“Cakes are special. Every birthday, every celebration ends with something sweet, a cake, and people remember.  It’s all about the memories. ~ American TV show chef “Cake Boss” Buddy Valastro

My entire life Mama and Daddy got me my birthday cake each year from the same bakery.  I loved it so much it became tradition.  I remember one year it had plastic turtles on it, and another year there were roller skates.  It is truly the best cake in the world.  I have always gotten chocolate cake with white icing.  And I have always loved the little stylized shells they use to border the cake with.  It was the bakery I used for our wedding cakes (complete with the same shells) and it was where I had our little one’s very first birthday cake made, starting the same tradition for her.  When I got older I realized roses were the way to go; they’re solid icing.  NOTHING beats cold birthday cake and warm coffee for breakfast.  I look forward to it every year.  It is lonelier without my parents but I celebrate their memory and now I am able to celebrate with my husband and my little girl.  Like so many other wonderful things and memories my parents started for me, I am keeping up the tradition.

When I was single I never ate breakfast unless I was on vacation with my folks.  I always just tanked up on coffee, went to college and then straight to work.  The idea of stopping to eat food right when I woke up seemed foreign to me.  And then I met my if-I-don’t-eat-every-five-minutes-I-might-expire beloved.  The first trip we took was an Alaskan cruise where I discovered the delights of a very European breakfast.  Unlike the unappealing slabs of poor dead pigs and boring toast the Americans seemed to favor, the slim and trim Europeans were crunching away on granola.  Only this granola was DELICIOUS!  It didn’t resemble a tasteless box of rocks!  They had dried cherries and pecans in them and I was absolutely hooked!  I could actually tell the Americans from the Europeans without even hearing them speak by what they had on their breakfast plates.  I notice they never skipped breakfast but what they ate was vastly different.  I have had some difficulty getting the “good” granola here in the states but things have drastically improved in the past ten years since we took that trip.  At home I make eggs a lot and I find a quiet joy in having my little family come down the stairs greeted by the comforting smells of coffee and breakfast each morning.  The Israeli born American novelist Ayelet Waldman said:

“A good mother remembers to serve fruit at breakfast, is always cheerful and never yells, manages not to project her own neuroses and inadequacies onto her children, is an active and beloved community volunteer.  She remembers to make play dates, her children’s clothes fit, she does art projects with them and enjoys all their games.”

Yes, well, I confess I am not always able to be Cherie the Chef so sometimes it just looks like the waffle pictured here.  Pop these bad boys in the toaster and voila!  But hey, they are organic, whole grain, and gluten free.  I may not always have time to make it gourmet, but I’m not waffling on breakfast.

The hubs had to work late and I was exhausted.  My little one just got out of karate and the prospect of cooking just seemed too daunting.  It was a rare Texas evening that was not a scorcher and I decided we would have a girls’ night out, trying this new restaurant that is gluten free.  Oh my baby doll felt SO grown up as she ordered her own peanut butter, jelly and Nutella sandwich with fruit!  And she didn’t feel “different” because the whole place was basically gluten free.  I got a fabulous elote (corn) in a bowl loaded with who all knows what; typically it’s salt, chili powder, butter, cheese, lemon juice, and sour cream.  They had great hot sauce which I liberally added.  Even better, I paired it with a glass of red wine.  And so we went outside to sit on the patio.  It was a quiet evening; heaven really.  I looked up and this picture was my view.  It was a beautiful night:  unexpected, rare, and magical.  We weren’t rushed and everyone was so nice.  The American self-help author Dr. Wayne Dyer once said:

“To be more childlike, you don’t have to give up being an adult.  The fully integrated person is capable of being both an adult and a child simultaneously.  Recapture the childlike feelings of wide-eyed excitement, spontaneous appreciation, cutting loose, and being full of awe and wonder at this magnificent universe.”

That is exactly how I felt hanging out with my four year old and feeling cool.  It is a night I will always remember.  Now I must strive to be less rigid and seek more opportunities for a girls’ night out under the sky.

They had a sweet event for the kiddos after school the other day:  popsicles on the playground.  Despite the fact that the heavens opened RIGHT as school let out and it poured did not seem to dampen any spirits — or the pleasure of enjoying a good popsicle.  (Gluten free; God bless them!)  We all huddled together under the Parish Hall awning since we could not go on the playground.  My water baby of course was out jumping up and down in puddles already forming from the deluge a small distance away.  Bright colored rivulets trickled down sticky little arms while a torrent of rain rushed through the church’s downspouts.  I was looking forward to playing with my little one on that playground.  She was going to show me what she did at recess everyday.  I confess I did not mind missing the sandbox.  The only type of sand I like involves sun, ocean breeze, and a drink with a little kick to it.  But I really was genuinely looking forward to being able to just play with her in that special space belonging for such a brief time to her and her classmates.  American author and philosopher Eric Hoffer said:

“It is the child in man that is the source of his uniqueness and creativeness, and the playground is the optimal milieu for the unfolding of his capacities and talents.”

