Bragging Rights

Not many people know me as a photographer, but it's a skill I've developed out of necessity at work.

Unfortunately, it's not something I pursue at home: Cobbler's children going barefoot and all that.

But I do have some great shots I've taken here at work. For the first time ever, I'm showing them to the world!

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From that day on, every where I went ...

I love my couch. We have an understanding, my couch and I. Around 4:30 p.m. every day, I come home, open the back door for the dog, and plop myself down for a good hour-long session of, "Ahhhh." I watch TV, I knit, I eat horrible things like peanut butter and Nutella.

This system works really well, except for two things:

1. The awful, sad looks my dog gives me because I'm neglecting him, and
2. The fact that being stationary and eating peanut butter and Nutella will make you fat. Quickly.

So Monday morning, I decided that if I wanted to eat peanut butter and Nutella and enjoy the loving arms of my couch, I'd better hit the gym.

Tuesday morning, the snooze alarm won. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting after work, then visited my good buddy the couch. Of course I brought along our BFFs, peanut butter and Nutella. But then the most amazing thing happened.

I added up the number of points I'd consumed during 45-minutes of eating and watching "Pillars of the Earth." And changed into my workout clothes. And clipped Koa's leash to his collar. AND headed up a big hill.

Once I got to the top of the hill, I started running. Right out of nowhere! And I didn't stop for three miles. And three big hills.

Then, yesterday being Wednesday, I decided it was my Day Off from Exercise. But when I got home, I once again added up the points of the giant cupcake and ham/butter/cheese sandwich I had for lunch. Once again, I strapped on my running shoes. And once again, Koa and I headed out for adventure.

This time I decided to walk, mostly because the temperatures were topping off in the 90s. And I kept walking ... until we hit our old favorite trail, all shaded and cool, with a stream running alongside it. Then we started running. And didn't stop for a mile. The only reason we did stop is because I forgot about the half-mile almost-vertical climb at the end of this particular trail.

That makes three days in a row of voluntary, not-for-any-good-reason running. I'm sort of creeped out because ...

It was fun.

Today is really my day off, though. I don't want to jinx anything. Or disrupt the space-time continuum with too much of this exercise-is-fun nonsense.

Why Apple Crisp deserves its own blog entry

I am in the perfect marriage.

I love to bake. My husband loves to eat what I bake.

You can see how, mathematically, that works out pretty well for me.

So with two apple trees in the backyard heavy with fruit (well, all the fruit sort of dropped off one of the trees last night, so maybe it's just one treeful now), I've got all sorts of applicious plans.

A couple weekends ago, it was a perfect Dutch Apple Pie.

Last weekend, it was Apple Crisp.

I had big plans for this Apple Crisp. I'd been thinking about it all week, saving it as a weekend project even though apples were just flying off the tree. I made sure I had quick-cooking oats and brown sugar.

So on Saturday, I was set. I made my Apple Crisp in the afternoon, and set it next to the Costco take-and-bake pizza that would be dinner, so Matt would see what an awesome wife he has. After the pizza was finished cooking, I popped the Crisp in the oven. We even found some vanilla ice cream in the freezer to serve with it.

Oooh, I waited. Apple Crisp ala mode.

I served Matt a bowlful, and then settled in to my own delicious dessert. And after two bites, I remembered something utterly and tragically dismaying.

I really don't like Apple Crisp.

How could I have forgotten! There's something about the oatmeal-cookie-over-apple-pie dessert combo that makes me instantly, achingly full and regretful of every bite I took.

I walked out to the living room and sadly handed my bowl to Matt, who had already finished his.

And I have been walking around, bitterly disappointed, ever since. I'm still working on how it's possible that I'm over 30 years old, and still can't keep my food preferences straight.

Most of all, though ... I was really looking forward to that Apple Crisp!

That's not your ball!

It seems like the apples on my tree at home are just raining down, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Every few days, I try to chuck them over the fence to the greenbelt adjacent to our backyard. There are several families of deer there, and the apples are typically gone the next morning.

Last night, Koa was out there with me as I tossed apple over apple over the fence. I noticed he'd get REALLY excited whenever I'd pick one up, but I didn't think much of it until one bounced off the fence and he caught it neatly in his mouth, then dropped it at my feet.

Hmmm.

