I woke up in pain, my lungs tight, my stomach hurting, and my face and tonsils swollen up like The Great Pumpkin in that classic Charlie Brown animated special that anyone over 30 probably grew up with.   Getting out of bed took exactly twenty seven minutes and thirty two seconds, and the effort of actually hoisting myself up out of bed used up about 79% of the energy that I had for the day, meaning BOY WAS I GOING TO BE A JOY TO BE AROUND!    (Sorry, Mr. DomesticatedRedhead)

It occurred to me the other day as I was scrolling through Facebook and Pinterest (the technology version of crack cocaine), reading other people’s blogs, and looking at all the shiny, happy pictures and look-ma-I’m-doing-something-fabulous status updates that people were posting, that it’s all too easy to look at the rest of the world and wonder… where the heck do these people came from and what is their secret?   Do they never have a bad day?  Are they ever NOT having fun?  And SWEET JESUS STARFISH WEASEL WAFFLES, what shampoo is she using to get that shiny, bouncy hair?

Sure, the good things are real.   That shiny hair is real.  Those friends are real (unless you have some pretty spectacular imaginary ones that can actually be photographed.   But maybe that’s not awesome, just kinda’ spooky).  That sunny boat and awesome restaurant are real.  But what all these people are probably NOT showing is that they’re actually tired, and stressed about money, they just got in a fight with their best friend and that fabulous selfie took seventeen different tries and some creative editing via their phone app.   

So why don’t they show this?  Because we’re all so worried about what others – all the other shiny, happy people – think, to be real, and actually tell about any of that stuff.  

Truth: About 40% of my days start out like this, which is actually an improvement over the last few years when that number was more like 90%.    And I have about 40% of the energy of “normal” people every single day, meaning that something as joyful as scrubbing toilets or… you know… walking up the stairs…. takes a ton of effort sometimes.    But I’m not complaining, because I also know that I’m blessed with a lot of things in life, and there are SO MANY beautiful things in the world that being ill has forced me to slow down enough to actually notice.  

Like the beauty of random roses from my husband this week, given “just because”, as they perch on our NEWLY DELIVERED TABLE! 

Or the smell of rich chocolate cupcakes, made for Mr. Domesticated’s work to celebrate a team birthday. 

Or even the softness of the puppy’s fur, when she jumps into bed in the morning for some “Oh boy you moved slightly therefore you must be awake!” snuggles.  

Now I’m not advocating pessimism, or complaining, or anything that involves excessive whining about first world problems. (a.k.a. “My life is ending because my TiVo didn’t record my favorite shows today!”)    But what I AM advocating is taking a deep breath, taking a risk, and feeling free to drop the need to appear perfect in favor of just being real sometimes.    Because I’ve learned the hard way –  by being exhausted, sick, and chronically ill with something outside of my control – that the best people in life will actually like you MORE when you open up.   
  

You know what I mean.  That magical point where having boxes around and stuff piled in random places like the adult version of tetris goes from being “perfectly acceptable” to “gee-you-might-want-to-put-in-some-effort-sweetie?”

According to my neighbors next door, it’s six months.  According to the ones across the street, it’s six years.  And according to the inner Type-A perfectionistic life Nazi that lives in my brain, it’s been three months and twelve days and therefore I’m failing at life and should probably just turn in my adult card now and hang my head in shame.   

Baaad DomesticatedRedhead!  Baaad!

Mr. Domesticated and I have been trying, really we have.   But apparently a fixed budget along with a need for more shelving/storage/spiffy organizational things don’t mix, especially when there are other things that seem to be more pressing (hello… kitchen table?   Bed?  Um…CHAIRS?) and take priority.  And it certainly doesn’t help that part of the joy of home ownership, apparently, is the discovery of just how much everything costs…as evidenced by the glazed looks that you see on people’s faces at stores like Home Depot and Menards.

