Thank goodness!  If I hear anything more about that dang candy I might throw it away.  But not before I dig out all the mini Milky Way bars…

These boys have never even seen Star Wars.  Who cares when you’ve got light sabers?  The boys kept calling my little guy, “The Baby Master”.  He’d say, “I not the Baby Master, I YODA!”

Mark Antony didn’t stick around after the party to be photographed.  I guess hanging out in a “dress” isn’t his thing.  I can’t complain, he put the costume on and wore it for three hours.  

I love our Halloween traditions – going to the Bean’s for homemade  doughnuts, trick-or-treating, then heading to Red Robin for dinner afterward.  I can’t even say how nice it is that my kids are old enough to just sit and hang out.  We colored and talked and had conversations!  Don’t get me wrong, I hate that they’re growing up.  But I sure do love the people they’re becoming!

Wonder what we’ll be next year…

I was so excited to see that a bunch of my friends are still around!  I know that probably makes me some kind of nerd of the most embarrassing nerdy kind, but I really did miss all of my bloggin’ buddies.  My computer had an “accident” at the same time that I began my blogging hiatus and all of my RSS feeds went who-knows-where.  So I was only able to check in sporadically on the people whose site I had memorized.  Anyway, I missed all y’all.

Speaking of y’alls and all y’alls.  I’m moving to Texas.

When I tell people that I’m moving to Texas I get varied responses, but mostly it’s, “Why TEXAS?”  For some reason people seem to think of Texas as a scary wasteland full of big hair and matchy-matchy shoe/purse/belt combos.  I’ve been seeing a lot of raised eyebrows and flared nostrils lately.  Apparently Texas is an aberration to my fellow moldy-toed Seattleites. 

So I’m beginning to wonder if it’s just Seattleites that have such a bad impression of Texas, or is it that northerners in general dislike the south?  The first thing I’ve heard most people say is that it’s so humid in Texas.  Hmm.  Well, I went to Austin, which is where we’ll be relocating to, and the humidity didn’t seem much different to me there.  The sunshine was different though.  And yes, it was hot.  But it’s like, 75 degrees during the day there right now!  And sunny!  Swimming pools!  Air conditioning!  Sun! 

Let’s see, what else is new?  Oh yeah, I got an iPhone!!  Where the heck has the iPhone been all of my life?  How have I lived?  How have I functioned?  How have I not watched YouTube while I grocery shop?  I don’t even know.  And if you’re wondering: No, I do not feel the slightest bit peevish that my husband works for Microsoft and I have an iPhone.  It’s that cool.  Plus he bought one too.

There’s so much that’s happened in the last few months and I don’t have time to catch up on everything right now.  Upcoming installments will include things like:

• more on my new iPhone
• my lazy, lazy summer
• my new photography business!
• holy cow I’m going to Europe!!
• big Texas hair tutorials
• why I love that Hannah Montana climb song

Well, you know.  That’s just an outline.

It looks as if I’ve gone and abandoned this little journal of mine.  I can’t even justify it – I just needed a break, ya know?  That’s how I roll; spontaneous, living on the edge, abandoning inanimate objects all willy-nilly. 

Should I just pick it back up where I left off and pretend like nothing happened?  Yes?  Ok, done.   ;)

I’ll be honest, the boat makes me nervous.  I’m talking rumbly in my tumbly, I-feel-like-I’m-going-to-have-diarrhea, nervous.

I know that probably sounds weird…why in the heck would a boat make me nervous?  Let me tell you:

1. The trailer is scary.  It’s long, and it’s unpredictable, and there are other people driving around you.  They are basically moving targets.  Or sometimes they’re parked targets.  In that case you just leave a sad note telling them how sorry you are that you just hit them.  And then you tell them that you’re cute and very fragile.  And that you hope they’re not big, and/or Russian, and/or taking anger management classes.
2. The trailer never (and I mean never) wants to go into the water the right way the first time.  So you look like a completely incompetent female in a big car trying to back a trailer into the water.  Pull forward, back it up.  Nope, that’s not right.  Pull forward, back it up.  Oh, that’s worse than the first time.  Pull forward, back it up again.  Why are those men laughing at me?  I’m telling you, it’s a lot harder than it looks.
3. Docking a jet boat is annoyingly difficult.  Without a rudder to guide it, the boat just kind of spins around when it’s not in gear, like a jet ski.  So I’m normally spinning around in the middle of the water, laughing nervously, when I’m supposed to be pulling into the dock. 
4. Getting out of the boat onto the dock is also a precarious situation.  Somehow you have to get from a moving boat to the dock without allowing the boat to hit the dock.  The nerves almost can’t take this one.  This is an example of one of my boat expulsions: 