I picked it up and threw it across the yard, and he bounded after it. Of course, being half rotted, it split in two, and he carried it for a few paces before dropping it, licking it and looking at me.

"Something's not right here," he seemed to say.

But he caught the next apple that didn't make it over the fence. Same routine: Catch, drop, lick, ponder.

He ate a few tiny chunks that were scattered in the yard, but wouldn't touch the whole apples.

So that's my story: My dumb dog chases apples. Then gets mad that they're apples. But still wants to play with them because, hey ... maybe next time it will be a ball.

Hey dummy, here's a tip: If it smells like an apple, it's probably never going to be a ball!

Winning at fighting

Last night, Matt and I had an argument.

It was over a $1.97 soda. Ostensibly, anyway. What was really happening is anybody's guess. Mine is stress and sleepiness.

In a huff, I flounced into the bedroom to read. Matt continued to make dinner (maybe hunger was part of the problem, as well).

I ate at the table, while he took up his half of our tandem La-Z-Boy recliner and settled in to watch some show about swordfish. Which I found incredibly annoying on principle. The principle, of course, being that he could even watch TV at all ... didn't he realize I wasn't speaking to him?

(Of course he did. But our fuses burn at different rates. His flare up immediately, and then dim to a controllable steadiness. Mine flare at any carbon dixoide release--get it?--but die quickly with nothing to feed them.)

After I finished dinner, I decided that since I was so mature (after all, I was the one who walked away from the argument!), I would be THE MOST mature. I would take the dog for a walk. Even though it wasn't my turn. That way Matt could simultaneously relax after a really long day at work (hey, I'm not a total shrew); AND understand how mature I am and thereby admit that I Was Right And He Was Wrong.

But when I came home, he continued watching TV. I went back in the bedroom to read and fall asleep. Nobody noticed how awesomely mature I was, even though I totally Won at Fighting.

Now, with almost 24 hours of perspective behind me, I can tell you the true story of last night.

Matt and I got into an argument. It was stupid. I went to my room. We ate dinner. He enjoyed a rare, relaxing evening in front of the TV. I read a great book. Our dog got walked. We went to bed.

The end.

But who would read that blog entry?

I will not be IGNORED, Koa!

I have the most wonderful dog in the world.

Koa is a purebred German Shepherd Dog that we adopted almost a year ago from the local animal shelter. Since the day we brought him home, he's been looking at us with those wise, sad eyes and patiently teaching us how to be good dog owners.

"Guys," he'll seem to say, as he takes his new ball outside and gently drops it on the grass. "Toys do not belong in the house."

If we feed him before we eat, he'll patrol the house, shooting us his patented you-should-know-better looks. "I do not eat before you. We eat at the same time. Remember?"

When we come home to a kitchen full of trash, he stares apologetically from his crate. "Listen, don't leave chicken bones in the trash can. I can't help myself, and I'd rather this not happen again."

Unfortunately, because we have the best dog in the world, we've also lost perspective when it comes to training him. So recently (after he's herded some neighborhood dogs a little too enthusiastically at the dog park and peed on a woman's foot), I've been stepping up my efforts to assert dominance over him.

As recommended by the training and behavior books I've been reading, this morning started with a long walk. Typically Matt and I are too lazy to actually walk our dog. We load him in the car and drive to the unofficial dog park up the street, where he can romp and play fetch until he flops over with exhaustion.

Today, though, I firmly held him on a short leash, and yanked (futilely; after all, he's 100 pounds of pure muscle) every time he reached over to sniff a new plant or curb. "Heel," I'd caution every 20 seconds or so. Then I spotted a house for sale, and wanted to check out the selling price. We trotted over, and I asked Koa to sit.

He looked away.

"Sit," I repeated (because maybe he didn't hear me).

He looked in the other direction. Then I realized what he was doing: Ignoring me! It's a dog thing: Apparently, if you're the alpha dog, you don't have to pay attention to all the other dogs if you don't want to. All you have to do if you want them to get up off of your grill is look away--physically ignoring them.

Oh, hells no.

I squared my shoulders, planted my feet and leaned over him ever-so-slightly. "SIT," I boomed.

This did not impress him, but he did flick an ear my way.

"SIT!"

He sat.

I lavished him with attention.

But when we got to the dog park and I asked him to sit so I could take his leash off, the damn dog did it again! I felt my inner Glenn Close unleash.

