Muffin Mania!

Do you know the Muffin Man? I do not and I do not understand that rhyme because we never really get any answers about the Muffin Man, just more questions and a vague address. I worry that the nursery rhyme actually promotes stalking of the Muffin Man and, though he confounds me, I do not want strangers showing up on Drury Lane looking for him. But...I digress.

During the first week of my unemployment/retirement/new lease on life, I decided to make muffins. I had 3 overripe bananas and I can't just keep putting overripe bananas in the freezer for the smoothies I never make. I suppose I could get a monkey to eat the freezer bananas but I don't have the energy for a monkey. So, I ran to the store for some chocolate chips and rushed home to make muffins.

Then, I realized that I needed 2 cups of flour and I looked in my flour bin and saw that I didn't have 2 cups of flour. I didn't have time to go to the store again before picking up the kids so - no muffins. (Lesson 1: Always check that you have all the ingredients before you begin a baking project.)

The next day, I went to the co-op to get flour. I went into the bulk aisle which seemed crowded in an unsettling "baking for the apocalypse" kinda way and there was a woman vacuuming up all the bulk baking supplies and the floor was looking pristine. I say this because I promptly got bulk flour all over the floor. White flour on green carpet and I was holding the scoop. The apocalyptic bakers stared at me, judging me and the flour poof at my feet.

When I got home, I assembled all of my ingredients and you know what? It turns out that I had 2 1/2 cups of flour and hadn't needed the new flour at all. (Lesson 2: Measure things before you assume you do not have enough.)

Then, I began making the muffins...but I was also tweeting a couple of friends at the same time. (Lesson 3: Don't bake and tweet.)

They were taunting me and doubting my muffin-making abilities and I got rattled and forgot to mash the bananas before adding them to the egg so this happened:

I posted that picture on twitter and then they made fun of the fact that I was mixing with a tiny fork. (Lesson 4: Don't post pictures of your baking project to twitter because of the mocking.)

Whatever. I knew exactly what I was doing!

So, I kept measuring and adding and creating and, probably because I was starting to doubt myself, this happened:

Of course, I tweeted that picture too which only led to more taunting. (Lesson 5: Never let them see you sweat when you drop your fork in the batter.)

I cleaned off the fork and added the dry ingredients and chocolate chips and the batter tasted delicious. I know...you are not supposed to eat batter with raw eggs in it but let's face it - eating batter with raw eggs is like the base jumping of middle age. I am a thrill seeker!

I lined my muffin cups and poured the batter in and baked them and they all turned out beautifully! Then, I needed to take them out of the muffin pans and put them on the counter too cool but here is the thing - I have sensitive fingers. I couldn't pull them from the pan with my bare hands and I couldn't use a towel because I need more fine motor control than a towel will allow. This is where I admit that I often ask Luisa to handle my muffins. But I couldn't rely on Luisa this time because she was in Angola and her hands were with her.

So, I decided I would just flip the muffins out onto the counter and then nudge them over as needed. I felt this was a brilliant and fool-proof plan...and then this happened:

There are two very important lessons to be gleaned from this photograph. (Lesson 6: Don't flip your muffins, yo. Lesson 7: Mop the day before you bake so you can eat off the floor.)

As for the muffins? They were absolutely delicious. The kids came home and asked why the house smelled so wonderful and I waved my hand over a the counter to show them what I had made for them and they were very impressed. Thank goodness they don't read twitter.

I may not know the Muffin Man but I'm pretty sure that I'll be getting an invitation to live on Drury Lane any day now. (Lesson 8: Dream big.)

The Great Grape Panic

I braved the icy roads today to go grocery shopping! Admittedly, it might sound more heroic if I said something like, "I braved the icy roads today to save a one-eyed old lady stuck in a tree with a three-legged kitten." But, I don't normally go grocery shopping so I get to say it's heroic when I do.

I mentioned once before that I did not know the price of a gallon of milk and, yes, that is partly because of my economic privilege but mostly because I don't go shopping often and don't pay attention to prices because I just want the shopping to be over.

Now that I am not working, I feel that I should make more of an effort to be more frugal or, at the very least, more conscious about prices.

So, today, I looked at prices.

People...food is expensive! Did you know this? Am I the last to know? Well, I am probably not the last...I'm sure Donald Trump doesn't know this either.

