Great Grandmother’s Spice Cake
disclaimer I: This is the recipe, but I am liberal with spices and wont to alter things at will
3/4 c. butter
1 1/2 c. sugar
3 eggs
1 1/2 c. milk
3 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
3 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. freshly ground nutmeg (*see comments 10 & 11)
1/2 tsp. allspice

Mix conventional method and bake in 350 oven for 30 minutes or until done I’ve always had to bake it longer.

Caramel Frosting
Melt 1/2 c. butter. Stir in 1 c. brown sugar, packed. Continue cooking over low heat for 2 minutes,stirring (bring to a boil and boil for 2 minutes). Stil in 1/4 c. milk. Bring to full rolling boil, stirring constantly. Cool. Sitr in 1 1/3 to 2c. sifted powdered sugar. Beat until thick.
Notes: I sort of combine this with what is called brown butter frosting. I melt the butter until it is only just a light brown but not yet scorched (this is tricky). As for the powdered sugar, I have no idea how much I use. But it is better not to put in too much at first but rather beat it thick instead of throwing in more sugar till it’s thick.

disclaimer II: This is a nice cake recipe, but it’s entirely possible I like it more for sentimental reasons (and because the frosting is really sweet) than because it’s the best cake I’ve ever had. (In fact I’m quite sure the best cakes ever would fall in the category of best cakes I’ve never had because they are likely anything baked by the illustrious azúcar–and mostly I just drool over virtual proof those actually existed). I tell you this because I once had the unfortunate experience of having recommended one of my favorite books from my childhood to a friend. Her expectations exceeded the quality of the literature and I was crushed. But then again I was something like 12 when I first read it and one should never judge a childhood friend through the jaded eyes of adulthood. But do give it (the cake, not the book) a try.

Because Melody just reminded me how good this recipe is for cupcakes topped with Browned Butter Frosting:

Heat 1 cube of butter over low heat till melted. Continue heating till butter turns a delicate brown. Remove from heat and pour into small mixing bowl. Add 4 cups powdered sugar, 2 Tablespoons milk and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat till smooth, adding more milk if necessary.

Just so you know, I feel like I’m in Europe in August. Where is everyone? Surely you’ve not all gone on les vacances?

Tuesday is the 25th anniversary of the day my father passed away.

If you haven’t read the story, you may find it right here. It is more in my nature to remember birthdays rather than deathdays. I typically choose to celebrate the life of someone I love by doing something I knew they loved to do or something that reminds me of them, rather than heading for the graveside. My family thinks I don’t pay proper tribute, but it’s just the way I’m wired, I guess. (It’s certainly the way I would hope people would choose to remember me.)

But twenty-five years. That’s an awfully long time. So I’ll compromise. Tuesday–not his birthday–will see me baking his favorite spice cake from scratch and a double batch of caramel frosting. (Maybe with a side of ice cream.) I’m not quick enough on the draw to steal the frosting right from under from my kids and eat it while they’re not looking, but that’s OK by them.

I was dropping by to visit cabesh today (don’t you love her new look?) and I saw this:
I was more than a little freaked because in this picture Harrison Ford looks exactly like my Grandpa, my father’s father. He was a rancher in the little town of Randolph, Utah. He died a couple of years after my father did, only of a broken heart.

When I was a child, my parents would pack up all eight of us into the Chevy Impala station wagon–no seatbelts–and drive straight through the then 16-hour drive from Eugene, Oregon to Randolph every summer around branding season. And work our butts off. It was great fun. I will forever associate the blended aromas of OFF bug spray and sagebrush with the tall silent cowboy who was my grandpa.

One year we went during winter and we arrived in the middle of the night. I was too excited to be there to actually go to sleep so when my grandpa got up at about 4a.m. to start his day I went with him. It was just the two of us and we tossed bales of hay over the side of the pick-up to feed the cattle whose pastures were covered with snow. I learned how to drive in that old truck. Long before I was old enough to actually tap the brake or lay on the gas pedal with my foot and see over the dashboard at the same time. But I still managed to get it from point A to point B and live to tell about it.

My favorite story about my Grandpa Rex is one from long before I knew him. My grandmother is one powerful woman and she will not hesitate to give you a piece of her mind. She had 11 children and a ranch crew to feed every day. Inevitably there would be those days when she had been cooking all afternoon for literally dozens of people (picture this–no electricity, no KitchenAid, no nothin’) and he and the crew would arrive late for dinner. As the story goes, on days like that this tall dark and handsome cowboy would stride across the room without saying a word and sweep my 5-foot-tall grandmother up off her feet and plant a big kiss right on her mouth. So he wouldn’t get chewed out.

Smart man.

