one.

I've got several blog posts floating around in my cranium these days, but first things first. Like, first birthdays. Here are some photos.

It's official.

With Grandma.

Loving presents.

Downtime with Dad.

S playing Corn Hole.

SR in action.

Girls Gone Wild? Sometime I'll tell you about their campfire.

Cake boss.

evidence.

For today, here are just a couple of pictures of the kiddos. I realize there have been zero photographs lately, and I didn't want you to think they'd disappeared and I was making up all the stories about them in an elaborate conspiracy. I know you were all thinking that.

This photo turned out super grainy, but you can clearly see that when S and A get together, there is no shortage of personality. Even when making cookies.

S, being gorgeous. It's her thing.

T, with treasure.

Kids in a wagon.

eats.

I mentioned some time ago that I have a goal to try 1000 new recipes. It's a lifelong goal. I decided you probably needed to know about some of the successful recent dinner attempts.

Here goes.

• Orangette's Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter. This is nice and simple, but it didn't really sing to me. When I blended it, there was a small fry headbutting my legs and I didn't blend it enough for fear of some errant tomato sauce leaping out of the pan and landing on his face and somehow ruining his perfect visage ala The Phantom of the Opera. I'm sure you understand. It made a ton, though, so I'm going to reblend it tonight before we try it again.

• Skinny's Thai Peanut Noodles with Chicken. We ate these last night. They were very good. Emphasis on the very good. I'm eagerly awaiting lunchtime so I can hoover the leftovers. Alas, S had a deconstructed version (noodles tossed in sauce in a bowl, accompanied by a pile of chicken and a pile of red peppers). That kid wears me out.

• Skinny's Asian Lettuce Cups. These were also good. T gobbled up the turkey mixture, but S wouldn't eat it because she couldn't separate with scallions from the meat and that was no good for her. She's a brat like that sometimes. I ate leftovers on a whole wheat tortilla for lunch yesterday, and it wasn't bad, but the lettuce wrap was better because the textures were a better combination.

• Deb's Scrambled Egg Toast. This isn't so much a recipe as a combination I wouldn't have thought of on my own. The combo of goat cheese with eggs and chives is divine. Add some crusty bread and stick a fork in me. I never want to eat eggs another way again. Ever. Really.

So that's what we've been eating lately. What about you? Any new deliciousness on your plates?

it's a bird, it's a plane.

S has a bizarre fascination with cemeteries. She always talks about them when we pass them. Always. The girl is full of questions. Perhaps she's more intrigued than her friends because her Grandpa passed away last Spring. Maybe it's just how she's wired. That could well be the case because the child comes up with random BIG questions often.

Anyway.

Sunday, M and S drove past a cemetery, and she was asking him about his mother and during the course of the conversation he told her that God has a plan for us all. Then this happened.

S: But, Daddy, when do I get to ride on the plane?

M: What are you talking about? What plane?

S: You said, "God has a plane for us all."

M: No, baby. Not a plane. A plan. God has a plan for us all.

S: Oh.

Every time I think about it, I laugh and want to squeeze the cuteness out of her.

For the record, our very soon-to-be one-year-old is also hysterical. His new favorite game? Chewing up his food, taking it out of his mouth, and watching me squirm as he tries to wipe it into my mouth. It's a riot 'round here. A riot, I tell you.

you know you should.

I liked this post over at Small Notebook this morning.

The backstory: the blogger lost her camera and only good karma apparently got it back to her because it wasn't labeled with her name or number. The post is a call to action: do all the random things that you probably know you should do to save yourself a monster headache in the future.

I, for one, have never even thought about labeling my camera with my phone number, but it doesn't seem like a bad idea at all now that I'm thinking about it. She also mentions hiding a house key somewhere and actually learning her husband's phone number. Luckily, I've already done those two. (Disclaimer: Mr. Ouiser took care of the house key. I'm not entirely sure I know where the hidden lockbox is or what the combination is, but luckily I memorized his phone number, so I can just call him or my brother who has a spare key to our house and is always good with a damsel...or a sister...in distress.)