Selfishly, perhaps I will have another chance to fight battles, fly horses, and dream with her there.  I sure hope so … before she leaves these sweet years of popsicles on the playground.

Welll we all survived the first week of getting back into a routine.  I got my little one to school on time, her uniforms were different each day, and I packed her usual vegetarian gluten free lunches with varying fruit, honey peanut butter sandwiches, and some type of cheese.  I brought snacks and got her to karate twice right after long days at school.  This is the first time she has not napped and I have allowed her to have apple juice before martial arts classes to make sure my karate kid girl was able to keep going.  When I got her after school she smiled her angelic smile up at me and then asked where her snacks were.  I explained that we were just going home and that she could relax; karate is Monday and Wednesday and swimming wasn’t until tomorrow.  “But way-os my SNACK?!” she asked with indignation and outrage.  “At home” I replied.  And then she proceeded to completely freak out and had a total meltdown.  “How COULD you?!” she cried.  “You knew I needed a snack because I’m SO hungry!!” she wailed.  Now red faced, “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HURT ME LIKE THIS!  I have no SNACK!” she shrieked dramatically.  She proceeded to flail around as I was trying to buckle her into her car seat.  It reminded me of a cowboy trying to ride a bull just out of the gate.  On the short drive home my head began to pound mercilessly.  I gave up trying to talk to her because she wouldn’t stop screaming.  Finally she managed to wear herself out and I noticed her eyelids drooped.  Poor baby wasn’t intentionally trying to torment me; I think she was just exhausted after such a big week.  When we got home and I’d gotten her strawberries and cheese she meekly said, “I’m sorry I flipped out Mama.”  “That’s OK honey” I said as I began cracking open a bottle of wine at 4 p.m.  I sat my glass down, lit a candle for serenity, and snapped this picture.  I think if it could talk the Native American would be saying, “What was all the commotion?” while the peace loving wolves would be running in the other direction away from all the noise.  In typical cat fashion Le Chat Noir would be fed up while wise St. Francis seems to simply be pointing the way to my much needed wine.  One of my favorite actresses, just as lovely in person as she is on screen, Jane Seymour, said, “At the end of the day, I let myself have a glass of wine.”  As for me, I decided it was w(h)ine o’clock somewhere.

Fairly recently I got a stool I have been eyeing for a long time.  It is made from reclaimed teak wood and each is unique.  This one hadn’t sold because it has a natural small split right in the middle of the base.  They even gave me 20 percent off!  I really liked it and thought it had character.  After bringing it home I was thrilled to see it was a perfect height for our kitchen “bar”/counter area.  And I could not believe my husband would wind up loving it for when he reads the paper and has coffee in the mornings.  Our little one climbs up to have her after school snacks there.  It is so nice to have my sweet family in the kitchen now talking to me while I’m cooking!  The stool is seriously the most comfortable seat in the house!  I had no idea when I got it how well it would be used.  American actor Milo Ventimiglia said:

“I’m a homebody, I’d rather be in the kitchen cooking than hanging out in a bar.”

I am the same way.  Only now I have my own little place where my two favorite people in the world can come to hang out, talk, eat, and belly up to the bar.

A few years ago our microwave finally gave up the ghost.  When we got a new one I never ordered the trim kit to finish it out.  After two unsuccessful, frankly hellish attempts I FINALLY got what we needed.  The first time they sent me something for the inside of the microwave; the second time it was the wrong size.  I won’t mention the scratchy connections, dropped calls, and accents that could not be discerned.  (I have a really good ear and can understand just about anyone so that is really saying something.)  But hey at last I got it and I took it out of the box to assemble it.  In typical cat fashion said box was dutifully inspected and then turned into a romper room of sorts.  Pouncing on the screws, I hid them before the gatos discovered them.  I am handy, but I do not own a drill.  Weighing the cost of said drill versus trying to procure a reputable handyman who wouldn’t charge and arm and a leg, I opted to find a handyman.  That way I could also get the lightbulb under the breakable glass dome way up high in the laundry room changed.  It has been out since last spring when I broke my shoulder.  And I could get the door knob in my office reassembled after I had to systematically dismantle the darn thing with a toy screw driver.  The little one thought she was helping by locking it — from the inside out.  Turns out a drill is needed for that as well.  After multiple tries ranging from snotty to disinterested, at last I found a place and the legit handyman was able to accomplish all three tasks while being sniffed/kissed by the wolves.  Through it all he managed to keep a calm patience and maintained good grace.  Now our kitchen finally looks properly finished out instead of having our microwave sitting swallowed up in a yawning, cavernous hole in our cabinetry.  Even my husband came home from work and appreciated it!  American football coach Vince Lombardi once said, “The only place success comes before work is in the dictionary.”  I cannot say I was able to actually perform the tasks, but I CAN say it took a whole lot of work to get to these minor-but-major successes.  So go ahead — check out the new grill.