Back by request:

At the church parking lot as we pull in to indulge in our Sonic Slushes under the shade and notice a guy teaching his girl how to drive stick in his Mustang…

Hey! I’ve got minivan. Take that Mr. Stang!
–from my newly licensed 16-year-old son

Over the phone…

When the game is over, the kings and the pawns both go back in the same box.
–my husband’s friend from high school, going on 20+ years in the Army

At an unidentified someone’s unidentified office…

Why doesn’t someone tell the Nazi receptionist to chill?
–from a 20-year-veteran of a certain company when she had a difficult time being connected to a certain former co-worker. (The details will remain sketchy to protect the innocent. Let’s just say it couldn’t have been phrased any better).

On “The Tonight Show”…

So God tells Moses he wants him to build an ark…
–Jay Leno to Wanda Sykes on “The Tonight Show.”

Note to Jay’s agent: Why don’t you book Jay on “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?”

In the news…

When it comes right down to it, a Mormon’s strength is human. A Christian person’s strength is superhuman. I want (a president) who has that extra on his side.
–Marty Thomas, a bookstore clerk in South Carolina.

On my 11-year-old niece’s T-shirt…

What would Hermione do?
(If you ask me, Hermione should run for President.)

And finally, the comment of the week:

In response to the post of the week…

The trick is to have them think they are married to a Melanie, all the while giving them the excitment of a Scarlett.
–Suedonym

When I was a child—I have no idea how old I was at the time—I went fishing with my family. Eldest daughter to a father who spent a lot of time at work so he could support his family, I cherished any time with my dad, especially if it involved being outdoors.

On that particular day my father landed what is likely one of his biggest catches ever—me. If you’ve never seen a fishhook then you need to know that in order to actually land the fish, hooks are by necessity barbed. Read: they go in much easier than they come out. This one caught me on the inside of my left calf. And it hurt coming out.

I still have the scar.

When I was in college I dated my now husband for several years before we got brave enough to actually tie the knot. During that time we both enjoyed a variety of intramural sports available at the university we were attending.

When I played, he would practice with me. One year it was all he could do to keep it quiet when I accidentally hit a softball so hard and high it broke one of the top floor windows in the nearby physical education building. When he played I would cheer the loudest and was perfectly willing to keep score, yell at the ump, or go fetch fly balls. One season the ball went under a chain link fence. So I did too. As I came back out, the fence caught me right across the top of the knee. It was mostly just a flesh wound; but it certainly left its mark.

I still have the scar.

Since I have become a wife and a mother, I have dutifully attended the requisite family reunion campouts with the in-laws, just as my husband has attends those with my family. And I put a lot of thought into what I’m going to prepare to compete in the annual Dutch-oven cook-off. Maybe too much thought.

One year the entrée was to be a divinely seasoned Atlantic salmon that I knew was sure to win. But as I stepped up onto the cook-trailer to sauté the garlic and butter I felt a pop in my right knee. And I almost passed out from the pain. I limped around after it became bearable enough and completed my entry. Two weeks later I went into surgery for a scope and came out having had an ACL repair. That one goes down as one of the most grueling recoveries I have ever endured. My knee will never be the same.

I still have the scar(s).

Of course I have had many other experiences that have also left their marks. There is the scar across the bottom of my left foot from stitches I got one summer night when I was horsing around in the back of a pick-up truck and I stepped on a broken Coca-Cola bottle. And a couple of varicose veins I picked up during various pregnancies (outside left knee). As well as the hole in my left calf from where my sun-worshipping youth caught up with me well on the way to melanoma.

Under my sk*rt hide the remains of a few wounds I have suffered, memories of a life l love living. Some came about during good times; others during not-so-good times.

A lot of people believe scars are ugly. They don’t want to look at their own and they are especially careful to hide them from view. But to me, my scars are beautiful. Behind each scar lies a story. And those stories make me who I am–girl, daughter, sister, girlfriend, woman, wife, mother and friend.

What are you hiding under your sk*rt?

(The preceeding is my entry for the latest contest with Parent Bloggers Network over at sk*rt. Want to play? You can vote for my entry over at sk*rt –just click on the big number at the left of the entry. You can leave a comment and tell me what you are hiding under your sk*rt. Or, if you want to submit an entry yourself and become eligible for prizes galore you can follow this link for contest details–in which case you can still vote for my entry, too.)

If you submit something, please let me know. I’m posting links to my favorites right here:

girl con queso
queen scarlett

This is how I have often described my favorite (and only) daughter since she was about three. It was then that I both embraced and steeled myself for the fact that this little girl was going to make my life interesting. And so she has.