"I will not be IGNORED, Koa!"

After a few minutes, he sat.

Good thing, too. I've got a pot of boiling water just big enough for his fuzzy, squeaky toy lamb. It's not a rabbit, sure; but I think he'd get the point.

It pays to be a mediocre pie-maker

When we moved into our incredible rental home last year, I took note of the two enormous apple trees in the backyard, and rubbed my hands together like a silent-movie villain.

I kept thinking of all the wonderful apple baked goods I'd produce in the fall. So when one tree started producing, I duly waited until the green apples swelled and started falling off the tree before inviting a friend over for an apple butter/apple pie session.

Unfortunately, a few weeks later, those green apples turned red and crispy and sweet and slightly tart. And I realized I'd been had by Mother Nature, and possessed a cupboard full of Green Apple Butter.

This year, both trees are producing, and I know better. The tree that came up empty last year is positively loaded with sweet red and green beauties that can be munched on anytime. Lazy me, though, is no longer interested in winning life by making my own pie crusts. Thankfully, Trader Joe's anticipated that, and helpfully boxed up some premade ones for me.

So yesterday I decided to make Matt's favorite: Dutch Apple Pie. I pressed the premade crust into a piepan, tossed a few apples with sugar, flour, cinnamon and nutmeg, then made an extra-crumbly crumble and spread it on top.

After 50 minutes in the oven, this pie took my breath away. It was everything a Dutch Apple should be. The crust browned beautifully, and the apples poking out here and there were crisped perfectly. The best part, though, was that the crumb layer caramelized into a crispy sugar crust that oozed down through the apple layers.

And me without my camera.

Unfortunately, though, this pie was too good. I had a piece. Matt finished off the pie (trying his best to scarf the last piece in the kitchen after I went to bed, so I wouldn't catch him).

My waistline thanks him.

My tastebuds are plotting against him.

I've got it bad ... and it ain't good

I know for a fact that there are people out there whose vices are actually good things.

People like my brother-in-law, who supposedly can't go a day without a good, long run.

People like my sister, who consider watermelon a delicious dessert.

I, however, seem to be just one level above crackhead when it comes to my personal vices.

I like to eat frosting right from the container. I would eat bread for every meal if I could. I believe a slice of cake or pie is a perfectly acceptable substitute for breakfast cereal.

I have been known to eat three-day-old donuts, and for God's sake, don't leave any pastries lying around when I'm nearby. I will steal them.

But my latest vice astounds even me for its low-down, dirty nature. I'm only talking about it now because it will force me to give it up. So this morning will hopefully be the last time I will partake in it.

Coffee from 7/11.

It started out innocently enough. I had to be at a work event before 7 a.m., and didn't have time to make a Starbucks run. There's a 7/11 right down the street from my house, so I dashed in for a huge cup of coffee. I was pleased to note that they offered a hazelnut flavor, since I imagined their regular coffee would burn a hole right through my esophagus.

And right next to the hazelnut coffee was a French Vanilla cream dispenser.

I knew by the oily sheen on top of my extra-large cup that this was no great cup o'Joe, but what can you do? It was 6:45 a.m. on Saturday, and I needed a pick-me-up. I pumped my flavored coffee and cream full of sugar, then whipped out my debit card at the register.

Turns out I didn't need to do that, since a massive, steaming cup of 7/11 coffee is just $1.79. I paid for it with change, took my first sip and made a mental note that my beverage was probably made by DuPont.

But the next day, I found myself back at the scene of the crime.

Two days later, I picked up another cup.

This morning, I bought one more. Hopefully my last one.

I can't explain why. It's not great ... it's oily and chemical and I put so much flavored junk in it that it doesn't even really resemble coffee anymore.

But it's cheap. And it's sweet.

And undoubtedly bad for me on several levels. And probably lowering your respect for me by about five notches.

Do they have a rehab for bad taste?

All is lost

I have discovered that I can download episodes of my longtime obsession, "One Tree Hill," from iTunes ... for $2.

I am at least one season behind, and my cable provider does not carry the CW.

My heart is giggling with joy as I think of all the times in my day I can sneak away to spend time with Nathan, Hayley, Jamie, Skills, Mouth, Millie, Brooke and Julian!

Peer Pressure

You know when your shower needs to be cleaned, but you don't want to do it?

