Make Your Home Happy

The single best piece of advice I got on marriage came from a coworker at the bridal shower my office threw for me a few weeks before our wedding. This instruction came from a particular coworker who is someone I look up to greatly: she is always fun, doesn’t take life too seriously (in the best way), lives in a constant state of utter fabulousness, and is generally the life of the party, whether you like it or not thankyouverymuch. Her advice, which I have taken to heart is simple.

“Always try to make your home happy. Do something, no matter how small, every day to make it that way.”

Every few weeks, she comes up to me at work with the sole intent of asking me, “Ashleigh, are you making your home happy?” The anecdote that came with this question on the last occasion really shed some light on just how central this practice is to her marriage and just how well it works. “Even just lighting a candle. Sometimes when my husband and I are fighting and we can’t solve it, we stop talking, light a candle, and just sit in silence. It totally works.” Then she fell into her contagious little fit of laughter that seems to convey just how little she cares about how absurd she thinks she’s being. Well, oh-role-model-of-mine, I don’t think you are absurd at all. I think you are quite marvelous.

Putting this into practice is not always easy, and the simple things are often the ones that fall through the cracks. This is even more true due to the fact that Bill and I have opposite work schedules, and it is quite the bummer. I work a normal 40-hour work week from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday. Easy enough. But layer on top of that Bill’s schedule of Friday through Tuesday from 2 p.m. to midnight, and things become tricky. We almost never have a full day off together. Case in point, from September 3rd to December 24th, we will not have had a single day off to spend together. So basically, as newlyweds, we are not only trying to figure out this whole marriage thing, but we’re trying to figure out this whole marriage thing with very limited time together. I find find myself wanting to put a lot of effort into making the moments we do have a little extra special, but life often gets in the way and the “important” things take over.

This Sunday, an autumn-themed breakfast prepared while Bill was still asleep meant that he woke up to a home warmed with the smell of pumpkin and cinnamon, and we spent a very rare quiet morning sharing a lazy breakfast at our dining room table. To bring the spirit of fall inside, I pulled one of my favorite things out of the cupboard.

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This stuff is to die for. Pumpkin plus cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg is QUITE the combo, let me tell you.

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I decided to add a little something extra in the form of honey and chopped pecans in place of the traditional butter-and-syrup staples. Great decision.

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One of the things that makes home happier for me is having flowers in plain sight, so these autumn lovelies took center stage on the table.

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A surefire way to measure success when it comes to Bill and food? A severe lack of eye contact while said meal is present. This quick little spread took about 20 minutes to prepare but made a huge impact on my week. I easily could have poured myself a bowl of cereal and called it breakfast, but it was much more rewarding to hear the grizzly bear upstairs awaken from his slumber to the whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen and subsequently follow his nose, stumbling loudly down the stairs. The payoff that resulted – the look of utter surprise followed by hungry anticipation followed by genuine appreciation followed by complete mutual contentedness in our full, happy bellies – will always be worth the effort.

Sounds like a happy home to me! This is officially my mission from here on out.

Halterween: A Tradition is Born

Here’s a piece of irony for you.

One of the things I’ve been so looking forward to in marriage – and I mean really excited about – is the establishment of new traditions. Why is that ironic? Well, I suppose it’s because the very definition of tradition (according to Dictionary.com) is “a continuing practice” or “a long-established or inherited way of thinking or acting”. So basically I’ve been excited about doing the same thing over and over again for an undetermined amount of time. Coming from a generation obsessed with a constant stream of shiny new things and keeping up with the (fill in the blank here: times, trends, outrageous/materialistic/overly dramatized reality TV family that I’m secretly infatuated with… don’t hate me for my guilty pleasures), you would think traditions would be the last thing that would get me going. But maybe that is one of the reasons why I AM so fired up about new ideas becoming Halter family mainstays. Traditions offer a warm, home-y sense of security in an age where constant bombardment with pressure and expectations is commonplace. If you think about it, traditions are great conversation starters and so fun to talk about because they are always so… weird. Quirky. Ridiculous. In fact, they are often the only excuse we have to legitimize being weird, quirky, and ridiculous. I mean, seriously, how else would I get away with some of the things I wrote about in a previous post, like eating cookies for breakfast on a certain magical holiday? Traditionally, calories don’t count on Christmas morning. And you can’t argue with that – it’s FAMILY TRADITION.