Some of you may remember being introduced to the lovely L~ when I wrote about her cutting herself shaving. Or perhaps you may recall the curious incident of the Christmas hoodie. If you were to meet her on the street you would see a girl, tall for her age, clad in boys shorts and whatever shirt she could find. She might look away rather shyly; or she might flash you her beautiful smile and say “Hi!” (If I were to meet her on the street she’d probably roll her eyes to the heavens and heave a heavy sigh.)

Oh but there’s so much more. The truth is that while she is willful (and I still maintain, particularly for a female, there has got to be an upside to that quality), she is also a lot of fun. And today happens to be her birthday. (I can hear my friend Jan, who shares this birthday, telling me again and again, “She’s a gemini, I tell you. You just wait!”)

L~ is one of the most successful tomboys I have ever known. Which is saying something, because I was quite the tomboy myself. One of her favorite sports is football. She is the only girl who plays football with the boys at recess. Once one of her male friends forbid her to run at full speed when she played, stating that it wasn’t fair. The was the same boy who tried to convince her she shouldn’t do a project for the science fair, either. I’m proud to say that on both counts she did what she wanted. And that’s OK with me.

She is also an excellent athlete. She once was recruited for a competition-league soccer team based solely on her performance during her first city-league softball game. One of her best assets: she’s not afraid of the ball. (Hence her first soccer coach had her play goalie.) Once during her older brother’s city-league baseball game–she was about eight at the time–she caught a hard-hit fly ball with her bare hands. The crowd cheered. Her brother was impressed. And I’ll admit it; moments like those make me quite proud.

But she is also a good friend. L~ has this interesting ability to be friends with different groups of friends and, despite the difficulties, somehow making it work. One of my favorite memories is last winter when we took a group of 10 and 11-year-old girls down to the Utah Lake to pick up some trash for a service project. The lake was still frozen except for just around the edges. L~ thought it would be fun to go out on the dock. That did require a few steps through the ice before one got onto the dock. Everyone was game except one girl, but that didn’t stop L~. She simply picked up her petite friend and carried her through the wet and icy part and set her on the dock. So she wouldn’t be left out. (Click here to view photo.)

The school district here gives something called “The Great Kid Award” every year. L~ didn’t win, but she was nominated and seriously considered and it was for this: There is a boy in her class with whom she has been friends for a number of years. He has a troubled home and little encouragement with his studies or homework help. As a result, he has struggled through school since he started. According to L~’s teacher she has been a great help to this boy over the past year, challenging him in a way that only she could, and encouraging him to live up to his potential. And the teacher has noticed some remarkable results.

Knowing she has the capacity for these kinds of kindnesses is what helps me get through those moments when L~ pushes my buttons in that way only a pre-teen daughter can and uses her verbal skills to wrench the knife she occasionally stabs through my mother-heart just a little bit harder.

So a big Happy Birthday to my beautiful daughter, L~. I look forward to watching her grow into womanhood. The forecast calls for partly sunny skies scattered with some severe thunderstorms.

Don’t bother with an umbrella. It’s going to be a wild ride.

…absolutely nothing.

Except joined a few other bloggers long enough to hold brief court with The Queen (and she’s even more lovely in person).

*Got my Internet working again.

Hosted eight 11 and 12-year-old girls for darling daughter’s 12th birthday party. (For those of you concerned about my health, no worries. I had pizza delivered for dinner. Melody picked up treats. And all I had to do was make pancakes Saturday morning.)

Read Harry Potter #5. So I will be caught up before the 5th movie comes out.

Tried to muster up something decent for Father’s Day dinner. (Although he did have to grill his own steak.)

Read Harry Potter #6. So I will be caught up before the before the 7th book comes out.

Blew through 2.5 Jumbo rolls of Charmin’ Ultra toilet paper. Because I blew through my supply of Puff’s with Lotion the last time I was sick.

See. I told you my summer was nothing to write home about (well, except for meeting the Queen).

*(Here’s my shout out to the guys at iProvo. Trust me, when people complain how bad they hate this it is not because of iProvo; it’s because the words “telecommunications provider” and “customer service” are fundamentally incompatible. If the big money dudes wouldn’t have lobbied and changed the law so Provo was prohibited from being both the infrastructure and the provider–as was grandfathered over in Spanish Fork–we’d all be flocking over there. The iProvo guys are great! It took me two days of being on hold and two tries to find a competent tech support person with mStar before they finally realized that indeed I was smart enough to know if the Internet was down on both my laptops and my desktop perhaps there was a problem with the service. They contacted the wonderful guys at Provo who not only know me by name, but also respect me enough to do some troubleshooting and figure out what’s wrong instead of repeating over and over “I don’t think we support that.” “I don’t think we support that.” They sent someone over on a Friday afternoon and he replaced the fiber and had me connected in less than an hour. This kind of service is why I will keep drinking the iProvo Kool-aid until the bitter end.)