Me:  Look honey, these shelves would be perfect!
Him:  I like them!  How much?
Me:  *checks the price tag*  Ooh, looks like two arms, a leg, and our first TWO unborn children.  Too much…..
Him:  How about these over here?
Me:  Hmm, not as nice, but they only cost a kidney, your right butt cheek, and a sacrificial goat.  Much more reasonable!  I think we can swing it.

This past weekend we drove around the metro area in the adult version of a scavenger hunt (only it was far less exciting than I remember it being when we were all six), looking for a kitchen table.   Naturally, we checked all the places that had words like “discount” and “bargain” and “you didn’t need all the parts anyway, did you?” in their names, since this redhead is allergic to melons, ragweed, and paying full price for anything.  Surprisingly enough, we actually ended up finding something in our limited budget that had all four legs and was pronounced “not too bad.”  

This means that if you come over to our house at any point in the next three months, you will now have the option of dining “Asian Style” (i.e. on sofa cushions on the floor) or “College Bar” style, where you hover standing around a table and try to look cool.  Except now you can drink out of actual glasses, rather than red plastic cups.

Fancy, right?

Still, I’m seeing it as a step in the right direction, and one more thing we can cross off our list.   Now if I can only find a way to silence the inner perfectionist that keeps yelling WORK FASTER, SLAVE!, things will be lovely indeed.     Which is why I keep wondering what everyone else’s thoughts are on the tipping point of unpacking & organizing.   Am I right on schedule?  Ahead?  Or should I maybe possibly probably put down the cookie sheet, woman, and pick up a box or two?

I’m not going to lie, if you say I have five years, I’m totally bringing you cookies.
(Go ahead and leave your comments below.  Because, you know, all the cool people are doing it!)

Love and Sprinkles,
~ DomesticatedRedhead

In one of the great ironies of life, the days after I posted my new “take time for me” motto have been a whirlwind of social obligations and baking orders, to-do’s and errands, and a jumble of lists that never seem to get everything checked off.

Each day seems to fly by faster than the one before, leaving me standing in a sprinkles-covered kitchen, dusted in a fine layer of powdered sugar and Windex, staring a pile of half-unpacked boxes and mounds of paper before fumbling for my keys to run somewhere before they close.    There always seems to be something to do, an appointment to run to, or someone to meet up with.

It’s times like these that I reach for my phone and text Mr. DomesticatedRedhead:

Me: Just an FYI, I’m taking up drinking.   If you need me or the dog, we’ll be at the bar.
Him:  Awesome.  Have fun.  Be careful of Tequila.

So when I was driving home the other day from running errands and saw the card table set up on the corner of the street, I almost didn’t stop, in favor of getting home faster to do whatever VERY IMPORTANT thing I had next on my list, like curing cancer or solving world hunger…

… or scrubbing down the bathroom shower.

But the sight of four tiny, eager faces (coupled with their amazing display of lung capacity as they bellowed in tandem “LEMONADE!” and bounced around like Cirque du Soleil acrobats on speed) swayed me, and I pulled over to

Meet Adriana, Bethia, and Isaiah – entrepreneurs extraordinaire.  A quick conversation with them revealed that their church asked them to look through sofa cushions for spare change, to help children in Rowanda.   But they wanted to take it a step further, and decided to sell lemonade (for the bargain price of $.50 a glass) to raise even more.

Because when everyone seems so often to live “Inside their own bubble,” caught up in their own life, views, and….errands (hey, that shower’s not going to scrub itself!)… little teachers like this are a good reminder that the sweetest things in life can be found outside of it.

(Note: Yes, their parents were there.  And yes, the parents gave the OK.   Nothing like a random stranger offering your kids cookies… at least I wasn’t doing it from the side door of an unmarked van.)  

And in the spirit of sharing, I’m sharing the recipe for the world’s best Peanut Butter cookies with you today.