It seems to me that in order for something to become tradition, it has to have happened twice. After the first time, we can intend for something to become tradition, but that’s all talk until it actually does. That is why Halloween was so highly anticipated for me this year. Last Halloween, my roommate and I co-hosted a dinner party that consisted of a small guest list, butternut squash lasagna, costumes, and lots of candy. We were over the downtown scene with the 21+ crazies shedding themselves of any and all sensibilities or societal rules (plus, getting a ride home on this particular night is a big, fat pain…), and we decided to bring the party to us. It went well, and a bar was set. Since that night, however, I have referred to it in my brain as the “First Annual”, but I’ve been unable to put my money where my mouth is until this year’s fete.

SO I’m proud to introduce to you snapshots from “The 2nd Annual Supper Bloody Supper at the Halterween Mansion”!

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First up, we took down every ounce of normality in terms of decor and created an ambiance and vibe that was sure to please. (Those apple slices you see in that picture? Caramel apply vodka jello shots. Deadly.)

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My gorgeous co-host to the left (Cher from Clueless) and some lifesaving help to the right (Mean Girls!).

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On the menu, slow-cooker vegetarian chili with optional pulled pork on the side, corn bread, and a sweet potato bar complete with all the fixin’s you could ever dream of.

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An endless spread of booze and sugar guarantee a good time.

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Next ingredient: amazing friends bringing the cheer.

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Mixing and mingling…

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The hubby as Minnesota Vikings embarrassment Josh Freeman and the pup as the penguin to my polar bear.

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New friends were made when Jim Harbaugh joined the festivities.

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And NFL coach royalty Harbaugh and Ditka put Freeman in his place.

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Again with Caramel Apples… Deliciously dangerous.

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An unplanned Arctic (and okay, OKAY, Antarctic) takeover.

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And finally, the family to make it a family tradition.

The bar has been set high, my lovelies. I’m already jazzed for the 3rd Annual Supper Bloody Supper at the Halterween Mansion, and all the “Annuals” come, in all their weird, quirky, ridiculous glory.

Weekend Snapshots: Pumpkin Overload and Auntie Ash

I pretty much had the best weekend ever. Let me lay it out for you.

After work on Friday, I picked up a little lady named Tori. I have considered her family from the beginning, even though our connection to one another is a far too complicated to be fully conveyed in a single breath. Needless to say, I inherited her when I took the Halter name, and she’s pretty much, well, awesome. Not to mention that the amount of laughing we did on 6-hour late night drive to San Diego could have fueled us passed the Mexican border and back again.

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Dinner was a pit stop in Santa Barbara to avoid traffic and to not avoid heaven in a seafood burrito from Los Arroyos off of State Street.

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Is 90 miles too far to drive for burritos on a regular basis?

A ridiculous drive could only end in more ridiculousness when we end up in the Gaslamp District with Tori’s hotel in full view but utterly inaccessible due to a canal and what seemed like hundreds of blocked off streets and “No Left Turn” signs. I dropped her off with her dad and finally rolled into my amazing step-sister’s and brother-in-law’s house around midnight. Within 30 minutes, I passed out despite the unbearable anticipation and excitement of what the morning would bring.

And of course the morning brought it with the adorable noises and delighted screams of a 15-month-old nephew enjoying waffles and bananas for breakfast in his high chair.

At 5:15 a.m.

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I already knew it was love when I met him for the first time last Christmas. What I didn’t realize was just how much power such a little man could hold over me. Exhibit A is the fact that he got me making up silly games pre-hair and makeup (and oof, there’s the picture above to prove it…).

The weekend following was a whirlwind that included…

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A dangerous amount of Pinteresting dotted by fits of sister-bonding over baking…

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Pumpkin White Chocolate Chip Muffins with a recipe via Culinary Concoctions by Peabody (via Pinterest, of course)…

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I love partaking in one of my favorite festivities of the season: pumpkin carving!

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…with an obvious gap in talent and capability between myself and the surgeon. No, seriously. Doug’s a Physician’s Assistant. He operates.

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And Saturday ended with meticulous separation of pumpkin guts and seeds for the roasting of one delicious snack.

Sunday was another early morning that transformed into a run with Jess on trails around a lake near her house. There was girl talk. There was wife talk. There was I-Can’t-Breathe-But-I’m-Still-Talking talk.

