How Chocolate Saved Lives

Melodramatic title, you think? Oh no, my friends, 'tis true, 'tis true.

You see, yesterday I was ready to kill, maim, and destroy. First, my laptop crashed. Again. And the kids dumped water all over the bathroom while they were taking a bath. And I couldn't figure out how to download a %*#%& video from YouTube for a %*#%&% visiting teaching conference that I don't want to go to (even though yes, I'm the visiting teaching coordinator for my ward, but hey, boring is boring, people). And Ellie had thrown a half-hour tantrum over, I don't even know what, who can remember after having a kid scream into your ear drum for a half-hour. And Jack got sent to the office at school for having pushed a kid in front of him in line for the water fountain (but don't worry, it's ok, because he was REALLY thirsty). And the car that was in the shop for a month still isn't quite right. And I've had bad hair days for like a month. And then....I discovered that there was no decent chocolate in the house.

And as a result, I wanted to mow down the entire neighborhood. Wipe out the entire city. Demolish the entire state. Oh, you say hormones may have been at play, you sexist pig? Oh, people, that is just so not. So not. Whatever. Shut up. Who asked you. Stop trying to change the subject. Because the real story is that chocolate saved my life.

Before I could load my weaponry, I remembered a recipe my sister-inlaw Julie had sent me eons ago. It promised to be a 5-minute cake-in-a-mug. Too good to be true? Playing on my dearest hopes and dreams? Perhaps, but I tried it anyway.

And people.

Oh, how it worked.

It took me 2 minutes to mix up the ingredients (all in the mug), and another 3 minutes in the microwave. I let it cool for about 2 minutes, just long enough to get into my jammies and turn on a marathon of "30 Rock," "The Office," and "Law & Order." And then I ate it.

And no one had to die.

Thus, chocolate saved my life, and the lives of many others.

So, copy down this recipe and put it, not in your recipe box, but in your medicine cabinet, right next to the Motrin. You'll thank me.

Chocolate Cake in a Mug
1 coffee mug
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour (not self-rising)
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons baking cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
Small splash of vanilla

Add the dry ingredients to the mug and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired (really, don't bother).
Put on your jammies.
Flip on the TV.
Feel good that you have just saved lives.

Fill up that glass half-full, sister

You know, I've had a crappy couple of days, between frustrating kindergarten teachers and annoying car mechanics and an overwhelming PMS need for massive amounts of food I shouldn't eat. But luckily, then I got this photo from a friend:

And it reminded me how lucky we are to have good buddies.

And awesome BFFs.

and gym mats and uneven bars to throw ourselves around on

and blue hair.

And once again, my glass is half full.

When it sucks to be a woman

Normally, I love being a woman. I really do. But there are certain times when it just plain sucks. Like when you REALLY have to pee on a long car ride, and your 7 snarky brothers happily trot off and pee against a tree/into a Coke bottle/wherever they darn well please, and you're left in the smelly van doing the pee dance 'til your parents can find a girl-appropriate facility. Then it sucks to be a woman.

Another time? Dealing with mechanics. Then it SUCKS to be a woman. Because you walk in, they see you and all your girl parts, and they immediately think, she's a moron.

Like today.

You see, our Honda Pilot was in a car accident a few weeks ago. Our babysitter accidentally swerved into a pole, and then the pole fell onto the car before rolling off the ground. Big-ass pole. Needless to say, a lot of damage. So it was hauled off to the insurance company, which said that it could be fixed, but that there'd be close to $10,000 in repairs. So it's towed to the auto body shop, which has to TOTALLY TAKE APART THE CAR, put on a new roof, etc etc etc. Three weeks in the shop. Extensive, extensive repairs. Each time the guy calls me to give me a status, he stresses to me just how extensive the body repairs are. Right? With me so far?

So we get it home, and I go to open the rear hatch door, and it won't stay open. Like the shocks or springs or whatever on it are shot. Simply won't stay open - slams close every time you open it. So I take it on back to the auto body shop today to have them repair it. And that's when it happens.

I talk to a man. Who gives me the dumb woman treatment. And he tells me that this is normal wear-and-tear, and not in any way related to the accident. So go on home and make some brownies, Little Missie.

