I am not an icing person. Yes, I like my icings (especially this one and this one and this one), but aside from a few chaste swipes while mixing and decorating, I don’t like to eat it straight up. Icing is to top off a cake, not to be masticated all by itself. That some people go to bakeries and buy shots of frosting turns my stomach. I’m much more about the cake part of the equation.

You can probably see where this is going. I’ve already blown my predictable self out of the water by first twiddling my thumbs all summer long and then beginning our homeschool studies in FREAKIN’ AUGUST. Considering this track record, the following statement comes as no surprise: FORGET THE CAKE AND GIVE ME THE ICING. Not just any icing, mind you, but this one.

Chocolate Malted Milk with a splash of strong coffee—whoa baby!

I’ve gone from never eating a shot of icing to consuming close to about five while decorating the cupcakes. I ate it straight out of the bowl, swooped up off the counter (where I accidentally plopped copious quantities while trying to shove it into the decorator bag), and squirted directly out of the decorator tube onto my finger. I licked spoons. I scraped bowls. I was completely and totally out of control. I ate so much I got the shakes. To keep from eating myself into a coma, I plunged the dirty bowl under water and buried the decorator bag in the trash.

Then I went on a long walk when Mr. Handsome came home. The fresh air set me straight. So straight, in fact, that I had a cupcake (with lots of icing) and milk for dessert with no ill effects. The Baby Nickel, on the other hand, went berserk.

I don’t know anything about malted milk. I’m not a malted milk person. My mother didn’t feed me malt. (She fed me carob and to this day I abhor the stuff. Thankfully, her detour into Health Nut Land was short lived. Me and my brothers emerged relatively unscathed.) (Except for my carob abhorrence.) And Mr. Handsome didn’t take me to trendy hamburger joints for malted milkshakes when we were dating. He took me to Denny’s. And a football game. (I still don’t see the point of bulky men running around a field in tight little pants.) And to his brother’s wedding (we were mortifyingly late and there wasn’t even any hanky-panky involved; we were just lost, like normal). And to cheap movies. There were a few dark, country roads and some deserted church parking lots thrown in for, um, you know.

And that’s about all we had time for because then we got married.

Because I don’t know anything about malted milk, I really have nothing to say about this frosting. Anything I do say will make it sound unappetizing (it’s kind of grainy and tastes a bit like toasted barley) when in reality it is kind of grainy with a hint of toasted barley….and it tastes perfectly wonderful. Let’s just say, if you like malted milk, you’ll love this.

One more thing: the addition of coffee shines through enough so that the kids noticed. I love it when coffee shines through.

Chocolate Malted Milk Frosting

If you are coffee adverse, swap it for milk or cream. If there is no chocolate malted milk on hand, plain malted milk will suffice.

1 stick butter
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup chocolate malted powder
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
1 pound confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1/4 cup very strong coffee, cooled to room temperature
1 tablespoon cream

Cream together the butter, salt, and vanilla. Beat in the malt, cocoa, and sugar. Add the coffee and cream and beat till creamy smooth and it reaches a spreadable consistency, adding more cream if needed.

This same time, years previous: Nectarine Cobbler and Odds and Ends

Point One: Something Weird
Two days ago I was totally opposed to the idea of starting school lesson. Totally opposed to it, as in, IT’S FREAKIN’ CRAZY TO START SCHOOL IN AUGUST WHEN THERE ARE STILL TOMATOES ON THE VINE (not on mine, necessarily, but on somebody’s, I’m sure) AND KIDS IN BARE FEET AND WHIRRING FANS AND THE POOL’S OPEN AND WE’RE EATING CORN ON THE COB FOR SUPPER AND THE PEARS HAVEN’T EVEN COME IN YET!

But then Tuesday came. It arrived rainy, overcast, and cold. “Cold” as is I shut windows and wore a sweat shirt over my all-day-long pajamas and shivered and baked things and then left the oven door open to warm the house. My kids thought they were turning into popsicles and went about wearing four t-shirts and two pairs of sweats each. I kid you not.

And then something weird happened: I got The Back-To-School Bug. I stood there in my layered clothes and stared at my messy bookshelves (that are totally non-aesthetically pleasing but I don’t care because they get the job done and at this point in my life I’ve become more utilitarian that decorarian) and then I de-booked the shelves. I boxed up unused books (kind of—there’s still a large pile in the middle of the living room floor), trashed old workbooks, brought front-and-center the new, prettied up the baskets of art supplies, added missing supplies to my shopping list, and created a rainy-day or for-when-boredom-strikes basket and before I knew it, I was browsing some homeschool catalogues, picking out titles of books to borrow from the library and had labeled a folder “lesson plans.”

