tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27565599525293207682024-03-13T20:40:36.429-07:00Sugar Bowl MixAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-43585655615511997082011-03-15T20:40:00.000-07:002011-03-15T20:40:58.304-07:00The power of babies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkd9MjtWXIzGgwCj1L-0wtdBB9bmt85hwpf7Qmd8tNXHLH5wkBcQE2CVOulDu5S7B0SuQJnC108Z8HLec4ESNs-BwyXJfQpDtIofkqs0YTl2f0z0iSn-IVs_5HPxGWMh6w0W9KG7pv0D2/s1600/IMG_2419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkd9MjtWXIzGgwCj1L-0wtdBB9bmt85hwpf7Qmd8tNXHLH5wkBcQE2CVOulDu5S7B0SuQJnC108Z8HLec4ESNs-BwyXJfQpDtIofkqs0YTl2f0z0iSn-IVs_5HPxGWMh6w0W9KG7pv0D2/s640/IMG_2419.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
The time change (and a sleepover that didn't involve much sleep) has been very grumpifying to our entire household. But this afternoon catching a glimpse of this three day old baby, born on Sunday, completely altered my mood.<br />
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Gentle brown eyes, spindly elegant legs, a short stubby tail, long whiskers, a fuzzy bay coat, two socks, a star, a snip giving way to pink, and a total inability to stay still for a picture made my day.<br />
<br />
The power of babies.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPJ-CIdsFQaTL7_c-qM62DcRwoIcCyOh8ig9CPkkqa6_IZJ0Sm9mlJykkp5HIFCF3lOj2-3145tD6UNLQIeDoL5s-07mSRPcdYZP2xykEU7dvYAC8EJ7ODLM8nqL2Y2BAuYEmZQNNj7vB/s1600/IMG_2418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPJ-CIdsFQaTL7_c-qM62DcRwoIcCyOh8ig9CPkkqa6_IZJ0Sm9mlJykkp5HIFCF3lOj2-3145tD6UNLQIeDoL5s-07mSRPcdYZP2xykEU7dvYAC8EJ7ODLM8nqL2Y2BAuYEmZQNNj7vB/s640/IMG_2418.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<i>Participating in Wordless Wednesday at <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/">5 Minutes for Mom</a> and <a href="http://www.alotofloves.com/2011/03/personality-evolution-wednesday-of-few-words-linky.html">A Lot of Loves</a>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-81943486813292831572011-03-14T21:45:00.000-07:002011-03-14T21:45:02.688-07:00Tackling the Los Angeles underpasses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02JR61bLUUHISEF3LSA3UZ0kIG1RsIBZlu8CzUnEPLhNrGJyij-lBRxdBY7ug3R12-gJ8FtzrYnHuiZXDjrmSN-Htbvxtk2LZVDPd43rG4GykOwmESPt8OR4d8sEiW9tJYsE48kaX6ruE/s1600/IMG_2396.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02JR61bLUUHISEF3LSA3UZ0kIG1RsIBZlu8CzUnEPLhNrGJyij-lBRxdBY7ug3R12-gJ8FtzrYnHuiZXDjrmSN-Htbvxtk2LZVDPd43rG4GykOwmESPt8OR4d8sEiW9tJYsE48kaX6ruE/s640/IMG_2396.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><br />
Somehow, in all the years I've lived in Los Angeles I've never had more than a fifteen to twenty minute commute to work or the girls' schools. And those commutes never involved freeways.<br />
<br />
Until this year. Now I drive fifteen miles. Which may not sound far. But it involves four freeways, one very badly designed freeway exchange where I have to merge three times and get over four lanes all in the space of less than a quarter mile, and twenty-three underpasses. Yes, twenty-three.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfFPvi5bkjPYmoCdVLv-tGIdUIQPeg1XvE9_LzHIQKSnmZZ_H-t1TbEsFxB-plP-gLJZXdx7eiWjk1YR2MiU_frZqXFTCzZUm-sXaEA2jbXzqkDnE8bg7eCPX2rACgsAr5WztbW51OoHB/s1600/IMG_2389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfFPvi5bkjPYmoCdVLv-tGIdUIQPeg1XvE9_LzHIQKSnmZZ_H-t1TbEsFxB-plP-gLJZXdx7eiWjk1YR2MiU_frZqXFTCzZUm-sXaEA2jbXzqkDnE8bg7eCPX2rACgsAr5WztbW51OoHB/s640/IMG_2389.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I'm a confident driver. Eight lanes of freeways, multiple merges, monster truck grills in my rear view mirror, rear enders happening next to me (last month), cars on fire (last week) - none of these bother me particularly.<br />
<br />
I credit Toronto's Don Valley Parkway for teaching me well. I drove the DVP's middle lane three or four times every week starting when I was sixteen. Los Angeles drivers are tame after driving with the insane Toronto drivers who run you off the road (or at least give you the finger) if you're speeding slower than 85 miles per hour.<br />
<br />
But aggressive drivers have nothing on those underpasses. LA is earthquake country. And something about sitting, waiting, under those underpasses completely freaks me out. Seeing the tragic, horrific images from Japan's earthquake over the last week really drove this freak-out home for me.<br />
<br />
Today Caroline documented some of the underpasses. The girls helped me count them as we drove home. They shouted in excitement as each underpass went by.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMacxBkD7HKrPPGEynlCv0ApGP687DA2e6PCJRppa2su2_F7g46BGotxeQLCzPDM6KrmAlUTY9x_m7iQSdT2fRwWVlPB8RR3pjyNlWOKJkiu37i8D8R8HP0RZQuaQLGoRfcFPbr_fRQCK/s1600/IMG_2306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMacxBkD7HKrPPGEynlCv0ApGP687DA2e6PCJRppa2su2_F7g46BGotxeQLCzPDM6KrmAlUTY9x_m7iQSdT2fRwWVlPB8RR3pjyNlWOKJkiu37i8D8R8HP0RZQuaQLGoRfcFPbr_fRQCK/s640/IMG_2306.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I didn't tell them the underpasses scare me. That I step on the gas to make the turn onto the freeway so we don't have to sit under the underpass waiting for the next light. That I shift into second and creep along if the light ahead is red so I don't have to pull to a stop under the underpass. That I wait for traffic to move forward beyond the underpasses if the freeway is a parking lot. Which it is so often.<br />
<br />
No, I'll keep this freak-out to myself. And continue tackling the underpasses, clenching my teeth and gripping the gear shift tightly when I find myself staring up at steel and cement rafters, the beat of the overhead traffic drowning out my own heartbeat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizACAbg-BsS4_8P7Cz6zOZOisURBD7g0gFW7-vffTE6rbyJ6aL2vZ4pUTwcGQbWthEi_Ul7Apc29jvOhKI1Qdv7Kdk_lDyuPsuWNUQNjqeIhVjRk6GViRhtFnyXp83i87ogM5F4S3l99L6/s1600/IMG_2305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizACAbg-BsS4_8P7Cz6zOZOisURBD7g0gFW7-vffTE6rbyJ6aL2vZ4pUTwcGQbWthEi_Ul7Apc29jvOhKI1Qdv7Kdk_lDyuPsuWNUQNjqeIhVjRk6GViRhtFnyXp83i87ogM5F4S3l99L6/s640/IMG_2305.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
What's your freak-out?<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>Participating in Tackle it Tuesday at <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/">5 Minutes for Mom</a>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-34849259100580756212011-03-13T21:14:00.000-07:002011-03-13T21:14:04.746-07:00Chocolate soufflé<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jboY-jSEotXxVXwfyL22PZDFeKUblG28pJ5B6izz7o9iRdNRiQTZZsgbFnOeipaKmJZ3oQh4PsJDjrYHAglQr8gj-M5aNgJn9JJbTQqxWbPlUmfF5MaMjsixX0eM50qF-XHwfL9AILn9/s1600/IMG_2351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jboY-jSEotXxVXwfyL22PZDFeKUblG28pJ5B6izz7o9iRdNRiQTZZsgbFnOeipaKmJZ3oQh4PsJDjrYHAglQr8gj-M5aNgJn9JJbTQqxWbPlUmfF5MaMjsixX0eM50qF-XHwfL9AILn9/s640/IMG_2351.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
A story unto itself.<br />
<br />
A satisfying end to a Sunday family dinner.<br />
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I made this chocolate soufflé from a recipe in my old, tattered copy of <i>Fannie Farmers</i>.<br />
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I added more chocolate. Of course.<br />
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It's not as difficult as it sounds.<br />
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Search for the Julia Child within you. You can make soufflé, too!<br />
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<b>Ingredients</b><br />
3 ounces unsweetened chocolate<br />
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons sugar<br />
2 tablespoons butter<br />
2 tablespoons flour<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
3/4 cup milk<br />
3 eggs, separated<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
<br />
<b>Directions</b><br />
Melt the chocolate and 2 tablespoons of the sugar in the microwave for 3 minutes at 50% power until it's melted. Stir together and set aside.<br />
<br />
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Whisk in the flour and cook for 2 to 3 minutes over low heat. Gradually stir in the milk. Cook until the mixture is just ready to boil. It will be thick. Add the chocolate and the vanilla.<br />
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Beat the egg yolks well. Add a little of the warm chocolate mixture to the egg yolks and stir well. Add the eggs to the rest of the chocolate mixture and beat well. Set aside.<br />
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In a mixer beat the egg whites until foamy. Gradually add the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar, beating until the egg whites are stiff but not dry. This the key to an amazing soufflé. <b>Don't overbeat</b>!<br />
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Fold 1/4 of the egg whites into the chocolate mixture. Add this mixture to the egg whites. Gently fold into the whites. It's okay if there are white streaks in the mixture. <b>Don't over fold</b>!<br />
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Butter a soufflé dish (I used a 2 quart dish, but you can use a 1 1/2 quart dish). Sprinkle the dish with sugar. Gently spoon the mixture into the dish.<br />
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Bake at 325 degrees for 25-30 minutes (depending on your oven). Don't open the oven during the first 15 minutes!<br />
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Watch the soufflé closely. It can take it 15 minutes to start rising, so don't panic if it doesn't start to rise right away.<br />