I feel like I’ve written about this before but I could not find anything on it so here goes.  This is just an unvarnished pic of my beloved crock pot.  I cannot bring myself to refer to it as a “slow cooker”; in the ’70’s when I was growing up it was called a crock pot.  Truly it is my favorite way to cook.  I get the all ingredients prepped in the morning, leave for work, and by the time we all get home the house smells wonderful and we have something healthy and delicious ready for dinner.  I find myself looking up new crock pot recipes all the time.  Sometimes I break down and google “slow cooker”.  I do not cook deserts in it; always dinner.  I enjoy thinking of different things to make and the leftovers taste even better the next day.  It is well worn/loved/used and now my little one is helping me cook by adding beans, putting in diced onions, pouring salsa, etc.  I would say next to the coffee maker and the microwave, the crock pot is my most utilized appliance in the kitchen.  The only conflict we have is my little one and I love it spicy and when I recently cooked with habaneros she and I adored it.  Daddy liked it but had a harder time with the heat level, and drank lots of water.  The next dish I made was with portabella mushrooms using only salt and pepper for spice and it was very mild.  The hubs loved it but my little one felt it was slightly bland.  I’m thinking of kicking it up for my little spice girl and me on our next dinner after it has been cooked so hopefully everyone will really enjoy it.  I’d say my husband is at a green to yellow for “heat” level and my little one and I are definitely at red.  I keep hoping at some point we can all settle on orange.  American newspaper columnist Harriet Van Horne once said, “Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”  I felt this way cooking for my parents when they were living.  I loved having them over!  When I was single I really did not cook for myself, since I did not relish eating the same thing 20 times.  (I tend to cook in somewhat large batches).  Now that I am blessed with my own little family I once again have that joy and pride in cooking for them.  As for my beloved crock pot, which has made pot roast my daddy raved over, soup Mama craved, chicken my husband has devoured, and chili my little one and I love, all I can say is “what a crock!”

I have a girlfriend who decided to celebrate her 29th with a Roaring ’20’s party.  She was the prettiest flapper and her husband could not have been any cuter as a “tough guy” from that era.  It was held at an old fashioned ice cream emporium and for a moment we all stepped back in time.  It was no stretch for my handsome husband to go as a gentleman and I had an excuse to wear my authentic vintage blue velvet hat from that era.  We had chocolate malteds in frozen glasses complete with whipped cream.  They had old timey candies in round glass jars resting on their sides and covered by silver lids.  Beneath us was a black and white micro checked tile floor and alongside us was a long marble countertop “bar” complete with round wooden stools that spun.  I saw my favorite, cherry sours, as well as Pop Rocks (I think that was a ’70’s thing) and old school malt balls among the myriad of offerings on the shelves.  It was fun not caring what others thought about a group of adults being dressed up when it was not yet Halloween.  I confess I am somewhat of a loner when it comes to friends, as is my husband.  We are fortunate to have Jessica and Luke in our lives.  We have entrusted our child to them, hung out with them, and gone out with them.  Their little girl I believe has known ours since my little one was two.  We have survived “Frozen” together, had drinks together, played games together, and laughed together.  American writer Robert M. Pirsig said:

“We do need a return to individual integrity, self-reliance, and old-fashioned gumption.  We really do.”

We are lucky to count among our few true friends a couple who is, despite being years younger, in a way old-fashioned.  They embody self-reliance, integrity and gumption.  Our girls being friends is just the cherry on top.

I get a kick out of witty cocktail napkins when I’m at parties.  I enjoy discovering them and will actually keep one as a remembrance if it is truly funny; not mean.  I had fun with this one as it took me a minute to read it.  Ironically I had just been handed a drink.  My tastes have changed over the years.  I never drank in high school, and when I was over 21 (legal drinking age in the U.S.) I began enjoying Amaretto Sours.  The best one I ever had was in San Antonio at our hotel on the river, as they made theirs fresh and not from a mix.  Then I began drinking Blue Hawaiians.  I didn’t particularly even like them; I just adored the blue color and I have always loved pineapple juice.  To this day I’m not sure why that wasn’t a surefire winner with me.  Finally I discovered “my” drink: a 7 & 7 with a lime.  I do not like going to upscale parties where they try to convince me my beloved Canadian whiskey is not nearly as good as (fill in the blank with whatever they have).  Yes, there are more expensive whiskeys, but for me none compare.  I will allow for the substitution of Sprite instead of 7-Up but I also know when bartenders switch that on me, as well.  I like to say that my favorite drink is like green bean casserole at Thanksgiving:  it’s all in the chemistry.  JUST MAKE IT LIKE IT IS!  Don’t be pretentious and try to give it slivered almonds or eschew the recipe in its entirety simply because it comes out of cans.  That is snobbery and it is silly.  It’s all about the inexplicable mix of French’s french fried onions with the mushroom soup but it seems as if someone always has to try and tinker with it.  The same goes for my drink.  As American Judge Judy Sheindlin has famously said, “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining”.  Hey, that would be a good one to have made … read the writing on the napkin.