17 Easy steps to making pumpkin muffins

It was a glorious afternoon; so full of promise, so full of inspiration and delight. The two younger boys were down for their afternoon naps. David was happily playing on his own (miraculously enough). I was filled with a burning, unquenchable desire to make something that bellowed in no uncertain terms "FALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!" Now hear this: I am well aware that Fall is well on its way out and Winter is crouched at the door like an evil, rabid moose, but until Thanksgiving has come and gone, I will prolong my favorite season as long as I possibly can. This desperate effort is manifested in many forms. Sometimes it's raking up whatever wet, sludgy leaves are left on the yard, and saying heartily,"Have at it, boys!" Then the boys stare at the 1-foot pile of sludge in front of them, and because it's dirty and gross, they jump right in. Sometimes I scrapbook 3 different layouts about Fall, The Pumpkin Farm, and Jumping In The Leaves simply because:

1) I own the best autumn-themed scrapbooking paper in the entire world, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

2) I can!!

BUT...the most logical effort for me to prolong my precious Fall season is to bake.

Of course.

So let's get back to that glorious afternoon, shall we??

It was an Epiphany of Epiphanies. I was beginning to run out of ideas. I had already made pumpkin pancakes and pumpkin dip. I still had quite a bit of pumpkin puree in my fridge. As my sweet Daniel likes to say, "Oh, what to do, what to do??" AND THEN...*trumpet fanfare* I had it. PUMPKIN MUFFINS. Oh yeah. To the MacBook, Batman!! I already had a pumpkin muffin recipe I was less-than enthusiastic about. So I went to my beloved Pioneer Woman for wise counsel, and of course, she came through for me. SO...ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I bring you EASY STEPS TO MAKING PUMPKIN MUFFINS!!!

1) After being inspired to make the aforementioned muffins, ignore the laundry that desperately needs folding.

2) Add food coloring to a sink full of water and fill with plastic toys for David.

3) Happy Boy. :)

4) Mix flour with spices. Inhale. Thank the Lord, for He is Good.

5) Cut half a stick of butter into small pieces. Give in to that incredibly rebellious feeling.

6) Wield the instrument of righteousness. Best. Pastry Blender. Ever. (Crate and Barrel, my friends!)

7) Ahh. Fresh pumpkin puree.

8) Look at the time. Panic.

9) David asks if he can help. I say,"Sure, Buddy." David shrieks,"OH, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!" I need to take these kids out more.

10) Inwardly lament over the massive pile of very small plastic toys that are now taking up my entire drying rack. I try not to sweat the small stuff (emphasis on "try").

11) I like to call this one "Uncle Nate".

12) Uh-Oh. Looks like Darth Vader got the best of Uncle Nate. "You have much to learn, young Skywalker, er, Uncle Nate. MUAHAHAHAHA!!"

13) Taste.

14) Yummy!!

15) Forget to take pictures of the finished product.

16) Kick yourself for forgetting.

17) Eat the dang muffins anyway.

And there you have it. 17 easy steps to making pumpkin muffins! And, OH, my friends; they are so very good. As they were baking, they filled my house with all the delectable, spicy aroma you'd expect from any self-respecting pumpkin muffin. And I love it when my house actually smells good. Most of the time it just smells like, well, BOYS. A word of wisdom: Trust Pioneer Woman. I got a little crazy and decided to use whole milk rather than the evaporated milk that the recipe called for, and while the muffins were positively delicious, their shelf life was a bit lacking. They became a tad mushy within a day, and I think they would have held up better had I obeyed the recipe rather than giving in to my own foolish flights of fancy. "Foolish Flights of Fancy"...what great alliteration!! *ahem* ANYWAY...here's the linky-dinky-doo:

http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/10/moist-pumpkin-spice-muffins-with-cream-cheese-frosting/

Now GO FORTH...and make the most of what very little Fall we have left before that giant, rabid Moose called Winter knocks down the door and eats us all. Can you tell I'm not a huge fan of Winter? Oh, well. Here's a pre-emptive "HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!" to all of my readers out there. I really appreciate all of the feedback I receive, and I love sharing my little moments of culinary chaos with you. Thank you. :)

Reflections on 4 years of motherhood

David turned 4 years old on Tuesday. He is my firstborn; my introduction into this crazy thing we call "Parenthood". He is my favorite firstborn son. He is...