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Serve immediately with whipped cream.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmC6bnQsaMPA5dqiGif1UXIVbvbpi4T2AmjJPluVpJ6DLYVsH_otYcd_RUsuJqLZVnwrEAWTB-LY94kB_AbEyuD0tGuAyltHBY7ZkxoMXT3eYUs8M9p6N1BFZteP_hWF4P92atb-FdPwN/s1600/IMG_2376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmC6bnQsaMPA5dqiGif1UXIVbvbpi4T2AmjJPluVpJ6DLYVsH_otYcd_RUsuJqLZVnwrEAWTB-LY94kB_AbEyuD0tGuAyltHBY7ZkxoMXT3eYUs8M9p6N1BFZteP_hWF4P92atb-FdPwN/s640/IMG_2376.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-20835448439678367012011-03-09T21:31:00.000-08:002011-03-09T21:31:21.465-08:00My memorable neighbor CharlieWhen I saw the prompt <i>a memorable neighbor</i> from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat</a> this week I just couldn't resist.<br />
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Charlie Sheen is my memorable neighbor.<br />
<br />
Now, I'll be honest. We don't live next door to him or even a few doors away. We're not fancy like that. Not that he's fancy, but you know what I mean. However, we do live <s>sort of</s> close to him. We live in a canyon and he lives above us, where other <s>silly </s>Hollywood celebrities reside, on Mulholland Drive.<br />
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Here's a picture taken from my canyon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdAkw9GhWs7t3T3FibNgE2U4_gSw8vrz-W0tznIcMuNfHJUdgouJvnWLFubHfs35qVnLgAgnCrxYDM6tX1ncQtb3ElOs8ltuV9VwbOWzTIWdO4rSGEz8NfztmQ3M0bB5snxbhjgZSfben/s1600/IMG_2384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdAkw9GhWs7t3T3FibNgE2U4_gSw8vrz-W0tznIcMuNfHJUdgouJvnWLFubHfs35qVnLgAgnCrxYDM6tX1ncQtb3ElOs8ltuV9VwbOWzTIWdO4rSGEz8NfztmQ3M0bB5snxbhjgZSfben/s640/IMG_2384.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Do you see where the green meets the sky? That's Mulholland Drive where Charlie(this is LA people, no need for last names) does his thing. And before you go getting ideas that we live in one of those weird houses on the left, we don't.<br />
<br />
Charlie has caused me to lose sleep twice in the last year so even though he's not our next door, or our few-doors-down-neighbor, I feel justified saying I'm his neighbor.<br />
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No, I didn't lose sleep because I'm obsessed with him and was worried about his erratic behavior. I don't watch his sitcom, or even know what it's about.<br />
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I lost sleep because when he drove his car over Mulholland Drive in a drunken stupor and then called the car in as stolen, every network in town had a helicopter over his house which meant every network in town had a helicopter over <i>our</i> house.<br />
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And it was three o'clock in the morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here's the thing about canyons. They carry sound. So when <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/10/coyote-party.html">coyotes have a party</a> up the canyon it sounds like they're having a party in our backyard. When the people in Warren Beatty's old house on Mulholland have a party, it sounds like my next door neighbors are having a party.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So all those helicopters were LOUD. Really loud. Shutting our 1940s cottage windows did nothing to help keep out the noise.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And the spotlights? Let's just say it's a good thing I've got kids and wear decent pajamas, because our bedroom was lit up like it was a movie set.</div><br />
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Tim gave up on sleep at five o'clock, got out of bed, went downstairs, turned on the TV and then came back up to report it was Charlie before heading out for a morning workout. When I got up at six-thirty there was just one helicopter left.<br />
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Charlie repeated the exact same scenario all over again only four months later. The nerve.<br />
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Charlie is so manic he doesn't realize us regular people slumming it down in the canyons aren't graced with tiger blood and need sleep. Lots of sleep.<br />
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We're getting ready to move. So Charlie, soon I'll be free. Free at last. Of you.<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-29090140852545032382011-03-08T21:49:00.000-08:002011-03-09T12:41:32.580-08:00Sylvester Stallone's riding helmet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhhgHBCWSzz5mPnTFnZuWm7BvEU4f7IyrX1bMo4t-IsiHjjADE1QsuhgCQ66EX-KWIVn5FBXdN67WkLkt9EptX1gLe1P6zV0RJI2SPnhk8Ec9L9HCz2q6O6oM0zqxizULxmCeR8slmaZt/s1600/IMG_2381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhhgHBCWSzz5mPnTFnZuWm7BvEU4f7IyrX1bMo4t-IsiHjjADE1QsuhgCQ66EX-KWIVn5FBXdN67WkLkt9EptX1gLe1P6zV0RJI2SPnhk8Ec9L9HCz2q6O6oM0zqxizULxmCeR8slmaZt/s640/IMG_2381.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My riding helmet belongs to Sylvester Stallone.<br />
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At one point when I worked in Hollywood one of my best friends was an assistant (the film biz's fancy way of saying secretary/ runner/ script reader) at Sylvester Stallone's production company.<br />
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My friend had a lot of interesting duties. I used to tag along regularly for day trips to Sly's Malibu beach home to "check it out" and makes sure everything was as it should be. This particular duty included lounging on the beach and taking a dip in the sparkling pool that had SLY emblazoned on the floor. I changed in one of the bedrooms, a shrine to Sly that was filled with framed photos and posters of his holiness and that was painted an unlikely pink. <br />
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Another of my friend's duties was was sorting through the fan mail, much of which included gifts - everything from golf clubs, food, books, pictures to, yup, riding helmets.<br />
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I don't know if Sylvester Stallone rides or is even interested in horses. But apparently one of his fans was into horses enough to go to Millers, an upscale equestrian store in Manhattan, purchase a black velvet riding helmet, package it up and ship it out to Sly care of his production company.<br />
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I've ridden horses my entire life so as soon as my friend opened the riding helmet he was on the phone to me asking me if I wanted it. (Note to anyone thinking of buying the perfect gift for your favorite celebrity: Save your time and money. The celebrity will never see it; assistants take everything.)<br />
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The helmet didn't fit. It was too small. Who buys a size 6 1/4 riding helmet for Sly? I called up Millers and explained I had received the wrong size helmet as a gift. With no questions asked and no receipt they told me to mail it back COD and they would send out the right size. I had to send two helmets back before the perfect fit arrived. I've been wearing it ever since.<br />
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By the way, the pony in the background is Mary-Kate Olsen's old pony, CD.<br />
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Such is life in Los Angeles.<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in Wordless Wednesday at </i><a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/34840/34840/"><i>5 Minutes for Mom</i></a><i> and </i><a href="http://www.alotofloves.com/2011/03/kitchen-aides-wednesday-of-few-words.html"><i>A Lot of Loves</i></a><i>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-25865538648334927582011-03-06T21:00:00.000-08:002011-03-06T21:00:02.443-08:00When life gives you lemons: Lemon Cake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWk1m2ytRlUigq7ZOjgyBdpXq4waJdkJ629kmZnUESy5XTySERh5ZNh9HZs4pz5vl7LccchxcR-sNDPY0nhdG9JGQwCN1fccvPN6F75MFttcsLHdEv5x5SN2KhXZmyI5GZhY5ONqYIrdz/s1600/IMG_2362.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWk1m2ytRlUigq7ZOjgyBdpXq4waJdkJ629kmZnUESy5XTySERh5ZNh9HZs4pz5vl7LccchxcR-sNDPY0nhdG9JGQwCN1fccvPN6F75MFttcsLHdEv5x5SN2KhXZmyI5GZhY5ONqYIrdz/s640/IMG_2362.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Life has taken some interesting twists and turns over the last six months. So I'm trying to adopt a <i>when life gives you lemons, make lemonade</i> attitude.<br />
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As it happens, we have three lemon trees. Here's one of them:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM36TZ9NZFaCu3p1DINYcoSUEyFFaChji7oqBFQJdSPx96tDreEUU45bGHOt-awOLGIlbmH2v3E1urkSykRj-dbtGFmpZm8YJL5_c_KUfxC3mDAA-JfZKZRKbAnBha-qAzYyJCcazMa8Zn/s1600/IMG_2360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM36TZ9NZFaCu3p1DINYcoSUEyFFaChji7oqBFQJdSPx96tDreEUU45bGHOt-awOLGIlbmH2v3E1urkSykRj-dbtGFmpZm8YJL5_c_KUfxC3mDAA-JfZKZRKbAnBha-qAzYyJCcazMa8Zn/s640/IMG_2360.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It's full of fruit that smells of lemony fresh spring.<br />
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The lemons come in all shapes. This one was my favorite pick today:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPnHKdCFopW1A7OpgFKPKPcQGpijEcLroD9LXbGcS5M6Yi3FtU-Sx4ooXle-iwCLzMev5tCGdAunVb1sMGr_SnrU99ckxMfJSRdp-nBI5Nu0wYWrfyXlTrUY2lW30zzQYBSTMMwz8SkWz/s1600/IMG_2365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPnHKdCFopW1A7OpgFKPKPcQGpijEcLroD9LXbGcS5M6Yi3FtU-Sx4ooXle-iwCLzMev5tCGdAunVb1sMGr_SnrU99ckxMfJSRdp-nBI5Nu0wYWrfyXlTrUY2lW30zzQYBSTMMwz8SkWz/s640/IMG_2365.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Its gently gnarled, mature form reminds me of a wise grandmother. As it happens, my wise mother-in-law is visiting from Tennessee right now to help me get our house ready for sale. She brought <i>Southern Living</i> magazine with her and, as it happens, it contains a recipe for lemon-coconut pound cake.<br />
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Katie loves the lemon loaf at Starbucks. So when she asked if I would try to replicate it, everything came together: Lemon tree, lemons, mother-in-law, <i>Southern Living</i>, Katie, baking.<br />