These cookies are a fabulous mix of crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, rolled in sugar and packed with a fabulous peanut butter taste that will make you popular with whomever you give them to.  Or with yourself, if you eat the whole batch.  (Whatever.  I don’t judge.)    They’re simple, and delicious, and the perfect gentle reminder for all of us to:

Ingredients:

• 2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (12 1/2 ounces)
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 cup (2 sticks, 16 tablespoons) butter, softened to room temperature
• 2 cups creamy peanut butter (see note)
• 1 1/2 cups brown sugar (10 1/2 ounces)
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar (3 1/2 ounces)
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Set aside.
3. In a large bowl with a handheld electric mixer or in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together the butter and peanut butter until light and fluffy, 1-2 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
4. Add the brown sugar and granulated sugar and mix until combined. Beat in the eggs and vanilla until creamy.
5. Add the dry ingredients and mix until combined.
6. Scoop the dough and roll into 1- or 2-inch balls. Place on parchment- or silpat-lined (or lightly greased) large, rimmed baking sheets, placing them a couple inches apart.
7. Bake for 10-11 minutes until puffed. Don’t overbake.
8. Remove from the oven and immediately press each cookie to flatten slightly with the bottom of a flat drinking glass or the back of your spatula. (Don’t flatten completely – just lightly press)
9. Transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely. 

People like to say that blogs exist to chronicle their life, or document ideas, or share exciting events.

Blogs exist for the same reason that holidays exist: they point out just how fast time goes and GOOD LORD HAS IT BEEN A MONTH ALREADY/Quick Get the Tree Up/HOW AM I TURNING <Insert age here>?

Life here in our little house has been crazy busy this past month, but I’m beginning to believe that that’s more of a personality trait and less of a temporary circumstance.   Weddings, house improvements, family get-togethers, baking orders, doctor’s appointments, and all the little daily tasks (I’m looking at you, LAUNDRY) coupled with the fact that I have crazy energy some days and other days getting out of bed takes two hours and an effort worthy of a trophy, makes blogging fall to the bottom of the ‘to do’ list more than it probably should.    Somehow, it seems so selfish to take the time to write about ME when I’m staring at a sink full of dishes and the dog is hovering suspiciously around the door looking shifty.  

Because we all know that dog-by-doorway is akin to toddler-being-quiet:  Nothing good can come of it. 

Still, as crazy as it gets, life is good.  Our house is filled with sunshine and warmth, the smell of freshly baked bread, and the sound of children laughing.   Our dog, probably due to the fact that she is white and fluffy and resembles a living, romping stuffed animal, has become an instant celebrity with the dozens of neighborhood kids and they’ve taken to ringing the doorbell at all hours of the day to beg, en masse, “if Lily can come out and play?”  
And even though it requires no less than 30 minutes of guided Ranger-Rick-esque supervision with our shy puppy and the overenthusiastic kids, the answer is always

There’s still so much to do, so many boxes to unpack, so many pictures to hang and pieces of furniture to buy.  So many things to organize, and label, and create.  So many blog posts to write. 

But for now, I’m forcing myself to slow down.  To breathe. 

To take long slow walks and the time to sit outside on the (neatly-manicured) front lawn, basking in the sunshine for a whole 5 minutes – as much as a natural redhead can get without turning lobster red – and feeling the prickly softness of grass under my hands and feet for the first time in so many years. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still an internal struggle between my internal drive to DO ALL THE THINGS and my 2-hours-of-energy-per-day limitations, but I’m using it as a lesson in mindfulness and a chance to learn how to let the small things go, just a little.   And thankfully, Mr. DomesticatedRedhead doesn’t mind, and even encourages this new philosophy.  

So if I am a bit lax on the posting for a while, you know why.   And if you’re ever in the area, I encourage you to drop by and have a cup of coffee or tea at the kitchen counter, enjoying the sunlight and fresh-baked bread smell with me as we catch up.   Or we can sit outside on the lawn and enjoy the warmth together, running our hands through the blades of grass and taking the time to just “be”.   There is light here, and love, and warmth, and I want to share it with anyone who needs a slice of it in their life too.  

BREAKING NEWS!

 

So if you’re ever near Woodbury, you’re welcome to stop by. 

