Burn Barrel Romance

Scott is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person out of necessity. He has a very physical job and while he isn’t old, he isn’t young anymore either (neither am I for that matter, being a year older than he is). By eight o’clock most nights he is in jammies and ready for bed. So when we came home after Cyra’s concert last week and Scott put his yard work clothes back on I was more than surprised.

“What are you up to,” I asked him as he slipped he shoes on.

“I’m going go burn things and drink a beer…or maybe two. Want to join me?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

There’s something about sitting in front of a fire with Scott that makes my insides woozy. Normally when we sit around in front of a fire it’s when we are off camping and marshmallows are involved. Not romantic, per se, but nice enough. And making a big fire in the burn barrel, while it might not involve s’mores, is fun nevertheless.

The moon and stars peeked through a mostly overcast sky and I dragged our two Adirondack chairs into the yard while Scott began building the fire. By the time I brought our drinks out – a nice IPA for Scott and a good cup of Earl Grey for me (ironically although the selling and drinking of beer is our main source of income, I don’t particularly care for the taste) Scott had a good size blaze going.

We turned off the flood lights and sat in the glow of the barrel, quietly sipping our drinks. Cyra, her bundle of nerves exhausted from the concert, had collapsed into bed soon after we arrived home and Ashleigh was glued to the internet, giggling over The Meta Picture and fan-girling to manga. The neighborhood was quiet except for the billions of frogs in the pond out front and the occasionally barking of a dog.

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow Scott and I ended up having a date night: out of the house, in front of a roaring fire, sharing a drink, and no kids around? Sounds like a date to me. So what that it was in the backyard and mosquitoes the size of Cessnas buzzed around us despite the heavy dose of bug spray and citronella candles.

And somehow, magically, we ended up breaking one of our cardinal rules: never, ever, talk religion or politics.

Our views are so vastly different that we don’t even try to come to a common ground anymore. We just accept that we will never see eye to eye on certain things and so those subjects are not permitted. But on this magical, burn barrel date we talked religion. And, even more surprising, it didn’t end in a fight.

I must be maturing.

I don't know exactly how the subject came up, but it all came down to the way we met. Scott claims fate: some force led us to make the choices that led us to meet – he draws the line at calling predestination (even though it certainly sounded like that to me) claiming that just because we were fated to meet didn’t mean, necessarily, that we were fated to be together.

It reminded me of my days back at Flagler when I took a Milton class (you know, Paradise Lost, that guy). Oh the debates that I demanded we have in class (remember, Sara?) all the arguments I brought up about free will versus predestination to the point where the professor had to tell me to give it a rest.

But I couldn’t. It bugs me even today. If the god you believe in is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving then you cannot have free will because he already knows what you are going to do and you can’t prove an omnipotent being false so therefore you have no choice but to do what has already been seen. That, my friends, is predestination.

Whoops!

I’m breaking my no religion, no politics rule here too! Yikes!

Back to the story! My argument is that if we were destined to meet, then all of our choices along the way are trivialized because it wouldn’t matter what choice we made, we’d still have ended up meeting. Scott argues that my view only works if our meeting is the be all end all of those choices. It got more convoluted as the evening wore on. We teased and laughed, joked and smiled. There may have been some kissing too - but I don't kiss and tell!

Regardless of the conversation, I am more than happy with the choices that led me to Scott. Whether it was predestination, fate handing us a road map, or just simple coincidence, without Scott I wouldn't have my girls, my BFF Sara, or a million wonderful memories and moments with a man I can't imagine my life without.

And that, my Friends, I wouldn't change for the world!

Z is for Zooted and Zozzled

Way back in my early college days I had two over indulgences with alcohol. And yes, only two because that’s all it took for me to learn that while I could hold my liquor fairly well (as in there was never any puking afterward and I always remembered everything that happened) I disliked the feeling of being out of control.

The first time I was inebriated isn’t a fun story – nothing overly exciting happened, there were no lampshades, no strip poker, no naughtiness at all. Just me being silly.

The second time, however, that’s one of my favorite stories.

I was working at a tourist trap and one of the guys that worked there invited Scott and me to a housewarming party. I didn’t get off work until after ten so by the time Scott and I got there, the party was in full swing. The guy hosting apologized that there wasn’t much left in way of drinks…unless of course we wanted to do some shots. Of course I agreed that this would be a great thing to do. Scott, the designated driver, chuckled and muttered something about me not being able to do shots.

What I heard was a challenge.

We’d only been dating a few months at that point and I was out to make an impression. And boy did I!

