Have Yourself an Imperfect Little Christmas...

I'm in a bit of a funk today.  It's only December 4th, and I feel like I've hit the pre-Christmas freak out already.  Not a good sign.  (As my family can vouch, the pre-Christmas freak out does not usually arrive until December 20th.) Too much to do, too little time, not enough money, too much stuff to buy. Ugh.  Stuff.  Gotta buy the stuff, wrap the stuff, hide the stuff, pack the stuff in the van and drive it 6 hours to the relatives' houses.  I'm feeling a bit bah-humbug about it all.

And to be honest, I'm feeling a bit bah-humbug about all the Christmas traditions that usually make me so happy.  We spent the past 2 nights decorating the house for Christmas, and it seems like each night it's ended up being the same peppermint-covered stressball we have to choke down with a glass of crappy eggnog: Kids spazz because they're SOOOOOO EXCITED and I stress because there's a lot of fragile stuff in the Christmas decoration boxes and I don't need another mess and puh-leeze don't get that out yet.  And then someone ends up getting on someone else's nerves and fighting breaks out, the baby Jesus goes flying though the air and the Phineas & Ferb ornament gets broken, and then I flip out and we all end up crying.

Merry Christmas.

I'm sure that anybody walking past our house and looking upon this scene through our large living room windows is less likely to think "Norman Rockwell holiday scene" are more likely to think "On the next episode of 'Cops'...").  And so I end up feeling guilty about tingeing the kids' holiday memories with freak-outs.  I should be the epitome of motherly calm, right?  I mean, it's the holidays.  And they're only young once.  I shouldn't be robbing them of this magic.

And then the cat decides to climb the tree and knock some of the ornaments off.  And I wonder if I should just take the tree down and forget about it for this year.  I look at one of my nativity sets.  Mary is always so calm and so serene.  I envy her.  Here she is, just having given birth among the cows and donkeys and lambs, entertaining magi and shepherd boys and angels, living in a barn for gosh-sakes, and she's just smiling.  She's so full of joy and peace.  But it's her serenity that I envy.  It's just absent from my life right now.

In place of serenity, I have stress.  I have the normal stress of daily living and meeting commitments, and then I have the holiday stress.  I have the "my teen doesn't want anything for Christmas that costs less than $200" stress.  I have the "my middle child hardly wants anything for Christmas, which you think would be great, but then how do you make Christmas morning fair?" stress.  I have the "my youngest child wants expensive and inexpensive gifts for Christmas and understands that Mommy and Daddy can't afford expensive gifts, but doesn't understand why Santa can't and so I need to work carefully at couching her expectations" stress.  And I haven't even begun to deal with extended family stress, or baking stress, or traveling stress. Oh gosh, I just remembered the "I gotta clean the van so we can pack the van so we can travel" stress.  I'm not even ready to deal with that stress yet.

So I sit here in my pajamas with my coffee cup and the couch and I try to avoid the stress, but I know it's out there and it won't get better with time.  I think about selling some plasma so that we have a bit more cash to spread around.  I look at the Nativity again and try to focus, focus, focus on the reason for the season.  

And then I unload my holiday funk onto my blog and unleash it all on the internet because I know that there are so many other moms out there feeling similarly (dads seem to be largely immune from the bulk of holiday stress for some reason, at least in my circle of friends).  I have mom friends who are doing this all as single parents.  Friends who are grappling with grief and the holidays.  Friends who are struggling with illness, or job loss, or money problems.  And I want to say to the people trying to get through the holidays with a big mountain of stress on their backs that you are not alone.  We're all just muddling through.  We look at the picture perfect Christmas cards our friends send and feel inferior because our kids couldn't smile and get along for the time it took to take one picture.  We see Facebook posts of sparkling trees that look like Martha Stewart flew in and decorated it personally while our trees are listing slightly and covered with clothespin reindeer and glittered-macaroni snowflakes.  We hear about the super-expensive or extravagant gifts someone is buying their child or spouse and feel guilty that we can't make our loved ones' Christmas dreams come entirely true.  We see pictures of happy family gatherings, and miss the people who aren't gathered at our table.

 It should come as no surprise that "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is one of my favorite Christmas songs, precisely because it's not about perfect Christmases, but about hoping to have family near and hoping that all the small problems of life fly away, while at the same time yearning for the golden Christmases of our past.  But if you think about it, were those Christmases perfect?  Or have we just gilded them with fondness and nostalgia so that they seem to be?  Do we forget the freak-outs eventually and just remember the family and the fun? I don't recall my mom ever stressing over holidays, and yet she must have, being a single parent and working full time as a nurse and always having to work on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, if not both.