I’ll probably be in the kitchen, opening and closing things.  

AT THE SAME TIME! 

Here’s a riddle for you:

Q:  What’s better than a sassy, domesticated redhead who writes a blog?  


Ok, I’ll admit, that’s a trick question.  Because obviously you’d answer “Duh!  There’s NOTHING better than a sassy, domesticated blogging redhead!”, and you’d be right.   Except in this case, the answer happens to be…

A:  TWO sassy, domesticated blogging redheads!  

Yep, you read that right.  Two!  And I have a surprise for all you lovely, fabulous readers…

May I introduce my good friend Betty, who blogs over at SweetBettysBlog and who just so happens to also be a sassy, craftsy, fashionable redhead with a drive to BAKE ALL THE THINGS!   We go waaay back to our mutual days in college, when we were bombshells-in-training and bonded over our mutual love of dance, baking, and all things chocolate.    She’s graciously agreed to share some of her insight here as well, and you can expect to see more of her in the upcoming months as we pop over to each other’s blogs like good friends dropping in for tea.    

I know you’re excited.   I sure am!

So without further ado, I give you the classy and oh-so-fabulous Betty…

—————————————————————————————————-

One of my favorite things to do is cook for friends. There is a simple joy in making meals for others, the conversation around the table, not to mention I have a tendency to cook more than is required for one person! But dinner parties can be terrifying things if you aren’t used to it. There is all the planning, the invites, the tablescapes, the grocery shopping, and then you finally get to the cooking itself. But I don’t let that stop me, and neither should you. Over the years I have had my fair share of amazing parties, and a few that didn’t go so well. All of them have taught me a few things. So gather close boys and girls, here are the Betty rules for being a host(ess).

Rule Number 1 – Follow the wisdom of a few French (influenced) women.
In the manner of Julia Child, roll with accidents. All mistakes are just teachable moments and can lead to some good laughs in the kitchen! Don’t let one burned dish ruin your entire evening, it isn’t worth it! Second impeccable lady to listen to, Coco Chanel. When you finish planning, take one thing away. One twist to the menu, one item off the table. You will thank yourself later.

Rule Number 2 – Take advantage of what you already have.
Do you have some fresh herbs in the fridge? Pick a dish that uses them! Do you have something from you CSA box you just haven’t used yet? Make that the star of the show! Those mismatched plates from your grandmother? They make fabulous serving plates for hors d’oeuvres and desserts! You don’t need to have a complete china set to entertain, as long as you have enough plates for dinner.

Rule Number 3 – Plan ahead.
Make a menu. Take supply inventory and make a shopping list. That way you don’t end up with a ton of onion and no garlic! Plan how you are going to serve your courses, or if you even have courses! Buffet style parties are a great low key option, especially for larger parties. Most importantly plan your schedule. When do you need to start the main course? When should your guests arrive? When are you going to do all your prep work? Those vegetables are not going to magically chop themselves!

Rule Number 4 – Do not forget your guests.
In all the hustle and bustle of cooking and serving and cleaning up it can be easy to get too focused on the kitchen. But the point of a dinner party, that is truly the company. Your soufflé can fail, you may run out of coffee, but your company will still be there! If you follow Rule Number 3 then you should be able to relax and enjoy your own evening.

So get thee to a cookbook you have been meaning to try, and invite a few friends over. Though it is best to start small with just a few people till you figure out what works for you!

Love and aprons,

Betty

PS For the record, I don’t tablescape. I can’t justify putting all those trinkets on the table when I am just going to have to try and shuffle them around to fit the actual dinner on the table.

Growing up in the great Northern state of Wisconsin, I’m all too familiar with the concept of camping.

Coupled with fact that I have two younger brothers who not only were in Scouts but also who made it to the elevated level of Order of the Arrow (something akin to being knighted, I think, in boy-land), I’d like to think that if I ever accidentally got lost in the woods while looking for a shoe sale somewhere, I’d have a fighting chance of staying alive until someone realized that I was missing and found me.