Now that I'm thinking about it, I know that there are at least a handful of things that I often tell myself I should do, but I haven't done them, and I don't remember what they are, and I'll remember as soon as it bites me on the backside.

What about you? What random task would you suggest to help yourself out of a jam in the future?

granola.

Image from Great Grandmother's Kitchen.

Lately, I've been toying with the idea of making granola. I don't know what got me thinking about it. Perhaps it was because I had a bowl of Cascadian Farm Granola recently at my daddy's and knew I could do better and not have to ingest all those random things that must be put into food before it goes into boxes to live on a shelf for an indeterminate amount of time.

This morning, I put my plan into action.

You are also going to need to put my plan into action. If you like granola of course.

I browsed a few recipes online, and I quickly realized that homemade granola is pretty much a free-for-all. The only required ingredient is oats. After that, you're on your own if you want to be.

For my granola, I combined the following:

• 3C old-fashioned oats,
• 1-1/2C roughly chopped raw almonds,
• 1tsp kosher salt,
• 1/2C light brown sugar,
• 1/4C maple syrup, and
• 1/4C olive oil.

I mixed the dry stuff. Then I folded in the wet stuff. Then I spread it on a foil covered sheet pan and baked it in a 300 degree oven for 45 minutes (stirring a bit every fifteen minutes). Then I sat it on a cooling rack for a bit. Then I added some dried cherries. Then I put it in an airtight container and put it away in the pantry because otherwise I'd have sat down and eaten the whole thing like the glutton that I am.

I love that the salt and olive oil gives it a savory vibe while the granola still maintains its sweetness. I cannot wait to try a bowl with milk in the morning. You should think about doing the same.

Here are a couple of recipes to give you some further ideas. I know I plan to use dried blueberries next time. I just happened to be fresh out of them today.

Orangette's Daily Granola

Orangette's French Chocolate Granola

Orangette's Olive Oil and Maple Granola (my inspiration for this morning, but only because I was sadly devoid of bittersweet chocolate)

Rancho la Puerta Granola

Spiced Pumpkin Granola (sadly not suitable for Andrea)

Strawberry Granola Crunch

That ought to keep you in breakfast for a few days, no? As Molly says in her French Chocolate Granola post:

I mean, hell, breakfast happens every day.

You might as well be prepared for it.

cool.

I have this friend who is fabulous. We don't know each other well, but that's mostly logistics. The time we have spent together has been lovely, and we seem to have almost precisely the same taste in almost precisely everything.

So, despite the fact that Mr. Ouiser and I watch almost precisely zero current television, I decided that Dara could not be wrong...that Mad Men must be worth watching. And since the first four seasons are streaming on Netflix, I decided to give it a whirl, so I sat down during T's nap and watched the first episode. And then I almost died of happiness. And then I immediately texted M and told him that I have our new show to watch. And it's all over but the shoutin'. I'm hooked. I'm loving some Jon Hamm, and I am really loving some Christina Hendricks. I had loved the visual aspect of the show since its inception. The fashion particularly.

Anyway, when we went out Saturday night to see Mary Poppins, we decided to go British in honor of the practically perfect heroine and went to Fleet Street Pub for English beers and pub food. I had the beef and Yorkshire pudding with rosemary gravy. And a couple of London Porters. M had a cocktail. And as I sat there next to my handsome, tall husband in his sport coat having a cocktail I thought, "Yes." It was a modern interpretation of the Mad Men vibe. I don't believe I would've traded Mr. Ouiser at that moment for anyone. Not Jon Hamm. Not even George Clooney. And then, as he regularly helped the girl sitting next to us during the show, the girl who had recently undergone ankle surgery and couldn't walk, I knew that cocktail or no, I'd never trade Mr. Ouiser anyway. He is my lobster.

perfection.

Sorry for all the Negative Nancy yesterday. You'll be happy to know that I pulled myself together nicely. Going to the gym got me going. Plus I got to go see The Hunger Games last night. I thought they did a nice job. I was skeptical about Josh Hutcherson, having only seen him as Laser in The Kids are All Right, but he really was good. The banter between him and Caesar Flickerman was perfect. Mostly because Stanley Tucci is always perfect. Also, Woody Harrelson was perfect. And Lenny Kravitz is basically the embodiment of perfection. It was just good. Anyway...

