I faced a fear head-on this weekend. I wish I could say that it was one of those inspiring, courageous leaps that would earn me one of those little feature spots in Readers Digest, my picture placed next to the tale of a triumph over adversity. But alas, it was instead one of those fear-facing moments that caused me to (literally) turn on my heels and go scuttling back in the direction from whence I came, certain to never make the same mistake again...
I entered a Hollister clothing store.
Oh, I've walked by them many a time. Averting my eyes so that the half-dressed teenage employees standing at the entrance with glassy-eyed expressions that prove their coolness will not have the opportunity to beckon me with their mumbled "welcometoHollistereverything's 20percentofftoday" enticements. But I've never actually entered one. For two reasons. One, I'm nearly twenty-nine years old. Which makes me approximately twice as old as their typical shopper. And two, the place scares the bejeebers out of me. I mean, there are those aforementioned scary kids at the door. Then there's the throbbing music that you can feel pulsating through the floor as you pass by. But the weirdest thing? It's, like, pitch black in there. Seriously, were it not for the music and mumblers outside, I'd have no clue that the store was even open. I read once that cats can see perfectly in a dark room using only the light from a VCR clock. So I have a theory that pre-teens are part feline, in that they can see inside a Hollister store simply using the light from the cash register. Or each other's cell phones.
Anyway, why did I go in? Particularly when I have such an aversion to this store that I've already placed a lifetime ban on my children shopping there? I know, looking back it was totally hypocritical and completely regrettable. But you see, I was in a cargo pants-induced frenzy. My sister and I hit the outlet mall to find me some clothes that actually fit. Shedding this pregnancy weight, while lovely, has left me with very few pairs of pants that don't hang off of me. So I found some jeans, but I really wanted a pair of lightweight cargo pants for summertime. My old standby, Old Navy, let me down. Seriously, their stuff is weird this year. And after scouring several more stores, we were stumped. Where were the cargo pants? Out of style? I don't care. Finally, my sister turned to me and said, exhaling deeply, "Ok...we could look at Hollister."
We stared at each other solemnly, neither one of us wanting to face the reality of what she had just suggested. But she's a few years younger than me and about a million times more style-conscious, so I knew that if there were cargo pants to be found, she'd know where to find them.
"Can we even do that?", I asked.
"Yes." She answered. "It's scary and it's weird and we'll hate it. But they might have cargo pants."
And so focused was I on the task at hand that I agreed.
As we approached the store, she gave me a pep talk, "Let's just move quickly...and don't look directly at anyone while we're in there..." And soon, that cave-like entryway was right in front of us, the freakishly loud music already making it hard to hear each other. With a deep breath, we pushed our way into the chaos. Another element that you can't appreciate from the outside? The smell. Teenage perfume, apparently piped in through the vents, and covering everything with the subtle scent of hormones. Peering into the darkness, we made a beeline for what we could just make out as a clothing rack about 20 yards ahead. Shirts? Pants? Who knew. They really need to provide seeing-eye dogs for any shopper over the age of twenty-one.
On the way there, an employee called out (they're louder inside) "How are you today?"
"Hrmna mrnma", we mumbled, careful not to make eye contact.
When we reached the rack, we hurriedly brought a couple of articles of clothing a few inches from our faces, in an attempt to determine what exactly we had stumbled upon. Pants! But (going completely on feel, here), apparently corduroy flare trousers. Strike one. "Over here!", my sister shouted. I followed the sound of her voice to another rack, where she had found something with promising zippers and buttons. "Hmmm, no!", she called over the music. "They feel like capri-length!." Strike two. We lurched around the check-out station which had suddenly appeared to our right, as we stepped quickly in time to the driving beat of the music. "Hey, I think my eyes are adjusting!", I said, spotting a row of pants that appeared as though they may be in the cargo family. They were...but they were also men's. We had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the store. Strike three. I'm out. "That's it, I'm done!", I said. And we rushed toward the light, the fresh air, the calm and quiet of the outside.
"Well." We walked thoughtfully a few moments before mutually deciding, "Won't do that again."
We ended up back at The Gap. The nice, calm, unscented Gap. Where the light switches were set to the "On" position, the music played at an appropriate volume, and the employees were fully dressed and appeared old enough to drive. And I did buy a pair of pants there. They weren't exactly what I had been hoping for, but they will do. And I purchased them, in part, in thanks to a store that didn't make me feel like I needed to shower immediately after leaving the premises.
