Cupcake Wars...

I have a strange obsession. It's true. I'm obsessed with finding and or making the perfect cupcake.  Why is this so strange?  You might ask.  Well because It's not like I even care that much about cake.  I mean cake's good and all but I certainly don't dream about it at night.

And yet I do dream about creating and or finding the perfect cupcake.  Strange.  I know there must be one out there.  Why else would there be entire TV shows devoted to their creation and why else would people stand in large lines to pay forty bucks for a dozen of them.  Forty bucks.  No lie.  That's how much my darling love paid for a box of Sprinkles cupcakes because he knows of my obsession and wanted to please me.  And I was excited and squealed with delight and then said, "Eh, they're alright."  Because they were just alright.  And I know people are reading this right now and calling me dumb for saying that.  But what can I do?

So I concocted some recipes in my head the other day then visited the grocery store where I spent an obscene amount of money on supplies (I'm obsessed I tell you) and came home to create one of my three newly concocted recipes.  I began with coconut because I love coconut.  And no the above picture is not my coconut cupcakes but those of the Barefoot Contessa because I am too lazy to take a picture.  So I made my coconut cupcake and my coconut frosting and I took a bite and said, "These are good but they're not quite there yet."  To which my girls replied, "Are you crazy?  This is the most amazing cupcake ever."   So I'm thinking maybe my expectations are too high.  Maybe I'm waiting for Angels to sing and maybe Angels are too busy to sing for cupcakes.

But the next day when I decided to eat one of my coconut cupcakes for breakfast (told you I'd never make it into the super fit people club) something happened.  I actually think I  heard an angel sing and I may have even wept a little because that was the best flippin' cupcake ever.  I can't even lie or fake modesty.  Even though I probably should because that's the proper thing to do.  Seriously yummy.  Seriously.  And so I proceeded to eat four more (throughout the day mind you) and four more the next day and now there's only one left which I must hurry and eat before my kids get home.  You know, because of that whole, "put the oxygen mask on yourself first" thing.  Just trying to be a good mom here that's all.

And now comes the part of this post where I'm supposed to share the recipe with y'all.  Only I started thinking maybe I'll just keep it to myself because then you will have to invite me to your parties. 

"Hey I know lets invite Jeanette."
"No she's dumb.  She doesn't even like Sprinkles cupcakes."

"I know but she makes the most amazing Coconut Cupcakes!"

"Oh yeah that's right.  Hurry and invite her!"

Then I'll feel all important and loved because I'll get invited to so many shindigs I won't even know what to do with myself.
  
So call me.  I'll bring cupcakes.

P.S.
If you don't like coconut don't worry.  I still have two more recipes waiting for their spotlight.  But more on that later...

I don't think I'll make it into that club...

I decided something this morning as I was working out...
I decided that fit people deserve to be admired.
They deserve every double take, side-eyed glance, dropped jaw gawk, every "Dang I wish I looked like her." ALL OF IT.
Because working out pretty much stinks. And telling myself to put down the snickerdoodle that I've picked up five times this morning stinks too.
So to all of you--do your work out everyday and put down the snickerdoodle--kind of people out there I say flaunt it. I won't hate you because you're beautiful (remember those commercials?) because you deserve every bit of your glory.
Really. I mean it.

So special...

I bought four mugs. We have seven people currently living in our home, but I bought four mugs. It's all the thrift store had. Four. I debated, but they were cute. So I bought them.

I set the table with my four new mugs. We have seven people currently eating at our table, but I only had four new mugs. So I alternated them with complimenting white mugs. It looked cute. I felt satisfied.

"Why don't I get a special mug?" I heard Jamie say. Followed by, "Ooo, I want a special mug." Coming from Waylon. So we adjusted and did some rearranging until all who wanted "special mugs" had one.

And I thought, "I love children." I love how their precious little minds take the simplest of things and make them "special" and exciting. If only we could remember this as mothers. Oh the world we could create for these wide-eyed, magical little souls. And oh the world we would create for ourselves in the process.

Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass;
Alma 37:6

Random questions answered...

I'm sick tonight. My nose is bright red and owie. Not fun.
My husband isn't home and I have to take a break from writing or my head will pop off. Which might be okay since my nose is red and owie, but for now I think I'll try to keep it on.

So I'm taking a break and reading blogs. On BBL (one of my favorite blogs)
I found a tag game thingy. I'm too sick and tired to follow all of the rules of the tag game thingy but I thought I'd take a minute to at least answer the question portion of the tag game thingy.
Here goes:

1. If you had to wear skirts for the rest of your life, or jeans for the rest of your life, which would you choose?
The only reason I had to pause and think on this question is because I love pumps and I made a deal with my feet that I would only wear pumps with dresses so as not to destroy them (them being my feet) but I prefer jeans because I'm often cold and I don't always like to sit like a lady.