I was just thinking about perfect days. I'm not saying I've had one today. It's been a really good day, but not one of those days. Those days where you just realize you wouldn't have changed anything. However, I was looking at Pinterest a moment ago, and I noticed that I am often drawn to photographs of books and coffee, of bookshops, of front porches, of rainy streets in Paris. So I was wondering what my perfect day would be if I could design it from top to bottom. I think I'd have to create multiple versions because there are perfect days with husbands, perfect days with kids, perfect days with dear friends, perfect days alone.

I do believe wholeheartedly, that you can never go wrong with books and coffee in the morning. And a fresh croissant wouldn't hurt anything.

Image from Flickr.

What do you think? Could you design a perfect day?

wanted: motivation.

I can't be the only one who has these days. The kind of days when you have zero motivation. As in I actually woke up thinking, "I do not want to do anything." By anything, I definitely meant that I didn't want to be constantly headbutted by my son (he crawls up and rams your legs with his noggin when he wants you to pick him up). I meant that I did not want to have this week's umpteenth argument with my daughter about why she may not talk back/disobey/stick her tongue out at me. If that child has been sent to her room once this week, she's been sent a dozen times.

It's not just that, though. I don't want to read. I don't want to spend an hour on Pinterest. I don't want to paint the chairs that need painting. I don't want to scrub the toilet.

I want to take a nap. In a hammock. On a beach.

You have these days, right? Good. I'm glad it isn't just me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go parent my children and head to the gym. No motivation is not an excuse to be lazy. Just keep swimming, eh?

sad.

My friend Frank, the one that was injured in the fire, passed away. His son is recovering well, but the boys have lost their father. His wife has lost her partner. Many people have lost a friend.

My heart is broken for them. I cannot imagine going through what they'll have to go through.

If you didn't check your smoke alarms last weekend, you really should. A working smoke detector might have saved Frank's life. After you've checked your smoke detectors, hug your babies extra tight. Hug your husbands or your wives or your mamas or your daddies extra tight. Remember to look around and be thankful.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotations by Garrison Keillor:

Thank you, dear God, for this good life and forgive us if we do not love it enough.

yuckedy yuck.

It's rainy and cloudy and muddy outside. Blech. We've been teased with so many gorgeous Spring days that when we have days that don't allow us to be outside, I'm a grumpus. Today is one of those days.

However, because I'm so hopeful and joyful about Spring coming, I've made our Spring to-do list. I added one item that I actually did yesterday because I wanted to feel accomplished and cross something off the list. I do that sometimes...add items to my to-do list that I've already done just so I can cross them off and feel better about myself. You do that, right?

And here are some pictures of Spring that I've found around the ol' internet. Just for inspiration on this dreary day.

All images via Pinterest.

your favorite part?

I'm back to posting random, useless things today, though I'm assuming you've all tested your smoke detectors. Ours are hardwired, but M installed a new smoke/CO2 detector in the basement yesterday.

I've discovered a new black hole on the internet. A blog called A Cup of Jo. I'm rather fascinated by it in a weirdly voyeuristic sort of way. I just ran across a post of hers from January asking her readership about their favorite body parts. You can read her brief post to understand where the topic came from. And since most of us spend whatever time we spend thinking of our bodies in a negative way, I thought it might be nice to force you all to say something you like about your bodies. And none of that "I like that I'm strong," kind of mess. I'm talking purely physical, purely shallow stuff.

I like my neckline and shoulders. It's likely part of the reason that I wear my hair in a pixie cut most of the time. I like that part of my body, so I like to focus on it. When I have long hair, I usually wear it up for the same reason.

So, you're up. What's your favorite body part?

a favor.

I know that most of the time, I post about things that don't actually matter the teensiest little bit. (Lancome, anyone?)

Not today.

A friend of mine from college and his son were critically injured when their house caught on fire in the middle of the night two days ago. He wasn't a great friend, not even a good one really. He was a geographer, so we had a few classes together. He worked at Wild Oats and would bring me oranges. Then we'd eat an orange on the steps of Johnson Hall and smoke our after-class cigarettes together. I have very happy, though brief, memories of him. I remember him being a genuinely nice guy with a quick and sincere smile. The kind of guy you want to have around as a friend, really.