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I based my recipe loosely on <i>Southern Living</i>'s recipe. I omitted the coconut and made it more breakfast friendly because that's when Katie likes to eat it. I added wheat germ, whole wheat flour, brown sugar, replaced the butter with olive oil, and the sour cream with fat-free Greek yogurt.<br />
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Here's what we got:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKNuPW5H0qemxxya_PhKaD-CrA77i9Uko56m_APb73A9XQTO8-0QCnNkYt6d0Y7LQ9ZIc2lEZFJNiCsWsO-LusuFyyvL4eSfb8DYIIeIlZn7IuMtMbSIOwzWc_BA297zibNOGqemXwKLM/s1600/IMG_2357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjKNuPW5H0qemxxya_PhKaD-CrA77i9Uko56m_APb73A9XQTO8-0QCnNkYt6d0Y7LQ9ZIc2lEZFJNiCsWsO-LusuFyyvL4eSfb8DYIIeIlZn7IuMtMbSIOwzWc_BA297zibNOGqemXwKLM/s640/IMG_2357.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Moist, tender, slightly crunchy (thanks to wheat germ), and full of zesty lemon freshness. Katie declared this the best lemon loaf ever. Way better than the Starbucks version.<br />
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Here's how you make it:<br />
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<b>Ingredients</b><br />
1 cup whole wheat flour<br />
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons wheat germ<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">1/8 teaspoon baking soda</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">1/2 teaspoon salt</div><br />
1/2 cup olive oil<br />
1 cup brown sugar<br />
1/3 cup white sugar<br />
3 eggs (replace with egg whites if you're going for lower cholesterol!)<br />
2 tablespoon freshly grated lemon zest<br />
1/4 cup lemon juice<br />
1/4 cup fat free Greek yogurt<br />
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<b>Directions</b><br />
Mix the olive oil and sugars together. Add the eggs one at a time.<br />
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Stir together the flour, the wheat germ, the salt, and the baking soda.<br />
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Add 1/2 the flour mixture to the oil mixture. Stir in the lemon juice. Add the rest of the flour mixture and then add the yogurt.<br />
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Pour into a greased and floured 9 x 5-inch loaf pan.<br />
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Bake at 325 degrees for 50 - 60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.<br />
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Let the cake cool in the pan for 15 minutes before removing.<br />
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Spoon the lemon glaze over the cake.<br />
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If you can, wait to eat the cake until the following day, giving the lemon flavor time to soak through.<br />
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<b>Lemon Glaze:</b><br />
Mix together 2 cups powdered sugar with 2 tablespoons lemon juice and 2 teaspoons of milk.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7DZ84NUqFqT-CZxo4bx2RJAIRlhwtSseAlWHFS0VX4WDPz3_Kf_wp-2LSZ86hlFu_qTV3jNPsAOp5nwy4_u_6OX7LeRrtjBdEYXp98BHkL7WK6FqzFWwG9RDwpGpFDTnL7MvuPuPxfFQu/s1600/IMG_2371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7DZ84NUqFqT-CZxo4bx2RJAIRlhwtSseAlWHFS0VX4WDPz3_Kf_wp-2LSZ86hlFu_qTV3jNPsAOp5nwy4_u_6OX7LeRrtjBdEYXp98BHkL7WK6FqzFWwG9RDwpGpFDTnL7MvuPuPxfFQu/s640/IMG_2371.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-63962281158463816532011-03-01T21:07:00.000-08:002011-03-01T21:07:44.030-08:00Snow in Los Angeles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1fGIt_DgJd6AGwRDKbKD-Ou3dbY_aEZ9QZx0D0z34SSUThXFAucC0VbWqtPMc_yX9ClCjBqtaZJLm3sJZDsJUTjLx3qMEqJM_4__o6PQlzXB_LQICtLbHiizHuNuRtotFrx5NWIZgqNF/s1600/IMG_2313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1fGIt_DgJd6AGwRDKbKD-Ou3dbY_aEZ9QZx0D0z34SSUThXFAucC0VbWqtPMc_yX9ClCjBqtaZJLm3sJZDsJUTjLx3qMEqJM_4__o6PQlzXB_LQICtLbHiizHuNuRtotFrx5NWIZgqNF/s640/IMG_2313.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Snow in Los Angeles is a rare event. So Saturday when it started snowing as we were driving home from lunch everyone started squealing in excitement.<br />
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Even this gal who grew up in the snow squealed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9paxYGa7nBAV7Pw_WoWOi9eqmOJWWtkTy8L9eiyU2i-fWNd1pm81AnjgezWB5nxg772OFFRnmr9LTtm892FFIMrn0SpiJWByGpRiniFpjLY6L_La3qK9HNiIWy8SeiwNzK_zqxalOKRe/s1600/IMG_2314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9paxYGa7nBAV7Pw_WoWOi9eqmOJWWtkTy8L9eiyU2i-fWNd1pm81AnjgezWB5nxg772OFFRnmr9LTtm892FFIMrn0SpiJWByGpRiniFpjLY6L_La3qK9HNiIWy8SeiwNzK_zqxalOKRe/s640/IMG_2314.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Those of you who live in snow, please refrain from laughing.<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>Participating in Wordless Wednesday at <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/34626/wordless-wednesday-spring-snow/">5 Minutes for Mom</a> and <a href="http://www.alotofloves.com/">A lot of Loves</a>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-64837170647694845492011-02-27T21:21:00.000-08:002011-02-27T21:21:00.757-08:00Breakfast cookies: Best school day breakfast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLHuy2fnf_fvOVkNdmlZuP89QeqgQLwtCX4XjPsDxEuUcZBpm6HtwSCq4V8iG7d3wd2OOxR3g68NU0ZSoqhylhUD0YT-KqLDO5JsECvDrYm8YfHlLq1z8vqaNuZAzrgLq0oeNw0l8N56P/s1600/IMG_2340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLHuy2fnf_fvOVkNdmlZuP89QeqgQLwtCX4XjPsDxEuUcZBpm6HtwSCq4V8iG7d3wd2OOxR3g68NU0ZSoqhylhUD0YT-KqLDO5JsECvDrYm8YfHlLq1z8vqaNuZAzrgLq0oeNw0l8N56P/s640/IMG_2340.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
School day breakfasts are tough. As a child I used to mix my own glass of chocolate milk with Nestle Quick and off I'd go. I've never liked cereal. That made sleepovers difficult because my friends' parents always wanted me to eat cereal. Or worse, hot cereal. There's nothing worse than porridge for breakfast. So I'm somewhat sympathetic to my girls who suffer from the same school day breakfast aversion I do.<br />
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I like to play it straight when it comes to food. Sneaking spinach into brownies isn't going to make your kids spinach lovers. But, a few years ago Tim discovered this recipe for breakfast cookies in Missy Chase Lapine's <i>The Sneaky Chef</i>. (Some people argue Jessica Seinfeld stole the idea for <i>Deceptively Delicious</i> from this book.)<br />
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These cookies are chock full of morning goodness: protein; whole grain; fiber; and because I'm me, a few chocolate chips. There's nothing sneaky about these cookies. Sometimes the girls help make them. They know what's in them.<br />
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Cereal never looked this good, people.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPCbO3OYJzJygcNduYG3spqA1qHdN2zMpJTdxIGF-13VvoYBWyjKwaMaWP4ICgDhcK5n3Cn-tWrcX6rMIcjAbOSf5DyMhCJKQZ_t7LyOng6rgdvw-3Y8yJedue57PYl6kjqB5oXGfUgw0/s1600/IMG_2326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPCbO3OYJzJygcNduYG3spqA1qHdN2zMpJTdxIGF-13VvoYBWyjKwaMaWP4ICgDhcK5n3Cn-tWrcX6rMIcjAbOSf5DyMhCJKQZ_t7LyOng6rgdvw-3Y8yJedue57PYl6kjqB5oXGfUgw0/s640/IMG_2326.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
1/4 cup whole wheat flour<br />
1/4 cup all purpose flour<br />
1/4 cup wheat germ<br />
1 cup oatmeal<br />
1 cup multi grain cereal<br />
1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
1 teaspoon cinnamon<br />
1 teaspoon unsweetened, natural cocoa<br />
1 egg<br />
1/3 cup brown sugar<br />
1/4 cup olive oil<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla<br />
3/4 cup ricotta cheese<br />
1/2 cup chocolate chips (dried cherries or raisins also work)<br />
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<b>Directions:</b><br />
Pulse the oatmeal and the multi grain cereal in the blender until it resembles flour.<br />
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Mix the refined oatmeal and cereal with the wheat germ, the two flours, baking soda, salt and cinnamon.<br />
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At this point, I must confess, I made a mistake. I added cocoa instead of cinnamon. Can you see why?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFylF4wdO73i1dPsWiE0RKAV-No-5kVkqfY1CFDUko2DFB-zE-zMuBu3Bd44nqEwNJkgv2Yk5C1UGwsuckJ5Hoj7Di_S9auAy-2X1X51-BBe84IrFe6HwIpMRGNStmcBzQbFhW3iKd5yS5/s1600/IMG_2332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFylF4wdO73i1dPsWiE0RKAV-No-5kVkqfY1CFDUko2DFB-zE-zMuBu3Bd44nqEwNJkgv2Yk5C1UGwsuckJ5Hoj7Di_S9auAy-2X1X51-BBe84IrFe6HwIpMRGNStmcBzQbFhW3iKd5yS5/s640/IMG_2332.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It turned out to be a fortuitous mistake. The cocoa added to the flavor.<br />
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Mix the egg, sugar, oil, vanilla, and ricotta cheese together.<br />
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Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix until just moistened. Stir in the chocolate chips.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVNA9nLmx8SJhCEAj9UV_oqAxJJLVwuAA3nNglKwYHCxqW2xJeiWlrAyWQDq3puQtvYEkoFoIAJOsOlMIvGPeC7y8WRngMq3NFAkEKmnqRWVp9Utc7mc0tyEp34FeV_z01r9x_Zhtkilj/s1600/IMG_2335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVNA9nLmx8SJhCEAj9UV_oqAxJJLVwuAA3nNglKwYHCxqW2xJeiWlrAyWQDq3puQtvYEkoFoIAJOsOlMIvGPeC7y8WRngMq3NFAkEKmnqRWVp9Utc7mc0tyEp34FeV_z01r9x_Zhtkilj/s640/IMG_2335.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Place on parchment paper on a cookie sheet by the tablespoon. Flatten cookies slightly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g2Zx2lIqd3qbh9hdNG3bwuIOhnDqr2gg331TEB4FBlliHNPbrovL4M6nJBwqN0VJeoWPjVzITo6RlyGJPSOXxZ6ZvKJpVGvh8apj2lQFlAyAuaqVeb1SAY9JpJ0JeLNWP_rwbr57vRLG/s1600/IMG_2336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g2Zx2lIqd3qbh9hdNG3bwuIOhnDqr2gg331TEB4FBlliHNPbrovL4M6nJBwqN0VJeoWPjVzITo6RlyGJPSOXxZ6ZvKJpVGvh8apj2lQFlAyAuaqVeb1SAY9JpJ0JeLNWP_rwbr57vRLG/s640/IMG_2336.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUDJaebTgS5oW3-6AJ5RJUwxzLX6-LnktNmfxpsk2cJrhRhYLjgTCOVTgpgJcMFYPbN57S0E0305zSX5Od84xXljlrpvFnlycM-LUXDxbsEC_bszU1dz8piJjvVvUWmTetdc5H1en8UJ9/s1600/IMG_2338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUDJaebTgS5oW3-6AJ5RJUwxzLX6-LnktNmfxpsk2cJrhRhYLjgTCOVTgpgJcMFYPbN57S0E0305zSX5Od84xXljlrpvFnlycM-LUXDxbsEC_bszU1dz8piJjvVvUWmTetdc5H1en8UJ9/s640/IMG_2338.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-60132899207147859482011-02-25T11:23:00.000-08:002011-02-25T11:23:39.565-08:00The parents are on sale!<i>I'm participating in the new meme "Capture The Everyday" over at <a href="http://www.adventuroo.com/">Adventuroo</a>. This week's prompt is "something you can't live without."</i><br />