2. What was your favorite PBS kids show growing up?
The Electric Company. I remember a song about eating spaghetti with a spoon. What a mess. And I loved the silhouette word people. Sh....ip, Ship. And of course the beginning, "Hey you guys!" Awesome.

3. Who is cooler? Zack Morris or Cory Matthews?
I was an older teen then young married when "Saved by the Bell" and "Boy Meets World" were on TV so I only watched them a few times but I would definitely, definitely pick Cory Matthews. Definitely.

4. What is your least favorite smell in the world?
I'm drawing a blank on this one. Maybe because my nose is stuffed up right now.

5. What's the worst injury you have ever had?
My owie, owie broken foot. That was the worst pain ever! (for me. I'm sure there are many others who've had worse pain than that. And I'm sorry for them. Really.)

6. What book have you read more than once?
"The Hiding Place" by Corrie ten Boom. I've read it at least three times. Maybe four.

7. What do you take the most photos of?
My kids. But not enough. I often forget to take pictures. Bad

8. What is the first perfume you ever purchased/wore?
Beautiful by Estee Lauder. My mom's.

9. What is your ideal date?
Good food. Good conversation. And an occasional visit to a shoe store ;)

10. Tell me your favorite thing about the state you live in.
The weather. The diversity. I love that we can travel from the hot cactus filled desert to the cool pine tree covered mountains in a matter of a few hours. I just wish I still lived in the hot cactus filled desert part instead of the cold mountains but whatever.

11. Most frequented website?
Amazon.com though I've been visiting the fabric guru a lot lately because I really want to make new curtains (if you haven't guessed, I don't spend much time on the internet)

So there you have my very condensed version of the tag game thingy. If you'd like to see the entire tag game thingy visit BBL right now. Go ahead. I think you'll like her. She's super cute and fun :)

Now I'm going to bed because I'm not feeling cute or fun right now. Nope.

And she's off...

I've heard it said that if you give your fears a voice they lose their power. And that must be true because after posting yesterday's "confessions of a wimpy writer" (which I thought about deleting because I sound like such a dork)I sat down and wrote.

I wrote and I wrote until I looked up to notice that I had over 1000 words written. Woo-hoo. It seems I have found the story I was meant to tell because it's practically writing itself. And it's not scary, it's fun (and heart wrenching--sorry, it's what I do).

Now my biggest problem is that I never want to stop writing. Why don't homes have a self cleaning button? Why?

Don't be hatin' on my breakfast beverage...

This morning, over a breakfast of tomato juice and gluten free crackers, I had a little talk with myself.

*Side note*
I pretty much love tomato and or vegetable juice for breakfast. And I love to drink said juice in fancy glasses. My kids are aware of this fact and gift me with fancy glasses every Christmas. This latest one being from Miss Jamie. Thanks J.

During our little talk I asked myself this question, "Self why are you looking at blogs right now instead of writing. Furthermore self, why have you avoided writing for months? Why self? Why?"

Some time ago I read an article about procrastination, which stated that there is always something behind our putting things off. The article listed examples of why we might put things off and as I read it I realized that I put off writing because I don't want to find out that I actually stink at it. I don't want to find out that I can't do it.

On the flip side of that, I'm quite certain that I can. We humans are such manic little creatures. I can write. My writer's group all but threw flowers at me the last time I shared one of my works with them and told me I'd better finish it because they must know what happens. Marlee tells me everyday, "Mom the world needs good writers. Please write your book." And yet...

Yes--sadly, ridiculously--there is still a yet. Yet I look at my writing in disbelief. "How could these words have come from me?" I wonder. "Surely they were a fluke. I can't possibly have anything more."

So I procrastinate. I let days, weeks, months pass by while I walk around tied up in knots (because if we're not true to our gifts, we can't help but feel tied up). And I wait. Wait for what? I don't know. I've already received conformation that I should do this. I've already had a perfect moment of clarity when I learned exactly what I should write--complete with a title, and you know I hate coming up with titles (I wrote the experience in my journal because I knew my doubt would try to cast it away) and I make myself freakin sob each morning as the story rolls through my brain (I tend to write things that make people cry. why? No idea.) So why not just sit down and write it already?

I'm scared. That's why.

P.S.
In a recent writer's meeting it was said that once you know the rules of writing you can break them, at which time I confessed that I break all of the rules on my blog. I am therefore aware that, if based solely upon this blog, you may think me a horrible writer. I am sorry. But not really. Because this writing is easy. And it doesn't scare me. So the end.

True Bliss...

Today marks 22 years

And it just keeps getting better :)

What the Hell-'s Angels...

WRITER'S WORKSHOP PROMPT:
A memorable day at work.

