitting at home?

Besides a whiny, complaining wife, this is what happens:

Instead of having those two extra days to make the cars all by himself work with the boys, The Husband was scrambling to get the cars finished in time. In his haste, there was an incident with Chase's car.

The unfortunate incident rendered the car completely unusable (unless he wanted to send it careening down the track with no wheels. I thought it might be funny, but Chase didn't really see that as a viable option).

Through tear-filled eyes, Chase told The Husband it was okay. Though his heart was broken, he resigned himself to using McKay's car from last year. I quickly grabbed the spray paint Chase had picked out for his own car, and we went to work, remaking the hand-me-down car. Before long, even Chase began to get excited again about the race.

His entry was The Golden Frog. Why golden? I'm not really sure. Maybe because of his great love for money.

And why frog? Well, because when he's not voluntarily studying Winston and the War, Chase is dreaming, thinking, talking, and obsessing about frogs.

Here were this year's entries. McKay's is the bright orange one in front with a large firebird on the hood. Me thinks his taste in cars is a little too close to the white trash style that I take so much pleasure in mocking. I won't tell him that unless he someday decides to buy a car just like it.

Don't worry that some poor cub scout had to endure the lifelong shame of bringing in the pink car. It was a dummy car that they'd rigged to come in last on every race.

You know, because it's not about winning or losing, right?

Try telling that to McKay, here on pins and needles:

And what sporting event is complete without a gratuitous shot of the hot and sassy cheerleading squad? Here was ours:

The Husband and I held our breath as both cars went down the track for the first time. Much to our relief, neither one lost a wheel.

But much more important was the fact that we didn't take first place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours at a district competition), and we didn't take last place (which would entitle us to spend hours and hours with sad boys at home).

A win-win for everyone.

All in all, the Pinewood Derby was a roaring success for the boys.

Now we can rest for another year. Thank goodness. I don't know what we'd do if this blessed event came any more often.

A bit of complaining, if I may

Let's just say you've had a really bad week:

All the traveling your husband has done the last several months has caught up to you.

You've got severe pain in one of your feet and you have no idea why.

Your skin is bleeding, it's so dry. And you moisturize ALL.THE.TIME.

You've been a really good girl and somehow managed to gain four pounds overnight.

You clean your house every day, and still it is a mess.

You foolishly cut your own bangs and they look absolutely horrible.

You cry for an hour on the phone to your husband about how frustrated and tired you are.

And as if that all wasn't enough?

YOU WAKE UP AND TODAY IS A SNOW DAY.

Heaven help me. Something has gotta give.

In search of manly happiness (not that kind, get your mind out of the gutter)

The Husband asks for very little in his simple life. All he requires is a hot meal every so often, clean laundry to take when he goes out of town, reasonably well-mannered children, and getting to see his wife once in a while. But this weekend, he realized a big piece of his manly happiness was missing.

A quick trip to The Depot, and there begun to be light at the end of the tunnel.

Assembly required, of course.

But what piece of manly happiness does not need to be assembled with tools of all sorts, come with instructions in four languages, and have one key screw missing?


Luckily, my man knows his way around a toolbox. Plus, he had the boys to provide jousting tournaments that kept him entertained while he worked: Ahhh, that's the ticket. A nice juicy steak cooking on the grill.

Manly happiness: Restored.

Dinner cooked by the Husband: Fine by me anytime.

Bite-sized bits of deliciousness

In this week's installment of Making My Friends As Fat As Me, we will be learning how to make these little sweets that I made on Valentine's Day. Do not be intimidated by the piped frosting and decorative look. These are so fast and easy to make that you will hate me.

The first step is to bake a cake in a 9x13 pan. Whatever flavor you choose is up to you. I used a simple white cake out of a box for these. You need to freeze the cake, so plan on making it a few hours (or the night before) you want to eat them. Dump the cake out of the pan and let it cool. Then throw it in the freezer until you're ready to assemble.

I got this recipe from my Mom. It has its own very fancy butter cream frosting recipe made from scratch, which I will gladly give to anyone who wants to go to all that trouble.

But this will work just as well (don't tell my Mom I told you so):

Pull your frozen cake out of the freezer and slice off a row that is about one to one-and-a-half inches wide. Put the rest of the cake back in the freezer. Don't worry, we'll get back to it soon enough. You need to keep the cake frozen as you work, or you end up frosting little crumbly squares that don't look very pretty. And the cake must be pretty.


