Gingerbread Houses

Is there any more fun to be had than using massive quantities of candy in order to glue together MORE CANDY?!!!… i think not.

it’s an amazing time to be had. i haven’t made gingerbread houses in over a decade. (and by gingerbread, i mean of course graham crackers… those delightfully frustrating, fragile, often warped, look at them funny and they’ll break, perfect for gingerbread house base architecture crackers… so perfect in fact, i think i pulled my hair out in JOY over just how fantastic it feels to work with them as they crumble beneath your oh so gentle manipulation…)

our candy selection was impressive, i’m not going to lie…

My favorites:

mini M&M’s … make great christmas lights, berries for wreaths, etc. Perfect size for gingerbread house scale)
Pull & Peel Twizzlers… these things are awesome, they make rope that can be used just about anywhere and is fun and easy to work with, i love it love it love it.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch… makes excellent shingles.
Powdered Sugar… ok, i may have gone a little overboard at the very end with the powdered sugar, it just makes GREAT snow!! so, it started to look like a blizzard had swept through my neighborhood before i realized i needed to lay off the fluffy confectioners’ assault.

We only had a couple disasters. My dad’s house fell apart, and then Alyson’s followed suit… it was 2 mini-tragedies.

Troopers that they were though, they both picked up the shattered pieces of their pride, and started over. GO TEAM!

We have decided that there may be some improvements that we will incorporate in our approach next year… these include possibly all starting with empty boxes of graham crackers to build around for structure support (Alyson’s genius idea, following the demise of her first attempt)… we also have considered baking our own gingerbread in pieces that can then be glued together with royal icing with little-to-no engineering necessary on our parts… We’ve considered getting one of those freezing aerosol cans to blow on the icing to dry it faster… i think these things might help us in the long run, though they all will be taking away somewhat from the creativity that makes all of our designs so unique… different shapes, sizes, and decorating.

what do you think?

and the winner is….

ALYSON!!!! her recovery from her initial misfortune makes the success of her ultimate creation (middle house) that much more impressive.

also….

it was her birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYSON!!! and congratulations on your big win,… until next year!

here she is about to enjoy the cupcakes i made her: Coconut Cupcakes with Pineapple Filling and Browned Butter Cream Cheese Frosting (needs a shorter name,… how about we call them Buttery Pina Colada… done and done)

Honorable Mentions:

Most Narrative:

Nick’s house included a mini-war being waged with unseen forces. A snowman army was created as a necessary response to the threat on his gingerbread house, and stationed like little sentinels in front of the door… they were outfitted with a cannon, for that final impenetrable touch.

The cannon, in all it’s peppermint patty glory….

sadly, even with the added reinforcements, there was a man lost… war isn’t pretty people.

Most Icing Used:

My dad’s response to his initial collapse was to make sure that barely a square inch of the cracker in his next attempt was visible under the onslaught of icing used to hold the unruly walls together. Congratulations Dad. I’m not sure that the “gingerbread” was even necessary… i have a feeling this house could have withstood the onslaught of Ike, with or without walls, once that sucker dried.

Most Intelligent Approach:

Ellen takes the prize for realizing in the beginning that “bigger is not always better”. She started small, and used her ambition on the exterior, rather than the construction. It paid off. No collapses for Ellen! And in the end, probably the most well put together, professional looking house that we had. GO ELLEN!

my FAVORITE part by far is the picket fence. Just lovely

Luckiest Architectural Success:

I’ll take the prize for my house, while overly ambitious in the size department, because it did NOT collapse people!!!! there were some tense moments, and the final product does have a pretty sad looking sagging wall, but it’s dry now, and it’s not movin’! GO ME! although next year, if we end up not using forms, i think i’ll take Ellen’s approach… the stress was almost too much to bear, as i watched my competitors one by one come crashing down…

also, i get kudos points for including the attic window from Christmas Vacation, AND coming up with the cinnamon toast shingle idea which was then stolen by all the copycats in the room.