(me and Mr. Rick when we were both flirty young college thangs)

I've never written a romance novel. Never even tried. But there's a part of me that thinks it might be fun. You know, just a little part. And that little part wanted to show up today to write about a memorable day at work. That little part wanted to take creative license to make that memorable day at work extra juicy (just for fun) because it did indeed have all of the makings of a very juicy story. But I decided to refrain from embellishing said juicy story for two reasons.

One...
I never take creative license on my blog posts they are (sadly) all true.
and
Two...
I wouldn't want my darling love to read this post and think that I had a very juicy memorable day at work (even though we weren't married at the time).

It happened while I was employed by a group of Hell's Angels (at least I had been told they were Hell's Angels, a story that their appearance and behavior certainly backed up). I was a flirty young college thang working alongside a flirty young son of a Hell's Angel thang, which made for some crazy, yet wholesome :), playful banter.

I wasn't just a flirty young college thang however. I was a very much in love flirty young college thang. And not with the son of a Hell's Angel mind you, but with my very own Mr. Ricky Blissful (I'm thinking he's going to love that I called him Mr. Ricky Blissful and I'm thinking he'll probably say something like, "What the heck..." only he doesn't say heck so you know, I took creative license with that one)

I'm telling you I had it bad for Mr. Rick (he hasn't been Ricky since grade school) and the son of a Hell's Angel knew it. Which only made him turn up the heat on his playful banter. Until one day...

Insert steamy romance novel here...

The son of a Hell's Angel cornered Jeanette in the back office, begging her to forget that other guy and be with him.

She smiled coyly, because that's what flirty young college thangs do, pressing her hand against his chest. "I can't son of a Hell's Angel. I don't want to. I love him." She turned to leave but he grabbed her, pinning her against the wall. With one arm draped above her head and the other on her waist he put his lips dangerously close to hers and whispered, "You know you'd rather be with me."

...and that's where the romance novel ends because I pushed him off of me, told him to quit being stupid, and we continued to laugh, joke around and remain "just friends".

As for Mr. Ricky Blissful? Well he and I remained friends too...AND SO MUCH MORE... a story that could make for a pretty juicy novel in and of itself. But again I'll refrain and just say...

The End.

Everyday...

Yesterday I walked into the grocery store to find people swarming around tables full of flowers, candies, cakes and balloons. Oh the stress, oh the frenzy. I then bought my loaf of bread, stick of butter and container of milk (anyone watch that on Sesame Street?) and calmly, quietly, contently left the store.

I got home to find that my love had already returned from work. I gave him a hug, a smooch and said, "Thank you so much for not making a big deal out of Valentine's Day. I was so glad that I didn't have to worry about buying any of that crap today."

"Thank you." He said. "You're the woman and Valentine's Day is for women. It's you that makes us not have to buy all of that crap."

"Why don't you care about Valentine's Day?" Marlee asked.

The answer is two fold...

One, our anniversary is two days after Valentine's Day so Valentine's Day has always paled in comparison and two--and I figured this out after some pondering-- we don't need Valentine's Day because everyday is a lover's holiday around here.

Everyday is filled with "I love you. You're awesome. You're the most amazing person I have ever met. Thank you for how hard you work for us. That was the best meal I've ever eaten. You always make me feel better. You're so good to me. I need you. You make me a better person. You're the person I want to call when I have a free minute. I appreciate all you do for me. You're brilliant. You're a genius. I admire your work ethic. I admire your spirituality. You're hott. You're sexy. You make me laugh. I hit the jackpot when I married you. I could never make it through this life without you..."

Everyday is back rubs, snuggles and kisses on the neck. Everyday is LOVE. Pure, blissful, beautiful love. And I guess I just don't see how flowers, candies, cakes or balloons could make it any better.

...but a big fat breakfast burrito from El Cupidos? Now that's different.
Thanks honey for surprising me with breakfast this morning :)

Tales from the weekend...

Once upon a time last Saturday, I drove Rick to Show Low to meet up with some people for a business trip. While there I thought, "Why not hit some yard sales." Why not indeed. But after driving a country mile--using the sun as my guide so as not to be forever lost in the forest--only to find one yard sale with nothing more than a small table of used Valentine Bears and "sexy" women's lingerie (that's what the woman kept saying to me. "I've got sexy lingerie here just in time for Valentine's Day." Um...no thank you) I was reminded, that's why not. Yard sales here are ridonkulous. And then I gave myself a talking to and said, "Hello self. Please stop trying to find yard sales up here in the mountains. Stop right now. You don't have Costco here, you don't have Target here (just to name a few of the many, many things we don't have) and you do not have yard sales here. The end."