Anyway, he and his four-year-old son are in critical condition. His wife and their two-year-old son are physically okay, but I can't imagine what sort of psychological or emotional toll this would have on a grown person, let alone on a toddler.

As it turns out, their house didn't have a working smoke detector. The favor I ask of all of you is to take ten minutes this weekend to check the batteries in the smoke detectors in your homes. If you're one of the 12 people who reads this blog, then it's safe to say that I love you dearly, so I'd appreciate your keeping your tails safe.

fascinating.

I have LOVED reading all the responses to the informal poll. It sounds like most of you are keeping Neutrogena in business. I can't help but wonder...who are the people who are spending so much time and energy on facial care? I guess I don't run in the right circles for them. I'm cool with that.

Along those lines, I will say this:

My aunt gave me a handful of Visionnaire samples, and I've been using it since Saturday night, and I swear my pores are smaller. For serious. I'm going to use up all those samples, and then I'm likely to eat ramen for a month to pay for some of that mess because dang. I am hooked. It's like crack for my skin.

Thanks for all the feedback, my people. I love y'all.

an informal poll.

This weekend Mellie, Hil, and I went to visit my Aunt Diana for makeovers. Di runs the Lancome counter at the fancy schmancy mall in Nashville. I was ill prepared for what followed. Firstly, my girl "cleaned" my face. There was a milky cleanser, an eye makeup remover (despite my assurances that I had not put a single stitch of makeup on my face...just for her), a toner, two or three kinds of serums, and a moisturizer. Oh, and a neck cream. Neck Cream. Like I have a waddle or something. (I do not have a waddle.) So, it took the woman about 12 minutes to clean my face. I have never in my life taken 12 minutes to clean my face. Well, I hadn't until Saturday night, but I digress...

So that was the cleaning. When my girl and I spoke, I explained to her that I have very sensitive skin. Almost everything makes my face itch uncontrollably. It makes me all red and miserable. Then I told her that I've had problems finding makeup that didn't aggravate the dickens out of my skin and that I'd been having trouble with mascara apparently clogging some pores or ducts recently...

Then we proceeded to the making up.

If they'd made me look like this, I would've give them all the money in my bank account.

Concealer around the eyes. Waterproof base on the eyelids. Foundation. Blush. Bronzer.

We're good so far. She asked about my eyes. What do I normally wear? How do I do my eyes? I explained that I am a very neutral sort of girl. I just basically want to look natural and a little put together. When I need to punch it up or add color, I do it with lipstick. She said, "Great. We'll just do a really neutral eye."

"Perfect," I said.

Eyeshadow pallet? Taupe Crazy. Okay. Then, she brought out "a little accent." Purple Smoke. Then purple gel eyeliner. Then oscillating mascara. I think she honestly spent ten minutes on each of my eyes. If I've never spent 12 minutes washing my face, you can bet your bottom dollar that I've never spent 20 minutes doing my eye makeup. Never. Not ever. Not even on my wedding day.

Then we did my lips. Liner, lipstick, and gloss.

Then we topped me off with some powder.

When she was all finished, Mel and Hil went on and on about my eyes. I hadn't seen them yet, so I was curious despite the fact that my eyelids felt bizarrely heavy and my eyelashes kept sticking together whenever I blinked. My Aunt Diana handed me a mirror, and I almost fell over. My skin and my lips looked great. Truly. But this lady thought she gave me a neutral eye? Huh? I spent the rest of the day feeling a little clownish. It took five eye makeup remover soaked cotton pads to scour the eye makeup off that night. That just seemed excessive to me, but maybe it's normal.