...A very small maniac. Don't let those beautiful brown eyes fool you. This child is hard-core, ultra-intense, passionate, all-out, and of course, brilliant. Hmm. Goodness, he reminds me of someone. Who could it be...oh, of course. ME. Minus the brilliant part. David not only looks like me, but he has inherited my intense and passionate personality. The only thing he didn't get from me is his flair for the dramatic, because I am not dramatic at all. Not one iota. Nope. No drama here. *falls on the floor from suppressed laughter* David also is quite sure that he is a superhero. Not any one in particular, but he definitely feels the need to "Save the Day".

He is like his father in that aspect. Steve definitely feels the need to save the day. Alot.

I love how David lines up his cars.

I love how David builds his "really, really HUGE towers".

I love that he loves to get dirty and play outside with his bulldozers and other outdoorsy toys.

I love how he always wants to help me in the kitchen.

Yes, he's wearing a Starbucks apron. I had a short stint at Starbucks in college. This is why I'm addicted to Chai Lattes. Moving on...

Yes; I love all these things about my David boy. But what I love the most is that I learned how to be a mommy with David, and I am still learning every day. For some reason, God saw fit to bless me with three beautiful boys, and for this, I am inexpressibly grateful. Here is a little ditty I wrote about motherhood when David was about 2 months old:

A Young Mother's Prayer

Oh, Lord God,

I thank Thee for the gift of motherhood.

Nothing is so sweet as the clinging of a tiny hand.

The burying of a little head upon one's shoulder.

The first smile.

The steady gaze into mommy's eyes.

These are the things that really matter.

Help me in motherhood, Lord.

Help me to put You first so that I might be worthy of the task before me.

Help me to nurture the relationship between my husband and I so that our children will be confident in our love.

Help me to encourage my husband so that he might be worthy of the task before him.

Help me to be patient with my children so they might be patient with others.

Help me to choose my words wisely so that I might illumine and not darken their minds.

Help me to be selfless so they might learn what it means to be self-sacrificing.

Help me to train them up in Your way, Lord, so that they will not depart from it when they are old.

Help me to be aware of my actions, knowing that little eyes are upon me at all times.

Help me to do all for the glory of God, and not man.

I thank Thee for this blessed privilege.

May my husband and I raise children for Your glory and honor.

In Jesus' blessed name,

Amen.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. You are my gift from above.

On a Rather Frightening Tin of Chocolates

WAIT!! DON'T LEAVE!! COME BACK!! I'm alive; really, I am. I just had the exceedingly frustrating experience of a computer behaving badly for about a month, only to realize (as the first two days of our vacation pictures spiraled into the black abyss of cyberspace) that our ill-fated computer had a virus. A very, very bad virus. Basically, as my dear brother told me (and he's the resident expert on these things), it was only a matter of time before things blew up in our face. And blow up it did. But as I sit here typing this on my brand-new MacBook (I shall never, EVER return to the world of a PC), I do not wish to dwell upon my losses. I shall move on and attempt to put behind me the technological nightmare that has been my life for the past month. The hours of frustration...the wailing and gnashing of teeth...the feelings of utter stupidity and hopelessness...oh, wait; I'm supposed to be trying to move on. Okay. MOVING ON...I have just one question for you:

Are you ready for a rather Gruesome Tale of a Rather Frightening Tin of Chocolates?

I mean, really ready? Really, really ready?

Because this tale is not for the faint of heart, and it is not what you might expect it to be.

Very well; if you insist.

It all started with Customer Service Appreciation week at Steve's office. Do NOT be fooled by the benign nature of those words. For four days, employees had the chance to play a game to win "free stuff" (Steve's words) from the Customer Service Department, provided by various vendors. It seemed harmless enough, and hey; it's not like my house is overflowing with toys, crayons, coloring books, and trains (Can you sense the facetiousness??). Bring on the junk!!