We did NOT eat the gingerbread houses… i know that’s the next thing you were wondering. But we did have leftover candy, that i’m going to try to preserve until next year, when we can use it again candy like that lasts forever, right? plus, you’re not supposed to eat it anyway, this will just be that much more encouragement not to pop those mini m&m’s in my mouth as a reward after every structural accomplishment, with a little “go me!” in my head.

Merry Christmas!

32 weeks… counting down

i’m 32 weeks pregnant this week! very very exciting. we’re in the 10 week countdown, i’m getting anxious i’m trying to pace myself… we have 1 more birth class tomorrow, so that’s exciting. We’ve talked about all kinds of things, one of which was mental exhaustion… There’s a couple in our class who is having their second child… Their first labor was 52 hours….

…..

…..

yes. 52 hours.

…

OMG! OMG!! OMG!!!!!!!!!

can you EVEN IMAGINE?!!!

well, that was our assignment… to imagine. we were told, the best thing to do to avoid exhaustion, and mental defeat, is to prepare yourself for that 52 hour labor… Makes sense i think… Then, you have a 42 hour labor and you’re like “well, hell! that was a whole 10 hours faster than i was expecting!”… i guess that’s the theory, anyway :-p

but holy crap, 52 HOURS?!!! Lord help me…. i’m completely serious… PLEASE help me.

So… that said, in the spirit of not getting too anxious, i’m trying to prepare myself not to get too excited right off the bat when i go into labor. They say the best thing you can do is sleep as much as possible in the beginning… sounds impossible, but we’ll see.

lately the baby’s been moving around A LOT!!! she resembles quite eerily a cute little alien, squirming to get out. i like to think she’s dancing to whatever song is playing in my head i just hope she remembers she needs to come into this world in a very specific way,… and that does NOT include a dramatic scene where she pops out of my stomach, growing at an exponential rate and rampaging through the ship, killing all of my crew members… mmmkay?

sooo…. here’s what she looks like this week!!!! roughly 3.75 lbs, the size of a jicama (i love jicama, a severely underutilized vegetable if you ask me…)

cute, huh??? well, I THINK SO!!! and here SHE is, her 3D debut!!!! our precious little booger face

i just love her so much already.

i can’t WAIT to meet her!!! … nick thinks i’m crazy, but i really think she looks like him… which i love

and here i am, in my pretty holiday party dress, that looks suspiciously like a set of vintage curtains on camera… hmm.

and, as you can see, we did get the Christmas tree and decorations up!!! GO US!!!!

took us awhile, but it’s done, and i LOVE IT!!! i just love holiday decorations… they make me smile. Bronx and hollow helped… well, bronx helped, hollow just admired the tree…

Isn’t this a gorgeous family??? You’re jealous, admit it

and, to wrap up this post,….

nick in his “long johns” (aka, my yoga pants that he steals to wear under his work clothes to stay warm during the day :-p along with his work socks… alyson calls it his riding habit.)… putting on the angel!

a job well done Merry Christmas everybody!!!!!

enjoy.

Thanksgiving Perspective

Another Thanksgiving is complete.  Fair weather relatives have come and gone.  Refrigerator’s are full with leftover turkey and stuffing and people are beginning to stir from their food comas to set up Christmas decorations and find as many bargains as possible at the local retail stores.

If you read my previous post you know that the days leading up to Thanksgiving were hectic, to say the least, both personally and professionally.  However, I recall during that Monday through Wednesday, as I struggled to meet deadlines and fight to the death over canned pumpkin, feeling a sense of dread at the prospect of attending yet another festive Thanksgiving at the homes of my wife’s relatives.  My relationship with her parents and immediately family is superb, but beyond that, as with many families, awkward interactions, stress, and surface tension are the only result when her extended family arrives.  I tend to shy away from socially active people and situations for the most part, but I never feel such an aversion to such circumstances as when Thanksgiving and Christmas arrives.  This was not always the case.  I considered the reasons for such a fairly adolescent, juvenile  reaction to these festive occasions and landed on one that I believe most people can relate to.  

