Plainbellied's just-right-for-mini-muffin-pies Box

Ask and ye shall receive.

Click on the image for the full-size template before printing.
And only print page one.
I don't know why a blank, second page comes up when you try to print.

I just couldn't resist.

Mini muffin-tin pies in mini scrap-book paper boxes. Just my little way of saying thanks to our Primary Board. I think it was worth it. The brothers and sisters who serve in Primary are definitely worth it. And these things are so dang adorable! And delicious. I may never go back to full-size pies. For directions on the pies, check here.

So many possible titles for this post...

The Boy loved the vegetables from my lentil soup. However Turtar and I both neglected to put the soup in the fridge before retiring for the evening (which vaguely resembled falling asleep watching TV and falling asleep reading in bed), so down the disposal it went. But the next day I made more soup! Or at least I started to. I sauteed the onions, carrots and potatoes. I added the stock and brought it up boil. And then I created fire.

The soup was still fine. I moved it to the side and tried to smother the fire with another pan. No good. It didn't seal off the oxygen. I couldn't think any longer, so I grabbed the fire extinguisher (courtesy of our friendly apartment complex) and killed the fire. The fire was survived by copious amounts of a yellow powder, all over the kitchen. All over the new pot of soup. All over the toaster, which I then threw away. (I just don't trust my shaking abilities enough. I don't think I can shake the toaster well enough to clear out all the yellow, fire-killing powder. I don't know what the powder is, but I have no intention of eating it.)

What should I call this post? How can I capture this memory?

"It's Down to Cheerios": afterwards, I had no soup to feed The Boy, so I gave him Cheerios, even though they have wheat starch. I paid for it today, when he was gassy, constipated and irritable.

"A color I don't like.": The powder from the fire extinguisher was more yellow than dry milk, but not as yellow as cornmeal. It was anemic. Almost apologetic. Pitiful. It reminded me a little of the dijon mustard color that fills Seville. I was very bitter about leaving Madrid, and I hated that mustard color for a long time out of spite.

"No longer a fire extinguisher virgin." This one is too long. But it was my first time, and of all the people I've told, only one other person has used a fire extinguisher before. I thought it was going to be some kind of a white foam. I had no idea how pervasive the contents would be. In a couple of years, I think trace amounts of that powder will still be found in the carpet here, even if I'm no longer found in the apartment.

"Misadventures in cooking" You should have seen the potatoes. They were browned to perfection. And I don't think I mentioned it before, but the stock I added, the one I was bringing to a boil so I could add the lentils, it was duck stock, made by my husband himself. The loss of the stock is even greater than that of the perfectly sauteed vegetables, because we don't have any more duck or duck bones. I hate it when bad things happen to good food. This is another example of why Turtar is the cook in the family. I cook for us, but he does it better. And if we have company coming, he's definitely the one in the kitchen impressing everyone. Although I did make a mean rack of ribs not too long ago, using a dry rub Turtar assembled. I'm okay with his contribution. Nothing can diminish my achievement of not destroying perfectly good meat. Do you remember the time I burned and under-cooked the same London Broil for Turtar's birthday? Believe me, those ribs were an achievement.

"Why I ate microwave popcorn for dinner.": Turtar came home and I went off to teach art class. He was all geared up to clean up the mess and be my hero, but it just didn't turn out how either of us planned. Instead of going out to eat as a family, I sent him off for an evening alone. To clarify, this was intended as a gift, not a punishment. I figured I could come up with something for myself and the kids, and taking two small children to a restaurant close to bedtime wasn't going to relax him in anyway. I fed the kids, cleaned, ate what I could (still being mostly dairy and wheat-free), and cleaned some more. The next day I bought lots of fruit as a buffer between myself and the microwave popcorn in the future.

Obama's Back-to-School Speech

The right-wing crazies have been up in arms recently, so I finally got around to listening to Obama's Back-to-School speech, which was broadcast to school children around the country two days ago. It's ridiculous to be afraid of the president of our country speaking to the children of our country about the value of education, but that's neither here nor there. Here's what I wanted to say:

I found President Obama's speech personally inspiring. I have always envied people I consider "doers". These people seem capable. They achieve their goals. They are not afraid of making goals. I have always felt like a second-class citizen by comparison. I heard the words "you can do anything" when I was growing up, but there were other forces in my home stronger than the words of my parents. The overwhelming, unspoken messages were "have you thought this through all the way?" "you should be prepared for this not to work out" "this seems much too complicated to go for" and "aim a little lower". I continue to fight these messages as an adult, but I still see myself through that lens, and everything I see tends to reinforce the messages of my childhood. Obama's speech helps me to believe a little more in myself and in a greater sense of community. He talked about a couple of people who had overcome unfavorable situations and still succeeded. He said we can't make excuses and give up on ourselves. I have to think of The Boy in that situation, and so many people with T21 that I have heard about in the past year. People with Down syndrome have a lot more to overcome than most, yet they go to college, learn languages, serve missions, contribute to the community, and enrich many personal lives. The Boy is a constant inspiration to me because he had to work so hard just to learn how to sit. He has to endure daily (when I'm being good) physical therapy to achieve basic life skills. I've always had to work hard at everything in my life. I don't believe I'm naturally gifted in any way, but I persevere. I relate to The Boy that way. He inspires me to take advantage of the abilities I've got so far and push them further. President Obama's speech does the same.

Her Nibs didn't hear the speech at school because her school decided the kindergartners were too small to sit and listen. It was less than 20 minutes, even with the introduction, so I'm not really sure what that was about, but she will be sitting down to watch it this afternoon. I want her to believe in herself, to believe she can achieve, and never to think of herself as anything less than a "doer".