Day One: Steve brings home a FedEx plane. The boys were delighted.

Day Two: Steve brings home a small FedEx truck. The boys were, well; delighted.

Day Three: Steve brings home a little something for me. Oooh! A tin of Belgian Chocolates! WOW! I totally cannot WAIT to dig into this bad boy!

Day Four: Steve brings home a giant laminated map of the world. We spread it out on our obnoxiously huge dining room table (I still have yet to find a tablecloth large enough for this monstrosity of ours), and we have a fantastic time with the boys, pointing out different countries and trying to pronounce as many names as we can. THAT was fun.

Now, before we go any further, let's look back at Day Three. Yes. The Tin of Belgian Chocolates. It was so very sweet of Steve to think of me during Customer Service Appreciation week, and I could not wait to dig in.

Seems harmless enough, right?

"Oooh, how cute," I cooed as I tore off the ribbon (which was already in the trash when I snapped this picture).

Please ignore my archaic kitchen counters.

Let's take another look.

Oops. Sorry. This is my eldest, who is convinced that he needs to Save The Day. All Day. Every Day. He is truly a kindred spirit.

*hee hee hee*

Ahem. Back to the Tin of Chocolates.

How innocent. How beguilingly innocent.

Let's open it up, shall we?

Oooh, this looks promising. It smells positively delightful; a delectable aroma of almond, hazelnut, and, of course, CHOCOLATE waft up to my eager nostrils. Wow. Eager nostrils. That's really gross. Anyway...what you don't see in this picture is a nifty little pamphlet that was placed in the box so you could read about the chocolates. I glance through hurriedly, more concerned about pigging out than learning at the moment. After all, it was just some old weird story about this guy who was in charge of this boat in Brussels, and if you couldn't pay your toll, he'd chop off your hand and throw it in the river.

You'd think something would have registered in my head after reading that. But no; I was still more concerned about the gluttonous feast awaiting me than some goofy Belgian legend, which ended with another guy chopping off the hand of the original hand-chopper-offer, and nobody in Brussels ever had to pay a boat toll ever again. Hurray for the Belgians!! The river was getting kind of nasty, after all, with all of those pesky hands floating about. Wait a minute. What? I stopped and thought for a second. Why are there multiple images of hands printed on the front of this tin? What could this possibly mean? I thought a bit more, and it dawned upon me the instant before I lifted the corrugated foam which so gracefully disguised the mayhem underneath. I drew a in a short, sharp breath and let out a small scream...

"HANDS!!! EWWWWWWW!!!!"

Yes; there before my eyes sat a TIN OF CHOCOLATE HANDS!!!! Have you EVER seen anything like it??? Maybe I just lead an incredibly sheltered life, but CHOCOLATE HANDS??? Seriously? Let's take another look!!

There they are.

On the bright side, they were quite delicious (although it took me a couple moments to get up the nerve to eat a chocolate hand), especially this little number:

What we have here is white chocolate with a chocolate hazelnut cream filling. Now, I am usually not a fan of white chocolate. At all. Too sweet, too waxy, and an imposter on the chocolate front. BUT...when combined with chocolate hazelnut, it's a match made in heaven. Or Belgium.

Isn't the detail work impressive and disgusting at the same time? Every fingernail, every knuckle...those chocolate artists in Brussels must be very proud.

Here's my dainty paw alongside the chocolates to give you some perspective. Yes; I have unusually long thumbs for having such small hands.

And there you have it. A Tale of a Rather Frightening Tin of Chocolates!! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. And now, time to embark upon a quest for recipes that focus on combining white chocolate and chocolate hazelnut! I'll keep you posted...and if any strange man wielding a rather large machete tries to convince you to take a boat ride with him, do the smart thing. Stay home, and eat chocolate. :)

A smattering of thoughts

As I wrote my title, I wondered almost immediately,"Is 'smattering' really, honestly, truly a word??" And then I decided that due to the fact that I am recovering from the flu, I simply do not care enough to make an effort to grab my 25 lb., ancient dictionary (seriously, folks; it's from the 1940's) and embark upon a quest to discover the validity of the oh-so-effective word, "SMATTERING". The bottom line: I like it. So it's going to stay. The word "smattering", that is. And my ancient dictionary. Oh, never mind...