So maybe for today I'll set aside the guilt.  I'm not a perfect mom on a Tuesday afternoon in mid-April, nor on a busy Thursday morning in early-October, so why should I expect myself to be a better version of myself simply because it's the holidays?  Santa stopped watching me years ago. And I'm going to try my hardest to let go of some of the expectations.  Maybe someone on my list doesn't need a perfect gift.  Maybe it's okay if they just know that I was thinking of them. (I just saw a commercial for a Chia Uncle Si.  Anyone interested?  Nothing says "I've given up on shopping for you" quite like a Chia Pet, but a Chia Uncle Si?  That's like saying "I remembered that you like Duck Dynasty while I was buying milk at CVS.")  Maybe the wrapping paper doesn't have to be perfect.  Maybe I won't adjust where the kids hung the ornaments and if the cat knocks the low-hanging ornaments off, I'll just hang them back up again and go about my day.  (Although if the cat knocks the tree down one more time, all bets are off and it is full-on Mommy vs. Cat War.  Seriously.)  I'll try to be more a bit more like Mary and try to capture more of her serenity.  And I'll try so very hard to keep my focus on her son.  Once I fish his manger out of the depths of the Christmas tree, that is.

Happy Bundt Day! (A story told in memes)

The celebration of Bundt Day has become something of a regular event around here.  (Past blog posts on the subject can be found here and here.)

A few weeks ago I started browsing Pinterest for Bundt recipes.  I was gonna knock it out of the park this year.  It was gonna be a full-fledged Bundtpalooza.  I found a recipe for a Samoa Bundt cake (recipe here).  Samoa cookies are my favorite Girl Scout cookie.  Making a Bundt form of my favorite once-a-year cookie seemed like a fantastic idea.

Fast forward to yesterday (I made my cake yesterday so I could tell you about it today).

Here's me heading out the door to the grocery store: Oooh.  Don't forget the recipe for the Samoa Bundt Cake.  Yes, that's a great idea.  But I don't have time.  I'll just check the recipe from my phone at the store.

Here's me driving to the store: Local radio stations stink. Katy Perry's "Roar" is not such a great song that it needs to be on 24-7, people.  Local drivers don't know how to navigate a 4 way stop.  YOU CALL THAT A STOP!?!

Here's me at the store: Let's check that recipe.  Hmm...note from the recipe creator that says "This cake took nearly all day to make."

Hold the phone.  A cake that takes ALL DAY to make?  And it's already noon?  And I still have a week's worth of groceries to buy, cart home, and put away before I can get my bake on?  

So here's me in the baking aisle, basically trying to figure out a Bundt recipe idea on the fly: I want it to be chocolate.  And caramel.  And nuts.  Ooooh...a turtle Bundt!  Great idea.  I know I have a chocolate cake mix at home.  I can make caramel from scratch.  I need some pecans and we'll be all set.  I can make this happen, recipe or no.

So I make it home.  I get to baking.  I decided to make my caramel first.  I used Pioneer Woman's Caramel Sauce recipe.  Say what you will about the Pioneer Woman, but girlfriend can cook.  I've never had a recipe of hers that I haven't liked.  Her caramel sauce recipe is basic, but it's easy, fast, and versatile.  It's great on ice cream.  If you cook it for a little less time, it's great for dipping apple slices for a snack.  If you cook it longer, it gets thicker, and that's the state I was going for in this Bundt.  A nice, thick, ropy caramel sauce.

Caramel sauce ingredients are in the pan, melting and getting nice and gooey.  I decide to start on the cake mix.  I've been buying up cake mixes lately when they're on sale for a dollar (don't judge - it's cheap, it's easy, and my family cannot tell the difference between "from scratch" and "from box").  I know I've got at least one chocolate cake mix in the pantry.  Possibly a devil's food cake too.  I just know I want a nice chocolate cake to be the base of this Bundt.   Go over to the pantry.  Guess what? No. Chocolate. Cake. Mix.

Wait!  There in the back!  What is it?  German Chocolate Cake mix.  Hmm.  Better than nothin'.

So I get the cake mix going.  My caramel sauce is bubbling away nicely.  I've got approximately 20 minutes before Middle and Youngest Child come home from school.  I'll be able to get the cake into the oven by then, and we can rake some leaves while the cake bakes.

