Blueberries.

We are CSA members to a farm and try to make it there a few times during the season to pick fruit.  We recently went for blueberries and managed to pick quite a haul.  Will, who usually does more quality control tasting than picking, even managed to pick a nice amount. 

I love blueberries and often bake them up in muffins, scones, and pies.  But I wanted to try a new blueberry recipe so turned to one of my favorite food blogs, Smitten Kitchen.  Her post on Blueberry Boy Bait made my day (I love recipes with a story!) and the single-layer cake the recipe turned out made my boys smack their lips and ask if we picked enough to make it again and again and again.  Trying to be funny, I casually said, "oh, like to infinity?" which, of course, led to a dozen questions and my feeble attempt to explain the concept of an unlimited extent of time, space, or quantity to a four and six-year old--yea, that was a fun one.  I should have just left it at "it's what Buzz Lightyear says" because when I tried to simplify it by telling them "you can never get to infinity.  It's as big as you can get," they responded, "then what's infinity plus one?"  I made them be quiet with seconds.              

I'm linking to the recipe rather than reprinting here because the only modification I made is adding in at least twice the amount of blueberries (so a generous full cup).  I'll be trying it with other fruit soon. 

Enjoy! 

  

Pajama party.

Last month I posted the sugar cookie recipe that I always use.  And this weekend, I cajoled my friend into letting me make them as favors for her daughters' birthday party--see, I really, really like to make them and won't let anyone else do them (though this does not apply to you--you should indeed make them.  Unless you invite me to your party, in which case I will).  Her girls had a pajama party and it was really fun.  Look at these super cute invites (how-to here:  Parents Magazine).            

    

The guests were asked to show up in pjs and there was a craft where the kids decorated pillow cases to take home:                 

And just look at these cupcakes (yes, from that cupcake book again).  I have to make these soon.  I've seen a version with little teddy graham crackers tucked in as lovies--too cute, right?

I could not find a pajama cookie cutter anywhere.  But discovered that in a pinch, headless gingermen work just fine--oh, and for the nightgowns, I cut off the footsies and smooshed the legs together.  For the cookie recipe and a rather wordy explanation complicating my simple tip for decorating (dipping vice frosting the cookies), see this post. 

And if you are considering hosting a pajama birthday party, I need to add that the most genius part of it is you don't have to get dressed the day of the party--assuming you have cute enough pjs like my friend. This is huge for me as I never seem to leave enough time during pre-party preps to personally get ready. Sadly my guests will often find a nicely staged room but a hostess dressed in her crafting clothes (you save your college tees for painting/moving/gardening?  I save 'em for crafting). 

Beach trip.

We went to the beach for a few days and had a great time.  And by a great time, I simply mean that in the end, the effort and pain of packing, sitting in traffic, trying to convince two older kids that they can hold it, unpacking, shush shushing so the baby can nap, hauling 5 beach bags, 3 kids, and a stroller 3 blocks to the beach, constantly finger-swiping mouthfuls of sand, promising to scotch-tape broken shells to avoid meltdowns, refereeing who got which bucket, shovel, toy, etc. even though there were plenty to share, having a side of grit with every bite because little sand covered hands could not keep out of the snacks--then repeating everything a la Groundhog Day until it was time to reverse the order and head home--was worth it. 

Because Will got his first beach trip.  

And Leo, who would not let his bare feet touch sand a year ago, is evidently over that quirk.

And Max spent hours lost in a sandcastle mission and his first try at boogieboarding.

And the older ones laughed and smiled, screamed and hooted like we've never seen on an assortment of amusement rides.  

Oh, and I'm pretty sure that eating french fries and ice cream every single night helped color my memory of the trip a bit, too.  Hope you are having a wonderful summer.

 

Bake. This. Pie.

Please don't get me wrong with this post's title.  I'm actually not a bossy person--more of a nudger.  But not with this.  This is way too good not to share.  So good in fact that I insist you try it.  And what is "it"?  A super duper easy 50-minute pie wonder...so perfect for summer entertaining (I do realize that summer is half over but I wanted to give your swim-suit diet a fighting chance).  It'll make you understand the saying "easy as pie", which, incidentally, is a phrase I previously questioned because in my pie-making experience, making a good pie was actually pretty challenging.

I found this recipe last November courtesy of the Washington Post Magazine's holiday pie contest.  All the winning pies looked like, well, winners but this pie--the mixed-berry custard--went straight to the top of my pile of clipped recipes to try.  Maybe because old man winter was around the corner and the lure of a berry pie was too much to take, I'm not sure.  But after I made the pie, I made it again, and again, and again.  And then 4 more times.  So trust me when I say it's the kind of recipe you should just scribble on a post-it and stick inside a cupboard door, which is exactly where I keep my copy.  Are there more fantastic pie recipes out there?  Yes and I hope to get to those.  But this one is so quick, with ingredients you can always keep on hand, and yet turns out a pie so satisfyingly Dee.Lish. that I sometimes wonder if I really need bother. 

If you must go-Martha on it, knock yourself out by using a homemade crust.  But really?  Remember, it's summer.  So just keep a couple of Marie Callendar deep dish frozen crusts in your freezer, along with a few bags of your favorite fruit, and breathe easy knowing you can always say "I'll bring dessert" without running to the store.  Now go make it (nudge, nudge).  

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Texas, revisited.

Sorry to be gone for a bit.  I went back to Texas for my 20 year high school reunion and oh my goodness did I have fun.  I went to high school in San Antonio and the reunion was held downtown, near the Riverwalk.  Since our high school was located in a San Antonio suburb, we really didn't make it downtown very much except for special occasions.  And so the Riverwalk always seemed like a big deal to us.  So grownup or--to use my high-school speak--like, sooo bad, y'all.  Remember when bad meant good?  Yea, well, it was like that.  Suddenly we were the rowdy grownups in the bars down at the Riverwalk and it was indeed pretty bad and yet really good. 