Ten to fifteen shots of varying alcohol later – I’ll admit, I lost count – I felt pretty good. Except for the fact that I hadn’t had dinner and my stomach was now grumbling everything was peachy. The party kicked into high gear, but within a few minutes, it became clear that Scott and I only knew a handful of people and so we decided to book out to the beach. A few others joined us and with Scott behind the wheel, we backed out of the driveway.

I was fine.

Scott drove down the street.

I was fine.

Scott stopped at the stop sign.

I was drunk.

I went from slightly hungry and fine to holy crap why is the car spinning in the span of three seconds.

Long story short (because really, let’s get to the good part) I decided that going swimming in the middle of the night in January was the best idea ever. Thankfully, I had some very sober shoulder angels who convinced me that getting in the car and heading back to the dorm was a better idea – although they had to lock me in the car to convince me of that!

Now Flagler has a tough policy regarding alcohol and drug use. As in if you are caught drinking, drunk or high on campus you get kicked off of the campus and put on academic probation. So now, imagine if you will, a very drunk me with a few friends trying to quietly sneak up to my dorm room while avoiding security and the RA.

It was beyond hilarious and amazingly we didn’t get caught (or people chose to look the other way). Once I got back into my very tilty dorm room, I went to my wardrobe to get my pajamas on. Did I mention the tilt-a-whirl way the room was spinning? I required more stability at that point than my own feet and went to lean up against the closed door of the wardrobe. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that door that I always kept closed was wide open! I fell into to wardrobe with a loud crash, upended my laundry basket all over the place and managed to crawl out sporting a bruise that ran from my butt to my hip to my knee.

The next morning Scott came to drop off my car and shook his head in amazement when I demanded a huge breakfast at Shoney’s. He was also slightly irritated at how zooted and out of control I had been. 

But I had learned my own lesson: Never do mixed shots on an empty stomach.

Zooted and Zozzled are both adjectives from the 1990s and 1920s respectively that mean drunk or intoxicated. 

Example: Zinia stumbled and tripped along the sidewalk. A bicycle cop watching her laughed, "That woman is so zozzled right now, it's amazing she can even stand!"

This post has been brought to you by the Letter Z and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. Check out more A to Z blogs here! 

M is for Malarkey

I tell stories. Frivolous stories full of unapologetic malarkey and hyperbole. I have been doing this all my life.

When I was little, as my family would sit down to dinner, I would be asked one simple, almost insignificant question: What did you do today, Heather.

Without a second of hesitation I would launch into a detailed description about my day interspersing actual occurrence with snippets of malarkey just to see how far I could take the tale. Nine times out of ten, I was encouraged to spin the tale out further beyond what I could have readily imagined. 

Oh how I wish I had a record of the stories I told. Looking back, I’m sure not a single one of them made sense and my siblings only tolerated my shenanigans because I was the baby of the family.  My childhood was fantasy wrapped in delusion filled to the brim with malarkey.

Today, I still tell wild stories full of malarkey. Just ask the girls about the orangutans that I blame for everything. Or Scott. Poor Scott. Last night while we sat at dinner, a thunderstorm rolled overhead with flashes of lightening and great booms of thunder that shook the windows in their frames. As we ate, I bemoaned the fact that we left my newly purchased bags of soil – the ones for the raised garden bed I’m building – out on the lawn. Unprotected. Scott and the girls looked at me incredulously.

“It’s dirt,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “But it’s my dirt now and I should take better care of it.”

“What are you going to do once you put it in the garden?” He asked.

I looked at him like he was the crazy one, “Put umbrellas over it, obviously.”

Like I said. Malarkey.

Malarkey is a noun from the 1930s that means nonsense.

Example: Marty the Magnificent managed to mumble the magic word making Melvin the Mouse move. “What malarkey!” Marcus moaned at the meager maneuver. 

This post has been brought to you by the Letter M and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 566. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

C is for Canoodle

I’ve stated before that Scott and I are very affectionate. I make it a point to be affectionate with him in front of the girls. Not only do I do it because they get slightly embarrassed (I swear it’s all G-rated affection) but I do it to show them that affection is acceptable. It isn’t something to sequester away behind the bedroom door. I show them that couples should hold hands, kiss, and snuggle and that there isn’t anything wrong with it. Our affection lets them know that even when we disagree, yell, or argue we still love each other. And ninety percent of the time if the girls see us argue, they see us apologize and make-up as well.

Typically, I tell the girls that we are smooching but this week I discovered an even better word:

Canoodle is a verb from the 1850s that means to hug and kiss.

Example: Clarissa caught her cousin Charity canoodling with Clyde, the city’s chaste clerk of courts, in a clumsily concealed covered carriage close to a cobblestone curb.