Right now...

1) I am desperately praying that my computer will properly upload my 174 photos, most of which are our vacation photos from August. I have making sad, fruitless attempts all week to accomplish this seemingly simple task; and yet, something always seems to go wrong at the end of the "importing" process. And it's making my armpits itch really bad, which is what happens when I get really nervous or surprised. So far, we are on photo #29 of 174 photos. May the Lord preserve my sanity, patience, and ever-so-itchy armpits.
2) I have been cooking and baking up a storm, and quite victoriously, I might add! Here are my most recent victories:
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/01/homemade-chicken-and-noodles/
One itty-bitty suggestion: use the chicken base. The recipe says it's optional, but I had to triple the salt to get the taste I was looking for, and I don't think I would have had to do that if I had been functioning as an intelligent human being and used the chicken base. Oh, how I do so long to function as an intelligent human being these days...but I digress. Here's another:
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/08/curried-chicken-pasta-salad/
This is so good I could scream. No, really. It's that good. I ended up adding a bit more sugar to the curry dressing- I like it a little on the sweet side. I must warn you, though: this recipe makes a TREMENDOUS amount of salad. I have spent the last week pawning off 2-cup ziploc containers to three different friends of mine, and I STILL had enough for 3 lunches for little ol' me. Now that's ALOT of Curried Chicken Pasta Salad.
And now for some dessert...

http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2010/03/british_flapjacks

Really, this is my favorite discovery of all. I have already written of my great admiration for Molly Wizenberg, and this recipe is one of her many delightful and terribly yummy recipes. We could be friends. I just know it. These "cookies" have the teeniest hint of a slightly burnt caramel taste, somewhat akin to Creme Brulee (sorry. Too lazy to use the proper accent marks.). Another bonus: these are SO incredibly quick and easy to make. I mean, like the speed of light quick. Almost. Nearly. Well, I make these with my two older boys (3 and 2 yo), so I think that qualifies as a quick and easy recipe.
You may notice that the first two recipes I have posted are from none other than Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman. I have several things to say about Ree:

1) If you have not heard of The Pioneer Woman, please crawl out from under your rock and go to www.thepioneerwoman.com. Now. Okay? Okay. She is just wonderful. Her recipes are so very, very good and her blog is outstanding. I read it every day, and that is no exaggeration. She makes me laugh, smile, and her recipes fill my tummy with yummy food. What more could a mother of three children(all under the age of 4) possibly want?

And there you have my smattering of thoughts. Here's an update on my photo upload situation: It's official. I'm going to have a brawl with my computer. So while I wrestle around with said computer, why don't you go whip up yourself a delectable batch of flapjacks? You won't be sorry.

Variation on a Theme of "It's been one of those days".

It's been one of those days.

I went to bed at a positively ridiculously late hour. Bad Mary. Bad Momma. BAD MOMMA. *slaps own wrist*

I woke up to a Dark, Dreary, Rainy day. Every once in a while, I love a good Dark, Dreary, and Rainy day. But not today. Definitely not today. On the bright side, my perfect infant slept in. Again. Like I said, he's perfect. For now.

David and Daniel (aka Terror and Mischief and also the Loves of My Life) started roughhousing at about 6:19 am. This is normal.

I drank two cups of tea in a one-hour span of time. It was good and necessary.

We all sat around like blobs for most of the morning. We let the boys outside for about 20 minutes before lunch because they were on the verge of spontaneous combustion, and I always have a sense about these types of things.

The elder "punched" (his own words) the younger with a stick.

Lunch was a mass conglomeration of confused leftovers. And yes; leftovers can be confused. Very confused. Steve had leftover macaroni and hamburger casserole. I had a turkey sandwich and corn on the cob. The boys had hotdogs and nectarines. Can you feel the confusion? I can.