I know how to tell time, and how much daylight is left, by the sun and the ‘ol fingers-on-the-horizon method.  I know how to estimate weather based on how high the birds are flying and the type of cloud cover.  I can find north with a compass, or by looking at which side of the trees the moss is growing.  I know how to make an impromptu shelter out of sticks, piled boughs, and leaves that wouldn’t win me any awards for architecture but would at least keep me warm at night.   I can even, if forced to, bait my own hook.

… what, don’t you carry an emergency fishing pole with you at all times, too?

But all of that assumes one thing: that I’m fighting for survival.   Voluntarily putting myself in the middle of the woods for the sake of fun?  Nuh uh.  No way.  Been there, done that, got the bug bites (and the conviction that camping is not for me).   Which is why the last two days have been interesting, to say the least.    Here’s a quick recap:

Tuesday:  Notified by the apartment complex that we will have NO WATER all day.  No water means no shower.  No toilet.  No cooking.

Today:  Wake up to NO POWER.  IN JANUARY.  IN THE FROZEN NORTH.  A.k.a., no cooking, no lights… NO HEAT.

Seriously, people.
I don’t pay this much money for rent to go camping.

I’ve tried to be positive about the whole thing, though,  Tuesday I scheduled coffee/tea and girl time with my friend Gaby (see: Arepas) and ran as many errands as I could cram into the rare day when I had the car.   Wednesday I tried turning the shower in the bathroom on as hot as it could get, lighting some candles (since we have no windows in there), and spending as much time as possible in the small space pretending I was at a spa or sauna until steam inhalation drove me back into the main room.  Then I threw on as many layers as I could possibly fit on my body, piled the blankets on top of me, and tried to use this as an experience in gratitude since there are a lot of cold people in the world who don’t have the luxury of extra clothes, blankets, or dorky fuzzy socks.

Dorky fuzzy socks.  One of the top ten best inventions ever.  

And now?  We have water, and heat, for the time being.  But I’m looking ahead to tomorrow and wondering what’s going to be next.   I think the only thing left at this point is… a wall caving in or something.  (Which I am NOT advocating, so stay away, fate, I’m not tempting you!)

I’m celebrating my return to civilization by digging out a recipe for Mexican Hot Chocolate cookies that I had seen a while ago and wanted to try.  Because after spending the past eight hours without any heat whatsoever, any recipe with “Hot Chocolate” in it is an instant winner.  

There are some things in life I will never understand. 

Fingerless gloves, for example. 

Or skydiving.  I mean, who was the first person who looked out the window of an airplane and thought “gee, this 30,000 ft. thing is fun and all but you know what would be a REAL blast?  Strapping an oversized bedsheet to my back and then launching myself out that tiny door over there!  Super Awesome!”?

But one of the top things I don’t quite get is the idea of New Year’s Resolutions. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for resolutions.  Continually working to improve yourself and making changes to make things even better (a la Kaizen)?   Where do I sign up!!!    Finding new ways to be overproductive and grow as a human being?  Heck yes!!!  Trying to be even more perfectionistic?  *squeals in pure glee*   

What I DON’T understand, however, is the idea of waiting until once a year to do this.   Have a burning desire to lose weight/ get healthy/ take up a hobby/ arrange your sock drawer alphabetically?  Why not just do it?   If you know you can be better and want to make a change, why wait until once a year?   Or did I miss the memo entitled “Attn: For best resolution follow-through, you should start on January 1?”  (Which I secretly suspect also came out around the time they sent the memo announcing that all diets need to begin on Mondays)

Still, I admit that there is a lot I can improve on, one of which being this little ‘ol blog.   It’s one of the things that always seems to slip through the cracks, in favor of other things that seem less selfish (Blog = Hi world! Let me spend an hour talking all about myself!  Me! Me!) or more productive.   Like…you know…laundry-and-dishes-and-making-kanzashi-and-color-coding-my-sprinkles-and-stuff.  