So that is the harrowing tale of my search for cargo pants. The moral of this story is, pants - no matter how comfortable, flattering, adjustable, and fun - are not worth ignoring that little voice in your head. And I'm not talking about God's voice this time, although certainly pants aren't worth ignoring His either. I'm talking about that voice that says, "Don't go in there. You're not part-cat anymore. And you will hate it."
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Bake this. Like, now.
Ok people, so you know I love to bake. And over the past few years, as I've expanded that hobby quite a bit, I've made lots (and I mean LOTS) of cakes. And strangely enough, I am slowly but surely shedding my pregnancy weight in spite of this pasttime. But anyway, I was drafted to whip up a cake for a Mother's Day celebration yesterday, and decided to try my hand at a recipe I randomly came across at Velvet Lava. Ann's description of her Red Velvet cake had me very intrigued indeed. I've never been, like, blown away by a red velvet cake, but I wanted to pick something different.
Oh. My. GOSH. This one blew me right over and knocked me out. Quite honestly, not only one of the best cakes I've ever made, but one of the very best I've ever tasted. The texture is sheer perfection, the flavor is outstanding, and the icing - ohhhh the icing - is a delightful departure from a traditional buttercream or cream cheese variety, and instead comes out as a mild, almost pudding-like, vanilla fluff that compliments the cake flawlessly. This one is flying to the top of my favorites list!
Red Velvet Cake & Icing - at Velvet Lava
If you like to bake...or eat...I recommend that you drop whatever you're doing and go make this. Immediately.
Seriously, go.
Oh. My. GOSH. This one blew me right over and knocked me out. Quite honestly, not only one of the best cakes I've ever made, but one of the very best I've ever tasted. The texture is sheer perfection, the flavor is outstanding, and the icing - ohhhh the icing - is a delightful departure from a traditional buttercream or cream cheese variety, and instead comes out as a mild, almost pudding-like, vanilla fluff that compliments the cake flawlessly. This one is flying to the top of my favorites list!
Red Velvet Cake & Icing - at Velvet Lava
If you like to bake...or eat...I recommend that you drop whatever you're doing and go make this. Immediately.
Seriously, go.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
If it gets up to fifty cents, she may prescribe Levatol...
It's too true what they say about how you spend far less time tending to your own needs once you're a parent. I'm past due for a dentist appointment, am doing well if I get my hair cut every six months, and can look around my living room and spot several piles of hobbies/projects that are just waiting to be started as soon as I can find the time. (Ha!)
One area, though, where I need not harbor unnecessary concern is my health. And that is because I am undergoing a rigid schedule of frequent checkups with my current primary doctor...my preschooler-turned-physician. She calls herself "Doctor Maya", makes convenient house calls (she lives here, and all), and she takes her job very seriously. She also utilizes top-of-the-line equipment, i.e. the Fisher Price Medical Kit, circa 1978. Lest you concern yourself about my current physical state, I will fill you on the report I received at this morning's appointment...
Doctor Maya began her exam, as per usual, with her trusty stethoscope. It's missing the original foam padding, but that makes it all the better for shoving confidently against any spot on the victim *ahem* I mean patient's chest, leaving a perfect red circle on said patient's skin, to the doctor's delight. At this particular check-up, she chose not to listen to my heart at all, actually, after deciding that testing hers would be "a really great idea". Seemed like a rather unusual method, but I guess once you've heard one heartbeat, you've heard them all.
My reflexes were tested next. You'll be glad to know that I showed remarkable response. Granted, it's hard to say how much of that was due to my fabulous reflexes and how much could be attributed to the sight of a three-year-old approaching me wielding a hammer. But regardless, my reaction upon being whacked in each knee proved most satisfactory to the doctor.
My temperature was judged "pretty perfect", when taken in the space between where my forearm rested on my thigh. An unorthodox choice of locations, to be sure, but I was nonetheless happy to hear the good report.
The multipurpose light tool was Dr. M's next selection. You won't even believe this, but she's such an experienced medical professional that she need not even look through the back of the instrument during the exam. In fact, by merely pressing it to the tip of my nose, jamming it forcefully into each ear ("This part tickles", she warned me. "ACK...erm...yes, yes it does", I replied.), and then holding it in frighteningly close proximity to my twitching eyes, she is able to give a diagnosis. "Looks good."