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I have many things I feel like I can't live without: chocolate, warm sweaters, Los Angeles weather, books, to name only a few. This week I was struck by how much I enjoy those funny, unexpected type of moments I have with the girls. Now, I'd be lying if I said I had wonderfully funny moments every single day. Motherhood isn't that kind of journey for me.<br />
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But moments like the following, that really make laugh out loud, are the moments that make the journey worthwhile, that almost seem like moments I couldn't live without. These are the moments I want to remember in thirty years.<br />
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The girls had a friend over on Monday. They set up an elaborate store in the family room.<br />
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I played "The Shopper" and they gave me change from their piggy banks to use as money. They informed me as I entered the store that certain items were on sale.<br />
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Katie guided me through the toy section where I picked out a stuffed animal and a fairy. Their friend walked me through the food and dishes section, where I bought a plate and a teapot.<br />
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Caroline showed me the junk and "different things" sections where I found this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvbBDTnwmciGrPPv2BEtuzqW3UyWwbAWUWrgZ125irzwYICfk2CxVVWwBusEWl-PudzgBR7JyMwhJV1fkgPfs4Ltx4TLB_XAHKkCF8LZ_Bn-4F23T5Rbnq7SJXFr2ymHrzln2p6rtqgv9/s1600/IMG_2312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvbBDTnwmciGrPPv2BEtuzqW3UyWwbAWUWrgZ125irzwYICfk2CxVVWwBusEWl-PudzgBR7JyMwhJV1fkgPfs4Ltx4TLB_XAHKkCF8LZ_Bn-4F23T5Rbnq7SJXFr2ymHrzln2p6rtqgv9/s400/IMG_2312.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
"Those are my parents." She told me. "When they were a lot younger," she added. "They're letting me sell them."<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /> <br />
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<a href="http://www.adventuroo.com/category/capture-the-everyday" target="_blank"><img alt="Capture the Everyday from Adventuroo" border="0" src="http://www.adventuroo.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Adventuroo-meme-badge.png" /></a>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-92150019778907484232011-02-22T21:08:00.000-08:002011-02-22T21:08:33.535-08:00Boxing champ The Executioner takes a jab from my daughter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD45gZ4fLy0LOiPcGlSodF14k0Zp_ff2WuOcj7F-AheSGHVODY6ALpF2bO6Geys8TwyLoDO1Sce0MY_JDkUrcw4rv9gIQZQGOwE0BFtTBxCNCYksjrzzzYDlT-v7nguau5jAbV-D2xio1h/s1600/KatieChamp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD45gZ4fLy0LOiPcGlSodF14k0Zp_ff2WuOcj7F-AheSGHVODY6ALpF2bO6Geys8TwyLoDO1Sce0MY_JDkUrcw4rv9gIQZQGOwE0BFtTBxCNCYksjrzzzYDlT-v7nguau5jAbV-D2xio1h/s640/KatieChamp2.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tim and Katie take a Mixed Martial Arts class together on Saturdays. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So when they ran into former Undisputed World Middleweight Champion, Bernard Hopkins, also known as <i>The Executioner</i>, on Sunday, Tim told him Katie was in MMA training.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Put your fist up! Gimme a punch," The Executioner said to Katie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She hesitated. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Executioner's a pretty big guy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Especially if you're six.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You're not scared, are ya?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No!" She countered. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then she threw a punch. Right into The Executioner's chin.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in Wordless Wednesday at <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/">5 Minutes for Mom</a> and <a href="http://www.alotofloves.com/2011/02/be-the-leader-wednesday-of-few-words-linky.html">A Lot of Loves</a>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-55900074709805960272011-02-21T22:10:00.000-08:002011-02-21T22:10:44.614-08:00Why I dread three day weekendsI used to anticipate three day weekends. An extra day to sleep in. Short road trips. Lounging by the pool. Exploring new hikes. Going to a late movie on a Sunday.<br />
<br />
But now I dread three day weekends. Three day weekends have become something I tackle. Because by the third day my girls are ready to take each other out in an official screaming match that wakes the coyotes from their daytime sleep. And probably the owls, the bobcats and the mountain lions, too.<br />
<br />
The screaming is always preceded by a who-can-annoy-the-other-the-most competition.<br />
<br />
In our house Katie usually wins. She is a master at irritating her sister and getting her own way.<br />
<br />
This afternoon it was entering her room and demanding to play at the exact moment that Caroline was taking a huge box of coins out of its secret hiding place. The only thing that satisfied Katie was getting a huge handful of coins.<br />
<br />
The satisfaction of the coins only lasted a few minutes. After she deposited the coins in a heap on the floor in the family room, she returned to her sister's room. Just in time to see Caroline putting on a new pair of riding boots.<br />
<br />
This started the it's-not-fair screaming match.<br />
<br />
"That's not fair! Why don't I get new riding boots?" flew from Caroline's room.<br />
<br />
"It's not fair. Katie ALWAYS wants to be in my room!" Caroline screamed louder.<br />
<br />
"You're the meanest sister EVER." The pitch was growing shriller by the second. <br />
<br />
Growls. Grunts. Katie is a really great growler. A pretty good grunter, too. <br />
<br />
"I'm scared! Help me!" Caroline hates it when her sister growls.<br />
<br />
More growls. More grunts.<br />
<br />
"I'm serious! I need help in here!!"<br />
<br />
Foot stamping. Door slamming.<br />
<br />
"I have no one to play with!" Katie screamed.<br />
<br />
More door slamming. The cat scrambled by.<br />
<br />
"FINE! I'll play with you!" Caroline screamed back. "But you can't touch this or that and don't you dare touch....."<br />
<br />
"That's actually mine, Caroline! True! I can touch it."<br />
<br />
"Mommy! Mommy!"<br />
<br />
Do you enjoy long weekends? What do you do with the extra day?<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/34335/tackle-it-tuesday-a-toy-box/">Tackle it Tuesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-34199640018443960602011-02-20T21:00:00.000-08:002011-02-20T21:00:00.805-08:00Strawberry crisp: A taste of summer in winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPb7nMdC6YIY-vICe5pTl2cEKPXI15z-OyN-FGYJMVnWvQHYZg4pn0ApcO0hH9hgobH08qKoTmbPR67KZdEVw4GG67W80eHtwGGiSpfAosQGadOGJybDIgNLmj_Vce-Pwp_Ei7QYWDM-E/s1600/IMG_2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPb7nMdC6YIY-vICe5pTl2cEKPXI15z-OyN-FGYJMVnWvQHYZg4pn0ApcO0hH9hgobH08qKoTmbPR67KZdEVw4GG67W80eHtwGGiSpfAosQGadOGJybDIgNLmj_Vce-Pwp_Ei7QYWDM-E/s400/IMG_2279.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I bought a three pack of fresh strawberries at the farmer's market. I was yearning for a bite of summer in winter and these strawberries tasted of warm sun.<br />
<br />
After I brought them home I realized we wouldn't be able to eat them all before they started getting mushy. Given my obsession with all things chocolate, dipping them in chocolate was an obvious choice. But a boring choice.<br />
<br />
I remembered a simple recipe for <a href="http://www.animalvegetablemiracle.com/Strawberry%20Rhubarb%20Crisp.pdf">strawberry rhubarb crisp</a> in Barbara Kingsolver's <i>Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. </i>(If you're not a vegetarian you may become one after reading this book). I adapted the recipe so it's not quite as sweet and only has strawberries.<br />
<br />
I'm not a fruit pie kind of gal, but give me this crisp with its crunchy topping and bubbling hot strawberries and I'll eat it instead of chocolate.<br />
<br />
Now <i>that</i> is quite a feat.<br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
3-4 cups strawberries, halved<br />
2 tablespoons honey<br />
1/2 cup rolled oats<br />
1/2 cup all purpose flour<br />
1/2 cup brown sugar<br />
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon<br />
1/3 cup butter, cut up in small pieces<br />
<br />
<b>Directions</b><br />