So, what infuriated me was not that he told me this. Although I certainly disagree that this door, which fully functioned before the accident, would magically "wear and tear" at the exact moment that the car is in an accident. But I certainly see where he's coming from. As grownups we can agree to disagree. So no, that's not why I'm infuriated. I'm infuriated that he told me this all in this sickly-sweet-I'm-talking-to-a-mentally-impaired-person kind of voice, and kept kinda shaking his head like when you try to explain computers to your 80-year-old grandmother. And that his voice had this laughing-type quality to it like "man, the things I put up with." That's why I'm infuriated. And that's why I'd like to kick him in the private parts. And that's why, just today, it sucks to be a woman.

Thank you for your time.

It Has Begun.

The mandatory "Mom and Dad, listen, we're going to put on a show!" Which is followed by about a half-hour of noise that they call singing and I call ear-splitting. I want my mom points for this, and I want them now.

The scary thing is? I'm fairly certain that in roughly 15 years, Ellie will be wearing pretty much that same outfit in a "Girls Gone Wild: Spring Break" video.

The Face

The good news is that, unlike the previous several months, Ellie will now actually look in the camera when you're taking her picture. The bad news? Well, her "smile" is, well, a little creepy.

Take this picture, for example, which was taken at her gymnastics class.

Did she have a stroke? Is she constipated? Is she doing a Popeye impersonation? Should we seek immediate medical attention? I just can't figure it out, but apparently she thinks that's her "smile." It's really a bit disturbing. But hey, it could be worse. Because up until now, this was her version of a "smile."


Or, you could take the other kid, who doesn't believe in photos without accessories. This is during his current "I'm going to be an author like Dr. Seuss" phase. Apparently authors wear really big glasses.

And apparently all bad guys have paper mustaches.

It started young. Yes, those are black winter gloves. During the summer. During our family picture photo shoot. We tried to get him to take them off. We really, really did.

What, don't all people wear black winter gloves in the summer during family photo shoots?

Pumpkinville

The past two years, we've gone to a local pumpkin patch named Pumpkinville with Jack's preschool class. Now the torch has passed to Ellie, and she got to go on her very first field trip to Pumpkinville today. She had a great time, and was so excited to be big enough to go on a real field trip. There was a hayride, lots of big smelly animals to feed, and a lot of fun bounce houses and slides. Me, I find that the IDEA of a pumpkin patch is usually more fun than the actual thing - it's a "you've seen one, you've seen 'em all" kind of thing. But it was totally worth it to see Ellie have such a blast.

(1) Ellie and her pal Emma


(2) The Purple Pandas of 2010


(3) Enjoying the hayride


(4) That poor tortoise. The poor thing got mauled by like 100 preschoolers today.

Pressing Issues

Ellie: "When I grow up, I want to be a mermaid"
Mom: "OK, Ellie, sounds good"

Later....
Ellie: "Mom, if I become a mermaid when I grow up, I might miss you. How do you think we'll visit each other?"
Mom: "Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way"
Ellie: "But I can't come out of the water and you can't breathe under water"
Mom: "Then I guess you'd better not become a mermaid when you grow up"
Ellie: "Mom, I've got a great idea, I can swim up to the dock like Ariel and you can talk to me on the dock"
Mom: "OK, sounds like a plan"

Later...
Ellie: "Mom, if I become a mermaid, where will I swim?"
Mom: "I guess the ocean"
Ellie: "But we don't know where the ocean is!"
Mom: "Dad knows where it is, so he could show you" (nice deflection, huh)

Later...
Ellie: "Dad, where is the ocean?"
Jared: "It's pretty far away, so we might miss you when you're living there"
Ellie: "But I can come up to the surface and visit you"
Jared: "OK, sounds good"

Later....
Ellie: "Dad, are there docks in the ocean?"
Dad: "Yes, there are"
Ellie: "Dad, I have a great idea, you could come to the dock and I could come to the dock and we could visit"
Dad: "OK, we're done talking now"

Later....
Ellie: "Mom, when I grow up to be a mermaid, I'll take a cell phone with me, so if I get lonely, I can call you on my cell phone and you can call me on the family phone, and then you can drive out to the dock and I can swim up to the dock and we can visit"
Mom: "OK, we're done talking now"

Later....
Ellie: "Mom, when I grow up to be a mermaid..."
Mom: "Hey, want a cupcake and cartoons?"

Everyone has their limit, people.