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And since my mom and stepdad (or Grandma and Papa depending on your personal situation in the family hierarchy) were walking the dog and the babe behind us, and lake usually equals ducks, we obviously had to partake in some duck watching post-run.

The whole trip was downright amazing. I’m pretty much overcome by all the love and family that surrounded me, and I never even questioned driving the 6 hours each way in the span of around 48 hours. It did, however, make for a very bittersweet, sad-happy Monday of daydreaming at my desk, knowing I’m so far away from some of the most important people in my life. I’m very recently beginning to understand the feeling of family – ironically, through the addition of new members resulting from the breakup if my traditional immediate family. Despite everything, it’s so beautiful to walk into the home of someone you didn’t know six or so years ago and truly feel like you belong. Life just seems that much more wonderful with so many loved ones around, and it’s hard to be away from them most of the time. It’s a good thing that every time I see them, I take a little more of them with me when I leave. Is it possible for your heart burst right out of your chest? Because looking back at pictures from the past few days, that’s about how I’m feeling.

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Especially when I see this sweet little face. He kills me.

If At First You Kill Your Plants, Try, Try Again.

If you asked me to make a list of the “Top 10 Thoughts I Never Expected I Would Think”, it’s entirely likely it would contain the following:

“Do you know what would make this chicken better? If I just went out back to my herb garden, snipped a few sprigs, and whipped up a nice little sauce to enhance the flavors of this delightful meal!”

A few years ago, that would be the type of statement that would make me throw up a little in my mouth – not out of disgust, but out of major intimidation, slight jealousy and the ugly disappointment that comes along with the realization that I will never ever live up to the impossible standard that is the likes of the great Martha Stewarts, Giada De Laurentiis-es, and the Gwyneth Paltrows of the domestic-capabilities world.

Well, lo and behold.

I went out back to my herb garden.

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I snipped a few sprigs.

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And surprised myself greatly by (stumbling through the improvisation of a recipe I found online with vaguely the same-ish ingredients that I happened to have in my kitchen with some substitutions and) whipping up a little sauce to enhance the flavors of this delightful meal.

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I do believe in miracles.

If I can do it, goodness knows you can do it. A few tips:

  • Quit being afraid. Just stop it. Whatever it is you want to do – herb garden or otherwise –  shouldn’t cause you anxiety and shouldn’t make you feel inadequate.
  • If you’re not sure where to start, ask. How did I end up with a pot full of basil, tarragon, parsley, and rosemary? I went to Miner’s Hardware and found someone who knew what they were talking about. Then I flat out told them I had no idea what I was talking about. And then they helped me. Easy as that.
  • Furthermore, if you’re still not sure what to do, ask again. How did I know what to do once I got the little buggers planted and safely sitting in my backyard? I asked the most fabulous of my coworkers what she did with hers. She was a wealth of knowledge and inspiration, and she was happy to tell me.
  • Commit. I had a garden in the past, but I didn’t make it a priority. This time, I treat my little herbies like my (non-existent) children. Just because you didn’t succeed at something or weren’t confident in the past does not mean that this time, when you’ve given yourself the chance to grow and learn a bit, that you’re going to fail miserably and watch all your poor,  poor vegetables wither away and die like the sad, miserable guardian you’ve made yourself out to be. (Or wait, that was just me.) And guess what. If they should so happen to wither away and die, I have a nice little horticulturist at my local Miner’s who I can go to and ask what the hell I did wrong and try again. So take that and apply it to whatever it is you want to do.

So that’s what I have. If you were hoping for tips on how to plant an herb garden or how to make sauce for chicken, I don’t yet consider myself an expert in either of those areas. Maybe someday! I did learn, however, that all of that anxiety and jealousy and inadequacy that stems from seeing others do incredibly cool things is only the result of fear. You can do whatever project you want to do, really, and the best part is you don’t have to compare it to anyone else’s. So go out and do it.

Give Martha a run for her money.

Operation DIY-saster

One of the best things by far about wedding planning is having an excuse to surround myself with beautiful things. In the past few months, I’ve learned about everything from cakes flavors and dessert bar styling to interior design and antique furniture to graphic design and fancy papers. Now, maybe that doesn’t sound that great to you, but for a girl who has spent the last few years stifling jealousy upon entering a perfectly styled home and longing for time or reasons or excuses to start stretching my decorating/entertaining/beyond muscles, this is exciting stuff. I mean, seriously. I would spend my all-day-every-days scouring lifestyle blogs and Crate&Barrel shelves and wedding magazines if I could. Don’t even get me started on Pinterest. (Swoon.)