At about 12:30 pm, I was still in my pajamas. Steve left to attend a surprise party for one of our friends. I was a bad momma and put on "Lady and The Tramp" for David so I could take a shower and get out of my smelly pj's. Which, to everyone's relief, I did.

After naptime (which for David means rolling around on the floor and couches and whining,'I'm so tired, Mommy' and then I respond,'Well, buddy, why don't you lie down on the couch or Mommy and Daddy's bed?' to which David responds,'NOOOOOO!!!') the boys and I set off for the aforementioned surprise party. We then proceeded to enter into a completely different dimension; one of happy, joyous, well-behaved children, cooing babies, good adult conversation, and an amazing pizza with fresh basil and tomatoes. I have to find the portal for this dimension again! If you find it, please let me know. Thanks.

We went home. The portal slammed shut with a vengeance, and the boys melted into a screaming, sobbing mess all over my dirty kitchen floor. Early baths. Early bedtime.

It was 7:00 pm. The dishwasher was finally emptied. It only took me 12 hours! I'm so proud of myself!

Today is not a day for writing about fine food. I just had Burger King for dinner with a Raspberry Ginger Ale, and now I plan on feeding my perfect infant and plopping my sorry frame into bed. I am tired. Deliciously tired. And yes; I think one can feel "deliciously tired".

So there. This has been a Variation on a Theme of "It's been one of those Days." I am reminded that I am so very, very human. on days like today. Early bed time for this momma. And an early walk to Starbucks tomorrow. :)

A triumph!

A triumph! A triumph! An absolute triumph! Okay, I'll stop babbling like a complete idiot and expound upon this great triumph of mine. My triumph...chocolate peanut butter pie. Oh yes. Oh baby. After the Tale of a Most Sad Curry, I was tired of trying new things on the cooking front and decided it was time to blow my own mind with my baking skills. I must pause here for a brief moment. I love to bake. I love it so very much. Baking is a science; a sure thing in a most unsure world! In fact, I'm going to make yogurt-cinnamon muffins as soon as I finish blabbing about my peanut-butter engulfed triumph. But I digress! Yes, I would rather bake than cook almost any day, but because I do not wish to gain 50 pounds a month, I refrain (just barely) and try to bake only once a week. Sigh. Sigh again. ANYWAY...

Once upon a time, my friend Rachel was hosting a ladies' get-together at her home, and I volunteered to bring a dessert. It is not often that I get a chance to make a super-crazy-fancy-awesome dessert, because Steve doesn't care for rich baked goods. His yearly birthday request? Rice Krispie Treats. DON'T even get me started...my baking talent just withers away, year after year...so when I get an opportunity to make a dessert or an appetizer; well, you KNOW I'm going for that dessert option! SO I wrestled with my decision on what exactly to make. Pistachio layer cake? Meh. Peach tart? Maybe. AND THEN...it hit me. A cold pie. A 1950's diner style icebox pie!! YES! It's been a scorcher of a summer after all, so something nice and cool would fit the bill nicely. And so I purchased and assembled the ingredients, and experienced a most miraculous time warp in that I was able to prepare the crust BEFORE we went to church, along with making something edible in the ol' crockpot and even getting out of the door on time. Like I said, a most miraculous time warp. All I had to do was make the filling when I got home, and you know what? It was as easy as pie. (Sorry. I simply could not resist). The only part that made me want to temporarily expire was whipping the heavy cream by hand before folding it into the peanut butter filling. I always approach whipping things by hand with the greatest of gusto, and I start whipping with the utmost enthusiasm. 2 minutes into it, I began to get a little cranky. 5 minutes into it, I am wishing to temporarily expire. Then chemistry takes over, and VIOLA!! I have a gorgeous bowl of hand-whipped cream, and once again, I love my life. I proceeded to gently, oh so gently, coax the smooth, rich, toffee-colored decadence into the cooled pie crust and smooth it until it was worthy of a cover shot for Martha Stewart Living. Or so I'd like to imagine! I carefully put the pie in the freezer, and that was that! SO easy. And the flavor!! SO incredibly rich and creamy, and not at all overly sweet. It was a perfect balance of sweet and savory, and had a delicious, peanutty, slightly salty taste. But I must warn you. This pie should come with a "Parental Advisory- DO NOT OVERINDULGE" label. Because, my dear friends, that is exactly what I did, and I was not a very happy camper that night. So rich, so very rich...be careful. Be very careful. Here's the link:

http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/chocolate-peanut-butter-pie