So you pretend you don't see the muck and slime growing in the corners, then it gets worse and you ignore it more, until you have to spend three hours on your hands and knees battling black mold?

(Well, hopefully none of your showers get like that.)

That's been my relationship with the blog lately. It's so much easier to post to a message board, or Facebook, or anywhere at all. So I took a week off. That turned into a month or so, until I got so far behind that I considered scrapping this one and starting a new blog altogether.

Then a friend told me she'd added my blog to her reader, and that she was looking forward to staying updated.

Well, shoot. I can't very well ignore a vocal audience, can I?
Don't think it's just you, Blog, that's been ignored. Here's just a short list of items I'm woefully behind on:

• Training my dog. He peed on someone at the dog park a few weeks ago, and I haven't gotten over it yet.
• Meeting my neice. She's practically walking and talking now, and I haven't even said so much as hello.
• Cleaning my shower. Don't judge me.
• Seeing "Inception."
• Canning the apples from my tree. Half of which have already fallen to the ground. Mostly I'm making my contribution to the deer population locally.

I haven't learned to play guitar yet, either. Or finished a baby blanket for the aforementioned niece.

I think the kindest way for me to describe my 2010 so far is that I've spent it hiding out. But, thanks to Kelsey, I'm back.

So ... what do you want to talk about? :)

Miscellania Roundup

These days I don't see much of my husband.

It's the beginning of the busy season for those in construction (or, at least, window sales), and he's generally working from about 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. So I've got to find ways to amuse myself.

Twice last week I took Koa to the dog park.

Yesterday I used a pass for the Chaminade's fitness facilities. Their workout equipment is so-so, but I wasn't truly there to work out. I was there to sit in the sauna and take a steam. I did, and came home a puddle.

Tonight I have my Weight Watcher's meeting, and then I'm starting something new: I'm going to co-teach my first community CPR class in preparation for my student teaching exam in June.

Squee!

I decided a few months ago that I needed a second job. We could use the income, yes; but mostly I wanted something flexible to keep me busy when my dearest moneymaker is at work until the wee hours. So I took a few classes and am almost certified as an American Heart Association CPR instructor. Once I am official, I can teach classes to community groups as much--or as little--as I'd like! It's fascinating material, and the classes are a blast!

While I'm concentrating on that (and on teaching myself Adobe InDesign CS4, in case you were interested), I'm also doing a little bit of globetrotting. Well, coast-trotting. West-Coast-Trotting.

OK, I visited family in Temecula with my mom and my sister. I only took three pictures the whole time.


This is my sister, Katherine. She's saying, "Dude, why the eff are you taking a picture of me now?" (I guess this is how I'll find out if she reads my blog!)

But I'll say some nice things about her in hopes that she'll let me leave this up. She's hilarious. She's honest. She's got an awesome sense of style (see the scarf and the cool sunglasses?) even if I tease her about owning "Golden Girls" shades. 

She's one of my best friends.

And here she is doing one of our favorite things in the world: Wine tasting.

You just can't go to Temecula and not go wine tasting.

I think that's the reisling that we fell in love with. The tasting room, Tesoro, was fun. Tesoro means "treasure chest" in Italian, and when you bought a flight, you got five gold coins to spend.

To learn more about our tasting experience, you'll have to check Mama's Wine Rack, because I owe her a review.

And just so Katherine doesn't think I'm picking on her:

Control

It will come as no surprise to most people who know me that I am a control freak.

I keep a tight rein on my life: I work set hours, I am rabidly organized, have a weekly meal plan and a scheduled social life. I even eat the same thing for breakfast and lunch on an almost daily basis.

Unfortunately, the Universe seems to have a different plan in store for me these days. Since I'm a big believer in not fighting said Universe, but sitting quietly and listening to what It's trying to say, I'm attempting to learn the lesson.

Which appears to be: Control is an illusion.

These days, I think of control like holding a fistful of feathers. Something is always going to slip out. If I rigidly control my work life and my eating habits, my house slips. If I get the domestic duties under control, finances spiral out of control. When finances are running smoothly, I'll learn that you can't control another person's actions.

And so on.

So where am I going with this? I wish I knew. See, when you're in control, you've got a plan, a path and a three-step process for getting from Point A to Point B.

When the Universe takes over and you slip from the driver's seat, all you can do is look around and really take in Point A. Forget Point B--if it's even there, it doesn't concern you at the moment.

