• the quotidian (10.17.16)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Such a marvelous food.

    This is what giving up looks like.

    Nobody was a fan.

    Her eyes were bigger than her stomach.
    I made this salad (which I love), and my husband said, 
    “All butternut squashes belong in pies.” 
    Debate entertainment.

    Anything to distract from Algebra.
    Stunned: window-crash victim.

    Sideways thinking: I bought the game for my husband because I knew it would 
    make the kids happy, which would, in turn, would make him happy, and I was right.

    Post (no-Jennifer-and-therefore-very-fast) run, cool-down strip.

    Forty-three. 

    This same time, years previous: a list, the adjustment, grab and go: help wanted, that thing we do, apple cake, and pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting.

  • peanut butter fudge

    Hey, y’all. It’s Friday afternoon, the tail end of rest time. My husband is snoozing on the couch downstairs, the three younger kids are in their rooms, my son just left to go run lines with my mom at her house, and I’m sitting in my unmade bed, my back propped against a stack of pillows, my cold feet tucked under the down comforter.

    This morning, through a series of unplanned events, the house ended up quiet and empty. I spent the time cooking (soup, salad, pizza) and listening to the radio. If I had known I’d have the house to myself, I would’ve done some writing, but no matter. Now the cooking is done and my husband is here to oversee the company-is-coming cleaning scramble while I hide out in my room and get some writing therapy. I win.

    Awhile back, I was flipping through blogs when, just as I clicked onto a blog post boasting a recipe for peanut butter fudge, my daughter looked over my shoulder.

    “Ooo, Mom! Are you going to make peanut butter pudge?”

    I burst out laughing. “So it’s pudge now, eh? That’s fitting.” (This child is forever derailing our conversations with delightfully mauled words, reducing us all to belly-shaking laughter.) “I guess if we’re going to call it pudge, then I have no choice but to make it.”

    I’ve never had much luck with fudges. I find the texture too waxy hard, or even sort of crumbly, and the sweetness cloying. But this recipe looked different—it called for six marshmallows as the stabilizer (or whatever… they eliminate the need to cook the fudge until it reaches the soft-ball stage)—and it’s hard for me to turn down a new recipe, especially when it might solve a persistent cooking quandary and involves peanut butter.

    This fudge has the texture I’ve been looking for—soft, tender, creamy—and the flavor is all about the peanut butter. A piece (or five) of “pudge” is just the thing to get you through the draggy, late afternoon hours, and it serves as a great pick-me-up for a child suffering from a pre-supper energy crash. (Trust me, I know.)

    Peanut Butter Fudge
    Adapted from Simply Recipes.

    ½ cup milk
    6 regular-sized marshmallows
    ¾ cup each granulated sugar and brown sugar
    2 teaspoons vanilla
    ½ teaspoon salt
    1½ cups creamy peanut butter

    Pour the milk into a saucepan and place over medium-low heat. Add the marshmallows. Stir occasionally, until the marshmallows have dissolved. Add the sugars and stir until dissolved.

    Remove the kettle from the heat, and add the remaining ingredients, stirring until creamy-smooth.

    Pour the mixture into a parchment paper-lined, 8×8 pan. Cool in the fridge for several hours. Cut the fudge into little squares, and store in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

    This same time, years previous: up and over, the boarder, the quotidian (10.13.14), home, roasted red pepper soup, old-fashioned brown sugar cookies, pepperoni rolls, and pear butterscotch pie.

  • the quotidian (10.10.16)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    She’s got a plan and I approve.
    Tamalitos!

    Our personal guacamole chef.

    Doctored Ramen.

    Birthday pies.

    You know you’re a Mennonite when…
    you bother to salvage the plastic bags in the midst of making 12000 donuts.

    With my older son: running lines.

    Braided.

    Toot-toot.

    He’s on an experiment bender.
    He  built a house.

    Never too old for dress-up (though she did have to alter the dress first).

    Post-shift.

    Window washing: cat’s got her back. 

    Can you guess what he’s making me?

    Blood pressure checks: our version of dinnertime entertainment.

    This same time, years previous: o happy!, salted caramel ice cream, contradictions and cream, the quotidian (10.8.12), clouds, green tomato curry, the quotidian (10.10.11), and pie pastry with lard and egg.