Ok, ok.  I can do this.  Here comes the dock.  I can do this.  Nice and slow.
The boat eases to the dock.
I brace myself, carefully measuring the distance between bow and dock.
Yes, this will be easy.  I feel nervous and sick, but I can do this.
I bend into a tiger-like crouch (translation: I bend my knee a little), and lift one foot.
My arms go up and I leap into the air like a crane.
My swim cover-up bells airily around my legs, and I can feel my graceful decent to the dock.
I’m going to make it!  No problem!
My right foot lands securely on the wet dock, but wait…
I let out a surprised Ohhf! as my foot slides out from underneath me.
I feel my right thigh hit the dock.
I’m still moving.
Sliding.
My eyes are popping out of my head, and my hands are clawing the dock.
But I slide off the dock and plop into the cold water anyway.
Gasping and spluttering, I resurface, and doggy-paddle my way back to the dock.
As I drag myself out of the water I see the duck poop smear down the front of my white swim cover-up.

True story.  If I hadn’t been Ohhf-ing, and gasping and clawing, I may have gone unnoticed.  But nope, every one of the people at the dock and the no-wake zone seemed to be staring/laughing hysterically at my soaking wet, duck poop smeared self.   I know, I’d be laughing too.

I’m assuming that someday I’m going to get the hang of this boating thing.  But for now I’m just nervous.

I know, OK?  It’s been a while.  You don’t have to tell me.  Or e-mail me.  Or corner me in my driveway.  I’m fully aware that I am a slacker; a big, lame, lazy loser.  I know. 

I got nothin’.  No excuse other than the lice took me hostage for a month.  You can’t imagine the pain and torture that’s been inflicted.  My fingernails are finally growing back and my nervous system is recovering from the Chinese water torture.  I’m damaged goods, but I’m back.

So, a few fun things did happen after the lice went their way.  Our girls’ night this month was an absolute RIOT. 

Have you ever done a murder mystery?  If not, I highly recommend.  Especially if you’re just with the girls.  That way you don’t have to be embarrassed that you look like a drag queen, when you’re supposed to look like a beauty queen.  Not that I looked like a drag queen in my costume…

OK, I looked like a drag queen. 

“Howdy y’all!  I’m Miss Lizzie Louisiana!  I’m about to open me a can of whoops-a-daisy on all y’all prissy pageant queens!”

Our hostess and judge, Miss America 1994. 

Miss New York was the daughter of a mob boss.  She and her arch-nemesis, Miss New Jersey, were throwing evil glares at each other all night.  No one wanted to get in that line of fire.

Miss New Jersey was sweatin’ me all night, y’all.  Doesn’t she look threatening?

Gasp!  Someone killed Miss Texas!  Who could it have been?

She looks guilty, don’t you think?

It really could have been anyone.  All of these girls look sketchy…especially the goodie-two-shoes on the right.

After Miss Texas kicked the bucket (and dinner was over), people started bustin’ out their moves.

This is what happens when you get a couple of Diet Cokes in these people.  You never know what’s going to happen next.

Miss Texas’ father, “Daddy Big Bucks” (who was actually a girl!), says,  “How dare you off my little girl?  I’m watchin’ you dirty dawgs.  

Look at Jersey spreading rumors about New York!  Watch your back Jersey, I wouldn’t put it past New York…

OK, so who did it?

Tally your votes!

Anna Alabama won best dressed.

Yay, good for you!  You so deserve it!  Uch, look at her Miss New York – can you believe she won?

No way!  Miss Wisconsin did it??  I never would have guessed!  My vote was for Kentucky.  Hmmm, now that you mention it, she was kinda quiet all night!

 It just goes to show, you can’t trust a girl who wears a plastic crown. *sniff* 

Hey girls, stop misbehaving and smile for the camera!

Hey everybody, guess what??  There’s a party on my head and YOU’RE invited!  You, and you, and you, and you, and oh yeah, you can come too!  Don’t worry about directions, just follow that little guy with the legs.  He knows exactly where he’s going.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I honestly didn’t use to think head lice was that big of a deal.  Neither Mr. Wright or I had it as a kid, so we didn’t know what to expect.  How bad can it be, right?  You get some medicine, launder your stuff, and you’re back in business. 