Despite my slightly unhappy ending with this pie, I am already dreaming of making it and indulging in it again...just not overindulging. Moral: A change of pace is good, and yes; you CAN have too much of a good thing. :) Happy baking!

On Sundays and a most sad Vegetable Curry

Today is one of those days when I feel as though everything is going in fast motion, and I am just a sad little jumble of atoms and molecules, hanging on for dear life, and screaming, "WHOA, THERE!!! HANG ON A SECOND, PEOPLE!!!" Why I feel this way; I really can't say. I'm going to chalk it up to the fact that it's Sunday, and Sunday has this magical way of flying away from me at an incredibly high rate of speed. Sundays used to be a most wonderful day for me. Wake up, get ready for church, have a leisurely breakfast with my Steve-O, which almost always consisted of scrambled eggs with the teensiest amount of cheddar cheese snuck in (Steve hates cheese in his eggs, but I can't eat scrambled eggs without it- THANKS, DAD.), brew myself a cup of tea, most likely Plantation Mint or Constant Comment (Hey- I get adventurous with my tea in the afternoon, so no rude comments about my uninspired choices for my morning fix. I need stability in the morning, not some fly-by-night troubadour who's going to leave me barefoot and pregnant- hypothetically speaking, of course), toast (dry for Steve, cream cheese and raspberry jam for me), and just enjoy some major quality time in our sweet little haven of an apartment, and later on, our lovely home. Ahhh. Yes. Those were the days. We'd stroll out to the car, never in a hurry or rushed in the slightest. We'd drive to church and arrive with at least ten minutes to spare. We'd sit in the pew and look the through the bulletin together, and comment to each other on various things we thought were worth commenting on. Hymns, sermon, then BOOM, off to our weekly Sunday lunch of Chipotle. Let me just stop here for a moment. I miss those weekly Sunday lunches at Chipotle more than I could even begin to express. We were so very spoiled back then. Then we'd drive home, all full of chatter. AND THEN...The Weekly Sunday Afternoon Nap. Hmm. Wait a minute. I'm not so sure now whether I miss the weekly Chipotle more or the Nap. Oh, well. So, yes; my Sundays used to be the highlight of my week. AND THEN...*fully diminished seventh chord ensues* something happened. Something miraculous. Something wonderful. Something terrifying. Something glorious. Something stressful. Something life-changing. Yep. You guessed it. We became PARENTS!! Yes. We have the great privilege of being parents to three marvelous and delightful boys, and it has been a learning experience, to say the VERY least. Although I loved being a new mommy, and I was (and still am) madly in love with my first-born son, the shift in the Sunday Dynamic was almost more than I could bear for a while. First, there was no sleeping in. EVER. I now have completely embraced this fact of my life as a mother; this cold, hard, fact that I will not sleep in for the next 25 years, and the world will somehow magically not end because Mary Johnson didn't catch a few extra zzzz's. 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' has become my motto, but it hasn't always been this way for me. Besides the sleep factor, there was the whole "packing for baby" issue. How on earth could one tiny being encompass such a extraordinary need for such a ridiculous amount of...of...STUFF????? Even if I packed the diaper bag the night before, I still seemed to have to throw in about 34 extra things before we could leave for church. Or anywhere, for that matter. And another thing...why is a diaper bag called a "diaper bag" when diapers take up the smallest percentage of space in said diaper bag?? This is something I will most likely never understand. SO...by the time I nursed David at 6:00 am, played with him for a little while, laid him down for his early morning nap at 7:00, made a sad attempt at beautifying myself for the day, made ANOTHER sad attempt at making something in the crockpot that wouldn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness, nursed David at 9:00, left for church at 10:00 (if we were lucky), got ourselves situated in our usual pew, left the service halfway through to nurse again, stumble back into the service in time to sing the final hymn, gather all of our artillery and head back to the van, drove home with scant conversation, stumbled into the house for a stodgy glob of what were hoping was sustenance of some sort *pant pant pant* , I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. SO exhausted. I would sometimes lay on the couch and marvel at how exhausted I was- I didn't know it was possible to be so exhausted and not die from it!! So naturally, my Sunday experience began to sour, and pretty quickly, I might add. I began...to loathe Sundays. Yes. I know. How horrible is that? Nevertheless, Sundays were no longer the idyllic island of relaxation that they used to be, and I had some massive adjusting to do. So adjust I did. The days of weekly visits to Chipotle were over, for financial and practical reasons. Okay. Fine. So what?? That's what a crockpot is for, right? And while we're talking about crockpots, let me just say this: I am quite sure Crockpots were invented for Sundays. For lunch after church, to be precise. Okay, now that I've got that off my chest, back to Sundays. Thus began a long couple of years of experimenting with my crockpot to make a lunch that didn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness. It was NOT easy, my friends. But eventually, after much trial and error (mostly error), I garnered a small handful of what we now refer to as "Regulars"; crockpot dishes that my crew and myself have deemed worthy to be consumed on a once-a-month basis. And our top favorite "Regular" is a little something called "Lean Cowboy Beans", or, as I tell the boys, "Sweet Beans". "Sweet Beans" are a triumph each and every time. Super-comfort food, whether you need to be comforted or not!! And even if you don't think you need comforting, once you taste these yummy little beanies, you will realize how desperately you are in need of comfort, and you'll tuck those bad boys in like there's no tomorrow. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly. Perhaps not! At any rate, here's the recipe and my usual useless comments to go along with it:

