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Wednesday
Feb022011

Martha Redux

If it weren't for the whisker-shaped post-traumatic stress syndrome I'm currently suffering from, I might not believe that I did it all. As it is, it's a good thing there are photos to prove that while I'm lazy, it's a choice. It's not that I can't be crafty and such, it's that I choose not to be. The thing is that I also choose to be cheap. Apparently cheap wins out over lazy. Or something.

When I asked Alexis to pick a theme for her birthday party, she was torn between Hello Kitty and Hannah Montana. I promptly threw Hannah under a bus ("I heard Hannah Montana thinks 5-year olds are babies." OH, YES I DID.), and Alexis happily decided to go the Hello Kitty route. We spent an evening on Etsy finding invitations and TAH-DAH! her party theme was born. She wanted "rock star Hello Kitty."

Easy enough!

Except . . . not. I couldn't find anything that sort of matched the invitations. All of the locally available Hello Kitty party stuff was pastel-sugar-coated-pukey Hello Kitty, not emo-shops-at-Hot-Topic Hello Kitty. So, FINE. I decided to make everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING. (Important note: I gave birth to a child who thinks everything should match. People, she matches her underwear to her shirt and socks every day. There was no convincing her that the pastel Hello Kitty was good enough.)

I made the treat bags.

Which, honestly, were easy. I just printed a Hello Kitty on some card stock, cut out the pieces, traced, and then glued it all together.

I never want to see a little black whisker ever again, but the rest was super easy.

(We won't be talking about how the bags themselves were made of fairy farts and fell apart the second anyone looked at them.)

I also made some of the decorations.

That was a print/cut/glue job as well. The idea originated from something I saw on Etsy, but cheap won out over lazy, so I had to make it myself. No, really. I HAD to. I had envisioned it on the wall like that, so it had to happen for real or a black hole would have opened up below our house and the world would have ended.

Then I got all wild and crazy and made cupcakes for the party.

Although, the only thing even remotely complicated about them was that I made them rainbow cupcakes.

I also made the cake. And decorated the cake. With buttercream icing that I made from scratch.

I KNOW. I don't recognize this domestic-crafty-weird version of me either.

Tuesday
Feb012011

Thank Your Lucky Biscuits

It's never really a good time to nearly burn your house down, but ten minutes before your kid's birthday party is scheduled to start is probably real high on the Inconvenient Timing list.

Not that I would know.

OK, so I do know. Maybe. I might have sort of had a little incident involving some egg and biscuit goop that spilled in the oven. In trying to scoop it out, I might have sort of accidentally knocked it into the bowels of the oven where it caught on fire and smoked like crazy. There may have been smoke alarms and flames and such involved. Possibly.

But! It wasn't a huge ordeal because I ran around like crazy and opened up every window and door that I could. I successfully managed to air the house out enough to keep everyone from knowing that I'm a pyromaniac. (I hope. At least nobody said anything.)

Of course, a certain person who also lives in this house thought it was HYSTERICAL that I turned all domestically challenged at such a key moment. He might have given me crap about it more times than I would have thought humanly possible. To that I say, how did that karma taste? Hmmm?

***********************************************************************

The snow was perfect this weekend for some sledding, a fact which I realized as we were driving around taking care of some errands. As we wrapped up some important stops, I suggested that we dash home for our snow pants and gloves and such then run back out to the big sledding hill in our township.

As we pulled into our driveway, I urged Alexis to move quickly so we'd have enough time to sled before it got dark outside. We literally ran into the house, bundled up, and then went back outside to wait for Mr. Husband to be ready. She and I were goofing around on the patio as he emerged from the house, pulling the door shut behind him. His hand had barely left the doorknob when he turned to me with THAT look and asked, "Where are your keys?"

"In the car," I replied. Since we were just running in and right back out, I had left my camera bag and keys and wallet and such behind.

"Oh," he replied as he walked over to the car. He started to tug on the door. In that instant, I knew.

He had locked the car doors. He ALWAYS locks the car doors.

In fact, he always locks EVERYTHING. The man is obsessed with locking things. Always. He won't even take the dogs for a walk around the neighborhood without locking the house up tight. Given that he is Mr. Locks-a-Lot, OF COURSE he had locked the house door before he pulled it shut.

With his keys inside.

It was 20 something degrees outside and we were locked out, his keys in the house and mine in the car.

You would think that would be no big deal, but you would be wrong. We don't have duplicate keys hidden anywhere. There isn't a keypad wired to our garage door. The neighbors weren't home. There were no tools in the yard that could be used to try to break in through any of the doors.

Fortunately, Mr. Locks-a-Lot had a thought. He scrounged and searched and schemed, and then somehow managed to construct a frightening Leaning Tower of Piza tall enough to sort of reach the bottom of the patio door. It's the door that opens from our second story kitchen. In theory, there should be a deck outside of that door, but decks are for crazy people who have managed to pull together the time and money for a deck. We have managed to pull together the time and money to put boards over the door instead. It's pretty sexy.