This post has been brought to you by the Letter C and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 75. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

I Made It Monday

So long story short. Last week was one just plain forgotten. Girl Scout camping was okay but the car breaking down in the middle of No Freaking Where was decidedly not fun, especially when the battery on my phone was going, we were hungry, tired and grungy AND I as a girl (if you know what I mean). Then a week of illness. A head cold got Cyra and stomach bug hit me mighty hard. All that equaled a big "Piss Off" to the world. Which was okay because it was clearly needed. On my end. Not the world's.

Anyhow, After a week of nothing and finally feeling better, I went about this weekend like a prisoner after doing twenty years for a parking ticket. Saturday I tackled the lawn and realized that despite Scott's assurance that I don't need a machete for the Zombie Apocalypse, I most certainly need one for the lawn! Then I spent Sunday baking.

Oh yes, my friends, I give you plenty of warning, this is a yummy I Made It Monday. I give to you:

Battle of the Beer Breads

I've been wanting to make beer bread for a while now and finally found some motivation. It could have been the sheer amount of beer crowding my refridgorator. Or maybe the...nope. It was pretty much all the beer in the house. Now, fair and honest here, I do not drink beer. I don't like it. Never have. Give me whiskey, rum, Bailey's! Scott, however is a big fan of beer - it's his job, you see, so we often have a good deal of it around. 

Beer bread is another matter altogether and I do like it. So, this is what I had sitting in the fridge:

Budweiser, Shock Top End of the World Midnight Wheat, Goose Island India Pale Ale, and Murphy's Stout

And wouldn't you know it I happened to find a whole slew of recipes online for beer bread. For simplicity's sake, I'm not going to upload a gazillion photos of batter and individual loaves. I'll focus on the ingredients and show the end results altogether at the...you know...end.

First up, the Shock Top. This beer, clearly for the December 22nd apocalypse, has been around the longest and needed to be used up. I really wanted to actually try drinking it with it's hint of chocolate, chili and other spices, but I just never got around to it. I found this recipe, at Tasty Kitchen, made with a touch of honey that I thought would compliment the Shock Top nicely.

Cast for Honey Beer Bread: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, honey, beer, and melted butter.

This was an easy recipe to put together. And Holy Moly! Melted butter! The butter was poured over the batter once it was in the loaf pan. I'd never seen that done before and I had my doubts, but man! did it turn out pretty.

Next, I went with the Murphy's Stout. I found a recipe on TheKitchn for a Cheddar and Chive Guinness Bread that looked like it would be delicious. Again with the melted butter! So much butter! Many of the recipes I looked at called for drenching the batter in butter. Who am I to argue with butter?

Ingredients: Flour, sugar...blah blah blah, cheddar cheese and chives!

For the last two loaves I used the same basic recipe I found on FarmGirlFare. Now her actual recipe is for a dill and cheddar beer bread, but she gives instructions for just a basic loaf. I used the India Pale Ale alone for one loaf and then for the loaf I made with the Bud, I threw in a packet of Ranch seasoning.

Cast: blah blah blah BEER! Could it be any simpler?

Rinse and Repeat. No wait! That's shampoo.

Out of all the recipes I tried, the last one is the easiest to throw together and the quickest cooking. Although, honestly I found that pretty much all the recipes are alike in the basic ingredients and the variations come with the extra seasonings and spices. FarmGirlFare offers a variety of flavors to try.

Now for the reveal:

From left to right (by beer): Shock Top, Murphy's. IPA, and Bud

By far I think my favorite was the Honey Beer Bread with the Shock Top. It's a bit sweeter and with just a hint of the chocolate and chili it could almost pass for a heavy cake. It could have used a touch more honey, I think, and a little less butter. The girls also preferred this loaf.

The Murphy's Cheddar and Chive was I think had the most powerful beer flavor come through. It's very hearty and I thought it could do with a bit more cheese and possibly some oats or nuts or seeds. This was Scott's favorite.

Out of all the breads, the India Pale Ale was kind of boring. There wasn't any punch, any zing, any pizzazz like the others to compliment the hoppyness of the beer. Also, it was very crumbly and the lightest of the four loaves. The girls didn't favor this one at all!

The Budweiser Ranch bread needed something more. Maybe some cheese, I'm not sure. Thinking about it, maybe it was the recipe itself because both the IPA and the Bud followed the same recipe and both ended up feeling incomplete. I like the lightness of the bread as compared with the denser loaves, it just needs something to punch up the flavor a tad.

All in all, I'd say it was an overall success. I think in general I have learned two very important things: first, all beer bread recipes are pretty much the same and very simple which means there is a lot of wiggle room to improvise and devise my own recipe; and two, the darker the beer, the better the beer bread. 