Now that I think about it, that's not such a bad thing.

Maybe I'll even take a look at the lunch menu.

Being a parent can make you crazy

For the past four years, I have been proud to send my stepson to summer camp.

It's a day camp put on by the city of Santa Cruz, and it's awesome. Kids are filtered into age-specific camp-groups at a local park. They go on field trips just about every day, to the beach once a week, and do umpteen arts-and-crafts.

There's a low ratio of campers to counselors, and they used to take the kids to swimming lessons (before the budget cuts that forced Parks & Rec to sell the local pool).

The tiny issue I had with this camp is that it ran us about $600/month. And you had to register/pay for it in April, or it would fill up.

Shockingly, this year, we just didn't have an extra $600 lying around. (Heck, we don't have an extra $40 lying around right now!) As the deadline to register for camp grew closer and closer, I spent more and more wee hours lying awake, listening to this thought cycle:

We have to send him to this camp.

There's no way we can send him to this camp.

You see how each thought leads to the other, but neither is really good at problem-solving?

Finally, one week away from Deadline, I remembered that the Santa Cruz Boys & Girls Club also ran a summer camp. My printer recommended it to me, quite enthusiastically.

But these are my memories from my tenure at the Boys & Girls Club:

• Watching seven episodes of Gilliagan's Island in a row, followed by four I Love Lucys.
• Sneaking off campus to buy candy at the local liquor store.
• Sneaking off campus to what I thought was my cousin's friend's house, but really going to my cousin's first gang fight.

And then I remembered my sister's summer working at a different Boys & Girls Club. She told me one day about having to restrain a kid who took a chain off a door, wrapped it around his fist, and threatened to beat up another kid.

For two days, the 3 a.m. thought-cycle shifted to this:

We can afford the Boys & Girls Club.

There's no way I can send him to the Boys & Girls Club.

Again, not helpful.

Against my better judgement, I visited the Santa Cruz' Boys & Girls Club website, and discovered that membership is a whopping $15/year. And that summer camp costs $40/week.

That's five weeks of camp for $200, as opposed to four weeks for $600.

Hmmm.

The club is also open during his spring break, which typically coincides with no other local camps or schools.

Hmmm.

Then I read the outline of activities available at the club:

• The Arts: Fine arts, crafts, woodworking, movie making, newspaper club, music classes, photography and magazine club.
• Health and Life Skills: Cooking and nutrition classes, anger management workshops, swim lessons, SMART Moves and SMART Girls, Environmental Club, recycling and conservation
• Sports, Fitness and Recreation: Basketball Leagues, Karate Classes, Recreational Swims, Hockey Team, Aquatics Team, Camping, Hiking, Fishing Club, Special Events and Field Trips.

What the heck? The SoCal B&GC of my youth had three activities: TV, Bumper Pool, and stealing wires from the electrical box outside to make bracelets. Field trips were either to the movie room to watch such classics as "Arachnophobia" or to go see your cousin get beat up by some chick.

I read a little deeper, and found out about music lessons, a computer animation program and free swim time in their indoor heated pool. So I decided to take a tour and saw the library, aquatics center, full gymnasium, wood shop/crafts room, music room and cafe.

I saw that kids are now issued an ID card that gets scanned when they enter the club, when they enter and leave each activity area and when they leave.

I saw that the club is located about a block from my favorite public library.

I heard about weekly trips to the beach, and other outings to be determined.

Finally, my 3 a.m. thought cycle got productive:

The Boys & Girls Club sounds awesome.

It's got a lot more activities than the other camp.

We can afford it.

Why am I still thinking about this?

This summer, my stepson will join the thousands (millions?) of Boys & Girls Club alumni. And if I could, I'd join too!

The Curse of the Baby Blanket

I'd like to apologize to my sister-in-law, Staci.

I think I'm the reason that her baby didn't come two weeks early like her doctor said. Today, she's sitting around, 39-weeks-and-five-days pregnant, and it's all my fault.

You see, I'm not finished with the baby blanket I'm knitting for her bundle of joy.

Let me back up. When she was pregnant with her first child, I got straight to work knitting a beautiful blanket. I had it blocked, finished, quilted and embroidered just after her baby shower, and Parker showed up as scheduled.