It was all so surreal that I felt like I had to walk around myself on tippy-toe.

It’s still overcast today, and I’m still in my pajamas. I weighed the pros and cons of whether or not I should switch gears (from summer to fall, you know) this week or next. Or the next. If I decided to start lessons, say tomorrow, would I regret it, say, tomorrow? Was an August start foolhardy? Would I regret it if I waited for a month? Was there anything else I should be doing? (Note: all my dilemma-ing was centered around moi and none of it around the kids or, heaven forbid, about the actual learning part of the equation.)

While continuing my internal debate, I sat Yo-Yo down and discussed what his school schedule might look like; he was receptive. Then I decided chocolate cupcakes might help to smooth out the transition (that I hadn’t yet decided I’d make), so I baked a batch. Then at lunch, the cupcakes cooling on the counter, I announced to the kids that the next day we’d start lessons—tonight we’d eat cupcakes and tell Papa all our plans. They groaned, loudly, but the corners of their lips flirted with smiles. I saw.

I won’t bore you with all the little details of our lesson plans, mostly because there aren’t many and because I might suddenly feel embarrassed because I cover subjects with broad sweeping strokes like“history” and “reading,” none of this “consonant blend” and “the modern age from 1850-2000″ stuff. I keep things vague and simple. I like to think it’s because it leaves space for all kinds of possibilities but it’s really because I don’t know enough to be specific. Don’t tell anyone, ‘kay?

(Mr. Handsome is relieved, both audibly and visibly, when he sees me making moves to provide a little learning structure for our precious progeny. I think he harbors deep dark fears that our kids will grow up to be broom pushers because their mother was soooo laid back.

Come to think of it, if they do become broom pushers, they’ll be mighty good ones since I’ve been coaching them in the Art of Broom Pushing. Porch-sweeping has dominated our August like you wouldn’t believe.)

Point Two: My Daughter’s Outfit

She made this herself.

Yesterday (without permission, but I forgave her her trespasses this once) she cut off her pant legs to make shorts and cut off the sleeves of one of her shirts. She then put the shirt sleeves on her legs for leggings (though I don’t think she knows enough to call them leggings). First thing this morning, she sewed the sleeves-turned-leggings to her pants-turned-shorts.

It makes my head spin to look at her.

Point Three: The Garden
It’s a blasted mess.

It’s been this way for months.

I blame the drought one hundred percent.

Usually I can not understand how people find time to go anywhere over the summer months, but this year I understand. If you aren’t putting up obscene amounts of produce, then the summer is for flying free. Who knew?

I didn’t fly, but I could’ve. Instead, I twiddled my thumbs almost completely off.

I did get a couple buckets of potatoes, and some baskets of tomatoes came in towards the end of the season. We’ll have the dry beans to harvest and store. A small pittance it is, but I’ll take anything I can get.

I’m hoping that this year’s dud-of-a-garden provides impetus for a kick-butt garden next year. We shall see….

Point Four: Muffins
I am hooked on these muffins. They are whole grain, tasty, and infinitely adaptable.

Here they are, dressed up with blueberries, chunks of nectarine, and white chocolate chips.

And here they appear as ginger-peach muffins.

I didn’t take pictures of the red raspberry dark chocolate, but I really really liked them.

The oatmeal needs to soak in the sour milk for at least one hour, but more often than not I let the mixture soak over night. To give me even more of a head start, I also mix together the dry ingredients and line the muffin tins the night before. With those several steps done, the muffins come together right quick in the morning.

Basic Oatmeal Muffins
Adapted from Aimee of Simple Bites

Visit Aimee’s post to get more ideas for yummy variations.

Keep in mind that the added dark or white chocolate greatly increase the yum factor.

1 cup rolled oats
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon vinegar, either cider or white
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1 egg, beaten
½ cup butter, melted and cooled a little
½ cup whole wheat pastry flour
½ cup, plus 2 tablespoons, all-purpose flour
1/3 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon cinnamon
add-ins of your choosing (see below or here)

Combine together the oats, milk, and vinegar. Cover and allow to rest at room temperature for at least on hour or over night.

Mix together the flours, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and spices.

Combine the soaked oats with the egg, brown sugar, and melted butter. Add the dry ingredients. Gently fold in the add-ins.

