Have you ever heard of making pesto with butter? I hadn’t until several weeks ago, and then I made it as fast as possible because it involved butter and I lurve my buttah.

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that if you remove the last two letters of the word “butter” you get “butt.” It’s where butter goes.

I’m still taking belly dancing. I often practice before bed. My room is the only place in the house with a full-length mirror (though I have to open the closet door to get to it), and before bed is the only time I have when I can concentrate on my groovy moves without a pack of kids hip-boinking me.

Mr. Handsome is not amused by my antics. He spends his days in chimneys, under houses, on roofs, inside drippy showers, rolling around in insulation, whacking his thumb with hammers (though I’m sure he’ll want me to tell you that only happens once in a blue moon as he’s an accomplished carpenter who knows the difference between a digit and a nail) and comes home completely beat. So when I start tick-tocking across the carpet, he makes a great show of loudly groaning, flopping over on his belly, and covering his head with his pillow. Considering that belly dancing is supposed to be a bit on the sensual side, this does not bode well—for me as an up-and-coming belly dance star … or for our relationship.

But still, I practice. I practice all the moves: the tush-push, the snake arms, the Egyptian, the hip slides, the hip circles, the tail bone circles, etc. I am very dedicated.

I am not nearly so dedicated about my running. I had been running first thing most mornings, but now that a chill darkness is seeping into my running time, I dropped it faster than a hot potato. I’d rather go for a walk in the late afternoon or do snake arms before bed.

Didn’t this post start out about basil? Geez. The state of my brain is an absolute mess. Such helter-skelter thoughts I have.

You know, they say that to write is to think clearly. I am living proof that this is a lie.

Buttery Basil Pesto
Adapted from Jennie of In Jennie’s Kitchen

This pesto is creamier and less pungent than that of the straight olive oil variety. I don’t know that I like this kind better than the other, but everyone in my family loved it. I think they might have liked it better.

There is one big plus to this version of pesto: it doesn’t turn an unappealing brown when exposed to air. In fact, I kept a loosely-covered jar of it in my fridge for several days and it didn’t change color at all. Amazing.

1 ½ cup basil leaves
2-3 cloves garlic, sliced
½ cup pine nuts
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
8 tablespoons butter, at room temperature, cut into 8 pieces
½ cup olive oil

Combine the first six ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and pulse till roughly chopped. Add the butter and pulse till well mixed. (It may form a large unwieldy ball—if it does that, cease pulsing.)

While the machine is running, slowly add the olive oil (it will dissolve the unwieldy ball, if you have one) till the mixture is a creamy-nubbly mess.

Store in the fridge for several days, well-covered, or freeze.

Yield: enough pesto for two pounds of pasta.

This same time, years previous: Basil Pesto (what a coincidence!)

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)