Phone rings.  It's Middle Child.  "Um...Hello?  Mom?  I missed the bus. Can you come to school and get me?"

So I'm rapidly greasing a Bundt pan, and rushing everything else so that I can get the cake in the oven and rush off to school.  I turn off the heat on the caramel sauce before it's quite ready.  It's not as thick as I'd like and I don't have time to cool it, but you've all figured out by now that I'm a real mom and not a professional blogger (my cheap photography was probably your first clue; second clue is probably the fact that I only blog once in a blue moon because I have no time).  I have to get the kid, the cake can be rushed and less than perfect.

So, pour one half of the cake batter into the very well greased Bundt pan.   Then pour 1/2 of the less-than-thick, not-so-much-cooled caramel sauce on top of the batter.  Sprinkle with pecans.  (In my dream world where kids don't miss buses, this was going to be an amazing caramel-pecan tunnel in the middle of the Bundt.)  Top with remaining cake batter.  Pop into oven.  As you're popping it into the oven, hear the front door open.  Hey, it's Middle Child, who found a ride home with the neighbor girl.  Count to ten and take a deep breath.

So we wait for Youngest child to get home, then we go rake leaves with a timer stuck into my pocket so I can take the cake out in time.  Rake, rake, rake.  Realize that raking with kids is just about as effective as raking with puppies.  Timer goes off.  Back inside, test the cake for doneness.  Let it cool on the counter for a bit before taking out of the pan.  Finish raking.  Drag Youngest Child out of the leaf pile in the street.  Take Youngest Child in the house.  Attempt to release cake from Bundt pan.

Anybody who has ever made a Bundt will understand The Moment.  It's the moment of truth in Bundt cake baking.  When you unmold your cake, it will either come out in one smooth whoosh, or it won't. The Moment is the success/fail moment of the last hour.  You get a pretty, nicely molded Bundt, or you get a semi-nicely molded Bundt on the bottom with the rest stuck into the pan.  Guess which one I got?

Yeah.  Sigh.

Here's what I think happened.  The caramel was too thin, and too hot.  It very quickly meandered to the bottom of the pan, and took the pecans with it.  Once at the bottom of the pan, the caramel continued to cook until it became toffee.  (A nice, delicious, nutty toffee that I later scraped out of the pan with a spoon and consoled myself with as I looked at my sad, disfigured Bundt.)  Some of the cake stuck to the toffee and the rest released nicely.  Hence, Ugly-Not-Really-a-Turtle-Bundt.

But frosting!  Frosting fixes everything!  And I still have some leftover caramel sauce to use as a garnish on top.  I'm gonna frost and garnish the snot out of this cake! It's still salvageable!  Yes!

I microwaved some canned frosting to make it liquid-y.  (If I were a professional blogger, it would be ganache, but again, I'm a mom who is running out of time before supper prep needs to begin.)  Poured about 3/4 of it over the cake, letting it pool at the bottom.  Then I started drizzling the caramel sauce over the top.  Again, it was too thin and pretty much just rolled off the cake.  At this point, I really didn't even care and just laughed.  Threw some more pecans on top, and called it done.

Do you want to see what it looked like in the end?

Here you go:

A little lumpy, a little bumpy, and I'm not sure I'd serve it to company or take it to a pot luck, but it's okay.

Taste verdict?  It was good.  Caramel really suits German Chocolate cakes, so those flavors blended nicely.  But the caramel tended to pool away from the cake and frosting.   Overall, however, it was a perfectly good cake and everyone at the table gave it a thumbs up.

The final take-away?  It's cake.  Cake is good.  However you celebrate Bundt Day, enjoy - and may your Bundt not stick to the pan.

The One Where She Kills the Blender...

Remember how every episode of the TV show Friends was titled with "The One Where...?" Like "The One Where Where Chandler Can't Cry" or "The One with the Embryos" (which features the Ross-created game that pits Monica and Rachel against Joey and Chandler - classic). Yeah, if my life was a Friends show, yesterday would have been titled "The One Where She Kills the Blender."

 It all started because I wanted hummus. I've been on a hummus kick for the last few days. And when I get on a kick, that's all I want to eat. I'd call it a craving, but cravings come and go, you know? A kick lasts longer...days, weeks (or until "that time of the month" ends, just sayin'). So on Monday, when the hummus kick hit, I was grocery shopping and picked up some Sabra-brand hummus. Deeeee-lish. It was gone in less than 48 hours. However, it's also a bit on the pricey side (thought I noticed Target sells it for $3 less than our grocery store). So I said to myself, we can make this stuff. It'll be cheaper and potentially healthier too. 