Bonus Bread Photo:

I also, because I'm crazy and was clearly on some sort of bread making trip, made a loaf of Irish Soda Bread which turned out so delightfully good that I'm going to need to make another loaf ASAP, because this one won't last for more than a day!

Wednesday Mornings

On Wednesdays I drive Cyra to school. We pack her violin, her lunchbox and her twenty pound backpack into the car for her afternoon violin lessons. For some reason, which I cannot devise, our school district doesn’t allow instruments to travel on the bus. Weird, I know, but driving her to school once a week is a small price to pay for a year of lessons and nearly free use of a school violin.

And as a bonus, I get to see Scott as he drives across town.

Scott, without going into too much detail, works in peddle sales – it’s the best description. And so is often seen driving around town. On Wednesdays, he goes in a little later than usual because his first stop opens just a bit later. These few extra minutes in the morning translate into a sweet routine for me every Wednesday.

I usually glimpse him as I am heading home. Most of the time I am still in my pajamas with my hair pulled back in a frizzy, messy ponytail. I feel grungy and scuzzy and I can hear, in the back of my mind, my mother yelling at me for schlepping around. I’m thinking about the breakfast I haven’t had yet and the chores I need to accomplish, what job postings on Monster I’ll see that day, and what I’ll write about for the blog or the story I’m working on. I mentally run through my inventory of yarn scraps and wonder what I might do with them.

Sometimes I even pay attention to the morning radio programs or traffic.

But then I see Scott’s truck, bright blue trailer advertising his products. And I get a goofy little grin on my face and my stomach feels as though I’ve got an entire team of Olympic gymnasts back-flipping about. All the thoughts I had about the day: gone. If my morning was rough or hurried, it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I see him before he spots me but when he does he holds his hand up and gives me a little wave and he toots his horn as he drives by.

And it doesn’t matter, all of a sudden, that my face is unwashed and I haven’t shaved my legs because I know he loves me even when I’m at my worst.

Whisper Sweet Nothings

The other day I was out running my errands when Scott called my cell. He rarely ever calls from work and each time he does, my heart freezes and I catch myself holding my breath in a moment of panic. His job is very physical and on site injuries are a very real possibility. I worry about him a lot.

“Are you okay?” I ask even before I say hello.

“Yeah,” he says with a quiet chuckle. He knows my first instinct is panic. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” I let out a sigh. “Okay. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, “It’s just I’m stuck at the office doing a bunch of online trainings that I didn’t know I was going to have to do and I was hoping you could bring me something to eat. But if you are out, and you are since you answered your cell, then it isn’t a big deal.”

“Sure.” I say, “I’m just up the road at Publix. I need to grab one thing and I can bring you something. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Cool.”

I grab my grocery item and pick up a sub for him and make my way to his work. The secretary leads me back to the training room where he is sitting, forlorn, staring at a computer screen. His face lights up with a huge smile when I walk in. He pushes himself up out of the chair and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight.

He takes the bag of food from me, sets it aside and goes back to hugging me. This show of affection, normally reserved for home, is amusing. Even more amusing his apparent lack of interest in the food.  

 “You okay?” I ask him.

“Fine,” he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Just glad to see you.”

“Okay.” I smile and listen as he tells me about his day and the computer work he has been told to do. I have groceries in the car and it is a warm day so after a few minutes I tell him I need to go.

We hold hands as he walks me out to the car a few minutes later. And he spends another few minutes holding me and stroking my hair.

“You know I love you?” He asks quietly, his mouth just above my ear. I nod as he adds, “You just made my day better.”

Scott and I have been together now for almost 18 years. That’s pretty much half of my life. And like most couples we sometimes tend to forget the little things especially when life throws a whole bunch of crazy at you! Oh we give our love freely (the words I mean) but Scott isn’t much for the romance. He never really was.

But every once and a while he can melt my heart without even trying.

Boxing Day Gratitude

Christmas was a success. It typically is so it goes without saying but it is nice to acknowledge when things go right. The presents were all under the tree, wrapped and ready to go by 11pm Christmas Eve so I potentially would have gotten a good night’s sleep if in fact I had been able to sleep at all. The blueberry sauce didn’t bubble over, which meant that I didn’t have additional kitchen clean up. And most importantly, to me anyhow, the Girls loved every second. Granted, I could probably wrap a couple of brightly polished rocks or a couple of packs of funky socks and they’d be thrilled (no joke, those kids love rocks and socks!).

I managed to keep Christmas reasonable and budget friendly by starting my shopping way back in August (in some cases even earlier). I knew what they would like and I started looking for sales and discount and coupons and for the most part found them easily while convincing the Girls that the few things they did asked for were ridiculously expensive.

