*almost done!—it’s taken much longer than expected, mostly because whenever I have a question, I have to wait till Sunday when I can hound our church’s knitting experts
*the birthday boy’s cake: strawberry
*six years old and he’s as good as grown up!: one of his birthday requests was for a beard for dress-up—I got him both mustaches and a beard, just to be safe
*a temporary sewing set-up: lately, my daughter has been inspired to work on her quilt
*sledding down the stairs in a box: “How are we going to explain this one to the people at the ER if she gets hurt?” my husband wondered out loud while I ran for my camera
*this week’s fort: the fort in the field that got up-cycled to the sledge fort that got up-cycled to a suspended fort (I wonder how long they can keep this up)
*my niece, on the rocks
*fairy houses in the flowerbed
*stories in the sun
*clipping their wings: it was high time, too, as I was about sick of stepping in chicken poo every time I went out to do the laundry
*tick removal: so odd to be finding ticks in the dead (ha) of winter
*in the midst of cooking up a storm
*pure sweetness: a gallon of sun-infused honey
*summer, frozen: that night our supper included corn, broccoli, baked potatoes (both sweet and white), and nectarine crisp
*a dusting

This same time, years previous: to read, when we started to knit, a roundabout compliment, life, interrupted, potato gnocchi, mocha pudding cake, chai-spiced hot chocolate, I don’t like chocolate biscotti, my me-me list, hauling wood, corn and wild rice soup with smoked sausage

My brain is pickled. It totally is. And it probably has “latent” protozoan living in it that are causing me to do crazy things like meander aimlessly through the house and shriek wildly about how no one will do anything—pick up papers, pick up books, do the dishes, bring in wood, make the beds, get dressed, blow their noses—unless I tell them to.

I’m not joking about the protozoan. Some 65-year-old dude with orange clown hair says that bugs—cat bugs, specifically—are living in our brain cells and making us do things that aren’t in our best interest, such as driving off roads and yelling at people.

And here I thought I was dealing with PMS. If only.

I knew we shouldn’t have let the cat it the house, dagnabbit. Cats don’t make us feel cozy (though I could’ve sworn that’s what I was feeling)—they make us CRAZY.

Thank you, the Atlantic, for such uplifting reporting. And for giving me a new name for my problems. I can always use a good scapegoat, er, scapecat. 

I’m slowly recuperating from my brief foray into civilization. Which means I am gradually acting more and more uncivilized. Which mostly means I bum around the house with greasy hair and in jeans so old they sport holes in the seat so that every TomDickandHarry, if there were a TomDickandHarry (which there isn’t) can see what color my underwear is. Also, I lose my temper and get a sore throat from hollering at my situationally deaf children and munch on granola in between meals and slurp my tea and lick my fingers.

I gave myself lots of reason to lick my fingers this morning when I decided to make my own gourmet chocolate bars. I’m not sure why it is (PMS? my visit to Godiva chocolates? the absence of sweet stuff for a whole weekend?) but I returned home with an intense craving for chocolate. Little squares of my 70% dark chocolate stash weren’t cutting it, so that’s when I decided to build my own dark chocolate bar.

So while my son practiced his scales and my daughter washed dishes and the other two kids happily played some imaginary game (which was a miracle in itself since my littlest daughter has been acting up and out like you wouldn’t believe), I melted down two chocolate bars and toasted some chopped almonds. Once the chocolate was melted, I poured the majority of the glossy dark chocolate-y-ness onto a piece of parchment paper, sprinkled it liberally with dried cherries, cacao nibs, and almonds and then drizzled the remaining chocolate over top. A quick chill-down in the fridge and I had myself a fabulous chocolate fix.

The hard, kind-of-stale chocolate bars had been magically transformed into creamy soft chocolate bark (or bars, if I’d take the time to score and cut it, which I didn’t) pebbled with chewy, tart cherries and crunchy nibs and almonds.

Truth be told, I am rather amazed. I had no idea it would be so easy and so good.

Think of the variations! Citrus! Candied peanuts! White chocolate! Pecans! Pretzels! Sea Salt! Nutella! Dried blueberries! Toffee!

Never again shall a gourmet chocolate bar craving go unmet. There is simply no excuse.

Gourmet Chocolate Bark

I didn’t measure anything—the amounts are just guesses to give a general idea.

6 ounces good-quality dark chocolate
1/4 cup chopped almonds, toasted
2 tablespoons cacao nibs
2 tablespoons dried cherries

Melt the chocolate in a double-boiler (or in a microwave, I suppose). Pour most of it onto a parchment paper-lined pan and spread it out to the desired thickness. Sprinkle with the add-ins. Drizzle with the remaining chocolate and smooth with the back of a spoon. Chill at room temperature (or a fridge, if you’re in a rush) until hard. Break into pieces.

This same time, years previous: the perfect classic cheesecake, learning to draw, snow play, a bedroom birth, on babies, ice cream cake, lemon tart, Sticking Points, potatoes with roasted garlic vinaigrette