However, in my quest to master all things domestic, I think it has become pretty obvious that despite my best intentions, I never quite hit it on the head. But give me a weekend, some amazing sidekicks (what’s up, Mom and Sister-in-Law!), and an ridiculously crafty wedding-related to-do list, and you can be sure that I will knock your socks off with my enthusiasm. You wouldn’t believe the gorgeous inspiration I picked up and the DIY-mishaps got myself into while enjoying a visit from my adorable mama and my uber-talented sister-in-law Amy.

We kicked off the weekends with cupcakes, of course. I love trying new flavors from our baker Breanne from SeaBreeze Cupcakes. These are her “24 Carrot” and “Lemon Drop” flavors.

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One of the highlights of the whole weekend was the result of  referral I received from our amazing wedding coordinator Danae Pearce of Danae Grace Events, who recommended that we check out Embellish Vintage Rentals located in Nipomo, CA. The place is a GOLDMINE. Here are a few snapshots of the beautiful antique and vintage objects available to rent for any special occasion, as well as the breathtaking barn that serves as a drop-dead gorgeous wedding venue.

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A collection of antique clocks caught my eye! Love the two on either end of the front row.

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Glitter signs in French, adorable tins, and some glam golden candelabras. Can’t think of much else a girl could need.

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Rustic meets glam. Yes, please.

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This wall collage of gold mirrors WILL be recreated in my bedroom someday.

We also spent most of Friday night and Saturday organizing our thoughts and narrowing down our DIY projects for wedding decor. This meant a lot of craft store/thrift store/fabric store shopping and about a gazillion questions fired my way requiring me to pull every ounce of my creativity out of nowhere. By Saturday night we had a collection of craft items that would cause Martha Stewart to swoon…

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…and me to pour myself a drink.

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I’m both overwhelmed to have so many projects to finish and excited to have an excuse to do things like this.

If you’d like to participate, I’ll be taking bets on how much of a disaster my good intentions will generate.

Traditions

This year feels a little different already.

As you know, a very VERY big thing is happening in my life this year. I’m getting married! That fact has sparked a lot of reflection, including on – the idea? the concept? the amazing wonderful foundation? – of family.

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(I grew up on a cattle ranch, in case you are wondering.)

Unfortunately, my family hasn’t always been the closest of families. We’ve had a fair share of devastating events, and that was something that I used to resent.  But slowly, as I’ve grown up little by little, I’ve started to realize that those times led me to learn a lot about myself and my values and my dreams, which are all things that I will be bringing to my marriage to Bill. The holiday season and the New Year are notorious for things such as traditions, and with the idea of embarking on my the incredibly exciting slash terrifying journey of starting my own (when did I get old enough for THAT to happen?), the time I got to spend at home with the family I grew up in seemed to take on a much more meaningful, emotional, and well, almost sad air. But happy-sad. Sad-happy? You know what I mean.

A marriage is really a starting of your own family unit, if a very different one. One of your own choosing. And despite the sad memories that I have often focused on in the recent-ish past, the last couple weeks brought to light some of the great things that have come from that past. Traditions, for instance.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is with my mom. Every year on Christmas Eve, we make the same butter cookies, with the same recipe and the same cookie cutters that we’ve been using for as long as I can remember. They also come with the same whining and complaining that happens every Christmas Eve at around 9 o’clock when we are STILL frosting all 30,000 cookies that the recipe makes. We never cut the recipe in half. We never decide to skip it all together. We just sit there and sigh and grumble and eat frosting until we get sick and yell at the boys who come and steal cookies but don’t help. And we secretly love it, because it leads to this:

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Which is great, because even though at that point we huff and puff about eating too many and getting fat and having slightly angry tummies, it leads to another holiday tradition (my favorite one):

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Cookies for breakfast!

And we never complain about that.

Even though my mom and I aren’t usually together while eating our Christmas breakfast, we both know that the other is doing it. Every year. And that is something I will definitely bring to my new family, when the time comes.

I’m beginning to realize that even though traditions may sound silly to someone else, they are something that we hold on too for life. Through the good times and the bad. Through big changes and little every-days. And sometimes what gets you through the bad times and the changes and the every-days are those little, seemingly insignificant happy memories that dot the trail of dark or cloudy days.