Lightly butter a 9 inch pie dish. Mix the strawberries with the honey in the pie dish.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnNh4-s30Z-WL880DBbCMz6Qb-d5MWe34mdjolUJ6_NdVbR71hRPWsu3Ae3s0dITfP6MxlQD8tVc-4nunJAjwmcWwT3ezJLAS_5ovWBLjabf3e9x7yMgzPhMxzgvTRIQMT6VU-NZ4aG3I/s1600/IMG_2274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnNh4-s30Z-WL880DBbCMz6Qb-d5MWe34mdjolUJ6_NdVbR71hRPWsu3Ae3s0dITfP6MxlQD8tVc-4nunJAjwmcWwT3ezJLAS_5ovWBLjabf3e9x7yMgzPhMxzgvTRIQMT6VU-NZ4aG3I/s400/IMG_2274.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Mix the oats, flour, sugar, cinnamon, and butter together with a fork until crumbly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nd58qWzlwIErnSXHQMjHSrj0TA_KTBztTJzh-DJa7SsN9oAHE9x1AGwEpZCmOYOnsSNh8QGExG4kzXx7Rz2t4dVovQdbkdwv7b4vvZO5jtzTl3Qijex22HBtdbHU0Lo3JgAWL-QS0fPS/s1600/IMG_2278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nd58qWzlwIErnSXHQMjHSrj0TA_KTBztTJzh-DJa7SsN9oAHE9x1AGwEpZCmOYOnsSNh8QGExG4kzXx7Rz2t4dVovQdbkdwv7b4vvZO5jtzTl3Qijex22HBtdbHU0Lo3JgAWL-QS0fPS/s400/IMG_2278.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Pour onto the strawberries.<br />
<br />
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until the topping is lightly browned and the strawberries are bubbling<br />
<br />
Serve warm with a dollop of ice cream. Divine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6jyxij5m7GfBRflOii5DYfkXd1noUs1cEA0n6eaZ04rVWz6IjFaEk89ct7C4lS42b3-a9N6BBtVtjcLX53Wx4T6OcJys2hDxCvsExOqBaQBBVFWTbFognG42tSW1HiGGFxf_mpr0HM0u/s1600/IMG_2283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6jyxij5m7GfBRflOii5DYfkXd1noUs1cEA0n6eaZ04rVWz6IjFaEk89ct7C4lS42b3-a9N6BBtVtjcLX53Wx4T6OcJys2hDxCvsExOqBaQBBVFWTbFognG42tSW1HiGGFxf_mpr0HM0u/s400/IMG_2283.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-40314143187953124192011-02-16T20:52:00.000-08:002011-02-16T22:31:48.677-08:00He had me at dessert<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This post is inspired by </span><a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mama Kat’s</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> prompt: A memorable date.</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We met at Ago, Robert Deniro’s restaurant in West Hollywood, on April 12</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, twelve years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A girlfriend of mine set us up. He was her boyfriend’s roommate. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We had spoken twice already. The first time he called me at work, we chatted for ten minutes and then he hung up. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I called my friend, telling her he must not have liked me because instead of asking me out, he hung up. She told me he was very proper, that he might not have wanted to seem too forward. She assured he would probably call me in a few days to ask me out. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He called two days later. Definitely different than the, “so should we meet for dinner or something?” I was used to.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This was before </span><a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-life-in-pink.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">my life in pink</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> so I wore a gray sweater, gray Bebe pants, and black pumps. I arrived a few minutes late. He was sitting at the bar, drinking a glass of ice water, sporting a blue blazer and khakis – not typical LA gear. My friend had told me he wasn’t a typical LA kind of guy. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“You’ll like that,” she had said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We both ordered fish. I had a glass of wine. We chatted comfortably, easily, about work, college, where we were from, siblings, Los Angeles. Nothing very memorable or particularly scintillating. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But the date became memorable and scintillating when he not only accepted the dessert menu, but asked me what I was going to have. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He assumed we would both order our own dessert.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> A first for me on a first date. My dates always passed on dessert, making me feel like I should as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A Dessert Man, I remember thinking. How about that. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He ordered crème brûlée. I ordered chocolate cake. We lingered over our desserts, scraping at the crumbs. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I felt his eyes on me as I led the way out of the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I had a method for ending first dates. I always thrust my hand out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you,” I would say. Even if it hadn’t been nice. Most of the time this cut out any potential end-of-first-date-awkwardness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I followed this plan with Dessert Man. As the valet pulled my car around I stuck my hand out. But he didn’t say the standard, “I’ll call you,” or “let’s do this again,” or “see ya!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, he said: “I really enjoyed meeting you and I’d like to see you again. I’m going out of town this weekend, can I call you next week when I’m back?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A man who actually says what he wants, I thought. How about that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was giddy as I drove away from my first date with Dessert Man. I knew I’d see him again. And that we’d order dessert again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Postscript: Check out Dessert Man’s recipes for </span><a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/11/crack-pie-tims-thanksgiving-alternative.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Crack Pie</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> and </span><a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2011/01/macadamia-and-white-chocolate-cookies.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Macadamia Nut and White Chocolate Cookies</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. The Crack Pie recipe is Sugar Bowl Mix’s most popular post ever.</span></i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-34990169607464955482011-02-15T21:17:00.000-08:002011-02-15T21:17:19.644-08:00What's around the corner?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxjW4b75TjB3exz9khiKr-Qj6YlzAAqGal2l6lwOunz-Gra7jGv56QTrIv1cjALwaOuq9Mp5Cenm022yYYLeW5sXYLcrBcxRGAERDc_Q_omxkpi2GpHdZ_LvtJCRMm983FKz37ps16-KF/s1600/IMG_2295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxjW4b75TjB3exz9khiKr-Qj6YlzAAqGal2l6lwOunz-Gra7jGv56QTrIv1cjALwaOuq9Mp5Cenm022yYYLeW5sXYLcrBcxRGAERDc_Q_omxkpi2GpHdZ_LvtJCRMm983FKz37ps16-KF/s640/IMG_2295.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
A few days ago I walked up this fire trail, my favorite hike. When I reached this point I stopped and took a picture because the moment seemed worthy of a digital capture. Even though I've walked this path so many times, I found myself wondering what I would encounter around the corner.<br />
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Would I find something dangerous? Scary? Beautiful? Unexpected? Comforting? Inspiring?<br />
<br />
Just beyond the curve I discovered some shade under a walnut tree. A place to rest from the warm February sun.<br />
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I continued climbing, the insistent call of birds following me all the way up.<br />
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At the summit I paused to enjoy the view that stretches across green canyons, out to the valley floor before it stops at the mountains whose peaks reach up to open skies.<br />
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Then I started back down the trail.<br />
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I'm rounding a corner in my life right now and I'm looking forward to getting to the top so I can enjoy the glorious view.<br />
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Do you like to hike? What kind of thoughts does nature inspire for you?<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/34093/wordless-wednesday-look-mom-no-hands/">Wordless Wednesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-58021214302982499562011-02-14T21:27:00.000-08:002011-02-15T13:56:02.231-08:00Tackling traffic school<i>I'm excited to be posting at <a href="http://www.ourmommyhood.com/2011/02/15/how-to-make-fudge/">Our Mommyhood</a> today. Please head over, check out my post, and leave a comment! </i><br />
<br />
I finished tackling traffic school tonight. The punishment that California doles out when you've been lucky enough to get pulled over by a motorcycle cop with a beer belly, bushy mustache, and yucky-too-tight-pants. <br />
<br />
Here are a few <s>not</s> useful things I took away from traffic school:<br />
<br />
The purpose of the windshield is to protect the driver from the environment<br />
Fentonyl is a designer drug<br />
Cocaine is a white powder that one inhales<br />
Crack can be smoked<br />
A green painted curb indicates temporary parking<br />
The horn should be used as a warning device not as a way to draw attention to oneself or express road rage<br />
A drivers license typically expires 5 years after being issued<br />
You may not park your vehicle in the middle of an intersection or in the middle of a crosswalk<br />
You must make a complete stop at a red light<br />
A <b>Do Not Enter</b> sign means you may not drive onto that street<br />
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The drug breakdown was SO helpful. Being reminded that cocaine is a white powder will make me a <i>much</i> safer driver. I'm so glad I learned the proper way a horn should be used and extra so glad the <b>Do Not Enter</b> sign was clarified. That one really messes me up. And, bummer, guess I can't use my favorite parking spot in the middle of the Hollywood and Vine intersection.<br />
