We had such a funtabulous weekend. I was really expecting it to be rather quiet, since we're having a rare lull between summer visitors. Usually we catch up on work and chores, balance checkbooks and weed gardens, and other unpleasantries when we are without guests. This weekend, we chucked all the mundane stuff out the window, and just had a great time. On Friday night, we went to a late showing of Toy Story 3. I love the excitement and anticipation of late night shows on opening day. 
We liked Toy Story 3 so much that we didn't even finish our bucket of popcorn-and that's saying alot for my snacky family. This groovy tiger stole the show. Hiya, Kennie. 
I never had Ken or any Barbies, but my friend Julie L. used to pack a giant suitcase full of boy and girl Barbies when she came for a sleepover. We had a great time UNTIL I accidentally dropped her Barbie furcoat in her Barbie pool. That was the end of that. Sorry, Julie L. But the movie was marvelous, and I can recommend it without reservation for kids from 1 to 92. 
Sailor claims she did most of the work and should probably get more than half of the ten, since West mostly just ran around with neighborhood boys, putting ice cubes down each other's shirts. It's hard to be an ant when your little brother is a grasshopper.
You might as well set up a tent and play Uno, if you're going to pretend to camp.
This tent it 26 years old and smells like the Scout Jamboree, but that kind of thing doesn't bother you until you hit middle age, I think. But it is a good place to hide and wrap Father's Day gifts. Father's Day is a feasting day- I made a grilled steak with a maple chili butter that is pure heaven, but that's another post for another day. The Quiet Man ate well, opened gifts, and had a nap and the charges only got in 12.6 arguments, instead of their usual 32.9, in honor of Dad's special day. What more could a father want? How about cinnamon swirl bread? 
I left out the raisins, since my kids act like they might be poisonous. 
It was delicious fresh and hot out of the oven, but even better as toast.
And even even even better as cinnamon toast.
When I was out for my morning jog on the trail today, I passed an unforgettable exerciser. She was a plump, silver-silver haired woman, and from far away I thought she was jogging. There was such a lively spring in her step, her body seemed to bounce up and down, with her full arms swinging rthymically as if she were a Viking assigned to row. As she marched in closer, I could actually hear her. Dressed in a T-shirt with a giant smiling sun, complete with bright blue stretch pants and a fanny pack, she was bobbing up and down, half dancing-half running, but all the while singing. Over and over again she crooned, "It's all deeeelicious, it's all deeeelicious, it's all deeelicious." I smiled to myself, and then at her, and then at the world. Who was this woman? Why was she so happy? Was she some kind of prophetess? A morning revelator with a fanny pack? Good grief-was she me in a few decades? If so, at least I know I'll be happy. And you know something else? She was right. It is all delicious. And here's further proof. 
I finally caved in and bought a new bike. I'd been riding around on the Quiet Man's bike. He's a good 7 inches taller than I am so I was straining to reach the handlebars and the pedals. Plus his seat would flip up in the middle of a ride...um, try not to think about it, but know that it wasn't comfortable. Why do men's bicycle seats have to have such an um, uncomfortable shape anyway? Yowch. Yet another reason to be glad I'm a girl. Being a girl, and a very sensible one at that, I went to Wal-mart and bought the prettiest bike I could find. 
Isn't she loverly? I'm calling her Betty. My new bike makes me so happy, and the seat is plump and comfy and not once has it flipped up. I bought a little basket for the front, so the charges and I are going to ride all over town and run our errands until it get's too hot that we can't bear it anymore. That might be tomorrow. The weather man is saying 96 degrees. Ooh wee. Maybe I should stay home and ride Betty around the living room. Or maybe I should just stay in and bake. I did have an assigment for Tuesdays with Dorie this week-white chocolate brownies. They didn't sound too grand to me, so I decided to make something that sounded better with white chocolate: Strawberry White Chocolate Cheesecake Bars. I made a brown sugar-cookie base, topped with a white chocolate cheesecake layer and a slick of my own homemade strawberry freezer jam. They are divine. You will swoon. Make some soon. In the month of June. I will go before I get carried away. A new bike, a sweet treat, and the month of June can do that to a girl.