I’m kind of mean like that.

But on the other hand, I lucked out with my kids because they are so unimpressed with gadgets and technology it is a rare Christmas that finds mp3 players or e-readers under our tree. This year was no exception. Legos, board games and DVDs dominated the top spots. For Cyra the Lord of the Rings Lego set was her big gift and for Ashleigh seasons 1 – 5 of Doctor Who were hers.

I’ve mentioned before that we are a family of gamers. Board games, video games, card game, RPGs, we play them all. Our living room is taken up by DVDs and games. We have two storage ottomans stuffed with all manner of games. My point? We are always looking for new games to play.

And that brings me to some very sincere “thank yous.”

First, to my BFF Sara for marrying such an awesome guy. Geordie introduced Sara to Settlers of Catan and then shortly thereafter, introduced it to me and the girls. Who would have ever thought sheep herding was a fun thing? But we loved it, especially Cyra who quickly developed a knack for the game.

Catan was the first game to find its way under the tree.

Next, for the rest of the board games, I’m going to have to give a huge shout out to a celebrity, something I’m fairly sure I have never done before. But a big thanks to Wil Wheaton.

Yup. Wil Wheaton, awesome actor and avid gamer.

Wil Wheaton who, among other things, hosts a cool web show called Table Top on Geek and Sundry (I’ve mentioned them before too) where each episode he gathers some of his friends around a beautiful gaming table that I so desperately yearn for, and plays a game. Wil Wheaton introduced Ashleigh and I to Gloom, Star Fluxx, and Dixit which all found places under the tree this year too.

There were a bunch of other games that were features on Table Top that I was willing to get but…budget, budget, budget.

I’d also like to thank Ashleigh for insisting that we trade in old Wii games for some new used ones. If she hadn’t I would have never found what is clearly the best Wii game in existence: Dinosaur Strike.

I can barely describe it because words can not adequately explain the awesomeness that is this game. So a very brief description: You get to fight dinosaurs AS A DINOSAUR!!!! OMFG!! This is a game that was designed specifically for me. It is, as Sara said, like a dream come true. Why Dinosaur Strike was not the most heavily promoted game of 2010 I have no idea. Even worse? They’ve stopped making it and while I got it for a song at GameStop, I looked it up on Amazon and the prices for it there range from $50 to $250! Yikes!

Scott and I played it last night while the girls ate dinner (I make a huge Christmas brunch rather than a dinner so later meals are a ‘get it yourself’ deal). He played as a T-Rex (of course) and I was a velociraptor (totally my favorite carnivorous dino. FYI: pachycephalosaurus is my favorite herbivore). And oh how the hilarity ensued! Fun fact: I am horrible at fighting games. In fact I am so horrible at them I tend not to play them at all. But Dinosaur Strike takes the cake! I am pretty sure I will never stop playing this game!

My very last thanks is to my Mom. (Hi mom!) Mom is pretty awesome in and of herself so any gift she gives me is pretty cool. This year she got me a pressure canner and cooker that I’ve been longing for since last spring when I planted my very first garden. While the garden didn’t turn out as fabulous as I was hoping for, that didn’t stop me from reading and researching all the cool things I can make and preserve. Remember that sour orange tree out back? Guess who’s making marmalade this week??

Making marmalade might just be the only thing that tears me away from dino-fighting this week! Or maybe pie-making. Did I mention the awesome lime green Le Creuset pie plate that Scott and the Girls got me to replace the one that broke last March? So. Very. Beautiful.

And there you have it. I hope that your holiday (which every flavor you like) was shiny like mine! And a happy Boxing Day to you all…whatever that is!

Photo A Day - Grateful

As I spent yesterday and this morning in the kitchen, struggling to cook while dizzy on pain killers (don't worry, my girls helped me out a lot!) I thought about what photo I'd use for today. But then I realized in a moment of clarity (or as the pain meds were wearing off) I might not be able to post a photo here (Oh Blogger how you disappoint me!) but I probably wouldn't have posted a photo today anyway because I don't do people photos here all that much.

And that, my friends, is what I am grateful for: people.

Amidst the potatoes, pies and turkey, I knew that even if I hadn't a single thing to put on the table today except a bowl of cold gruel, I would still be grateful because of the people I have in my life.  By nature, I am a people person. I like to pretend otherwise, but I really am. I like having people around me and with me. I like sharing my experiences with my friends and family. People make each day fuller especially when they are people you love. And I love me some amazing people!

Today as many gather around the dining room table to celebrate a completely made up holiday I am grateful for:

My Friends - Sara, Natasha, Amanda and Ericka. BFFs who've shared with me good times and bad, dreams and disappointments, celebrations, quiet times and adventures.