Lean Cowboy Beans adapted from "Fix it And Forget It Lightly"

1 lb. ground turkey
16 oz. can baked beans, undrained
16 oz. can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1/2 c. brown sugar
1 c. ketchup
2 tblsp. dry mustard
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cider vinegar

1) Brown meat.
2) Combine all ingredients in a crockpot sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.
3) Cover; cook on high for 1-2 hours.

AND THAT'S IT!!!!!!

Now isn't that easy?? I'm usually not much of a "can of this, can of that" gal, but this is indispensible to our Sunday survival, and it certainly couldn't hurt to give this a try. I have made a few changes from the original recipe, which I found to be a bit too sweet. SO I simply added a bit less sugar and cider vinegar (shhhhh...don't tell Steve!!!). So there you have it. A tried-and-true crockpot recipe that's actually healthy and doesn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness. If this won't save your Sundays, well, then nothing will. And now...

SPEAKING OF GIANT ORBS OF NOTHINGNESS...

I shall now commence with a tale of a Most Sad Curry. As I mentioned on my previous post, I was going to attempt a Vegetable and Chickpea curry in my crockpot. So I did. I will cut to the chase. IT WAS AWFUL. I won't bother devoting a great deal of space to this sad tale, since it really was terrible, but yes. It was the epitome of a giant orb of nothingness, and after a few bites, we told the boys to stop eating, and then Steve went out and got a pizza. It was quite strange taking a bite of food, and yet not really tasting anything except a starchy aftertaste. YUCK. The only positive thing I can say about it is that is was a delightful little jumble of colorful veggies BEFORE it started cooking down. And then it crashed. And burned. And that's all I have to say about that.

What is the point of this massive rambling of Sundays, crockpots, exhaustion, and Sad Currys?? I'm actually not quite sure, other than this: Life is full of massive adjustments. Embrace them as you would an adventure, and don't be afraid to acquire new skills. Like making some WICKED good beans in your most-likely-majorly-underused-and-darkhorse-of-a crockpot!! Go forth... and give the darkhorse a try. :)