So that was the makeup story. Now for the informal poll. While she was cleaning my face she asked me what I normally clean my face with. Cetaphil. I exfoliate once or twice a week. I use Oil of Olay Complete Sensitive Cream in the winter and lotion in the summer. She was, as I would've expected, a little put out by my $12 skin care routine. I suppose when you're selling $100 serums, a $9 pot of skin cream is like telling a French pastry chef that you had a Croiss'anwich for breakfast. She then proceeded to tell me about how every single product she was putting on my face to cleanse it was rigorously, scientifically created to mimic the skin's natural this-or-that. All I kept thinking was, "if this is supposed to mimic what my skin naturally does on its own, why on Earth would I pay you hundreds of dollars for it? Shouldn't I just try not to strip all the essential stuff from my skin that you're now having to replace?"

I've read all about various skin care regiments that have you wiping your face with lemons and slathering them with oils and whatnot. I've known old women with lovely skin that have sworn by Dove soap and Oil of Olay. I suppose skin care is different for everyone, but I'm curious. How much time do you spend on cleansing your face? What products are you using? Why have you chosen those products? Do you think I need neck cream? Please, discuss.

unfortunately...

...sometimes what needs to be done is unpleasant.

Some examples.

I am sick. Mr. Ouiser came home early yesterday so I could rest. After he put T to bed, S had a little, ummmmm, accident. Essentially, she sharted. Pardon my French. It was not a fabulous moment...though when M reenacted her coming back from the bathroom with soiled panties around her ankles saying, "Dad, I think something's wrong here," it was pretty funny to me, The NyQuil Lady. In that situation, what needed to be done was to put the girl promptly into the shower and try not to get anything on himself. And he did it. Tactfully.

This morning as I walked upstairs to get my tiny little man out of bed, I got halfway up before the smell hit me. As I currently have fifty three pounds of mucus clogging my head, it's saying something that I can smell anything. That should tell you how awful the smell probably would've been to anyone with unencumbered olfactory senses. The little dude had a wicked leaky diaper. Thus, first thing this morning, the thing that needed to be done was to strip the poop bed and bathe the wee one. So I did just that. And I threw open his bedroom windows to air out the stench.

Yesterday morning when S came downstairs, she brought Froggy with her. She doesn't do that often, so I was afraid she was really sick, but then she just said, "Mommy, I got snot on Frog." What needed to be done? Launder Snot Frog.

So, I stand by the need to Do What Needs To Be Done, but sometimes, I want to take a mental health day.

what needs to be done.

Recently, I read something somewhere.

Brilliant, no?

It was a call to action, more or less, and it was simply, "Do what needs to be done."

The point was, don't think to yourself that you need to scour your entire house/organize your entire life. Instead, pick up the crap in the floor (or on the floor, all you yankee, literal interpreters). Or put away the mess on the bathroom vanity. Or go through the pile of mail on the desk. Do the most obvious thing that needs to be done to further your goal.

Despite the fact that I keep a pretty tidy house, I regularly find myself a bit overwhelmed. I'll look at the kitchen after a particularly messy batch of baking and feel utterly deflated, then I stop, take a deep breath, and figure out what the first step needs to be. It's the same sometimes with the kids' messes. (Usually T's messes as I require S to pick up after herself.)

Lots of times, I'm not even remotely overwhelmed by anything, but I'll look at the room I'm in and ask myself, "what needs to be done?" Sometimes, a throw just needs to be placed properly on the arm of the chair where it jauntily lives. Sometimes, S's lucky rock needs to be put back inside its house. Sometimes, my calendar needs to be lined up to the proper angle with the edge of the counter.

So, that is all I have to say today. Do what needs to be done.

why i bake bread.

Image from CIA.

I love to bake bread. I love everything about it. In fact, I made bread this morning and decided whilst kneading the dough that I wanted to tell you all about it. So here I am. Telling you about it.

I love that baking bread appeals to every single one of my senses.

I love to watch the yeast get all foamy. I love to see dough when it gets to its proper consistency to rise. When a recipe says to knead your dough until it's satiny, you might not know what that means, but it's obvious when you get it there. I love to watch dough rise. I love to watch the crust turn golden brown in the oven. I love the way butter melts across a warm piece of bread when you just couldn't wait for it to cool before slicing into a loaf. That happened to me this morning.

I love the smell of bread baking, but what I love even more is the combination of holding a warm bread boule in my hands and putting the hole thing right in front of my face to inhale the aroma and the warmth, which are really like one glorious entity. It's pretty much like Heaven.