My life in Texas seems so odd to me now.  Yes of course because I was so young and everyone called me 'Sandy' and football games ruled my social life but also because, for me at least, Texas is not just a place where you live.  It's a bigger, Deep in the Heart (clap, clap, clap) kind of lifestyle.  You simply can't avoid doing certain Texas things, even if you're only there for a blip on your life's radar.  I can't explain it very well, sorry, because truthfully I don't exactly know what that means--but maybe you do if you've lived it too.  Maybe you got mums the size of your head for Homecoming and know what Ropers are.  Maybe you two-stepped at the Bluebonnet even if you listened to Erasure. 

Things were just done differently there.  Most of my East coast friends cannot believe how much we dressed up as high-school students in Texas.  If you were to flip through my yearbook, you could easily assume that there was some sort of daily, mandatory attendance to a cotillion or something.  We're talking dresses, heels, Laura Ashley up the wazoo...the works--just to go to class.  So when shopping for a "reunion" dress, I was a little conflicted--do I try to guess what my Texas self would wear?  Or do I go all East Coast Banana Republic minimal, the look I've sported as a guest to 21--yes, I counted--weddings.  In the end, I took a good friend with me and slapped the racks looking for something, anything, I felt pretty in.  I figured pretty always works. 

The weekend was another girls-only trip which was a pretty big shock to my system as it was a mere two weeks after my last girls trip.  Before these two, I had gone on exactly zero such trips since having children.  So the rapid-fire timing of these two left me feeling a bit guilty (in that I might be spending too much time away from my family) but mostly (sorry honey), they tapped a real yearning for more, more, more.  More time to enjoy with close girlfriends to sit and chat and eat and shop and awake naturally rather than by a child's need or cry.  And, of course, it allowed us to talk nonstop about our children's needs and cries.  This particular trip was shared with my friend Kristin.  It was her reunion too as we've been best friends since eighth grade, ever since I moved two doors down from her house.  The kicker is she also made the trek up North and East during college and now lives only 30 minutes away from me.  We roomed together in college, were each other's maids of honor and have a running joke that if we could just get our four-year-olds to marry we could be related for real.  We don't think we surprised anyone by coming together. 

The reunion was something I'm so glad I didn't miss.  I left San Antonio after a brilliant weekend reconnecting with friends who I did so many firsts with--school dances, makeup, rock concerts, consuming crushes, driving tests, sneaking out, college admissions, daydreams about how our lives would end up....  So to go back and see them in the flesh--not just by lurking on Facebook--and hear about their lives and see them with their babies on their hips was completely and utterly surreal.  It was as if we were at a sleepover, playing with a cootie catcher asking "how many kids will I have", then blinked, and suddenly, here we were.

I know this entry isn't about crafts or cooking or anything else this blog is typically about, but I wanted to take a second to jot a few thoughts down to memorialize it.  I think I'll hit print, sign it "LYLAS, Sandy", fold it up into a nice, tight note with a "pull me" tab, and pass it to Kris.  I also hope it encourages some of you to get back in touch with a long lost friend, or two, or, in my case, a solid three dozen.  If they were important in your life at some point then there was a reason.  And it might just surprise you to find out how well they still fit there. 

Interview with a four-year-old.

 

In case you can't read the above, it says:

My mom is 8 years old.

My mom is the prettiest when she takes a shower.

My mom likes to make everything that is good for me.

My mom always says, she doesn't tell me secrets.

My mom is funny when she does tricks.

This poster is one of my favorite projects that our four-year-old, Leo, did in preschool last year.  His teachers asked the questions and wrote down his first response.  It has hung prominently in our breakfast nook since Mother's Day and I don't know if I'll ever take it down. 

There are two answers I especially love.  First, the shower one.  All of the other moms laughed when they read it, saying, "oh yes, me too, I went days without a shower when there was a baby in the house!"  I chuckled along but silently was confused as I--shocker--manage to shower daily.  Did Leo not notice?  And so I asked him what he meant and he said, "oh momma, you look so pretty in the shower."  All righty then.  Guess it's time to be a bit more discreet! 

Second, the "tell secrets" one.  Years and years ago when I was a new mommy, I was practicing law and was sent to some training for victim advocates.  One of the best pieces of advice I think I've ever heard came from a child abuse specialist talking to us about simple things we could do with children in our efforts to keep them safe:  tell them that there are no such things as secrets in the house and that no one should ever ask them to keep a secret from their mommy or daddy.  For birthdays and holiday fun, just use the word surprise (because eventually you reveal whatever the surprise is) but no secrets.  I'm a big believer in the old adage that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure so Leo's response makes me smile--he apparently "gets" this house rule. 

Butterflies.

Recently a neighbor asked me if she could hire me to do cupcakes and the cake for her daughter's First Holy Communion celebration.  I was flattered that she thought of me--but there was no way I would charge a friend for cupcakes and cake.

I only had a few days notice and had a hard time thinking of an appropriate decorating theme.  Then I remembered some flagged pages in my Hello Cupcake cookbook. I love this book.  It's filled with the cutest ideas for just about every occasion. Except, of course, a First Holy Communion.

But it does have butterflies. Beautiful and delicate, they look like they might flutter off the page as you're flipping through the book. And with three boys, I doubted a butterfly-themed party was in our future so here was my chance--how perfect. Because, you know, First  Communion ...butterflies ... get it? Fine. I was reaching but look how pretty.  

Supplies: At least two different colors of melting candy wafer or chocolate (I buy the melting wafers at craft stores like Michaels or A.C. Moore); wax paper; butterfly template; permanent marker; sandwich sized ziploc bags.

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