Nope.  Nope, nope, nope, nope NOPE.

(Have you started itching yet?)

The last four days have been like a horrible nightmare.  What did I do before laundry, cleaning, and picking people’s hair?  Maybe I had a hobby?  Did I have friends?   I don’t even remember. 

Here’s how it went down:

Thursday:  Get a call from the school.  “Hello, this is Lydia from SS Elementary.  I have your oldest in the office.  It appears he has head lice.”  Panic and screaming ensue.  She tells me to take a deep breath.  “You’ll get through this, I promise.”  More screaming.

Pick up son from school, and head straight to Bartell.  Buy one million dollars worth of lice treatments, shampoos, combs, etc. 

Go home and search through boys’ hair, to find that all three do indeed, have creepy-crawlies on their head.

Run around in circles screaming.

Pick for five hours.  Wash hair, pick some more.

Husband comes home and checks me.  Hallelujah, no crawlies. 

Change sheets.  Husband insists on covering pillows with garbage bags and putting pillowcases over them.  I look at pillow doubtfully; it seems very crackly and noisy.

Husband also insists on making everyone sleep with only a sheet because all the blankets are contaminated. Says he’ll turn up the heat, so we won’t even notice.

Stay up until 3 am sterilizing personal items.

Fall into bed, exhausted.

Thursday, middle of the night:  Crackle crsh sch crackle.  Shiver.  Sh-sh-sh-shiver.  Wake up repeatedly from crackly pillow and freezing cold.  Suction myself to husband’s warm, furnace-like body.

Friday morning:  “Man, it was freezing in here!  I barely slept a wink.  I don’t think the sheet-slash-turning up the heat thing worked.”   

“Oh woops, I forgot to turn the heat up.”  He looked a little sheepish.

“Umm, I hate you.” 

Friday:  Mom comes over to clean.  Friday is consumed by lice terminating activities, which of course includes hours of picking. 

Mom finds lice eggs on my head.  Suddenly my head itches.

Lots of screaming and running around.

Amazingly, have succeeded to stay on tortuous nutrition plan.

Stay up until 3 am with Mr. Wright combing my head of enormous, thick, bushy hair.

Fall into bed, exhausted.  Alone, by the way, because Mr. Wright, who does not have head lice, refuses to sleep with me.  I’m alone with the lice in my crackly, freezing bed. 

Saturday:  Clean with mom all day.  Mr. Wright takes kids to run errands.  He comes home at 7 pm raving about the beauty of the Laundromat.  “I did ALL that laundry in a little over an hour!  Folded and everything!”.  Yay laundromat.

Am failing to be excited about anything.  Decide I will be spending my golden years picking hair and doing laundry.  Wonder when Lice will take over the world and enslave mankind to do their evil bidding.  I’m thinking soon.

Stay up until 2:30 am so Mr. Wright can comb my head.  Still finding nits on everyone.

Fall into bed, exhausted.  I hate my life.

Sunday morning:  Two year old (of course), wakes up early.  I stumble downstairs and head straight for M&M’s.  Nutrition-pootrition. 

It’s Monday morning now.  Easter (we had a nice breakfast for dinner, or brinner, as we call it) was way low key, and it’s time to go check heads.  There won’t be any school for us today, so it will be a day of laundry and movies.  It could be worse, I suppose.  I’m having a hard time deciding what’s worse than bugs living in my hair, but I’m positive there are things. 

What a “lousy” way to spend the weekend. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Travis found a package for me on our porch the night that we found the lice. 

 Auntie Beth sent me one of her beautiful gourds.  Isn’t it amazing?  I can’t imagine how long this must have taken; the detailing and colors are absolutely gorgeous.  She hasn’t even been making these for very long…she obviously has an incredible talent.

Also in the package were these marshmallows on steroids that she picked up in Mexico.  I laughed hysterically when I saw them.  Maybe I was hallucinating, but I swear they tasted better than average American marshmallows. 

Thanks so much Beth.  You couldn’t have known, but your gifts came at the perfect time.

The sun was shining when I woke up this morning.  Living here in Seattle makes sunshine a reason for celebration. 

For about 10 minutes my Monday was going great.  One glance into the boys’ room tells me otherwise.  I’ve learned something about my oldest child in the last seven months that he’s been in school.  If he’s not awake when I get up, we’re going to have a rough morning.