I’m an adult.  I lost sight of the fact that I experienced the majority of past Thanksgivings and Christmases as a child.  I saw much of it through rose colored glasses, largely unaware of family tension and secret dislikes certain relatives had for other relatives.  But does becoming an adult mean we forget childish things?  Yes….sort of.  I don’t want to forget, nor do I think I should have to forget, the innocent, welcoming perspective of the kid in a candy store or the happily naive 10 year old running down the steps to open presents.  I want the excitement and exhilaration of family and friends.  Certainly some of those feelings will subside because it is not practical or even possible to recall those emotions when the stress, both familial and occupational, bear down on you.  The concept remains though, however fleeting, and I strive to remove it from the conceptual realm of wants and wishes and make it a reality.  But how?  By doing what everyone tells you do to this time of year.  Remember and be thankful.  In that vain, the following is what I remember of past Thanksgivings:

(1)  My parents.

 

I remember my mother and father every day.  Not only because their pictures clutter my desk, but because their memory clutters my brain.  It will take many more years to organize the clutter, but I’m thankful that the clutter is there at all.  I’m disappointed that I did not know them better, but I’m thankful for what I do know and what I can interpret from various pictures and memories.  So who were they you ask?  Well….

             (a)  My Dad.  

My dad was like most dads that you hear about.  He was caring and loving and kind.  He controlled his temper until he needed to and the quieter he became, the more trouble you were in.  He was special in that even seeing him Wednesdays and every other weekend, he was still always around.  We talked in the evenings and mowed the lawn on the weekends.  He labored at an occupation he didn’t particularly care for and engaged in various activities of which I only later discovered he didn’t really like (i.e. baseball) for the sake of his family.  He taught me how to tie a tie and how to swim.  He taught me to appreciate the outdoors with walks in the woods, hiking in New Mexico, skiing in Colorado, and scuba diving in Belize.  He taught me discipline by having me mow the lawn and punishing me for poor scholastic efforts.  He taught me love through his actions and the importance of family every year by dragging us to Papa and Jane’s house every year.

 

He was young once, which is what I often wonder about.  What was he like?  What did he do?  Who was he?  I’ll never really know now, but from pictures and vague recollections, I think he was pretty fucking awesome. I submit the above and following photographic account as proof:

(that’s my dad on the left).  Now, you cannot expect too much of one person.  It is difficult and probably too much to ask for one man to be free spirited, athletic, disciplined, and the poster boy for GQ all at once.  And yet…..

But how is he with kids and family?  Sure it’s easy to be young and devoted to yourself and achieving your own goals, but try raising a family Mr. Fancy Pants.  Oh wait…what’s this??

Well, that’s all well and good, but the true test and one everyone fails is rallying the troops.  When a task appears impossible, how do you get them to believe?  How do you make them see that the impossible is possible?  For example, if someone gave you an inflatable killer whale and said “You cannot fit three people on this toy…maximum is two” how do you get your followers to believe?  I don’t know how he did it, but not only did he do it, but he was wise enough to get photographic evidence for posterity.

              (b)  My Mom.  My mother was equally as amazing, but in a very different way.  She loved me and protected me every day.  There was a different kind of pressure putting up with me almost every night of the week and weekend.  She didn’t teach me any less than my father did and she loved me more than anyone ever has.  This was due in large part because she had me most of the time.  She took me to school, baseball practice, piano lessons, and detention whenever necessary.  She quit her job to be home when I got home after school.  She cooked dinner, breakfast, washed my clothes, worried about me when I stayed out late and cheered for me with every exam I took.  She helped with my homework and constructively criticized when necessary.  We did not get to go on vacations with her except to see our family in other cities.

 

She rubbed my head when I was stressed and was there every time I failed.  I think that’s what made it hard the first few years after death when I graduated from Trinity and eventually obtained my law degree.  The woman who supported me through every failure wasn’t there to see the result of her efforts.  Now,I later came to realize that  she was there and is happier where she is, but man it would be nice to see her maybe ONE more time?  But perhaps you’re once again doubting the spectacular creature that was my mother.  Not a problem.  I have further photographic evidence for your review.