I started out in the produce aisle. Zeca likes grapes and I suspected grapes might be kind of expensive since they grow in far away places like, um, Grapeland? (No relation to Graceland). Notice that I assumed that they were costly but did not actually look at the price and try to puzzle it out before putting them in my cart. I just picked the smallest bag of grapes and went on my way. Then, I went to the meat counter to get hamburger and couldn't remember how much hamburger Luisa usually gets so I decided to just get a prepackaged thing of hamburger. I chose two packages of the lean, free-range, grass fed, spa cow beef which was slightly cheaper than the super duper lean fancy cow meat. I was very proud of myself because I figured I probably saved enough to buy myself something from the deli. Look at me with the savings!

I specifically did not buy sugar, baking powder, chocolate chips and pie crusts at the coop because I knew they'd be cheaper at the regular store. I was so proud of myself for my cleverness.

I went through the checkout and noticed the total was really high and then I saw it - GRAPES $9.91. Then, I had grape panic. I couldn't say, "OH MY GOD WHO PAYS THAT MUCH FOR GRAPES?!" because I know who does - ME! Fortunately, I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on the grapes when the beef went through at $11 something (and, yes, I realize that even now price specifics aren't my strong suit) for only about a pound and a half of spa cow.

I practiced deep breathing and repeated to myself, "You'll get used to this. You'll do better next time." Really, I just want Luisa to do the shopping but I think that, as a stay at home mom, it might be in my contract.

I got home and put away all the groceries and glared at the grapes and vowed that I would make the children eat the stems too so that we would get more bang for our buck.

Shortly after I put everything away and sat down with my curried chicken from the deli ($3.93), Deborah called. She said, "Hello!" and I said, "OH MY GOD DEBORAH GRAPES ARE SO EXPENSIVE FOOD IS SO EXPENSIVE DID YOU KNOW THIS?" and she said, "Yes, I know." I told her about the grapes and then the spa cow and she said that I had to continue to buy spa cow because otherwise I'd end up paralyzed. She really knows how to calm me down.

To assuage my grape guilt, I tweeted Luisa the following:

Things we need to do: make our own bed and eat squirrels.

I wanted to show her that I was taking this seriously and being proactive.

Tomorrow? I start pricing traps.

Family Court

My son likes to argue which I know is probably karmic retribution for my lifetime love of a good debate but, sometimes, it's exhausting. Like last night, for example.

As soon as I picked him up from school, he started pleading his case - he wanted to go trick or treating with a couple of friends to escape my lovingly watchful eye.

He argued his point as he buckled into the car.

He argued his point as we drove home.

He argued his point as we got out of the car.

He argued his point all the way into the house.

He argued and argued and argued.

Finally, he finished with, "Give me one good reason why you won't let me go trick or treating by myself."

Me: I'll give you 3 - 1)You are impulsive and don't watch when crossing the street on a day when you are NOT hopped up on sugar 2) More kids get hit by cars on Halloween night than any other night of the year 3) You can't even remember to put on shoes half the time so you are hardly ready to trick or treat without supervision.

Miguel: I understand but, on more than one occasion, you have said that I have matured in the past year.

Me: Emotionally, yes. Behaviorally, you have been pretty inconsistent. I love you like a love song baby* but you are impulsive.

Miguel: I have really been working on that and I can point out several examples...

Me: I don't want you to start giving examples because I really just want to focus on these grilled cheese sandwiches.

He proceeded to name several examples.

I looked at him and noticed that he had chocolate from the shoulder of his shirt all the way down the sleeve to the cuff. I stared at his adorable little face and noticed that he had chocolate coming out of his right nostril.

Me: Honey, what's all over the sleeve of your shirt?

Miguel: Oh...chocolate.

Me: How does a mature fellow such as yourself get chocolate from shoulder to wrist?

Miguel: Well, we had a chocolate fountain at school so...you know...it happens...

Me: It's hard for me to take your arguments about your maturity seriously when your shirt is covered in chocolate and you have chocolate coming out of your nose.

Miguel (without skipping a beat): Well, if we were arguing this case in court, I would be wearing a suit and I would have washed the chocolate off of my face.

And then I laughed so hard I burned the grilled cheese sandwiches.

Miguel: You have to admit that I am good at arguing. I never give up.

Me: You have to admit that I am too. And the answer about trick or treating is still "no".

And with this little story, I welcome you to NaBloPoMo 2013!

*(Yes, I actually said that and I am so dedicated to my "art" and "truth" that I am willing to look like the fool I am by putting it in print).