Problem: I've never made hummus before in my life.

Solution: Turn to a couple of friends - my friend A, who is something of a kindred spirit in the cooking/food department, and my other good friend, The Internet. I knew A would probably have a recipe for hummus, and she did. But in searching on the internet, I also found a few ideas and suggestions that I incorporated.

A's recipe comes from Dave Lieberman of the Food Network and can be found here.  One of the big things I appreciated about this recipe on first glace was that it doesn't use tahini which, let's be honest, can be hard to find in middle-of-nowhere midwestern towns like the one I live in.  It's not like Whole Foods or Trader Joe's is just down the block.  I can usually cobble together pretty decent international fare by visiting the two major grocery stores in town along with a trip to the Walmart Supercenter (which is decidedly not super) or Target.  But traipsing to 4 different stores with the Little One in tow just looking for tahini?  No thanks.  This recipe uses sesame oil instead of tahini and sesame oil is much easier to get your hands on around here.

Now, in reading about hummus on the internet, two tips stuck out at me.  One was to take the skins off your chickpeas if you want a super creamy hummus (I did.)  The other was to use a blender as opposed to a food processor - again, if you want to have a creamier hummus.  Taking skins off of chickpeas isn't as putzy as some people online complained about it being.  I thought it was more like Popping Bubblewrap: Kitchen Edition.  There was something a bit satisfying about squeezing each chickpea between my fingers and having the skins pop off.  But it does take a decent amount of time to skin 2 cans of chickpeas.  Tip: rinsing them under cold water helps.  If it starts to get difficult to skin them, rinse under cold water again.  Bottom line: if you want creamy hummus, skin your beans.  If you don't care, don't worry about it.

I would also recommend adding the lemon juice, cumin, and garlic in their recommended quantities at first and increasing depending upon your tastes.  Like A said to me, lemons vary in their juiciness and acidity.  One half of one lemon might be plenty.  One half of another lemon might not be enough. Sample your hummus before you're finished with it and up your lemon, cumin or garlic accordingly. I ended up using an entire small lemon and adding a few extra dashes of cumin.

So, chickpeas were skinned, other ingredients were assembled, I was ready to go.  Put my chickpeas and oil in the blender only to see my olive oil oozing out the bottom of the machine.  Well that's not good, says I.  I dumped the chickpeas and oil into a bowl to investigate the seals and whatnot, tightened the band at the bottom, and figured we were good to go.  To be on the safe side, I measured out the rest of my ingredients into the bowl that I put the chickpeas into and added a little extra oil to make up for what leaked out previously.  Then I put the whole shebang into the blender and started blending.  I would recommend blending until the desired creaminess/smoothness is obtained.  Depending on your blender and your tastes, this could be anywhere from a couple of minutes to 10 minutes.

And when my hummus was about 2 minutes away from my desired texture, my blender died.  No warning, not a sputter or a wheeze - she just up and quit.  I'm not qualified in kitchen forensics, so I don't know if the blender dying had anything to do with the leaky jar, but either way, the blender was dead.  Ugh.  At least the hummus was pretty well close to being done, so I scraped it into a container, garnished it with fresh parsley from my garden and some paprika (I kind of overdid it on the paprika, but the red against the yellow and green was just so pretty).

The Rubbermaid storage container is quite attractive, right?  Food stylist I am not.

 I sampled what was left inside the blender.  Tasty.  Quite tasty.  Lick-the-blender-clean tasty.  In fact, it was difficult not to sit down with the container of hummus and a bag of pita chips and just eat that for dinner.

And, because this blog is all about honesty in triumphs as well as failures, you should see the mess left behind by my hummus-making, blender-killing adventure:

From left to right: blender carcass, spices, olive oil, more blender carcass,  crockpot with  the night's supper in it.   Professional food blogger I am not.

Later on last night, I had some hummus and pita chips while watching TV with my husband.

"How do you like it?" I asked.

"Pretty good," He said.

"It was much cheaper to make this than buying the store-bought," I said.

Him: How do you figure?

Me: Chickpeas were 65 cents a can.  I had everything else in stock.

Him:  You're forgetting the replacement costs of the blender.

Me:  Oh...right...the blender.

End result: good hummus.  Cheaper than store-bought.  Unless you kill a blender.