This time, however, I bit off a little more than I could chew. I'm working on an afghan, not the striped/quilted/embroidered bit I made for Big Brother. And while it's beautiful, it's not quite there yet.

And she's just sitting there, waiting.

So, Stac, I'm sorry! But here's a sneak preview.

There are six of each square--12 of the horizontal stripes--and I've got 12 more squares to knit.

Then I've got to block each one, and sew them together.

Then I've got to knit a border.

But the yarn is the softest I've ever worked with, and the colors will work for a boy or a girl. And there's a whole lot of love going into this project!

Just don't expect it before the baby's first birthday.

And maybe don't look too closely at the finishing work--I'm still figuring all that out.

I'm not wearing Spanx today.

I'll pause while that sinks in.

*   *   *

Two years ago, I set out to lose about 1,000 pounds for my wedding. I didn't make it. But I did manage to maintain the weight I was at, for a year, despite practically living on salad, whole-what pita bread and hummus, and religiously waking up at 4:30 a.m. to hit the gym before work.

As a result, I gained 10 pounds in the month leading up to my wedding, when sleep and cake were more important and available than anything else.

After the wedding, I enjoyed a free-for-all lifestyle when it came to food. I plowed through plate lunches in Maui, gorged myself on pizza back home, and was SHOCKED when my favorite pair of jeans didn't fit anymore just six months later.

So I signed up to run a half-marathon with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training. You know what the best thing is about running 20 miles each week? If you said the natural high you get from running, you are WRONG! It's the fact that you have license to eat whatever you want, and not gain a pound! Bacon, eggs, cheese, bread, butter, pizza ... it was a delicious time in my life.

Unfortunately, the October marathon signaled the end of my love affair with fat and cholesterol. But I cheated. A lot. And by January, I found myself back up at my heaviest weight ever ... back where I started four years ago before I lost my original 30 pounds.

I spent a couple months halfheartedly trying to count calories and cut back, but mostly I just whined and moaned (internally) about my weight.

Finally, in March, I marched (ha ha) myself into a local Weight Watchers, sat through a meeting, and joined up. I told the meeting leader that first day that I already know about eating right and exercise, but for some reason, despite being a very intelligent woman, I couldn't put it together on my own.

I let her know that I was willing to rethink the way I ate, but remain wholeheartedly against "diet" foods like fat-free cheese and snack foods made with ingredients I can't pronounce. That I'd recalibrate breakfast, lunch and snacks, but wouldn't subject my family to meals like enchiladas made from fat-free cream cheese. We'd be enjoying our lasagne, hamburgers and pot roasts, thankyouverymuch.

After I laid down these laws, Rani looked at me quizzically. "So?" she said. After all, eating what you want is kind of the whole Weight Watchers deal. And I did. I switched around my breakfast and lunch, planned better snacks, and ate what I wanted for dinner. Including pasta shells stuffed with three kinds of cheese.

That first week, I lost two pounds. The next week, I lost another two. Two more the following week. And a month after I joined, I lost an insane four pounds in one week.

I've lost 10 pounds (with a minor setback around Easter) since the beginning of March, and today I don't have to wear my Spanx.

I'd call that a vicotry, wouldn't you?

Mmmm ... fresh bread

Have you ever really noticed how many food blogs there are out there?

I'm not pretending to be one of them. But I have started making my own bread. And it's fabulous.

I started out with Perfect Sandwich Bread from RecipeZaar. I'd read about it in a blog I follow, how simple it was to make and how delicious.

The blogger was not lying. It's got nine ingredients. I can handle nine ingredients. And while the step-by-step instructions include 14 separate tasks, they're simple enough. I only had to turn to You Tube once.

It was worth it just to make my house smell like fresh-baked bread. Even if the bread itself weren't delicious. It's white bread, but everything that white bread wishes it could be. And then some. It's like if the cast of Glee and Judd Apatow were a loaf of bread ... so much better than anyone's expectations, and full of delightful surprises!

But I know that white flour is Bad For You, so I wanted to move on to wheat bread. In fact, the week after I made the Perfect Sandwich Bread, I bought a bag of whole wheat flour. Then I found a six-ingredient recipe for Honey Whole Wheat Bread on Tasty Kitchen. SIX INGREDIENTS. That's even easier than the white bread!