I try to be very chipper and sweet when I wake him up, knowing that no matter what, things are about to get very hairy.  My normally happy, well behaved child turns into a kicking, squinty-eyed monster.

“I don’t care if I’m late, I’m coooooold! You’re making me grouchy, mom!  You’re putting that sock on the wrong foot, and it’s making me COOOOOOLD!”  Sock on the wrong foot? 

No amount of cajoling is getting him out of bed in a decent mood, and I have to let him know I mean business.  He finally gets dressed and goes downstairs, but I hear him down there saying that I’m a mean mommy and he doesn’t like me right now.

Sigh.  The day started so well.

After dropping him off at school, I get home, get out of the car, and get the little one out of his car seat.  The middle one starts to cry, heartbroken that I didn’t get him first.  I never get him first.  I never get him out, period!  He’s four years old!  I get the cold shoulder for 20 minutes for not reading my suddenly crazy four year old’s mind.

Sigh.

A stern voice (probably my mom’s) in my head whispers, “Do not let your children treat you that way.  They’re being disrespectful, and they need to be reprimanded.”  Hmm, this might be true.

My voice (I think it’s mine, anyway) says back, “Sigh.  Being the bad guy all the time sucks.  I need some Doritos.”

I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but sometimes it feels a little bit personal, ya know?  

I hate being the “mean” guy.  Fortunately for them, I hate the thought of them being lazy, irresponsible, uncaring adults even more.  I just wish it didn’t sting so much to be hated on when I’m trying to do the right thing.  I know, just wait until they’re teenagers, right?

When my kids become wild and unruly, I use a nice, safe playpen. When they’re finished, I climb out.   

I love fondue.  I love it so much I want to make out with it and ask it to marry me, and have lots of little fondue babies. 

Ha ha, just kidding, that would be weird. 

But I do love it, and now my friends love it as much as I do.  Which means that everyone’s always coming up with excuses to have fondue parties.  There’s the “It’s your husband’s birthday” excuse, and the “It’s my husband’s birthday” excuse, and the ever popular, “I NEED melted cheese” excuse.

So, because I love my friends, and because Hilary started threatening me, I pulled out my electric fondue pots. 

We had swiss cheese and bacon fondues,

broth fondue with meats and dipping sauces,

and of course, most importantly, CHOCOLATE fondues.

Dont’ my friends look so happy? 

Cheese, cheese, the magical fruit!  The more you eat, the more you…

Wait, that’s not cheese.  But come to think of it, cheese does make you toot.  tee hee!

A friend of mine approached me in church one day a couple of months ago and asked me if I could make a cake for her daughter’s shower.  She said she wanted blocks, which I’ve never done, and I said, “Oh yeah, I’m up for that challenge!”

Then I saw the creative challenge on Shelli’s blog to make something springy with Stampin’ Up! stuff.  And I thought to myself (in a Russian accent), “Oh yes, I wheel be killink two beards wit one stone, as it was.”  And what’s more springy than new babies?

So began my insane desire to design and make a baby shower cake using stamps.  All of course SMACK dab in the middle of getting ready for Alicia’s wedding.

I knew I could use rubber stamps to decorate with because of a surf board cake I made a few years back for my oldest’s beach birthday party.  The result wasn’t bad…

Sorry, I did a horrible job of covering his name.

Lucky for me, as I am not a paper crafter, nor do I own much Stampin’ Up! gear, my friend brought over her arsenal. 

By the way, you don’t have to be a demonstrator to enter this challenge.  You can be a customer, a creative genius, or just a Joe Schmoe like me (as long as you use Stampin’ Up! products).  If you’re one of the five to win, you get to pick out a stamp set from the current catalog. 

Which I would then use to make MORE cakes!  It’s a veritable cycle of infinite creative happiness.

This cake using Stampin’ Up! stamps and die cuts is my all time favorite.

We stamped on the fondant and cut it out with an x-acto knife,

we cut paper pendants and stars using the Big Shot die cutter.  Then we put the paper on fondant and cut around it.

Lastly we stamped directly on the fondant itself.   The wave stamp at the bottom of the cake says “rock-a-bye baby”.  Everything on the cake was edible, except the ribbon on the pendant. 

Not only was this my fave, it was also the most time consuming.  It took two of us 12 long hours to frost and decorate these 5″ x 5″ cakes.  I probably won’t be making blocks again in the near future, but I think it was worth the time spent.  Plus I actually got PAID!  Real money! 