Happy Birthday today to my baby K~. He’s a little big for me to call him that, but he’s my youngest so I’ve warned him he will always be my baby.

Eight years ago today I gave birth to my smallest child, K~. My doctor laughed at me because when she told me he was only 8 lb. 15 oz. I said, “Finally, a tiny eight pound baby!” We never find out what we’re having, but I knew he was a boy and he was a sweet one at that.

He was one of my best eaters and sleepers too (although the sleeping part is relative). He quickly put on weight and had the cutest little pudgy cheeks–just like big soft peaches–and feet. I remember one day I was holding him in the hallway at church and someone came up to me and gave the little fat pads on the tops of his feet a squeeze and looked at me and said with a smile, “Now that’s just criminal.”

K~ is very loving and affectionate. He loves to cuddle good night and again first thing when he wakes up in the morning. Still. This is a blessing and is compensation, I believe, for my currently having to deal with the joys of three teenagers at the same time.

When he was learning to talk he would love it when I played rhyming games with him and we would make up silly sentences with the same rhyme time after time. It was sublime.

As K~ grew older he developed a love of reading and used to insist on a bedtime story no matter how late it was. And he would want to read the same book over and over and over. Now he likes to read the comics with me every night before bed.

He is fun to cuddle and I often say to him, “Can I keep you?” And he usually tells me, “Yes.” He takes after his mother and is a bit of a social animal and he loves to roam the neighborhood looking for someone to play (that you have to look is the downside of being the youngest and having older siblings four years apart). He seems to do alright for himself, however, and has had a steady girlfriend since he was about four.

He looks a lot like his big brother Z~ and it to no end amuses me when someone who has grown up and moved away from the neighbohood comes back and sees K~ and calls him Z~. If only time could hold that still, especially when there are little ones involved.

Currently K~ is captivated by all things Star Wars. This is a new interest in his life after three solid years as a devoted Spiderman fan. He just got a Darth Vader mask and microphone for his birthday, so we spend frequent moments on the dark side these days, but whatever makes him happy.

K~ recently got his own e-mail account. The following is a sampling of his correspondence with his mother:

Subject: bad news

my fish died. we had it for a long time.

Subject: hi

I love you. Did you have a fun time. Can I get a game cube. Can i have five buces.

From me (in the same room as he is, but on another computer): Happy Easter to you, too! Did you get lots of candy? I can’t
believe you ate it all already!

From K~: yep

From me: Did you even get to taste it?

From K~: yep

From me: Can you say anything more than “yep?”

From K~: nope

I look at him now and then and wonder where my baby has gone. But I am thankful that I knew enough to enjoy his babyness while I could. Now I am trying to be patient enough to sit back and watch who he will become.

Happy Birthday K~!

Here’s a shout-out to one of my favorite bloggers, Rachel C. or the blogger formerly known as Meta.

Meta–we missed you!

Check out her clever new digs over at Atom of Eve.

Welcome back!

In other and completely unrelated news:

I’m sorry.

I wish I were a better person, but I’m not quite there yet. I have watched as she has sneered at us little people just a few too many times and now I just can’t help myself.

I try to turn away from the debacle in hopes if I ignore it the entire episode will just wrap itself up neatly in prison-garb orange and go away, but it won’t.

And I can’t.

I can’t help but get just a teensy weensy bit of twisted satisfaction out of this breaking news.

Maybe in another life I will be a bigger person than that. But for now…

As I mentioned previously, I recently heard an excellent discourse on strengthening marriage. It was entitled, “a refuge from the storm.”

One of the points made was we should put our spouse first in our lives (OK, after God, of course). It’s elementary that we should put our spouse’s needs before our own. We are women, afterall. Often and to a fault we tend to put everyone’s needs before our own. The real balancing act is putting your spouse first in front of your kids.

I have observed over the years that there seem to be two kinds of women: Good wives and good mothers. (I’m not saying that if you are a good wife you are a bad mother or if you are a good mother you are a bad wife, but you know what I mean.) I could practically walk you through my neighborhood and tell you who’s who (by their own admissions, of course). But I could probably count on one hand women who seem to have mastered the delicate balance of being both.

As for me, I’m admittedly a much better mother than I am a wife. And I sincerely hope my husband will put up with me long enough for the kids to leave and the pendulum to swing the other way.

What about you? Is this one more thing you struggle to juggle? Or does it come easily to you?

Which are you, a better mom or a better wife?

Here’s a little something to lighten the mood.

Welcome to sk*rt.
It’s a collaboration from two of my favorites, design mom and girl con queso and other complete strangers, and it looks like fun.

Follow the above link to blog con queso and you can read all about sk*rt and find out how you can enter to win cool stuff. And while you’re there you can vote for one of my very favorite c jane posts and learn how to pick out the perfect pair of jeans.