This bread is like Perfect Sandwich Bread's European cousin. Earthier, darker and so much more exotic. Our favorite way to eat it is warm with butter and cinnamon-sugar, but toasted with butter and parmesan cheese is equally delicious.

Now my only problem on weekends is which type of bread to make. I've been favoring Honey Whole Wheat, but Perfect Sandwich Bread is right there in the back of my mind, calling out things like "garlic bread" and "raisin toast."

Decisions, decisions.

Did you miss me?

How long has it been since I've posted?

A month? Two months?

Let's just say that 2010 got off to a very rocky start for my family. The world as I know it was turned upside down, and I am just now finding my footing again.

Here is a rundown of my life since Christmas:

1. The hubs left his toxic former employer for a great new opportunity. That opportunity, though, is commission-only sales. He just happens to be the best, so we're anticipating good times ahead. Getting a client base takes time, however, and as a result our income has dwindled down to the bare necessities. For the time being.
2. After the dearest hubs made his employement transition, the Universe intervened. We had to purchase a new laptop, new furniture, repair two cars multiple times, buy a new cell phone and upgrade our truck from get-around-town to spiffy-new-work-vehicle.
3. The Tax Man cameth, and he thumped us hard. We owe just about what we'd been hoping to save for a nice down payment. Or trip to Maui. Really, before the first of the year, it was heads or tails which we'd chose. After our tax preparer let us know that we "make too much money," (a concept I'm still trying to wrap my brain around every time I do the family budget) a house became Priority No. 1.
4. Without going into much detail, we hit a rocky patch in our marriage that had little to do with money, and a whole lot to do with our choices as individuals.

So, my precious', do you forgive me for taking time off the blog in favor of holding my life together? I can happily report now that our financial future is off life support (but still in serious condition), and that our marriage, just days after our first anniversary, is stronger and happier than ever.

Now that everything at home is running smoothly, I can turn my attention to the blogosphere. I have missed you!

Here is what I would like to talk to you about this week:

• The crazy, beautiful, all-consuming baby blanket I'm knitting for my neice/nephew who will be born any minute now ... and why he/she won't be getting it until his/her first birthday.
• Why making my own bread is AWESOME.
• How parent guilt will make you consider crazy things.
• My newfound love for Photoshop, and the reason you'll see lots of crazy things on my blog because of it.
• Why I joined Weight Watchers ... again ... and feel great about it.

As you can see, I've got some things to say. And I'm thrilled to share them with you!

I'm lost!

I love me.

In fact, I love me so much that I'm going to tell you another story about me.

This is a story that I didn't know. My stepmom shared it with me last night, when we were talking about how children tend to take the things adults say very literally.

It appears that, when I was 3, my stepmom ordered an ice cream cake for me from Baskin Robbins. She intended to order it from a store on Pacific Coast Highway, a road that winds down California's coast for hundreds of mile. Unfortunately, she accidentally ordered it from a different store on the same highway, three or four towns away.

In attempting to reach the store, with three-year-old me snug in the backseat, she got turned around.

"Oh dear," she said. "We're lost."

I burst into tears, believing that we were Hansel-&-Gretel lost, never to see our loved ones again.

"Oh NO!," she says I wept, crying giant-sized toddler tears. "But I want to see my daddy again!"

I can't help but wonder how great that ice cream cake tasted when we finally arrived home that night. Probably pretty darn good.

Mmmm, bread ...

Whenever anyone shakes their head at my weight-loss lamentations, and says something about how giving up bread caused them to lose 50 pounds in two days, I confess: I look at them like they're crazy.

If loving bread is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I've owned a bread machine, and loved setting the timer at night to wake up to delicious warm cinnamon bread early the next morning. I did the whole Amish Friendship Bread thing. If there are bananas within three blocks of me, I will turn them into SugarMamaBakingCo's banana bread.

So when I read Wan Life to Live's entry about making the Perfect Sandwich Bread, I looked in my pantry and decided to give it a shot.

It took nine whole ingredients, and then basically put itself together. With minimal effort on my part, my house smelled of freshly baking bread within three hours of my hauling out the Kitchen Aid mixer. And after 35 minutes in the oven .... viola!

Perfect is right ... despite my minimal bread-making experience, it came out beautifully. I waited about 5 minutes before slicing two pieces, slathering them with butter, cinnamon and sugar, and handing one off to my offical Taste Tester, who was working on the garage.