The blood pressure test is arguably Doctor Maya's specialty. She's exacting in her technique. So dedicated is she to getting an accurate reading, that if the Velcro tabs on the cuff don't line up to her specific liking, she thinks nothing of removing and repositioning it as many times as it takes to get it "just right". She's also quite thorough, squeezing the bulb approximately 21,345 times, all the while reminding me to "hold verrrrrry still". But never fear, I came through the check just fine, and she cheerfully gave me a reading of "Twenty-nine Cents". Phew! I don't have to tell you what a relief that was. I was hoping for under a quarter, but what can you do.
The final stage of the check-up, the grand finale, is always the shot. No matter how recently my last check-up happens to have been, I somehow always need an immunization of some sort. Doctor Maya relishes this task. With a sober expression, she loads up the medication, borrows an appropriate quote from the Berenstain Bears ("You won't even have time to say 'Ouch', Mama..."), and then plunges the blunt plastic syringe into my arm, punctuated with the spoken declaration - "Shot!" It's actually a nice touch. If you're going to get the shot anyway, you might as well celebrate it. I might suggest that to the nurse next time I need a tetanus booster.
So all is well, I checked out fine. She did suggest that I go straight to bed, for some reason. After having been up four times last night with her baby brother, I was actually quite excited by those orders. Unfortunately, she recanted them almost immediately when it was time to turn the tables and receive a checkup from Doctor Mama.
Ahhh...nice to know that I'm in such good hands.
One area, though, where I need not harbor unnecessary concern is my health. And that is because I am undergoing a rigid schedule of frequent checkups with my current primary doctor...my preschooler-turned-physician. She calls herself "Doctor Maya", makes convenient house calls (she lives here, and all), and she takes her job very seriously. She also utilizes top-of-the-line equipment, i.e. the Fisher Price Medical Kit, circa 1978. Lest you concern yourself about my current physical state, I will fill you on the report I received at this morning's appointment...
Doctor Maya began her exam, as per usual, with her trusty stethoscope. It's missing the original foam padding, but that makes it all the better for shoving confidently against any spot on the victim *ahem* I mean patient's chest, leaving a perfect red circle on said patient's skin, to the doctor's delight. At this particular check-up, she chose not to listen to my heart at all, actually, after deciding that testing hers would be "a really great idea". Seemed like a rather unusual method, but I guess once you've heard one heartbeat, you've heard them all.
My reflexes were tested next. You'll be glad to know that I showed remarkable response. Granted, it's hard to say how much of that was due to my fabulous reflexes and how much could be attributed to the sight of a three-year-old approaching me wielding a hammer. But regardless, my reaction upon being whacked in each knee proved most satisfactory to the doctor.
My temperature was judged "pretty perfect", when taken in the space between where my forearm rested on my thigh. An unorthodox choice of locations, to be sure, but I was nonetheless happy to hear the good report.
The multipurpose light tool was Dr. M's next selection. You won't even believe this, but she's such an experienced medical professional that she need not even look through the back of the instrument during the exam. In fact, by merely pressing it to the tip of my nose, jamming it forcefully into each ear ("This part tickles", she warned me. "ACK...erm...yes, yes it does", I replied.), and then holding it in frighteningly close proximity to my twitching eyes, she is able to give a diagnosis. "Looks good."
The blood pressure test is arguably Doctor Maya's specialty. She's exacting in her technique. So dedicated is she to getting an accurate reading, that if the Velcro tabs on the cuff don't line up to her specific liking, she thinks nothing of removing and repositioning it as many times as it takes to get it "just right". She's also quite thorough, squeezing the bulb approximately 21,345 times, all the while reminding me to "hold verrrrrry still". But never fear, I came through the check just fine, and she cheerfully gave me a reading of "Twenty-nine Cents". Phew! I don't have to tell you what a relief that was. I was hoping for under a quarter, but what can you do.
The final stage of the check-up, the grand finale, is always the shot. No matter how recently my last check-up happens to have been, I somehow always need an immunization of some sort. Doctor Maya relishes this task. With a sober expression, she loads up the medication, borrows an appropriate quote from the Berenstain Bears ("You won't even have time to say 'Ouch', Mama..."), and then plunges the blunt plastic syringe into my arm, punctuated with the spoken declaration - "Shot!" It's actually a nice touch. If you're going to get the shot anyway, you might as well celebrate it. I might suggest that to the nurse next time I need a tetanus booster.
So all is well, I checked out fine. She did suggest that I go straight to bed, for some reason. After having been up four times last night with her baby brother, I was actually quite excited by those orders. Unfortunately, she recanted them almost immediately when it was time to turn the tables and receive a checkup from Doctor Mama.