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Have you ever had to do traffic school? What did you take away from it? (If anything).<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/34030/tackle-it-tuesday-13/">Tackle it Tuesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-77710214775097712022011-02-13T20:41:00.000-08:002011-02-13T20:41:32.642-08:00Chocolate chip and M&M cookies in a heartI'm a little Valentined out today. I spent five hours making Valentine cards with the girls. They each had to make twenty-seven homemade cards. I cut out a zillion hearts. Okay, maybe more like two hundred.<br />
<br />
Every year around the end of January I start saying to the girls: "Let's get started on the Valentine cards." Never happens.<br />
<br />
But I'm not sure we've ever left <i>every single</i> homemade card until the day before. Not a good idea.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I made these M&M and chocolate chip cookies a few days ago, before I was Valentined out. This is <i>My Chocolate Chip Cookies</i> recipe from Alice Medrich's <i>Chewy, Gooey, Crispy</i> cookie cookbook (again).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-n8Sxd7gzojVWcMgVqVYyHML3qWLDqn4089KOdXQp6h-ioDyfWLxA5oGxiRBSEAVBUJpMY-wR14rSHwtCtay5ZzTSsGKlnT2YfwgXqilsUrRH4I8e-mllvFCHuoDnCrisI3_011UtVZt3/s1600/IMG_2291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-n8Sxd7gzojVWcMgVqVYyHML3qWLDqn4089KOdXQp6h-ioDyfWLxA5oGxiRBSEAVBUJpMY-wR14rSHwtCtay5ZzTSsGKlnT2YfwgXqilsUrRH4I8e-mllvFCHuoDnCrisI3_011UtVZt3/s640/IMG_2291.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
When she bit into her first cookie, Caroline said it was crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside. And she hadn't even looked at the title of the cookbook.<br />
<br />
The crunch of pink, red and white M&Ms throughout make these the ultimate Valentine cookie.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh0exwmfLmzSaWi8PuHz05R5Bl4mfUVAMm5BrEKkSXTMNr6rlbIU-TjLCOKOxK5srlXxHzqHq3ISk9gyHyhvi4vfYFUoTcAv9qaTb5MaViM5Q5-FxiwnQBuLbJ2lcyoJpo5G1uAMzQHrB/s1600/IMG_2301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh0exwmfLmzSaWi8PuHz05R5Bl4mfUVAMm5BrEKkSXTMNr6rlbIU-TjLCOKOxK5srlXxHzqHq3ISk9gyHyhvi4vfYFUoTcAv9qaTb5MaViM5Q5-FxiwnQBuLbJ2lcyoJpo5G1uAMzQHrB/s640/IMG_2301.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Get the recipe <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/08/chocolate-chip-and-m-cookies-recipe-to.html">here</a>.<br />
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And please let me know how they turn out if you try them. I love hearing back from my readers!<br />
<br />
Happy Valentine's Day!<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-26582341130489846752011-02-10T10:03:00.000-08:002011-02-10T12:09:04.317-08:00My old valentine bag<i>I'm participating in <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/2011/02/sorry/">Mama Kat's workshop</a>. My prompt: a photo that captures a special Valentine.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-McnBP4GWP7-uZ3SJNbKDlHL87KEpVQxNC8olfAGjtOIjWFcSNHWLIByQ3n23Mc1BHEx0G80tbkPbu37Xllr3mtJJpnYI_FL9i3kHAknDvc9nBHTfoTFftJiANVaT4J_jdKEYd-kw9x3/s1600/IMG_2285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-McnBP4GWP7-uZ3SJNbKDlHL87KEpVQxNC8olfAGjtOIjWFcSNHWLIByQ3n23Mc1BHEx0G80tbkPbu37Xllr3mtJJpnYI_FL9i3kHAknDvc9nBHTfoTFftJiANVaT4J_jdKEYd-kw9x3/s400/IMG_2285.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
Tim gave me this Coach bag on Valentine's day eleven years ago. It was our first Valentine's together. We were engaged, trying to figure out a date for our wedding that coming summer. It was a heady time filled with love, hope, excitement and confidence about the future.<br />
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Eleven years have taken their toll on the bag. The color is faded, especially around the edges. The leather is worn. It's not as smooth or as supple as it was eleven years ago. Scratches, scars, cover the whole bag. And styles have changed. The backpack is no longer the bag of the moment.<br />
<br />
But the inside is surprisingly clean, just some paper bits and gum wrappers floating around. An EpiPen that expired in 2004 lies hidden in the inside pocket. The zippers zip easily, the buckle holds the bag shut efficiently, and the ties tighten around the top of the bag. The bag <i>works</i>.<br />
<br />
When I sling the bag onto my back it yields into me with a comfortable familiarity, the straps just the right length.<br />
<br />
I think there's still a lot of life left in this old Valentine bag.<br />
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<br />
<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-39602383435948692302011-02-08T21:26:00.000-08:002011-02-08T21:29:30.314-08:00George Clooney, lime green, a purse, and a catHave you ever wanted to crawl into a purse and hide?<br />
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There have been a few times in my life where I would have liked to do just that. Like the time George Clooney teased me about my funky, lime green, suede shoes. They really were funky. Maybe just a little <i>too</i> funky. But what does George know about style? <br />
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For the record, I didn't crawl anywhere and I didn't hide anywhere. No, instead I laughed along and when George apologized later, saying he hoped he hadn't offended me I assured him he had not and laughed it off.<br />
<br />
I never wore those shoes to work again.<br />
<br />
So I took <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-was-wrong.html">Cooper</a> to the vet for a check-up last week. He was not happy about this expedition. He suffered through the indignations of being weighed and having his temperature taken by the vet tech and then he was <i>done</i>. He was desperate to get back into his carrier. But it had been a little tricky getting him out and I had wisely locked the carrier door.<br />
<br />
We had to wait a few minutes for the vet. Cooper quickly realized no matter how many times he circled the carrier and pulled on the door, it was staying shut. So he looked for something else to crawl into. Something safe. <i>Something stylishly funky</i>.<br />
<br />
My favorite purse with the <i>lime green</i> interior was sitting on the chair. Somewhat awkwardly, Cooper maneuvered himself into the purse, He tangled his legs in the handles in the process, but eventually he got his whole cat-self inside.<br />
<br />
Then he hid his head.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oB9rXXMeK158wRra8JmFddumQiajf9XfEAZHXqpLEo0XF6fVS-7UHALZAEqvpzu_EQoJnx0mU44Q3uOrY57uzB_YqcAYT04QWNEtavKq6URVzSRj-1nqklxaw6qfxj458J40sAnoN-Ru/s1600/IMG_2244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oB9rXXMeK158wRra8JmFddumQiajf9XfEAZHXqpLEo0XF6fVS-7UHALZAEqvpzu_EQoJnx0mU44Q3uOrY57uzB_YqcAYT04QWNEtavKq6URVzSRj-1nqklxaw6qfxj458J40sAnoN-Ru/s640/IMG_2244.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/33631/meeting-winnie-the-pooh-wordless-wednesday/">Wordless Wednesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-11442780687727585112011-02-07T21:38:00.000-08:002011-02-07T21:38:53.501-08:00Tackling relaxationLately, I've had very little time for relaxing, for de-stressing.<br />
<br />
I like to read before going to sleep but the books on the bedside table haven't been touched in a long time. But I make sure the girls have time for reading every evening.<br />
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Horses are a big passion of mine, but I haven't ridden in two years. I take the girls to their riding lesson every week, though.<br />
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When I'm really tired I like to sit down with a blanket around me and read magazines that don't require any brainpower like <i>Martha Stewart Living</i>, something I ordered with my airline miles to prevent them from expiring. But I've got two issues that I haven't yet opened.<br />
<br />
Last year I walked my local hiking trail every day. This year I'm in the car driving the girls to school every day.<br />
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Baking is relaxing for me and I <i>have</i> been doing that weekly. My <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/search/label/Monday%20recipe">Monday recipe posts</a> serve as a deadline for that. I <i>must</i> bake every week. That's the one item I can check off on the list.<br />
<br />
Oh and I've been watching <i>American Idol</i> every week. Does that count?<br />
<br />
I don't want to sound self-pitying. But there's a pattern in this picture. I need to make a better effort to take care of myself, to carve out some me time, to exercise, to read for pleasure, to get back in the saddle.<br />
<br />
The truth is I'm not very good at "relaxing." I like to be productive, get things done - maybe this is why baking is one of my "me" time activities. <br />
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So in the interest of keeping this blog post short and simple so I can get started on my book, Laura Hillenbrand's <i>Unbroken,</i> I'm not including any pictures.<br />
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How do you rejuvenate? Relax? Please give me some tips!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in Tackle it Tuesday at <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/">5 Minutes for Mom</a>.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-10881520422963841912011-02-06T21:00:00.000-08:002011-02-08T09:57:00.860-08:00I heart brownies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-b2JqVWZMGfIqL-Uo67bvyeHkTqIEbcCzUlOTsLl7l5rqzzTdLNOeQqophbXg-t2gceh_ayRBrxhMKUyAOZJnpON7G1YemVBhvqbAIPHVWRhO91Tz29t5UAQkUVeYFJdabbHiclzn5Lis/s1600/IMG_2236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-b2JqVWZMGfIqL-Uo67bvyeHkTqIEbcCzUlOTsLl7l5rqzzTdLNOeQqophbXg-t2gceh_ayRBrxhMKUyAOZJnpON7G1YemVBhvqbAIPHVWRhO91Tz29t5UAQkUVeYFJdabbHiclzn5Lis/s640/IMG_2236.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Baking is a ritual for me. I do it every week. It's relaxing. It's satisfying. It yields results. So I was intrigued with a brownie recipe in Alice Medrich's <i>Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Cookie</i> book called The Steve Ritual Brownies. The ritual part of the recipe involves immersing the pan in an ice bath as soon as it come out of the oven. This ritual stops the baking process, making the brownies gooier.<br />