"No thanks," he tried. "I"m not really that hu ..." (This was when he saw that I wasn't actually going to leave the garage until he tasted my bread).

"Hey, wow! This is great!"

Isn't it funny how hunger can come back when you've got a piece of warm, buttery fresh bread in your hands?

This weekend I made two more loafs. One I sacrificed to the snacking gods, and to make garlic toast for Saturday's Oh-So-German dinner, but the other is wrapped in plastic in the fridge for BLT night.

And I just found a recipe for Honey Oatmeal Bread ...

Pretzel Bread Detective

I. Love. Pretzel bread.

And after acquiring my very own Kitchen Aid mixer, I decided to find a way to make it at home. That way, I'd never truly be without this carb-happy delight.

I've successfully used a recipe from Recipezaar several times. It is as follows:

1 1/3 c warm water
2 tbsp warm milk
2 1/2 tsp active dry yeast
1/3 c light brown sugar
2 tbsp butter, melted
4 c all-purpose flour
kosher or pretzel salt
2 quarts cold water
1/2 c baking soda

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with dough hook, mix 1/3 c warm water (105-115 degrees) with the yeast, and let stand until foamy (10 min.)

Add the remaining c warm water along with milk, sugar and melted butter. Swirl to dissolve sugar. Add flour and mix on dough cycle or med-low speed. Remove dough once it forms a firm, pliable ball. Add more flour if necessary.

Knead for two minutes. Roll into a two foot long log and cut into 12 even pieces. Cover with plastic and a damp cloth and let sit for 10 minutes.

Pat into rolls and arrange on lightly floured surface about an inch apart. Cover with lightly oiled plastic wrap. Let rest for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 425. Cover baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large pot, bring the cold water to a rolling boil and add baking soda.

Drop two rolls in at a time, boiling for no longer than 30 seconds, turning once. Carefully remove with tongs or slotted spoon and let drain. Sprinkle with salt. Repeat with remaining rolls.

Arrange rolls on parchment paper and bake on the upper and middle racks of the oven for 8-10 minutes, or until browned all over. Shift pans from top to bottom and back to front halfway through for even baking.

I love this bread. It tastes exactly like a pretzel, with a chewy center and a hard brown crust. I load it up with kosher salt for maximum effect.

Today, I tried a different recipe from Two Bites in Suburbia, hoping to create an entire loaf of pretzel bread ... and just wanting to be different. It goes:

2 ¼ tsp yeast
1 cup water (110-120 degrees)
2 Tbsp room temperature milk
1 Tbsp dark brown sugar
3 Tbsp butter
1 tsp kosher salt
2 ½ – 3 cups bread flour
4 quarts water
½ cup baking soda
Kosher salt to taste
2 Tbsp melted butter


Add yeast, water, milk, brown sugar and butter into a large bowl, whisking until all ingredients are combined. Let mixture rest for 10 minutes for yeast to activate. Mix in kosher salt. Start by adding two cups of the flour to the bowl, combining it with other ingredients. Add more flour as it’s needed, reserving just a bit for coating the dough mat later.

The dough should form a slightly tacky, but firm ball. Oil the bowl, place the dough ball in the bowl, and cover with a damp towel for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, knead the dough by hand or machine for at least 5-10 minutes until the dough is elastic and satiny. Place dough back in the bowl and recover for 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and bring the 4 quarts of water to a boil. When the water is boiling, slowly add the baking soda.

Remove the dough from the bowl and gently degas it. Form two separate balls of dough, forming them into the shape you want. Drop one of the smaller balls into the baking soda bath for no longer than 30 seconds, turning it once to guarantee both sides covered. Drain the excess water from the dough and place it on an oiled baking sheet. Repeat with second ball of dough.

Sprinkle the kosher salt over the bread to your specific tastes, and make sure to use a knife to cut a small incision on the top of the bread so the dough has somewhere to expand.

Cook the bread for 22 minutes, rotating the baking sheet once. Once removed from the oven, immediately brush the melted butter over the loaves to guarantee a soft crust.

The result was OK. The loaf had a great crust, but the chewy insides were entirely unremarkable. If not for the kosher salt, I could have been enjoying a regular ol' dinner roll.
 
Looking at the recipe, my favorite uses more brown sugar and more flour. QED, if you want good pretzel bread, don't skimp on the sugar!