Ahhh...nice to know that I'm in such good hands.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Mmm...regular
My toothpaste makes me laugh. Seriously, I giggle every morning and evening. Why? Because the people at Colgate have apparently decided to cut costs in the area of advertising.
Our current tube of basic white paste bears a label that boasts about it's "Great Regular Flavor!" Really? This is how you want to make the sale? By trying to drum up excitement using the word regular? You may as well market it as "Fabulous in it's Lack of Improvement!" or "Our Least Creative Version!"
Seriously, I'd suggest either using the word "Classic" or "Original" as slightly more positive replacements. Or stamp the product simply"Regular Flavor"without the unnecessary enthusiasm. When was the last time you raved to someone about the fantastically regular movie you saw last night, or the delightfully regular dessert at the new restaurant in town?
I'm such a backseat advertiser. I will say, though, that my teeth feel satisfyingly regular after having brushed them with my Colgate toothpaste...
Our current tube of basic white paste bears a label that boasts about it's "Great Regular Flavor!" Really? This is how you want to make the sale? By trying to drum up excitement using the word regular? You may as well market it as "Fabulous in it's Lack of Improvement!" or "Our Least Creative Version!"
Seriously, I'd suggest either using the word "Classic" or "Original" as slightly more positive replacements. Or stamp the product simply"Regular Flavor"without the unnecessary enthusiasm. When was the last time you raved to someone about the fantastically regular movie you saw last night, or the delightfully regular dessert at the new restaurant in town?
I'm such a backseat advertiser. I will say, though, that my teeth feel satisfyingly regular after having brushed them with my Colgate toothpaste...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I guess they do have Biblical names...
Maya's been asking me frequently in recent days to act out the story of Noah's Ark with her Fisher Price set. One day, while the animals were in the process of boarding the ark, she requested that I wait to close the boat's door until two extra passengers had a chance to take their places inside...Thomas the tank engine and James the red engine.
"Can Thomas and James go on the ark too, Mama?"
"Um, sure." I answered. After all - if talking, feeling, thinking trains had existed back in the day, I'm sure God would have included a pair among the ark-bound menagerie.
The updated twist on the classic tale grew more involved a few days ago when I was interrupted again, this time in the middle of the Lord's monologue to Noah about the upcoming flood and his related instructions.
"And Noah listened to God, " I was explaining, "and obeyed what he was told about..."
"And THEN, " Maya interjected excitedly, "Noah heard a 'Peep peep!'! Here comes Thomas the Tank Engine!"
That's right - in current repetitions of this story, Thomas and James have developed speaking roles. The new version also involves Thomas carrying all of the animals to the ark. He's sort of a railway assistant to Noah.
It's all good, I suppose. She's taking an interest in Bible stories and exercising her creative muscles at the same time. It does make me wonder what new fusion will show up next. Elmo at the nativity? Boots the Monkey curled up next to Moses in the woven basket floating through Egypt? Only time...and my three-year-old director...will tell.
"Can Thomas and James go on the ark too, Mama?"
"Um, sure." I answered. After all - if talking, feeling, thinking trains had existed back in the day, I'm sure God would have included a pair among the ark-bound menagerie.
The updated twist on the classic tale grew more involved a few days ago when I was interrupted again, this time in the middle of the Lord's monologue to Noah about the upcoming flood and his related instructions.
"And Noah listened to God, " I was explaining, "and obeyed what he was told about..."
"And THEN, " Maya interjected excitedly, "Noah heard a 'Peep peep!'! Here comes Thomas the Tank Engine!"
That's right - in current repetitions of this story, Thomas and James have developed speaking roles. The new version also involves Thomas carrying all of the animals to the ark. He's sort of a railway assistant to Noah.
It's all good, I suppose. She's taking an interest in Bible stories and exercising her creative muscles at the same time. It does make me wonder what new fusion will show up next. Elmo at the nativity? Boots the Monkey curled up next to Moses in the woven basket floating through Egypt? Only time...and my three-year-old director...will tell.
This week in my kitchen (Week of April 14th)
Late edition this week, but here it is!
My featured dinner is one that Mary Ann posted on her blog the other week, and I knew I had to try it! Totally yummy chicken and asparagus dish. I made biscuits to go with it and they were so good with the extra sauce!
Here's the link to Mary Ann's post...
*****
Saucy Chicken & Asparagus Bake
*****
And my baking venture? A spur-of-the-moment decision to whip up something for a playgroup gathering I hosted yesterday resulted in a delightful new favorite...Strawberry Bread! First time I made it, but it won't be the last.