So I started driving. I drove and I drove until I ended up in Heber where I found thrift stores. Fun thrift stores. And I had a little party and bought this chair where I like to sit when I'm stoned apparently. I'm just saying the eyes are looking a little suspicious in the photo, but whatever. And now I have hope, if only a little, that maybe just maybe I can live here without dying.

Maybe.

Trust...

I learned about this from someone in my writer's group. Each Friday there is a key word to write about.
Here are the rules:

Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.

We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.

On Fridays we just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Won’t you join us?


TRUST:

“You don’t have to figure everything out today. You just have to keep moving.” I said the words aloud as I busily cleaned my kitchen one morning. Immediately a feeling of profound love and peace washed over me, consumed me. I knew that my words were true and that my Savior loved me and appreciated any effort I could give.

I have always wanted to know that I am doing the right thing and giving my best. “What is my purpose?” I’ve wondered. “I’m I using this precious gift of life to the fullest?” I now understand that we must live life to find our lives. We must walk to find our path. Much of what we experience will be trial and error. We’re not always going to do it just right. We can’t. But I trust, oh how I trust, that If I show up for the job every day, keep moving and give my best—even if my very best is no more than the widow’s mite sometimes—the Lord will take my offering and add unto it so much more. More than my meek little heart could ever, ever imagine.

Wilbur lives here...

As I revisited my blog this week (haven't been here in awhile) I scrolled down and saw a post I had written about my posters of blissful affirmation. I also saw that I had promised to show you what I was going to do with my posters of blissful affirmation. But I never did. Because I'm rude like that. But I don't want to be rude. I want to be fabulously kind and awesome. So today I give you this picture of my posters (there's more on another window as well) even though I didn't do exactly what I had planned to with them.

What I had exactly planned to do was to frame them out with some cute fabric or maybe molding but after they sat for many, many weeks with no fabric or molding I said, "Self, it's time to face that fact that you will never hang these up if you wait to be fancy. So please just hang them up right now." And so that's just what I did. And I pretty much love them. Because they are full of blissful affirmation after all. And I loves me some blissful affirmation.

Now about my writing/ creative room... as you can see it is not yet cute. And it is currently being used as a holding ground for things displaced by the living room painting project extravaganza of 2012. But it will be cute by golly. Someday it will be cute. And when it is I'll show you pictures.
I promise :)

Welcome to the fun house...

Another thing you'll find if you pop by to see me--besides me, my wrap thingy, no makeup and dust--is a crazy clown house (as I like to call it).

You see, once upon a time (about a week or so ago) a painter brought some samples over and proceeded to slather my walls (yes we've hired a painter. It was one of those win-win situations for both of us so we decided what the heck...) Things just got crazier from there and soon not even the molding was safe. Never leave me in a room with a painter at my disposal. It's dangerous.

Upon review of the many, many samples slathered on my walls (I haven't shown you the half of them) we decided to scrap the neutrals and go BOLD! Today is the day the madness will begin so it's only natural that my feet grew a little cold last night (of course they're always cold at night but this time I'm referring to the cold feet that make one sit up and exclaim,"What the heck are we doing?!")

"Are we sure we want to do this?" I asked Rick.

"Of course." He said. "I love it. This is who we are. We're fun people and we need fun colors."

And then I busted up into hearty, rolling laughter. "Oh yeah, we're just a barrel of laughs." I said.

"I know." He said. "Just look at you laughing now."

Well I don't know how much fun we really are, but I do know we've never been afraid of color. Paint is my friend. It makes me happy. And I'm excited to finally, FINALLY, stamp this house with a little of my own personality.

Wish me luck. And say goodbye to the crazy clown house (goodbye crazy clown house :} xoxoxo)

This is me...

Please love that I am not wearing any makeup in this picture.
Please also love the dust in that tree behind me.
No this isn't the first time I've noticed my dusty tree. I see the dust every time I walk past it. I just haven't done anything about it. That's all.
The problem is it's an artificial tree. And trees should be real. Real trees don't gather dust (or do they) and they bring beauty, life and oxygen to a room. I love real trees.
But they don't love me.
Which is fairly reasonable seeing as how I kill them. And if someone killed me I wouldn't love them either. So I have no real, living, breathing, beautiful plants in my house. Just fake dusty ones. Sad.

But you know what? I didn't write this post to talk about my dust problem (my chandeliers look like they belong in the haunted mansion--I'm just saying). I wrote this post to show you the awesome wrap thingy (don't know what it's called) that my mother-in-law crocheted for me.
She came over yesterday and said, "Look I made this for you." And I put it on. And promptly warmed up. Who knew a crocheted wrap thingy could be so warm?

I'm pretty much in love. And I'm pretty sure I'll be wearing this everyday. So if you pop by to see me, no matter the day or time, this is what you'll find. Me, my wrap thingy, no makeup and dust. Awesome.