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I was skeptical. I'm pretty much married to my own <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/08/best-ever-chocolate-brownies-print.html">Best Ever Chocolate Brownie</a> recipe. The Steve Ritual Brownies only calls for 2 eggs and they bake at 400 degrees. A hot oven. Wouldn't these come out flat and hard? Not exactly. But they weren't gooey or chewy. Not bad. But not great.<br />
<br />
But I liked the idea of the ice bath ritual. So I made my own <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/08/best-ever-chocolate-brownies-print.html">Best Ever Chocolate Brownies</a> and dunked them in a cold ice bath to make them extra gooey. Complete mouth-watering, divine goodness.<br />
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My mother-in-law had just sent the girls a valentine's package with baking decorations - perfect for brownies with a little frosting.<br />
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To make the brownies follow <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/08/best-ever-chocolate-brownies-print.html">The Best Ever Chocolate Brownies</a> recipe. As soon as the brownies come out of the oven dunk the pan in an ice bath, like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqzbC8YfKC6ozWg9YbDBLC8Kv1AAhl0hFeWm8gJwYdVh8Ub4_2Ta8m-uZlkV55yxLHZ8pwBsWapiEzb5Aw4sGSeDKhFjzHxVvRgUvCEcrbiquxffW7-KvGrANjiVH69PevyN9RMiS1QAJ/s1600/IMG_2221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqzbC8YfKC6ozWg9YbDBLC8Kv1AAhl0hFeWm8gJwYdVh8Ub4_2Ta8m-uZlkV55yxLHZ8pwBsWapiEzb5Aw4sGSeDKhFjzHxVvRgUvCEcrbiquxffW7-KvGrANjiVH69PevyN9RMiS1QAJ/s640/IMG_2221.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<b>Chocolate Frosting</b><br />
3 tablespoons butter<br />
2 tablespoons milk<br />
1 1/3 cup confectioner sugar<br />
2 tablespoons natural cocoa powder<br />
1/2 teaspoon vanilla<br />
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Heat the butter and milk together in a saucepan over low heat or in the microwave.<br />
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Mix the cocoa powder with the sugar in a mixing bowl.<br />
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Add the butter and milk slowly and beat until smooth. Stir in the vanilla.<br />
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Spread the frosting on the brownies while they are still warm.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL9CdTc-IlTPNphthiXAKPXXYvgS51EWu40lIrL-N5Zad2K4L906busrFPmtIVNoE0PbC1Si1_Vg1Y5PL9lPudHn-cZ7RgcNxBDZQWWNlfvrD_0ytb9GqpRug_zZsWSC2AmVMFMYRt53y/s1600/IMG_2224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL9CdTc-IlTPNphthiXAKPXXYvgS51EWu40lIrL-N5Zad2K4L906busrFPmtIVNoE0PbC1Si1_Vg1Y5PL9lPudHn-cZ7RgcNxBDZQWWNlfvrD_0ytb9GqpRug_zZsWSC2AmVMFMYRt53y/s640/IMG_2224.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in JDaniel4smom's </i><a href="http://www.jdaniel4smom.com/2011/02/welcome-virtual-valentines-day-party.html"><i>Virtual Valentine Party</i></a>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-23293292603042953282011-02-02T22:03:00.000-08:002011-02-02T22:03:33.854-08:00I was wrong<i>I'm participating in Mama Kat's <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">writing prompt</a>: A time you were wrong.</i><br />
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The stench was putrid in the room full of fourteen rescue kittens looking for homes. Kitten poop and pee. Too many cats together in too little space with no windows. It was hard to be in there for more than five minutes. But we stayed. A whole thirty minutes. I wanted a snuggly, confident, loud little Meeser. Like the two Siamese cats I'd had for years.<br />
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I chose one who snuggled against me and purred.<br />
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Katie wanted a crazed but beautiful little girl. Tim and I said no. We didn't want a crazed kitten.<br />
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Caroline took to a shy, lanky, blue-eyed baby with stripes on his face, legs and tail. And ears that were too big for his head. He didn't want to be held. He shook in fear the whole time he sat on her lap. He didn't utter a sound the entire time we were there.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjBPOP-YBtot4Wl8HK-6586MOQlc59nCk9A84Nx7nLgYx6bE7RwVvll0hxdYIAUXiXvrj2Y3gotCs9z2NcQDT6xY3d5GoXZJN7P9NgpU-Rn8iTBCd5DolRgkkDPVovB2V8RXVS-etKa6dY/s1600/IMG_0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjBPOP-YBtot4Wl8HK-6586MOQlc59nCk9A84Nx7nLgYx6bE7RwVvll0hxdYIAUXiXvrj2Y3gotCs9z2NcQDT6xY3d5GoXZJN7P9NgpU-Rn8iTBCd5DolRgkkDPVovB2V8RXVS-etKa6dY/s400/IMG_0296.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I didn't want him.<br />
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"Let her have him," Tim said. "She empathizes with his shyness."<br />
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We took him.<br />
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We named him Cooper.<br />
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(We also took the one I wanted. We lost him a few months later.)<br />
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To our surprise Cooper didn't hide or shake when we brought him home. <br />
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But he nipped and he swatted. Not a lot. But enough that it was annoying.<br />
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He didn't melt into me when I picked him up. Instead, he held both his paws out in front of him, as though in defense.<br />
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For a while I wondered if he was missing his vocal chords. That was weird. A cat without a voice. When he finally talked it was a high-pitched, small sound. Not really a meow. More of a squeak.<br />
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I felt guilty about not liking him more. I even wrote a <a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/07/coopie-mccoops-problem.html">post</a> about him: <i><u>The Coopie-McCoops Problem</u></i>. <i>He's not a super cat</i>, I said. <i>He's the girls' cat, not mine</i>.<br />
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We almost lost him to a long piece of a toy horse harness. A lot of fluids, barium and a night at the vet's helped him pass it. Almost losing him made me appreciate him a little more.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGMrD9LtYzeELweFaSFQx680G-jFIwXsAP3kKppjjYzIzKT8awjCHdF4C_qjMel1y1efvlQr2A1oLrvLQ7OXJqo6e9oN_xQtasZyDZ0S7GthOstbxDvskbv0_tBMdGpeypNOQh6JTCASyK/s1600/IMG_0440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGMrD9LtYzeELweFaSFQx680G-jFIwXsAP3kKppjjYzIzKT8awjCHdF4C_qjMel1y1efvlQr2A1oLrvLQ7OXJqo6e9oN_xQtasZyDZ0S7GthOstbxDvskbv0_tBMdGpeypNOQh6JTCASyK/s400/IMG_0440.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Showing his shaved leg from the IV </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>He started sleeping with me. He's snuggly with me at night. I like the feeling of him there. When it's cold he curls up close to my head. When it's hot he stretches out like a cat sausage, all his legs up in the air. He's a sound sleeper. So sound that I've accidentally pushed him off the bed. Twice.<br />
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So a year has passed and his creamy body has given way to stripes. He's grown into his ears and paws. He rarely nips. He rarely swats. He's with me all the time. He lets the new kitten snuggle with him. He doesn't scratch the furniture. He doesn't chew on anything. He doesn't jump on the counters or the table or steal food.<br />
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This morning Caroline was home sick. Cooper climbed onto her lap and snuggled down for a long snooze. The first time he's ever done that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9yt2t8bWTGAn_E4Zp2ZBS7Ka0hJWKEtv4r7yI4J_EMgRU52UoT2TvGmYtQ66-mEOhHudWDD42bRvMwz4iHWoSIxsiwfqljUB6TTp6UxrEAYRorI0nLre39e_x6xg6dptiGKAyxK02LOF/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9yt2t8bWTGAn_E4Zp2ZBS7Ka0hJWKEtv4r7yI4J_EMgRU52UoT2TvGmYtQ66-mEOhHudWDD42bRvMwz4iHWoSIxsiwfqljUB6TTp6UxrEAYRorI0nLre39e_x6xg6dptiGKAyxK02LOF/s400/IMG_2237.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I was wrong about Cooper.<br />
<br />
The way he looks at me out of those blue eyes. The way he's with me all the time. The way he sleeps with me. The way he's chosen Caroline as his special family member. The way he tolerates Katie when she carries him, his legs dangling. The way he put up with Katie forcing him into a paper cat house she made. The way he's sensitive. The way it's taken him all this time to grow his confidence. All of it.<br />
<br />
He's ours to stay. My guilt is gone.<br />
<br />
I want Cooper now and if I had to do it over I'd pick him again.<br />
<br />
Have you ever been unsure of an animal you've adopted?<br />
<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Mama's Losin' It" src="http://i913.photobucket.com/albums/ac331/mamakatslosinit/workshop-button-1.png" /></a>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-63000525756993319572011-02-01T21:29:00.000-08:002011-02-01T21:29:18.238-08:00SistersSo similar. So different.<br />
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<img class="largePrevImg" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b4cc26b3127ccec99ada6ef36900000010O08CatmzNs4Zg9vPgQ/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D0/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/" /><br />
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So together. So separate.<br />