*****
Strawberry Bread
2 1/2 cups fresh strawberries
3 cups + 2 T. all-purpose flour
2 c. sugar
1 T. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 1/4 c. vegetable oil
4 eggs, beaten
Preheat oven to 350. Butter & flour two 9 x 5 inch loaf pans. Slice strawberries and place in bowl. Sprinkle lightly with sugar and let sit while preparing the rest. Combine flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda in large bowl. Mix well. Blend oil and eggs and stir into strawberries. Add strawberry mixture to flour mixture, blending until dry ingredients are just moistened. Divide batter between pans and bake for 45-50 minutes, or until toothpick in center comes out clean. Let cool 10 minutes, remove from pan and cool completely.
*****
My featured dinner is one that Mary Ann posted on her blog the other week, and I knew I had to try it! Totally yummy chicken and asparagus dish. I made biscuits to go with it and they were so good with the extra sauce!
Here's the link to Mary Ann's post...
*****
Saucy Chicken & Asparagus Bake
*****
And my baking venture? A spur-of-the-moment decision to whip up something for a playgroup gathering I hosted yesterday resulted in a delightful new favorite...Strawberry Bread! First time I made it, but it won't be the last.
*****
Strawberry Bread
2 1/2 cups fresh strawberries
3 cups + 2 T. all-purpose flour
2 c. sugar
1 T. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 1/4 c. vegetable oil
4 eggs, beaten
Preheat oven to 350. Butter & flour two 9 x 5 inch loaf pans. Slice strawberries and place in bowl. Sprinkle lightly with sugar and let sit while preparing the rest. Combine flour, sugar, salt, and baking soda in large bowl. Mix well. Blend oil and eggs and stir into strawberries. Add strawberry mixture to flour mixture, blending until dry ingredients are just moistened. Divide batter between pans and bake for 45-50 minutes, or until toothpick in center comes out clean. Let cool 10 minutes, remove from pan and cool completely.
*****
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
This week in my kitchen (Week of April 7th)
For dinner last night I made one of my favorite spring/summer time salads. I usually serve it alongside some French bread with olive oil & dipping spices. Mmm...
****
Grilled Chicken Salad
2 - boneless, skinless chicken breasts; grilled, seasoned, & diced
1 - head romaine lettuce, rinsed & chopped
1 - or 2 Roma tomatoes, chopped
1 - yellow pepper, cut into thin slices
1- avocado, diced
shredded cheese
honey mustard dressing (my favorite store-bought brand is Marzetti's, but I'd like to start making my own)
Toss chicken, veggies, & cheese together and top with dressing.
*****
This was my new baking recipe of the week! All I can say is...holy crap. These. Are. Good.
*****
Oatmeal Carmelitas
****
Grilled Chicken Salad
2 - boneless, skinless chicken breasts; grilled, seasoned, & diced
1 - head romaine lettuce, rinsed & chopped
1 - or 2 Roma tomatoes, chopped
1 - yellow pepper, cut into thin slices
1- avocado, diced
shredded cheese
honey mustard dressing (my favorite store-bought brand is Marzetti's, but I'd like to start making my own)
Toss chicken, veggies, & cheese together and top with dressing.
*****
This was my new baking recipe of the week! All I can say is...holy crap. These. Are. Good.
*****
Oatmeal Carmelitas
| Crust | |
| 2 | cups All Purpose or Unbleached Flour |
| 2 | cups quick-cooking rolled oats |
| 1 1/2 | cups firmly packed brown sugar |
| 1 | teaspoon baking soda |
| 1/2 | teaspoon salt |
| 1 1/4 | cups margarine or butter, softened |
Filling | |
| 1 | (12.5-oz.) jar (1 cup) caramel ice cream topping |
| 3 | tablespoons All Purpose or Unbleached Flour |
| 1 | (6-oz.) pkg. (1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips |
| 1/2 | cup chopped nuts |
DIRECTIONS
| Heat oven to 350°F. Grease 13x9-inch pan. In large bowl, combine all crust ingredients; mix at low speed until crumbly. Reserve half of crumb mixture (about 3 cups) for topping. Press remaining crumb mixture in bottom of greased pan. Bake at 350°F. for 10 minutes. | |
| Remove partially baked crust from oven; sprinkle with chocolate chips and nuts. Drizzle evenly with caramel mixture; sprinkle with reserved crumb mixture. Return to oven; bake an additional 18 to 22 minutes or until golden brown. Cool 1 hour or until completely cooled. Refrigerate 1 to 2 hours or until filling is set. Cut into bars. ***** |
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