Meet my pals, Russell & Hazel

Okay. New material culture obsession… For those of you on a low carb “diet” (emphasis on the first three letters of that word because it’s just sick and wrong to cut bread out of your life. Get a life. Eat some bread.) this will be much more pleasing then yesterday’s Rice Krispie obsession…

Gal Pal Sue introduced me to RussellandHazel.com — the online office supply store of our dreams. Our dear friend MarthaFelon introduced it to her via her television show. It’s a pricey little place but has the dearest notebooks and storage boxes.

Enjoy.

Snap! Crackle! Pop! Yum!

Our (and by that I mean baby & my) new obsession is homemade Rice Krispie blobs. I will divulge my secret recipe…

Start off with twice the butter “they” usually tell you to use. First of all “they” say you can use margarine or butter as though the two were interchangeable. “They” are idiots. There is a huge difference. So don’t just use 3 tablespoons of butter or margarine– use about 6 tablespoons of good butter.

Melt that till it’s almost liquid then toss in an entire bag of Kraft brand Jet Puffed marshmallows. This isn’t a place to skimp on marshmallow quality. Jet Puffed are the puffiest. Let’s not quibble about the merits of the heavier Campfire brand– let us just assume that the pregnant woman knows of what she speaks and buy the good (and right) marshmallows. Kraft Jet Puffed. The whole bag. Yes, I realize that most instructions have you count out 38-40 marshmallows. This is a collosal waste of time. There are 38-40 marshmallows in a bag.

Stir over medium heat until melty. Remove from heat. Toss in a little vanilla. Don’t use fake vanilla. Use real vanilla. There isn’t a valid reason on earth for fake vanilla. Or bad vanilla. Go buy a little bottle of good vanilla. (I’ll wait. Actually, while you’re at the store will you pick up some Bagel Bites for me? They sound good.) The vanilla will bubble up. Yell “Opa!” or “Bucket!” or whatever word it is you like to yell.

Mix in 5 cups of Rice Krispies all at once. (Yes, you really should have pre-measured these. But you should also have read all the way through this first. What are you? A moron? Haven’t you ever cooked before? I can’t help you if you’re just plain stupid… Help me out here.) Don’t use a generic brand or anything that might at first appear to be Kellogg’s Rice Krispies but, in actuality, turn out to be something else. Just stick with what we know. Stir. Toss in another few krispies if it’s entirely too gooey but don’t get anywhere near 6 cups in there or they’ll be dry and yucky.

Scoop them out onto two buttered plates. (See? Really should read ahead…) Do not, under any circumstances, EVER press them into a pan. This is why your Rice Krispie Squares are inferior to my Rice Krispie blobs. Your’s are all compacted. Mine are light and airy and delicious. Clean out the pot by scraping the hot gooey goodness unto a spatula and then into your watering mouth.

Enjoy. Bon Appetite. Manja.

Some other day we’ll discuss why my sister and I make better Chocolate No Bake (“Scripture”) Cookies then you do.

Like a barrel of, well, monkeys…

Sorry to be so silent gentle, faithful (few) readers– we’ve been consumed with the nursery this week and trying to get it peeled (bad wallpaper), painted (happy greens! Thank you MarthaFelon for the “greengage/laundry yard/malachite/lamb” room of our dreams.), crowned, and railed… and now there are monkeys to be painted.

Luckily I have a sister who, in her life before my nieces (and very few of us remember that) was an interior designer… and my mother who missed her calling as a muralist. Robby has hung in there loyally, too, sanding the glue off the walls and writing checks without too much of a whimper.

I’m looking forward to the next phase (when the last little monkey has been added to the troop and the chair rail has been affixed to the wall) when we can play with fabrics and make the curtains, etc.

Hope the little monkey likes it.

Terri the Hummingbird

Ever have to take a glucose level screening test? I had one this morning. Typical pregnancy test… involving the usual duo of blood and urine samples. What set this one apart is the bug juice you drink to kick off the fun. I was given a choice of flavors– orange, lemon-lime, or cola and went with the orange. It was surprisingly fizzy and ridiculously sweet. Ugh. Like the cheap, terrible storebrand orange sodas brought in by room mothers in elementary school parties. Ugh. Ugh. (I suddenly craved brownies and cheesepuffs…)

The Monkey wasn’t too sure about it either– I’m sure he/she wondered why there was a departure from our usual breakfast fare. He/she flipped and flopped, both of us hopped up on sugar and now coming down hard.

Makes me want to apologize to the hummingbirds.

Rip a few pages out of THE NOTEBOOK

I went with three gal pals to see The Notebook yesterday. All of us have husbands who refused to even think of seeing the trailers for it… so, fortified with a nice, long lunch and Judy’s pack of tissues we settled in for a glorified Chick Flick viewing.

Of the four of us, two sobbed most of the way through it. The other two of us agreed that it was a nice story, sad movie, but not necessarily tear inducing. (The popcorn, however gets two thumbs up. Delicious!)

SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT (Quit reading if you haven’t seen it or read the book) the problem is that it ended two beats later than it should have. The old Noah sits, defeated, after the old Allie lapses into dementia again and has to be calmed down with a hypodermic needle. I’m no fan of Gena Rowlands. She bugs me. I don’t know why– it’s just thus… so, in my opinion, they couldn’t get that shot into her hysteronic fit having thigh soon enough. (Couldn’t the nurse have slapped her senseless? Hit her in the head with the bottle of faux wine?) Anyway. There sits old Noah, quietly in his room with a lap full of old photographs that the camera pans over… all photos of he and and Allie and their obviously happy life (apparently, when we last saw him and he still looked like Ryan Gosling was the very last time that happened… and then, when, off camera, they went into the house together he morphed into a young James Garner and she into a younger Gena Rowlands because all of the pictures were of Garner and Rowlands?) and we see the first page of the Notebook (which was actually a little hard cover book and not a notebook at all) and Allie’s loopy handwriting saying that this was the story of their life and he just needed to read it and she’d come back to him. (Did she know she was going to suffer mental degeneration?) The light fades. Music swells. I think, “oh good. Now I can go to the bathroom.” But no. Suddenly he’s wisked away to the hospital on a gurney with a heart attack in process. A long, pointless bit insues with Gena Rowlands looking confused. (Me, too, Gena, the movie should be over.) He returns, recovering, and sneaks his way into her room where she knows him (because apparently that dementia thing is just her way of getting personal time away from him and not necessarily a consistent problem) and he proceeds to lie down next to her. Lights fade. Again, I am grateful for the opportunity to use the bathroom– but no. Again I am thwarted by the damn lights coming up on a nurse discovering the dead couple. She pats their joined hands and walks out somewhat hurriedly to alert someone (?) with the same expression on her face that I have on mine– thank God they’re both dead so I can go to the freakin’ bathroom. Birds flap. Music soars. Credits play. I spot the name “Bozydora” or something like that. Hmmm. Put it on the list of What The Hell Were HIS Parents Thinking….And speaking of things that make you go “Huh?” Can anyone explain where their asian looking child came from? END OF SPOILER ALERT

It’ll get a lot of play on Lifetime: The Scorned Woman Channel, I assure you. They can double bill it with The Bridges of Madison County. (Don’t even get me started on that waste of tree…

Cool, clear water

(For those of you now infected with the old Sons of the Pioneers song I’m terribly sorry… Try humming Waltzing Mathilda if it gets really bad.)

This weekend baby and I went swimming for the first time. Clad in my oh-so-attractive Old Navy maternity swimsuit I dipped my toes then subsequent other body parts into Douglas Lake. Mind you… it’s a spring fed lake and my approach has always been the long drawn out edging in… so it took a while before shoulders were also submersed.

But Oh! Was it ever worth it! What a fantastic feeling to float again. The little monkey seemingly slept through most of it (though we may have given he/she hypothermia… so maybe it was just too cold to risk a kick?) but the monkey’s mama enjoyed it very much.

We’re lucky to have such a nice lake, too, I realize. Clear water, sandy bottom… Only when we were out to our shoulders did I suspect that the hard object found by my toe might be a “human femur bone!” (as I yelled it) but was quickly reassured by Robby that it was, in fact, only a clam shell. (oh.)

Splish splash.

Silly baby

Our flip flopping baby is definitely growing. Or at least I am. Most are kind and say, “Oh! How pregnant you look now! How quaint!” but there are a few that exclaim, “Holy Mary Mother of God– you’re huge!” upon seeing me. Not sure what to make of all this. Certainly I feel big but that’s because I’m not used to this protruding belly.

Mostly though I feel happy to be gestating this little creature. He/She and I have a lot of fun together. Our newest game is “Kick Mommy When She Bends Over”… it’s a laugh riot I tell you. Right up there with “No Mommy– I Don’t Want You To Sleep On That Side” and “Feed Me The Frozen HoHo Now!”

Not sure if we’re behind the ball yet but we haven’t registered for baby things or started the nursery… We have signed up for baby classes… but it’s all a little overwhelming. Lots to do and zero experience on our part.

I’m knitting a blanket– that should count for something. And Robby’s reading The Expectant Father…

And we’re laughing a lot. Especially when my belly wobbles suddenly while I’m sitting perfectly still. Yes, kiddo, we DO know we’re under a deadline. But remember we’re new at this.

Emeril, who?

Robby grills the best chicken ever. He really has a knack for it. Last night I brought home a split chicken breast from the market and with just olive oil, fresh rosemary stalks, salt, and pepper he transformed it into quite the entree. He is the Grill King, Master of the Grill, Grill Boy…

And he does it quietly. No ridiculous outbursts of, “Bam!” from the deck. Just the boy with his tongs, a beer, and the little black dog running in circles with his red ball.

Best place to eat in town.