Divide the batter between twelve lined muffin tins (they will be quite full). Bake at 375 degrees for 13-18 minutes.

Variations
*Blueberry-Nectarine: add ½ cup blueberries, ½ cup diced, unpeeled nectarine, and ½ cup white chocolate chips

*Red Raspberry Dark Chocolate: add one cup of red raspberries (I freeze mine first so they stir in without mushing) and ½ cup of dark chocolate chips/chunks

*Ginger-Peach: replace the nutmeg with ½ teaspoon ground ginger; add 1/4 cup minced candied ginger, 1 cup diced peaches, and ½ cup white chocolate chips (this one was a hit at the most recent bellydance gathering)

This same time, years previous: Earthy ponderations, part three and starting a new baby (this one is still going strong, though it’s napping at present)

Fourteen years ago, Mr. Handsome and I got married in my parents’ driveway under a black tarp, buckets of Queen Anne’s Lace at our feet, with fifty-some guests all comfy on metal folding chairs watching on.

I hadn’t wanted to marry him that morning. He had arrived the day before in his little red Toyota Celica (we promptly dashed to the courthouse to sign the marriage papers, last minute for everything as was—and is—our custom) and then busied himself stringing lights around the garage/barn (that he had helped pour the floor for on his first visit to my house the last summer). But come Saturday morning of August 24, 1996, I decided I didn’t even really like the guy.

I don’t remember what my last minute funk stemmed from. Perhaps he was acting overly goofy or arguing with me just for the heck of it. Whatever it was, I was suddenly excruciatingly aware that I’d be stuck with him (and his behavior) for the rest of my blessed life and I just wasn’t in the mood for it. But I knew I had made the decision to marry him in less stressful times, so I soldiered on, ever the martyr. And really, it wasn’t serious doubts I was having. I just didn’t, at that time, really, you know, like him.

By the time the wedding started, I liked him again.

We ate supper first, guests spilling over onto both porches and the yard, and then there were pictures and last-minute vow memorization. The service itself was simple—some scripture, some readings, a meditation, the vows, a few tears, and then a fierce hug as the sun went down.

Homemade ice cream and cookies followed.

It sounds like a small enough affair, simple and sweet, but my parents will tell you otherwise. For the seven-and-a-half weeks between engagement and wedding (we don’t mess around), they worked their tails off. To cope, they wrote up schedules and task lists for each month, and then, as the time drew near, for the week, and then, heaven help us!, for the hour. Here, let me read off some of what’s on the lists (thanks, scrapbook):

Beginning of August…

*house washing
*kittens (yes, a basket of kittens were part of the decor, and for the little cousins to play with)
*paint basket
*black board
*chairs
*windows
*hammock
*wash houseplants
*paint patching
*plan garage decor
*buy flowers to plant
*make lasagnas
*clean oven racks
*take down treehouse

Hey, look at that. I’m only up to the 14th of August—we weren’t to be married for another ten whole days…

*hang blinds
*bath tiles
*try corn? (we served fresh homegrown corn, off the cob)
*make granola and hide
*call about peaches (there was still regular canning to do)
*ice blocks
*lawn chairs?
*bleach shower curtain
*wash kitchen chairs and cupboards
*put calves into goat pasture
*take down fence for parking
*CORN
*trestle table on back porch
*beautify bathroom

And then for the 23rd…

*clean (didn’t we do this already?)
*tie dog and wash porch floors
*courthouse
*bring home lasagnas

My mother was so organized that come the day of the wedding, we all sat around bored.

She had arranged for friends of theirs, two couples, to come work the kitchen while the wedding was going on. She wrote out a two-page guide for them. I get an enormous kick out of her very neat penciled instructions. It goes like this:

3:30 Orientation

after 4:00
*put out butters
*heat corn
*arrange relish (carrots, celery, peppers, blk and green olives, cukes) and fruit (watermelon, grapes?) trays
*put out breads and cover tightly (braided bread, round dark, sesame, oatmeal wheat)
*put out soak pails
*check bathrooms
*thaw cookies on back porch

semi last minute
*set out drinks: tea, lemonade, water
*light kitchen candles and outdoor citronella candles

last minute
*toss salad (lettuce, chopped eggs, bacon)
*bring in lasagnas (girls will be baking these at Fountain Fire Hall and delivering them)
*set out ice