My Family - My Mom and Dad, my sister, who at the drop of a hat will be by my side if I need her, my brothers who grew up watching over me and protecting me even as I tried my hardest to annoy them, my extended family that I don't get to see very much but when I do it is as if no time has passed by and the family I married into, the strangers who opened their homes, hearts and worlds to me simply because I married Scott.

My Husband - We have been together for half my life and I can't imagine anyone else I'd want to share my love and life with. He loves me in spite and despite all of my flaws and idiosyncrasies. He makes me feel beautiful on days when I feel ugly, he holds me when I am sad or scared and he dedicates his life to making mine wonderful.

My Girls - If there is a center to my universe it is clearly my girls.  I am beyond grateful to have two compassionate, intelligent, playful and beautiful girls. From the very second I knew I was carrying them I loved them unconditionally. They make my world better. They make me a better person. They make me who I am.

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it today!

Friday Photos

Yay! Friday Photos Returns! Triumphantly? Well...maybe. This week I am featuring photographs of games that we have played over the past few months.

Monopoly is one of our favorites, unfortunately since it always takes us forever to play, we often never declare a winner. Scott won't play this with us because once (a really freaking long time ago) my mom and I cheated taking money from the Bank when he went to use the bathroom. Jeesh! It wasn't like we were going to win anyway! He had hotels on every side!

Risk is another game Scott doesn't often play with me. I'm working on a blog post about it...but let's just say, for now, no one like screaming jihads. Even when its only little plastic army pieces.

I'm green and I totally own South American. All those drug lords are working for me now! (Umm...not really okay? Remember it's just a game - so if there are any drug lords reading my blog...I totally Do Not Own You...or any property in South America at all. I've never even been there!)

Clue is one of my all time favorite games. Mostly because I win. A lot. It is one of the few games that I can consistently win. And that makes me supremely self-satisfied.

I love this photo because it took about twenty shots to actually capture the die bouncing across the board so perfectly. Sometimes awesome shots just happen...sometimes you need to make them happen!

Also this is me winning. I always play Colonel Mustard. Always. And I love it when I am the suspect!

A few years ago, Scott and the girls got me Munchkin for Christmas and every so often they add a booster pack. We have so many Munchkin cards it is almost impossible to play with them all. Up until June of this year, we always played with post-it notes to track our levels. But then I watched this episode of TableTop (and if you aren't watching Geek & Sundry - SHAME ON YOU!) and lo and behold, they played Munchkin on an offical Munchkin board! I didn't even know those existed. Being crafty and perpetually short on cash, the girls and I made our own board! And we use our D&D miniatures as our tokens!

The object is to get from level 1 to level 10 by defeating monsters. It's a spoof of D&D and it makes me laugh every single time we play. The girls and I try to gang up on Scott because if he is playing, somehow he always wins!

The more I look at this, the cooler it gets. Now, I wonder if I can add a 3D effect to the board...maybe some pop-up walls and doors that really open?

More recently, during the Birthday Fiesta O' Fun (I swear on all that is holy, unholy and only slightly sacred I will be posting about this soon) Sara and her husband introduced the girls and I to Settlers of Catan. I vaguely knew about the game, but I hadn't ever played before. But I have to say...I am pretty sure that Santa will be bringing this to Someone because Holy Monkey Butts was it fun. They had the travel edition which seemed friendly albiet a bit small, so I'd be interested in playing a full sized version!

Also during the Birthday Fiesta O' Fun we played a game Sara got me for my birthday: Zombies!!! Trapped in a town infested with Zombies you have to make your way from the Town Square to the Helipad killing zombies and backstabbing other players to do it. Along the way, if you can make it, different stores have bullet and life tokens that will increase your chances to survive.

Players build the town as you go so often the town itself makes no sense whatsoever!

Fighting zombies is mandatory, but luckily only one zombie can occupy any one space - so no crazy hoards piling up on top of you. 

Sara taught me how to play Cribbage just about forever ago. When she went to Japan, I was Jonesing to play so I taught Ashleigh. We don't play it as much as I played with Sara (which was very nearly all the time) but it is a highlight of my day when we do play.

Ashleigh already off to a strong lead!

Coming into the home stretch...Ashleigh still in the lead and even though it was my crib, she had a really strong finally hand and took the game! Curses!

Story of a Cake Photo Edition

You didn't really think that I wouldn't take photos of the cake, did you?

mmm...melting chocolate and butter. What a great base for a cake.

A little yolk and sugar.

Beating those egg whites into shape!

Fold the egg whites into the chocolate base.