Kind of like eating cookies for breakfast.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Monday

Alright. I’m usually a hot mess when it comes to all things domestication, yet there is one thing that when it comes down to it, I can definitely fend for myself. And that, my lovelies, is baking.

I have always loved baking. It’s almost therapeutic – SO relaxing – and you can almost just turn your brain off for a while and end up with a rewarding finished product. Any and all things baked goods are great to give away, and baking for someone is usually a surefire way to put a smile on someone’s face. However, in relationships there are always those unfortunate times where something doesn’t quite click between two people, and it has to be dealt with. One of the first things that surfaced for Bill and I was his aversion to all things sweet and sugary.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s GREAT that he doesn’t eat sweets. We both try to live our lives making healthy choices, and sugar/butter/white flour aren’t the best things for your tummy/thighs/derrier. That doesn’t mean my heart didn’t sink a little when I realized that I wouldn’t be baking for my man (usually the way to the male heart). But I recently read somewhere that you should love and appreciate your partner for those differences or quirks, not just simply accept them. I am thankful that Bill’s habits have rubbed off on me, and my sweet tooth has gotten smaller the longer we’ve been dating. (My ass thanks him for that one too.)

BUT…

The holidays are great for many things, one of which is baking. A great activity to spread some holiday spirit at any party or event is a cookie exchange, which I have just recently learned to appreciate. Tomorrow morning marks the beginning of a week-long holiday party at my amazing office, and the cookie exchange is the first thing going down. The way it works is this: everyone was invited to participate, but anyone could opt out. Once it was established who was in, a final head count is taken. Each person is asked to make their favorite holiday cookie or other treat and bring six per person participating. For instance, we have seven people participating, so we are each required to bring seven bags of six cookies each (one for the front office too). The point is not only to share your favorite recipe, but each person goes home with a huge assortment of sugary goodness that can be readily available for family members, friends, guests both expected and unexpected, you name it. Naturally, I was all over this.

Forget the fact that Bill, Emily (our roommate), and I are going to have a shit-ton of cookies to eat, not having children or relatives visiting or even friends. Okay, that last one isn’t true. But there will be a lot of cookie eating happening, and even Bill is just big talk. I’ve seen him sneak a few when he thought no one was looking.

So here is how I spent MY night:

When I think of my favorite cookies, I usually think of ginger molasses cookies. They were those cookies that my grandma made, but not so often that they lost that squeal-inducing reaction straight from my giddy little heart. Now, I usually cook out of Cooking Light. I’m a Cooking Light junkie. But when it comes to the holidays, if I’m going to eat it, it had better be GOOD. So like my mama taught me, when you want a guaranteed pleaser, reach for the basic and the best:

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The ginger cookies straight out of the BHG are to die for. Just saying.

Next, after getting out everything I needed, I reached for my go-to large Pyrex bowl, subsequently remembering that I sufficiently smashed it a few weeks ago. (See Experimentation post.) So I had to improvise, which left me with too much cookie and not enough random plastic bowl.The recipe then instructed me that I needed to use a mixer to beat the shortening. And the sugar. And then the eggs. And then the molasses, the spices, the four and a half cups of g&%damn flour. Too bad my last roommate took my hand mixer with her when she moved out in June. Thirty obnoxious minutes of hand-beating later, and boom. Dough.

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Big dough. In a small bowl.

From here on out, I was a little less of a hot mess, even though you couldn’t tell by the disaster that was now my kitchen. However, that’s just how I bake – throwing ingredients everywhere – and I’ve accepted it. So should you. The ginger cookies turned out beautifully, if I do say so myself.

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I ended up with 60+ cookies. In the past I would have just thrown them in Ziplocs and given them away in their sad little plastic bags. But the new me has realized that presentation is HUGE, especially when it comes to food. If it doesn’t look good, your brain will most likely decide ahead of time that it won’t taste good, and every knows I need every advantage I can get. Thanks, Target, for your adorable little treat bags, making my cookies look all festive and stuff.

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So now that I’ve gotten my baking fix, I’m prepared for any “What does that DO for you?” that Bill throws my way every time sugar is in the vicinity. Because sometimes the purpose of food isn’t to feed our bodies, but – more importantly – our souls.

Want one? ❤

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Cooking Update

I have officially moved to a new level in the Learning-To-Cook quest, and that is:

Tastes GOOD. Looks AWFUL.

(But it tastes good.)

(And Bill ate it.)