Very last minute: sing. Stay in tune and don’t bawl. (The four of them and my parents sang the dinner blessing, What is this place)

during ceremony
*check bathrooms
*wash spoons and whatever else there’s time for *prepare ice cream—3 freezers (see directions in containers in fridge)

She drew a little sign on the edge of the page with these words written inside:

*put sauces into dishes
*powder cookies (tea cakes)
*arrange all cookies on trays (chocolate raspberry bars, molasses cookies, tea cakes, lemon bars)
*set out cookies and sauces (strawberry, raspberry) on picnic tables along with small plates, napkins, spoons, pitcher of water with ice, stacked glasses

That was just page one. Page two was a map of the kitchen with lines and arrows indicating traffic flow, as well as a diagram of the kitchen table showing how the food was to be arranged.

Notes:
*Pails for used silver on kitchen stove and picnic table at carport
*trash bucket beside stove
*trash bucket beside picnic table
*extra corn on stove
*extra lasagnas in oven and on back porch, also the breads
*extra drinks on counter beside fridge
*ice for drinks in fridge
*ice for ice cream in freezer

And scrawled diagonally across the page:

Keep door to back porch shut as much as possible or guests will think they’re in West Virginia.

And so we were married.

Mr. Handsome and I, we are so totally different. Sometimes it blows me away how different we are. I always thought I’d marry a studious man, a guy who liked to sit around in the evening and discuss esoteric theology, whatever that is.

Instead, I got a tool belt-wielding, calloused-handed, down-to-earth, sharp-tongued manly-man. With emphasis on manly, as in manly-man.

I have no problem with how things turned out.

Still, being so different and all, it can be pretty hard to find stuff to do together on special occasions like, say, our anniversary.

Me: “Any ideas for what you want to do on Tuesday?”

Him: “I don’t know. What do you wanna do?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Long pause, in which I think about childcare possibilities, movies, special food to prepare, whether or not we might enjoy going out to dinner, if we should spend the evening cleaning the attic or running the errands…. and Mr. Handsome thinks about the axle on his truck. It’s been giving him problems.

The silence is deafening.

Me: “Soooo, since there’s nothing we want to do together, how about I find free childcare and we hang out at home and then put a hundred dollars in my camera fund since we didn’t spend any money?”

Him: “Sounds good.”

At least we agree about not having anything to do together. So maybe we’re more alike than we let on?

Fourteen years is a long time to live with someone completely different from yourself. Fourteen years means we’ve shared a bed for…let’s see…WHOA! 5110 nights! Taking into account a handful of weekends apart, perhaps it’s only 5000 nights, but still, five thousand nights is a lot of nights. That means there have also been 5000 days and 5000 suppers. How about dirty supper dishes? With a super-low estimate of 35 dirty dishes, that would be 175,000 dirty supper dishes.

Suddenly I feel very tired.

Fourteen years ago, I married this man.

Despite our differences and the sometimes disheartening lack of shared interests, we have done an awful lot of together-living.

Together we have, in no particular order:

*bathed naked at a well in the middle of nowhere (Quick! Hand me a towel! I see someone up on that hill!)
*shared a single bed in a mouse-infested, HOT tin storage shed next to an evangelical church with a souped-up sound system
*made four more human beings (though I want to be clear that only I birthed them, thank you very much)
*fought
*sat through many counseling session, only a few of which were useful
*been lonely
*parented other people’s children for a couple years (i.e. foster care)
*fell on the floor laughing
*read out loud to each other (The Brothers K, A Severe Mercy, City of Joy, etc)
*cleaned up the kitchen
*experienced depression, ADHD, cancer, hemorrhaging, dengue, and an emergency c-section
*dug potatoes
*talked
*decided we’re horrid parents
*decided we’re superb parents
*decided we’re just plain old parents
*lived through a (small) earthquake and a hurricane
*built a house out of mud
*gotten lost
*enraged each other
*hung laundry
*cried
*renovated a house from top to bottom and inside out (the “together part” is used quite loosely here)
*hosted donut parties
*argued
*made hundreds and hundreds of quarts of applesauce
*dumped 40-plus quarts of home-canned peaches down the drain
*lived in two apartments and owned two houses
*had massive tickle fights, towel-snapping wars, and impromptu water battles
*shared countless late-night bowls of cereal

Speaking of cereal, Mr. Handsome brought me home a box of Captain Crunch today. We have a thing for it.

And each other.

This same time, years previous: Valerie’s Salsa and Canned Tomatoes and So why did I marry him? and How to make butter