I love the sound of my mixer going round and round pulling dough together just enough for me to start getting my hands into the dough. Then I love to listen to my own quiet inner monologue for the five to ten minutes I hand knead it.

I love the feel of smooth, pliable bread dough under the heels of my hands. I love the ache in my triceps that comes from kneading a particularly dense dough for a particularly long time.

I love the taste of fresh bread. I love it with butter. I love it with cheese. I love it with tea. I love it always.

I love that baking bread takes time. I can't make it go any faster than it's going to go. Rushed bread is bad bread, and I'm too far along in the game to want to eat bad bread. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go have another slice of today's Honey Buttermilk Bread.

the british are coming.

Sunday evening, M went out to a late movie with a friend, and as I had finally finished the fourth Game of Thrones book, I watched the last six hours of Downton Abbey, Season 2. I stumbled across DA sometime last Fall on Netflix. I think I was hooked about 15 seconds into the first episode. I love it. Like, love it. I am infatuated with the characters and the house. I am so enamored with most of the characters that I find myself thinking very mean thoughts about the actors who play Thomas and O'Brien. I'm conflicted by Maria Doyle Kennedy, who plays the wretched, and now dead, Mrs. Bates. She's so awful in this series, but she got hosed so supremely in The Tudors that I'm going to have to be neutral about her for a bit. I can say that I am emphatically not neutral about Hugh Bonneville, who I currently adore. And have I mentioned Maggie Smith? The unequaled legend that is Maggie Smith? Oh, oh, oh.

Anyway, I finished up Downton Abbey, but somewhere in the midst of it, I decided that I would've excelled at being British Aristocracy in the early 20th century. M and I have always joked about being born a part of the wrong generation.

Yesterday, without Downton Abbey to fill my hours, I sat down with the Masterpiece version of Emma. It was quite good, and I love Jonny Lee Miller and Michael Gambon so much that I almost forgot that I love the Gwyneth Paltrow version almost strictly because of Jeremy Northam.

In all this Downton Abbey and Jane Austen hullabaloo, I've just about decided that I need to live on a large estate in the British countryside. I'm sure I can afford it. Right? Jolene? Right??

Until then, I'll happily devour a Jane Austen book this evening while M works late, and I'll dream of a future of verdant hillsides and great houses with old names. I might also have tea. And a biscuit.

oopsy daisy.

I've been fussed at lately. For not blogging. I just haven't really had much to say, and I've been using all my available spare time to read the entertainingly not great Game of Thrones series of books. The books? I started with the first one (obviously) after Mellie Mellie picked up a used copy during Granddaddy's hospital sojourn. She told me it was entertaining. It was okay. Then, once I'd gotten into it a bit, I had to watch the entire first season of the HBO series. That hooked me. I'm now reading the fourth book in the series, and these books are looooonnnnngggg. So, lots of spare time that might've been spent blogging has been spent reading questionable literature.

Anyway, the only other thing of interest around here is that I've actually been cooking some new things, so that's what we're going to talk about today. If you shoot over to my Life List, you'll see at the bottom that I want to try 1000 new recipes. I made that goal in October, I think. I've been keeping a list of all the new recipes I've tried since then.

These have been my favorites.

• Crockpot Pulled Pork.
• Tagliarelle with Truffle Butter.
• Red Beans and Rice.
• Baked Pancakes.
• Buttermilk Chicken.
• Vietnamese Noodles with Pork (from Clean Eating magazine).

Tonight, we'll be trying Pork and Carrot Curry. I've got the pork marinating already, and it smells divine. I will say that M wasn't the hugest fan of the buttermilk chicken, but S, T, and I loved it. Also, S refused to eat the Vietnamese Noodles, but I think that's mostly because she's a brat. I liked them much. The Ginger-Lime flavor combo was tasty, and it was very unlike what we normally eat during the week.

There have been a couple of epic failures on this 1000 recipe quest. Crockpot Cranberry Chicken and Caramelized Onion Quiche come to mind. Lots of other things were just so-so, leading me to ditch the recipes forevermore.

There you have it, folks. A blog post. And, for the record, I've tried 24 total new recipes.