I could totally eat this as is!

It isn't there just yet...

Grating chocolate is tiring.

Almost looking like the photo!

There it is. I plan on adding a touch of fresh whipped cream with a touch of vanilla for garnish instead of the chocolate curls. Also, this is the very same orange plate that I served it on the first time.

This is the Story of a Cake

In August of 2002, six months pregnant with our second child, I was finally ready to marry Scott. After four months on the road he had vacation coming up and planned to be home just in time for my birthday. Only a few days prior to his arrival he called to let me know when he’d home and I told him I was ready for the ring.

He got home late on Friday evening looking very much like a mountain man down from the Appalachians with a big bushy beard and shaggy hair. I didn’t realize how much I had missed him until he wiped the tears from my cheeks. With Ashleigh swung up high in his arms we walked into the house. Tired, smelly and with mounds of laundry he managed a quick bite to eat and a shower before falling into bed.

The next night, the eve before my birthday, we celebrated his birthday that we missed while he was on the road. I made a rich chocolate fudge cake with a thick ganache glaze. It was the first time I had every tried to make a cake from scratch. I stuck five candles in the cake and Ashleigh and I sang a very off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Normal sized servings had to be quartered it was so sweet.

I was going to school full time so I wasn’t working and we had very little money to spare, so the next day for my birthday, we stuck the same five candles back in the cake, turned it slightly and used it for my birthday cake as well. Three more very small slices later and we still had a half of the cake left over.

On Monday, Scott and I rose early and went to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license. I fidgeted almost more than Ashleigh while we waited in line. I squirmed while answering the clerk’s questions. Scott held my hand tightly and told me be still.

Afterward, I called my mom. Then called my dad and told him we were getting married on the 15^th if he’d like to come down. They were both disappointed that we were doing it so quickly and shouldn’t we wait and plan a “proper wedding?”

I didn’t want a proper wedding – whatever that was. I didn’t want a fuss.

I sent an email to extended family and friends letting them know what was going on. And for the most part, everyone understood. Scott had to leave by the afternoon of the 15^th in order to get back to work and we didn’t want to wait anymore. Especially Scott. Once I had said I would, he wanted to get that ring on my finger as swiftly as possible. I wasn’t going to change my mind, of course, but after nearly six years of agreeing to marry him and never setting an actual date, I understood his nervousness.

The night before we got married, I found out a friend I had hoped would be able to come was not going to make it. Scott held me, pulled back tight against his chest, while I cried into my pillow. He brushed my hair out of my face, wiped my tears dry and whispered how much he loved me.

“We don’t have to do this tomorrow,” he said.

“What?” My eyes hurt and nose was stuffy and red and it took me a moment to process his words.

“We can wait until you’re ready.”

“I shook my head. “I am ready,” I insisted.

“Really?” he asked. “All this and you say you’re ready?”

“It’s just…I wanted a friend there too.” Scott’s closest friend was coming and maybe I was jealous. Maybe I was still nervous about getting married. “I am ready, Scott. I want to get married. We are getting married tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind if you want to wait until we can plan an actual party with all your family and friends to come.”

He understood. I might not want to fuss, the big wedding with glitz and glam, but I did want my family there. And my friends.

“No.” I told him. “My mom and dad will be there. Your dad, too. That’s enough.”

The next morning, tears started anew when I realized I hadn’t any flowers. I had always thought when I got married I would have a bouquet of white daisies or a small sprig of lily of the valley or maybe just a bunch of lilacs. Simple flowers that I loved. After a few minutes of tears, Scott managed to work out why I was crying and headed out to the car. We always kept change in the ashtray and he managed to dig out enough to run to the grocery store and buy me a very small bouquet of white carnations with a bit of baby’s breath. My mom worked the flowers into two small bouquets, one for me and a smaller one for Ashleigh.

And they were perfect.

I wore this dress. Scott even put on a tie. And we drove ourselves to courthouse. As we parked the car, Scott held my hand.

“Ready?”

I nodded.

I shook my head.

I nodded again.

The ceremony was very much a blur. It was hot and sticky, the humidity already nearing 90 percent even that early in the morning. Sweat trickled down my back and Scott looked about to melt in his shirt and tie. Cyra tumbled across my abdomen. Ashleigh became fascinated with tiny snails that inched across the sidewalk and kept crouching down to watch them. She picked a few up and held them up for me to see. I said vows, but I don’t remember what they were. If I promised to obey…well, that hasn’t really been kept. But I’m pretty sure all the other ones I’ve done okay with.

When all was said and done the court official asked if I’d like to go inside and request a name change.