So what's it to ya

I'm addicted to Diet Dr. Pepper. There, I said it. I drink 2-3 cans a day, every day. If I'm out of it, I will go to the store. Immediately. No matter what I'm doing. I don't even know what would happen if I went without it, because I simply won't allow that to happen. I'll replace my stash immediately. And I won't send my husband to get it at the store. Because he might try and be sneaky and get me the little kid-sized cans, or even worse, the caffeine free. Oh, he tries to pretend that it's accidental ("oh, were those caffeine free? I didn't even notice!"), but I know better. He's not so fond of my Diet Dr. Pepper habit. But you know what? I DON'T CARE.

That's right. I'm addicted to Diet Dr. Pepper. And I am just fine and dandy with that fact. Will the crazy-ass-freaky-diet-chemicals in there eventually kill me? Yeah, maybe. But we all gotta go somehow.

And you know what else? I DESERVE IT. Yeah, I said it. Like that sense of entitlement do you? That's right. I said it. I deserve it.

Because I don't smoke.
And I don't drink.
And I don't do drugs.
And I exercise every day.
And I eat/choke down fruits and veggies.
And I go to church.
And I'm nice to my neighbors.
And I don't cheat on my taxes.

And all I ask for is some chocolate and some stinkin', frickin', flippin' Diet Dr. Pepper.

That's all.

Thank you for your time.

Big Meadows Fun

We're having some cool weather this week - just in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, which has been a nice change of pace from our hot summer. Over the weekend we got to take advantage of it when my brother Pete invited us and another family up for a picnic at Big Meadows, an area in the Shenandoah National Park. The weather was beautiful - sunny, and crisp enough that we wore jackets - and we all had a blast. It was so nice, after the craziness of the past week, to have the kids just run around and be kids. We started off with a picnic, then a game of kickball. That included many unpleasant flashbacks to 6th grade for me, especially since my dear, sweet husband kept targeting me out in left field since he knew I'd miss the ball every time. Isn't that what a husband is for, pointing out all your weaknesses and flaws publicly for all to see? Or is that just my husband. Hmmm. Anyway, it was all made better because we had yummy, nummy s'mores. I could literally eat like 10 of those, but I limited myself to 2 - for goodness sake, I was already the clumsy one, did I really need to highlight myself as the piggy-pig one too!


(1) Jack had a great time hanging out with the boys his age - they had wonderfully in-depth conversations, like about whether they're as strong as Superman or not. (The answer - almost, but not quite.)

(2) Ellie loved hanging out with her daddy

(3) Yup, that's my dear brother, ruthlessly pegging the child. I think he laughed afterward, too.

(4) I tried, I really did, to get a cute picture of the kids in front of the beautiful scenic overlook. But instead, Jack made faces, Ellie kept turning her head, and I bitched at my kids in front of the beautiful scenic overlook. Good times.

(5) Please note the radical change in quality of the following photos - yeah, that's because my sister-inlaw took them. We'll pretend it's because she has a better camera. Yeah, that's it. For craps' sake, I'm already the clumsy, piggy-pig one, do I also have to be the bad photographer one too?

(6) Jack Attack, in one of his quieter moments

(7) Ellie Bellie Jellie Bean - Robyn must have the magic touch, because Ellie hasn't faced the camera for me in months

(8) The whole gang

As I Sit Here....

I'm holding a warm compress to my dog's butt, and thinking, hmmm, how did my life come to this?

When I was a young girl, imagining my dream life, my dream man, my dream job, I can honestly say I didn't dream of holding a wet compress to my dog's butt.

But then again, as a young girl, I had never heard of (wait for it) "anal sack infection." Bet you could have gone your whole life without hearing that one, huh. Me too. But apparently that's what the doggie's got. I won't torture you with the details of how we discovered this (you just don't need that visual haunting your dreams), and if you don't know what a dog's "anal sack" is, then I'm not going to tell you. But suffice to say, our doggie's you-know-what (I can't even say it anymore) is infected. So we had to take him to the vet. And, about a half-hour later, we came out of the office lacking $368.67 and an immeasurable amount of dignity. Not to mention the mind-boggling amount of instructions - including the powder I'm supposed to sprinkle over his food, which is not his normal food but a special diet I'm supposed to make him while he recovers, and then there are the pain meds I'm supposed to give him, which I'm sorely tempted to give myself since I am supposed to be holding a warm compress to a dog's butt and I think I just really deserve those meds.


Pitiful. Just pitiful.

Jack and Ellie have tried their best to be extra-nice to Otis. Even at their age, they can understand the humiliation associated with the Cone of Shame.