Moments later, I learned a very important lesson about that patio door. I learned that it's a damn good thing we don't have a deck because despite the fact that it was locked (of course--I live with Mr. Locks-a-Lot), all you have to do is jiggle it a little bit and it will open, just so long as the deadbolt isn't done. You know, the deadbolt I had unhooked the day prior when I had tried to burn down the house.

Long story short, somehow Mr. Locks-A-Lot managed to get through that patio door. He may have severed an arm or two doing it, but still. Thanks to my wondrous domestic skills, the door had been unbolted and he was able to get in.

And that is why these have been named The Lucky Biscuits. Mr. Locks-a-Lot can thank his lucky biscuits I tried to burn the house down or we would have been in deep doo-doo. Ahem.

Lucky Biscuits (recipe adapted from here)

1 pkg of 10 Pillsbury biscuits (any variety)
3 large eggs
3 tablespoons milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/3 cup feta cheese
1/3 cup Morningstar sausage crumbles (or real sausage or real crumbled bacon)
Shredded cheddar cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Spray muffin pan thoroughly with nonstick cooking spray and then place one biscuit in each of 10 holes. Place biscuits in oven and cook for 6 minutes.

While the biscuits are cooking, mix together the eggs, milk, salt, pepper, and feta cheese in a small mixing bowl.

Remove the partially cooked biscuits from the oven. Use the end of a wooden spoon to push the dough down and against the edges of the muffin pan, creating a hole in each of the biscuits. Fill the holes with the egg mixture, being careful to not overfill the biscuits unless you want to nearly burn your house down. Ahem. Garnish with sausage crumbles (or alternative) and cheddar cheese. Place back in the oven and cook for 15 minutes, or until the egg is set.

They're REALLY good. And lucky.

 

Monday
Jan312011

Martha, Martha, Martha

I have been in full-on Martha Stewart mode the past few weeks. I have managed to annoy everyone with it, including myself. That's why it hasn't bothered me as countless people have proclaimed, "I hate you," to my face.

It's all good. I deserve to be hated.

This is the first of a few Martha-esque posts. It is the one about . . . drumroll please . . . The Magical Cupcakes.

It's a thing I do precisely once per year. I save up all of my baking and decorating energy for exactly one project. I create over-the-top and ridiculously complicated cupcakes for Alexis to take to school to share with her classmates. Here's the history:

2nd Birthday3rd Birthday4th BirthdayIn retrospect, I think the pandas win for most complicated and ridiculous cupcake. Of course, thinking that one year stood out is pretty much an invitation for the next version to suck harder.

And it did.

The lesson I learned this year is that I cannot have Alexis in the room with me when I'm scouring the internet for cupcake ideas. She will look over my shoulder and decide that I'm making something that is far more complicated than anything that I would have picked out on my own. And if I'm looking at Bakerella? The kid can't even be in the same zip code as me.

Alexis decided I should make Hello Kitty cake pops.

The bigger lesson I have learned is that I absolutely positively cannot start on The Magical Cupcakes early. I did this year and it came back to bite me in the ass. First, I managed to burn an entire pound of melted white chocolate. That requires skill, in case you didn't know. The next night I managed to engage in a fist fight of sorts with a second pound of melted white chocolate. It beat the crap out of me, even managing to throw me out of the ring. In fact, I had given up on the Hello Kitty cake pops when the white chocolate suddenly started mocking me and laughing about how it was all in my head and HEY, LOOK! The melted white chocolate is the exact right consistency now!

Or something.

Then I managed to get in a fight with the edible black marker. For the record, if you fight with a marker, the marker will win. But! I totally kicked the marker to the curb and carried on without it NEENER NEENER.

Once I was basically out of time, the cake pops flew together pretty quickly. I should have just procrastinated until then and avoided all of the white chocolate/marker/baby mama drama.

Anyway, this year's entry into The Magical Cupcake history books is:

 

(Hello Kitty's whiskers decided to go search for her mouth, so SHOOSH. I don't want to hear it. I also don't want to hear about how the one Hello Kitty looks like she got her ear caught in Mike Tyson's mouth. SHE'S SPECIAL, DAMMIT.)

While I'm busy confessing that cupcakes can make me look bad, I should probably admit that in my fury over the edible marker working on any substance on earth EXCEPT the white chocolate, I might have taken a permanent marker to one of the cake pops as a form of I'M THE BOSS, DAMMIT.

I didn't make anyone consume Sharpie ink, but I did consider it. Hello Kitty just looks better when her whiskers are visible to the human eye.

(Psst . . . you probably shouldn't eat that cake pop in my fridge, unless you are curious if Sharpies taste as good as they smell.) (They don't.)