So what I’m saying here is…

Scootch over people, and make room for one more on the ‘ol bandwagon.  

I’d like to try and post here more regularly, let’s be gentle and say once a week.  The posts may not be perfect, but it’s probably a good exercise in taking some time for ME and writing down some of the crazy thoughts that swirl around my head on a daily basis.    Oh, and this is also where YOU lovely people come in.   If you see me start to not post, can you please poke me?    Leave a comment.  Send a message.  Or (for those who live nearby) stop on over and whap me upside the head and tell me to SNAP OUT OF IT AND GET YOUR BLOGGING ON ALREADY, WOMAN!   

So whatever your New Year’s resolution is this year, let’s do this thing together.  
I’ll poke you if you poke me.  

(You know what I mean.  Mind out of the gutter, people…)  

A few months ago Reuben and I attended the wedding of our friend Christian to his fiance, Gabriela.

It was a small, intimate wedding, and even though I hadn’t met Gabriela much before it was clear that she brought a lot of life and spice into Christian’s life.    I loved watching them together during the reception, and was glad to have been one of the few invited to celebrate with the happy couple.

Fast forward a few months later at our friend Tracy’s house, where Gabriela and I finally had a chance to talk and get to know each other better.  

Me:  Blah blah, I like doing crafty things like cake decorating and knitting and sewing and things that make BIG messes with very little benefit to my everyday life!  Woo!
Her:  Hey, me too!
Me:  We should totally take a class together on these topics!
Her:  *Whips out her ipad*  Let’s schedule something at this very moment!
Me:  <Thinks internally> Ohmygosh someone who actually GETS STUFF DONE and is PROACTIVE, I love this!   *Tries to restrain self from hugging Gabriela in glee, as that seems to be an I-just-met-you faux pas*

Which is how Reuben and I ended up at the newlywed’s house the other weekend, for a mutual exchange of skills.   She  (being from Venezuela) makes authentic arepas like nobody’s business.   I know how to make a quick-and-easy marshmallow fondant.  Both involve ingredients and big messes, which was perfect.  Let the crafty skill swapping commence!

I knew immediately that I adored this girl when I walked in and saw this on the counter:

And then found out she made dinner for all of us too… including some plain chicken just for me so I’d have something to eat.

And faster than you can say Chocolate-cake-with-sprinkles, I totally knew we’d get along.  Because not only is she gorgeous on the OUTSIDE, she’s also a beautiful person on the inside, and I felt like I was spending the evening with Martha Stewart’s younger, hipper, and much friendlier sister who happened to have the same Type-A perfectionist tendencies as me. 

See?  Love this girl!

To make things even better, she whipped out some aprons for us to wear while getting our bake-a-thon on, which was good because the recipe I brought over for fondant starts with something akin to “Take a gallon of crisco and oil everything down that this stuff could possibly touch.   Hands, counter, bowl, small pets, your spouse….”    Because nothing says “Stuff is about to get REAL in this kitchen” like an apron.  It’s like the housewife version of a hard hat.  

Me, rocking the kid’s apron.  I mean, hello… it’s PINK!

As soon as they saw the aprons come out the boys retreated to the back porch to watch Youtube videos, smoke cigars, freeze their extremities off and talk about such manly topics as engines and financial investing and… I don’t know… beer.  Whatever guys talk about when being manly.  Probably to scratch stuff, too.   And meanwhile Gaby and I proceeded to talk and bake and have lots of crafty fun together while discovering how much we had in common.  

The end result?  A delicious meal of arepas (and the knowledge of how to make them from scratch without burning down the house…in theory….), a bowl of yummy marshmallow fondant for crafting and cupcake decorating, and an amazing friend who I can’t wait to spend more time with.   It’s funny how some people you meet and end up connecting with immediately – she’s definitely one of those types.  Just one more example of how some people come into your life at the very time you need them the most, and leave an instant impression.

This could be the start of a very beautiful…. and messy…. friendship.  
(Watch out boys, the aprons are coming out.)