Slice your cake strip open and spread with filling of your choice. My Mom uses raspberry pie filling inside hers. Personally, I prefer the frosting in a can.

Again, please don't tell my Mom how lazy I am. Or how adverse I am to fruit pie fillings. Fruit should never be cooked or mixed with cake. It's just wrong.

But in spite of my actual dislike of the product itself, the raspberry pie filling is pretty good inside these babies. Feel free to use whatever sets your little heart on fire.


Next, put the cake lid back on and begin slicing into little squares. I can get about six squares per strip of cake. If you slice them too big, they won't fit into the little cupcake papers and you will have to hurry and eat them before anyone notices your horrible cutting.

Not that I'd know anything about that. Ahem.


Holding each square of cake by the top and bottom, frost all four sides.


Now dip each side into a large bowl of sprinkles, making sure to cover every last little bit of frosting. We wouldn't want nekkid frosting.


Now they are ready to be put into the cupcake papers. You can be all fancy and use cute holiday ones or just the plain, boring, white ones like I did here.


Now take some more of that frosting in a can (or homemade buttercream if your name is Kathi and you are not lazy), and pipe a little over the top of each cake. I like to just go around in a square (again, lazy!). But you can get all fancy and creative using your mad decorating skillz if you have them.

And the finished product...mini pastries as far as the eye can see.

And guess what? One cake will make like 50 pastries, so you can eat like five or six before you've had the equivalent of even one piece of cake. Or be like me and eat, say, 15 to 18.

What? Shut up.

Now go throw a baby shower, bridal celebration, luncheon, or a Yay, Bob Made Parole! party. Make these and find that you have won friends and influenced people.

Dr. Atkins is probably rolling over in his grave

I married one of those guys who is always thinking of long-term financial planning.

I know.

We're like the ant and the grasshopper. One guess as to who the grasshopper is.

But when he recently figured out that we are spending about $800 on just bread every year, something had to be done.

My man loves a good research project, and decided that this would be the machine for us. I have no problem making my own bread every day, provided I am not spending hours kneading, mixing, baking, and wiping up flour. I mean, hello? Precious time that could be spent blogging?

Yeah, I know that you know what I'm talking about.

Well, we have spent the last week with our new toy, and I have to say, I'm smitten.

I mean, look at this. Hello, lover.

Now imagine that your kitchen has that just-baked-bread smell every day and you find yourself staring down a warm loaf of bread that just begs to be eaten.

See why my daughter is regulating my healthy eating?

Anyway, it's farewell to my friends at Great Harvest. Goodbye strange guy with the funky t-shirts and the colorful rasta hats. I will miss our weekly chats, and I hope you and your girlfriend can work things out. Oh, and if your revenues go down, say, to the tune of about $800, feel free blame the Husband's sense of fiscal responsibility, and my love of warm, soft, squishy bread smothered with butter and jam.

Oh, and by the way, tomorrow I will post instructions for the lovely pastries that you all are asking about. I need to make a fresh batch (cause we ate all of the last one) and take pictures of the process.

I'm only thinking of all you, my interpeeps (hi, Lisa! Best word ever). Not myself and those delicious mini-cakes covered in sprinkles and frosting.

I'm just so unselfish.

Because she's only thinking of me

[ sweets that I made for my sweet]

This morning, when my three littlest valentines came down for breakfast, they found a small box of chocolates by each of their plates.

They squealed with delight and proceeded to tear open the heart-shaped boxes. They smelled and fondled, trying to determine what flavor each piece was. Hannah looked at me, then looked back down at her full box. She gingerly slid a small piece of chocolate across the bar to me.

"Wow, thanks, Hannah. That is so nice of you to share."

Chase immediately opened his box and did the same thing.

"Thanks, Chase."

McKay looks up apprehensively. I smiled and said, "It's okay, you don't have to give me one. I got these for YOU."

"Really? You sure, Mom?" I promised him that I was sure, and the relief washed over his face.

Hannah then reaches over and takes back her chocolate. "Actually, Mom, I think I'm going to let you be really healthy. You shouldn't eat this candy. I'll just take it back."

Thanks, baby. Appreciate you looking out for me.