Strawberry White Chocolate Cheesecake Bars
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You know, even when I'm trying to eat clean and healthy, I still demand treats. The last thing I eat before I go to bed has to be a sweet reward for making it through the day with sanity intact. Maybe there's a causal relationship between sweet treats and sanity. I think the reason I haven't gone completely off my rocker is because sugar is my prozac. Some say that sugar makes them hyper; I say it makes you calm. If you don't believe me, just try and withold my sugar tonight, and you'll see a crazed, bulging-eyed, thirty-something woman in agitated crisis. I think, anyway. I've never gone without, so this is all purely hypothetical. But why take any chances when marital bliss and a happy home are hanging in the balance? Feed me, Seymour.
Iced Oatmeal-Molasses Cookies
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Last night I went to bed about midnight, but I couldn't sleep. More accurately, I could sleep, but I couldn't sleep well. I tossed and turned, thinking about the stack of 100ish term papers that need grading this week. When I wasn't tossing and turning, I was grading. In my sleep. Grading in my sleep, with a red pencil and a furrowed brow. None of the papers were any good, in my sleep, that is. Finally, at 3 AM, I decided to get out of bed. I mean if I'm going to be grading term papers in my sleep, I might as well get out of bed and do it wide awake, so I can mark it off the to do list. And speaking of that to do list, here it is days away from Tuesday and I'm finally getting around to posting this Swedish Visiting Cake. (For any newcomers, Tuesday is the appointed day for my weekly baking club, Tuesdays with Dorie.)
If it were any less delicious, I would have forgotten about it and forged ahead to my next assignment. But this cake is special. It has a buttery almond and vanilla flavor, and a lovely tight crumbed texture. The top is slightly crispy with sparkly sugar and toasted almonds. It's rather plain, so you may not want it for your soiree dessert, but I promise that you'll adore it with a cup of herbal tea in the afternoon, or a jug of milk in the morning. I happened to have the perfect little cast iron skillet to bake it in, small enough for perfect half batch. 
This little 6 inch baby was part of the prize package for all the finalists at last year's Cornbread Cook-off in South Pittsburg, TN. (And incidentally, I'm headed there next weekend to participate as a finalist again with my Crunchtastic Chicken Chipotle Cornbread. More to come on that...) It's awful cute, ain't it? Well, have a wonderful weekend, friends. I'll sleep peacefully tonight knowing that the papers are almost graded and the cake has been virtually delivered to you. Sweet Dreams.
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There's been a lot of excitement around here. Who would have thought one extra large pane of shattered glass could be such an event? Maybe it's because we live in a small town, where there is very little crime. When a pint size pistol impulsively hucks a few stones, it creates a bit of a stir. (Pint size pistol completely forgiven; those things can happen and often do when you are pint sized.) I have to admit without taking any credit, dear readers, that we do have a beautiful door. 
We didn't design it, but the previous owners (read my parents), had it made custom. It is gorgeous wrought iron and tempered glass, sturdy and imposing on one hand, but also whimsical and beautiful. I worried a bit when the glass broke-could it be fixed? Last week, the glassman came out to measure, but I was still skeptical, since the glass had a beautiful marbled design and an arched top. On Wednesday, right in the middle of an Art lesson on Japanese print making, the glassman arrived. The first thing he did was to drill out all of the remaining glass. (Not all of the pieces had crumbled to the ground on their own. )
It was a sunlit spectacle, with bits of falling crystal. 
The charges gathered up all the bits they could find and are saving them. I'm not sure what for, but they are like ferrets. When they see something pretty and shiny, they go into hoarding mode. 
The glassman was slow, thorough, and deliberate, excellent qualities for one who deals with fragile glass. (I am skittish, jumpy, and clumsy...so maybe I'd better stick with my current job. Kids aren't too fragile, right?) 
In the end, we ended up with a lovely new pane of glass. It's a little different than the previous glass, but it's every bit as beautiful. 
The swirled pattern reminded me of the swirls in pound cake, which reminded me that I was late for my assignment for Tuesdays with Dorie. 
But there is redemption and repair, even if it requires patience. And good things are always worth waiting for, whether it be glass of pound cake. And speaking of waiting, this one's even better if you let it sit for a day...if you can.
Next Up:
Post Edit:
and bejeweled with a dab of strawberry jam. 
They're supposed to be for kids, but I think the grown ups enjoyed them at least equally well. We adored them! They're on my new top ten list of cookies, the list that exists only in my head, but that I fully plan to include on my blog someday. But for today, this is enough. 
Kids' Thumprints, slightly adpated from Dorie Greenspan