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<img class="largePrevImg" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b5cc29b3127ccecc848ccd6b4000000010O08CatmzNs4Zg9vPgQ/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D0/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/" /><br />
Such a team. Such individuals.<br />
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Best friends. Worst rivals.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrSlR9IXF4I8_vxa2ecY5IIwaCOwa1U6Rq3iglpJgJN2nzZwcLsDGB86ipt-LPdkXjAmNkKhRNkxWW76yxSmDt6x-FPiif4zyLZPxelwD8FcU-JUrtZYxPsvzA5tEK4goop48i7XZdEha/s1600/IMG_0616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrSlR9IXF4I8_vxa2ecY5IIwaCOwa1U6Rq3iglpJgJN2nzZwcLsDGB86ipt-LPdkXjAmNkKhRNkxWW76yxSmDt6x-FPiif4zyLZPxelwD8FcU-JUrtZYxPsvzA5tEK4goop48i7XZdEha/s400/IMG_0616.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Inspire each other. Infuriate each other.<br />
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Always sisters.<br />
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<img alt="post signature" border="0" class="centered" src="http://i1024.photobucket.com/albums/y301/maryhessdesigns/Signatures/annesignature-1-1.png" /><br />
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<i>This post is participating in </i><a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/33351/wordless-wednesday-little-toes-warm-sand/"><i>Wordless Wednesday</i></a><i> at 5 MInutes for Mom.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-37948212231876478312011-01-31T21:39:00.000-08:002011-01-31T21:39:25.596-08:00Tackling a coldI'm tackling a cold.<br />
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Somehow tackling a cold in the Los Angeles winter always feels slightly lame.<br />
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It's 75 degrees here.<br />
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But warm and sunny or not, our house has been struck hard by the current cold of the season. First Katie, then Tim, then me, and Caroline, the final holdout, came down with it today.<br />
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When I have a cold I yearn for a steaming mug of strawberry lemonade tea with fresh squeezed lemon and a drop of honey from a teddy bear.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRXE_AhwAiYQxX95HNKCN9Nuaeik6OKaBc0Iw5U1Q5efZ2Bjce5-vEwQS2422mAP-YKuX4DzVJTmNXlzgSCu9CwN8r0SekYqIzn7MuEU1hfalXikvdnK1cVpi3uEpXqFHYI92CkmaN0Kb/s1600/IMG_2226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRXE_AhwAiYQxX95HNKCN9Nuaeik6OKaBc0Iw5U1Q5efZ2Bjce5-vEwQS2422mAP-YKuX4DzVJTmNXlzgSCu9CwN8r0SekYqIzn7MuEU1hfalXikvdnK1cVpi3uEpXqFHYI92CkmaN0Kb/s640/IMG_2226.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I yearn for a soft bed with a lot of pillows. If it comes with a kitten that's even better - as long as he doesn't attack my toes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUEOz_IakV_teu2aHJKVjV8S8RUBTSoOxCfTINyDD4MnuscpkJJFFcgaGwFYa_PzQqLghM-nKAVZJbhIMOgdQBrsgBIoi9O-JcbsDy6BRN_oL7DF4SxtsQWPEnjZnYDMZUUovikQsvfWG/s1600/IMG_2230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUEOz_IakV_teu2aHJKVjV8S8RUBTSoOxCfTINyDD4MnuscpkJJFFcgaGwFYa_PzQqLghM-nKAVZJbhIMOgdQBrsgBIoi9O-JcbsDy6BRN_oL7DF4SxtsQWPEnjZnYDMZUUovikQsvfWG/s640/IMG_2230.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
What do you yearn for when you're sick? How do you tackle a cold?<br />
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This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/33273/tackling-a-5th-grade-science-project/">Tackle It Tuesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom.Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-11206568212646840112011-01-30T21:33:00.000-08:002011-01-30T21:33:00.603-08:00Chocolate bread pudding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF6ZI61DN2Jd2dSkg77dmiPNC0FwvY4FihyphenhyphenXgNCQaJqmH8lqK5klhE-rVc8IMnv5nE6yL7xIL31FxhuGj2QI-TaUW41AwkV8ctFoRw-oLL8tJ3s04LciH3ZetgB87y0WDPKmMMWKsN-ZQ8/s1600/IMG_2186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF6ZI61DN2Jd2dSkg77dmiPNC0FwvY4FihyphenhyphenXgNCQaJqmH8lqK5klhE-rVc8IMnv5nE6yL7xIL31FxhuGj2QI-TaUW41AwkV8ctFoRw-oLL8tJ3s04LciH3ZetgB87y0WDPKmMMWKsN-ZQ8/s640/IMG_2186.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I was knocked down with a bad cold for most of last week. So when I was finally feeling a little better and could stand on my feet for more than ten minutes I wanted to bake something simple, something comforting, something chocolate.<br />
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I turned to <i><a href="http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/browse-all-recipes/chocolate-bread-pudding-10000000524100/index.html">Real Simple</a></i> for a chocolate bread pudding recipe. I usually like <i>Real Simple</i> but this recipe was not that simple and had a few flaws in the directions. But with a few changes in the directions and the ingredients - I used unsweetened chocolate, not semi-sweet chips - this turned out to be a rich, hearty comfort food dessert with a hint of sophistication.<br />
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<b>Ingredients</b><br />
3 cups milk<br />
3 eggs<br />
1 1/4 cup sugar<br />
6 tablespoons butter<br />
9 ounces unsweetened chocolate<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla extract<br />
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<b>Directions:</b><br />
Trim the crusts of 12 slices of bread.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyixq3aWBSxlQnJV7GFAcZ4iDWQM4e60GZF22B9SfEzlleMWl86sv-qvqkMy0FSYKtk7PLomiejYWD3S8Byob6S_INhVXdAzzym64T4cIKAb6xK8oPma1IR7B6T4__t6OynXLFHjFnFTB-/s1600/IMG_2175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyixq3aWBSxlQnJV7GFAcZ4iDWQM4e60GZF22B9SfEzlleMWl86sv-qvqkMy0FSYKtk7PLomiejYWD3S8Byob6S_INhVXdAzzym64T4cIKAb6xK8oPma1IR7B6T4__t6OynXLFHjFnFTB-/s640/IMG_2175.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Lightly grease an 8 x 8 pan.<br />
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Whisk the milk, eggs, and sugar together in a saucepan. Add the butter and the chocolate and heat over low heat, just until the butter and the chocolate melt.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyLU2YRYwExP-uI5ZdgUR5FNYkUPEQ8Ao3NtKSxuJVLhI7ppAfY1KuKlNa1HWNvtBS4DupcdMifE88jhe-tCu_mPv4BHHQ6o6-Z0sHfqEqiD7VrqCmylVxn1aFdqhtX037o33qpz5ac7g/s1600/IMG_2181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyLU2YRYwExP-uI5ZdgUR5FNYkUPEQ8Ao3NtKSxuJVLhI7ppAfY1KuKlNa1HWNvtBS4DupcdMifE88jhe-tCu_mPv4BHHQ6o6-Z0sHfqEqiD7VrqCmylVxn1aFdqhtX037o33qpz5ac7g/s640/IMG_2181.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Arrange a single layer of bread in the pan and pour the sauce over it. Add the next layer of bread and pour the sauce over that. Arrange the final layer of bread slices and pour the remaining sauce over it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqSu9pS1CyUF1LS88m6zsrYQiPu-c9SVl4gWEoZRJ6iyIxzOA8ywLlVuf2KGZV1DzfjXIwq9yGRtg-IwkeyY-nW1ofWVrAMJ0w7kGmplumLnTwPe2e7PLoOPkW-4Vhhw7vuBzaHFVwuHk/s1600/IMG_2182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqSu9pS1CyUF1LS88m6zsrYQiPu-c9SVl4gWEoZRJ6iyIxzOA8ywLlVuf2KGZV1DzfjXIwq9yGRtg-IwkeyY-nW1ofWVrAMJ0w7kGmplumLnTwPe2e7PLoOPkW-4Vhhw7vuBzaHFVwuHk/s640/IMG_2182.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Cover with plastic wrap and place another baking pan over it with something heavy on top of it (I used a heavy mug) to weigh down the bread. Set aside for one hour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uEI10-bu5BfjcJDruUzK4ryDeepfC-3vlx_zu6FBnbcd3NFo4QwvxoSJpeWS9yZg40BfTL1WRtVaZBuko_l8hKIqb9DEvYpIy0s6bBf1OoRGJfZ4iyH1PQ_cCk_vJRWxa9xOwikXSjWM/s1600/IMG_2185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uEI10-bu5BfjcJDruUzK4ryDeepfC-3vlx_zu6FBnbcd3NFo4QwvxoSJpeWS9yZg40BfTL1WRtVaZBuko_l8hKIqb9DEvYpIy0s6bBf1OoRGJfZ4iyH1PQ_cCk_vJRWxa9xOwikXSjWM/s640/IMG_2185.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Note: if you have leftover sauce, go back after 30 minutes and pour the leftover sauce onto the bread. Sometimes it takes a while for the bread to absorb the sauce.<br />
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Remove the weight and the plastic and bake uncovered for 35 to 40 minutes until the pudding sets.<br />
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Serve with a dollop of cream whipped by hand.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB_dncRnSgO-9qaoFWMk3KsPnEtfdzQ_KNOAGVfb7VcaZ4LZBwkh8wxULUYJyZQRHyec67V0n2zLLrjd_nMatZr7DTG_kZ4j2obSX0CmSW5D2yp3QVO8Vn_ns2w1A2CwD92Lf2vWQ2e5N/s1600/IMG_2189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB_dncRnSgO-9qaoFWMk3KsPnEtfdzQ_KNOAGVfb7VcaZ4LZBwkh8wxULUYJyZQRHyec67V0n2zLLrjd_nMatZr7DTG_kZ4j2obSX0CmSW5D2yp3QVO8Vn_ns2w1A2CwD92Lf2vWQ2e5N/s640/IMG_2189.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy!<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Find the recipe to print <i><a href="http://sugarbowlmix.blogspot.com/2010/08/chocolate-bread-pudding-recipe-to-print.html">here</a></i>.</div><div><br />
</div>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2756559952529320768.post-28688548793055167022011-01-25T21:15:00.000-08:002011-01-25T21:27:28.958-08:00Our new kittenOur new kitten arrived on Saturday. The girls named him Emory in honor of our first Emory who died last year when he was just 8 months old.<br />
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The new Emory is very busy! He's in the refrigerator whenever there's an opportunity. He's particularly interested in the vegetable drawer.<br />
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He loves it when Caroline carries him around in this basket.<br />
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He collapses at 8 o'clock every night.<br />
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<i>This post is participating in <a href="http://www.5minutesformom.com/33135/wordless-wednesday-my-dream-vacation-destination/">Wordless Wednesday</a> at 5 Minutes for Mom.</i>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01718413679501640525noreply@blogger.com1