Which I promptly spent on a new external flash for my camera.  I needed the flash to be able to take better photos of the cakes to win the stamps to make more cakes to take photos of.  See, happy creative cycle!  Now I just have to make the cut.  *snort* Get it, cut? 

So, I guess I can officially call myself “a stamper”!

This was one of the favorites at the reception.  It’s a recipe I tore apart and put together from another recipe, but I tried to adjust it accordingly. 

The original recipe is for larger sausage hand pies, and it makes a dozen.  The “crackers” are actually made from a Parmesan crust that I cut into (roughly) 2” squares.   Because I used a different recipe than the one this one calls for, you may have a little dough left over.  If that’s the case, just wrap it in saran wrap and freeze it.  It makes an excellent crust for quiche, also. 

If you’re making this as a part of a meal, do the twelve large hand pies.  If making it as an appetizer, cut the dough before baking like I did.  You’ll just want to cut it with a pizza cutter and put it in the oven at 350 for about 10 minutes. 

Feel free to ask if you have questions.  It’s not a hard recipe to make, other than being a little time consuming.  But as you’ll find, it’s well worth the result!

Sausage and Feta Hand Pies

If you prefer less spice, omit the red pepper flakes.  When you make the dough for this recipe, instead of shaping the pieces into disks, pat them into rectangles; this will make the dough easier to roll out and cut into squares.

•  ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 pound sweet Italian sausage, casings removed
• 1 large onion, thinly sliced
• 1 small head fennel (about 1 pound), trimmed, cored, and thinly sliced
• ½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
• Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 6 plum tomatoes, quartered lengthwise, seeded, and cut into ½ inch dice (the seeding is an important step, don’t leave it out)
• 8 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
• ½ cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves, coarsely chopped
• All-purpose flour, for dusting
• Parmesan Dough recipe
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 3 tablespoons fennel seeds

HEAT 2 tablespoons oil in a large skillet over medium heat.  Crumble sausage into pan; cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, transfer the sausage to a paper towel-lined plate; set aside.

ADD remaining 2 tablespoons oil to skillet along with the onion; cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 minutes.  Add sliced fennel and red pepper flakes; season with salt and pepper.  Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are tender, about 8 minutes.  Add tomatoes and cook, stirring, until they release their juices, 3 to 4 minutes.  Add the reserved sausage, and stir to combine.    Remove from heat, and let cool completely.  Stir in feta cheese and parsley; set filling aside.

PREHEAT the oven to 425, with racks in the upper and lower thirds.  Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, and set aside.  On a lightly floured piece of parchment paper, roll out one piece of dough to a 16-by-11-inch rectangle.  (If you’re making the appetizer version, cut the dough with a pizza cutter into 2″ inch squares, and bake first before topping with sausage mixture.  Disregard the rest of the instructions.)  Trim to 15 by 10 inches.  Cut into six 5-inch squares.  With a dry pastry brush, sweep off excess flour.  Place 1/2 cup filling in the center of each square.  Fold up all four corners around the filling, so that the points meet in the center but do not touch.  Leave about ¼ inch of space between them).  Repeat with remaining piece of dough and filling.  Transfer to prepared baking sheets. 

BRUSH tops of dough with the beaten egg, and sprinkle with fennel seeds.  Bake rotating sheets halfway through, until pies are golden brown and filling is set, about 40 minutes.  Cool slightly on a wire rack.  Serve warm.

Parmesan Dough

This is my absolute favorite savory pie crust.  I’ve used it for several different recipes, including Easter Pie and Quiche.  After making it into a cracker, I realized I could eat it all by itself! 

• 4 ½ cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
• ½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 teaspoon coarse salt
• ¾ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• 1 ½ sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, cold, cut into pieces
• ¾ cup vegetable shortening, cold, cut into small pieces
• ½ cup ice water

PUT flour, cheese, salt, and pepper in the bowl of a food processor; pulse several times to combine.  Add butter and shortening; process until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs, about 10 seconds.  With the machine running, pour the ice water through the feed tube in a slow, steady stream until the dough just holds together.  (Since I was making so much dough, I used the dough hook on my Bosch mixer and it turned out just fine.  The crust won’t be as flaky if you use a stand mixer, but the flavor and texture are still excellent.)

TURN out the dough onto a lightly floured work surface.  Divide the dough I half, and form each piece into a flattened square.  Wrap each piece of dough in plastic, and chill at least 1 hour or overnight before using.

Up next: Taking a break from the reception with a baby shower cake!