I looked at Scott. This was something we hadn’t really ever discussed. Sure, Ashleigh bore his name and the new baby would as well, that seemed right and appropriate, but me?

There must have been something on my face that he could read…or maybe (as much as I hate to admit it) he just knows me all too well.

“No,” he said, “That’s okay. I think she’ll keep her name.”

“Oh.” The court official said. “Well, if you change your mind-“

I smiled and nodded. “I won’t.”

Scott chuckled and we walked away to join our parents. My dad treated us to a wedding breakfast at Shoney’s which was perfect because I was starving by then having been too nervous earlier to eat.

We drove home holding hands, fiddling with the rings now on our fingers. Mine, too big, looped around my thumb.

“You know,” I told him, “I’ve never really been a fan of jewelry…”

“It stays on,” he warned. “We’ll get it sized, but it stays put!”

At home, Scott packed up his duffel bag as I watched.

“Hey!” I said, “We need to have wedding cake!”

“Hon, we don’t really have the time to get or make one.”

I paused for a second. “We have the birthday cake. I’ll just turn it around.”

We both laughed and went to the kitchen. I took the cake out from the refrigerator and unwrapped the tinfoil. I called for Ashleigh and my parents to join us. We stood around the half a cake with forks and dug in. Scott and I exchanged bites – but did not smear cake in each other’s face.

I giggle about it now, a recycled wedding cake, but it is one of my favorite stories from back then.

As the years passed, Scott and I often celebrated our anniversary with a small dinner out or a quiet evening at home. One year, in the midst of work and school, we each forgot our anniversary altogether and didn’t realize it until nearly a week had passed. One year, after hearing the story of the recycled cake, one of our gamer friends bought us a large cake to celebrate our anniversary.

Today, ten years after the recycled cake and once again short on cash, I will once again make the cake that served as birthday and wedding cake.

Ten years.

It seems appropriate this year to remember the humble beginnings to our marriage.

Z is for Zombies

I am the first to admit that I cannot and should not watch horror movies. Or movies that might be scary in any sense of the word. Or movies that might hint at something scary. I especially should not watch ANYTHING to do with zombies.

But I do. I break this scared and most cardinal rule all the time now.

Back in 2004, Scott and I decided to watch the recently released remake of Dawn of the Dead on DVD. We snuggled down on the couch in our tiny apartment and before the title even appeared on the screen my heart was already pounding and I gripped Scott’s hand.

“If you can’t handle this,” he said. “Let’s just turn it off. I’ll watch it later.”

“No. No.” I insisted. “I’m fine.”

Two hours of jumping and twitching and squeaking and closing my eyes, the movie finally ended.

“I loved it!” I told Scott.

He raised his eyebrow at me.

“No. Really!” I exclaimed. “I really did.”

“Your eyes were closed for most of it.” he said as he stood up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Come on, bed.” He pushed me into the bedroom.

I was just a bit unsure about the whole going to sleep thing, but I gamely changed into my jimmies and crawled under the sheets. Scott gave me a kiss and turned out the light. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I started hearing things moving around outside.

“I’m glad we’re on the second floor.” I whispered in the dark. “All we’d have to do is break the staircases.”

“They’re made of concrete.” Scott sighed. “We don’t have a sledgehammer.”

“We need one.”

“Go to sleep.” He growled.

I fell asleep a few minutes later. I’m not sure how long I slept for but when I woke, it was still dark. Light from a street light filtered in through the blinds casting a yellow streaks on the wall. As I often do, I rolled over to snuggle Scott for a minute before I fell back asleep. Scott lifted his head off the pillow as I slid my arm around his waist and growled low in his throat. His eyes were dead and I could see in the dimness part of his face was missing. He was a zombie! I screamed and threw a punch right at his face then scrambled from the bed. He grabbed at me and I froze for a split second before I started flailing my arms and legs.

“Ow! Shit!” Scott yelled. “Heather! You punched me in the face!”

I screamed again and Scott clamped his hands down on my shoulders as I flailed about under the sheets.

“WAKE UP!” Scott yelled again and shook me.

My eyes popped fully open and I looked up at Scott.

“You were a zombie!” I cried tears streaming down my cheeks.

“You punched me!” Scott shook his head. “How would that have helped if I was a zombie?” He let got of my shoulders and turned on the light.

“I was trying to get away.” I said trying to calm down.

“It’s a good thing you don’t know how to actually throw a punch.” He chuckled, just a bit, because he was clearly still upset. “You are NEVER watching another zombie movie again!

A few years later, I started added a minor addendum to the story. I didn’t just punch him because he was a zombie. I cured him! Also, this is the reason why I am not allowed to have anything more dangerous than a piñata stick on my bedside table.