Ok, so the smoking I could do without, but everyone has their vices. Besides, how can you doubt grover?

That may not be my mom’s arm, but it is for the sake of this post and the person I remember most putting that puppet on.  

And for those parents wondering how to keep your child in one place when they’re getting too rambunctious, think outside the box.  If you do, you’ll find that a laundry basket is not just a laundry basket.

In addition, she’s available on any occasion for parties and get-togethers for a very reasonable price.

More importantly, she was there for every occasion.

My parents taught me how to appreciate the holidays and I kind of forgot how.  So, sorry mom and dad and that’s why I’m thankful this year.

Thanksgiving 1 Nick 0

“Don’t stop…believin’….HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEELIIINN’…street lights, people…*riiing* Hello?”  

“Hey honey, it’s Adryan…will you do me a huuuge favor?”

“Sure sweetie,  what’s up?”

“I need to bake lemon bars and a spice cake for Thanksgiving, but I have yet to get and will not have time to get the supplies for it.  Would you be able to stop by the store at some point after work and  do it?” 

“Yeah, sure, just send me the list and I’ll pick them up on my way home today.”

That’s how innocent my adventure started.  Singing Journey on my way to get lunch and my lovely, pregnant wife makes what appears, on the surface, to be a simple request.  A request that’s been made many times before, in fact.  Just stop off on the way home to pick up baking supplies.  Super, I’m on it.  What she fails to reveal and what my naive male mind does not realize or comprehend is that the baking aisle of any store, much less a newly constructed HEB, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving is a lot like walking into the seventh circle of hell except instead of filthy demons surrounding you, feasting on your soul, it’s soccer moms and girlfriends  overflowing with anxiety, rage, and baking ideas as the panic of Thanksgiving, in-laws, and football descends on them like a category five hurricane.  One high strung, frenzied, hysteria driven mother is one thing, a whole storeful packed into one aisle?  Let the games begin.

So, here I am, an innocent lamb going to slaughter.  A naive young sheep who doesn’t know what’s in store for him.  One small advantage I thought I had was that I know this HEB.  I know exactly where the baking aisle is and I know where, on the baking aisle, to find the items on my list.  It doesn’t matter folks.  Hell hath no fury like…a woman baking?  One good decision I made was to pick up everything else first.  I threw some cream cheese into my cart and some eggs and milk.  Check, check, check.  Doing well, everything is on track.  As I’m gathering these preliminary items I have a vague sense of a crowd gathered several aisles away.  I think to myself “Huh, glad I’m not on THAT aisle” before checking milk off of my list.

“Ok…and just pecans, flour, and canned pumpkin left…where is the baking aisle.”  I form a map of the store in my head…”Ok, I’m on aisle 2, the baking aisle is just….” And then it hits me.  The baking aisle is four or five aisles away, which is where the crowd was forming and…I slowly peak my head from around the chips.  The crowd has gotten larger, words are being exchanged, elbows are being thrown, small children are getting trampled.  I pull my head safely back into aisle 2 fearful that just making eye contact will draw me into the scrum.  I look around, panicked.  I take two deep breaths and relax. I’m a tax attorney.  I help businessmen close business deals and avoid paying thousands in income tax.  I need three items from the baking aisle at the local supermarket.  Suck it up Nick.  I take another deep breath and exit Aisle 2, my steps still hesitant; my body following my feet, which are trying to urge me in the other direction.  I draw closer to the baking aisle.  I hear screams.  I peak my head into the fire.

Damn you pregnant lady.  You knew didn’t you?  DIDN’T YOU?!?!?  I relax and try to erase those thoughts from my head and concentrate.  It’s time to focus.  ”Have a purpose” my dad would say before we ventured through the perfume section of the mall.  Don’t get distracted.  Remember why you’re there.  I look down the aisle as someone’s leg flies passed my face and two sweet little grandma’s take to arms over the last of the vanilla extract.  I form a plan of action.  I’ll pass the flour first, the pecans next and then the pumpkin.  1….2…..3….GO!  I march forward three steps before being blind-sided by  a very large woman with a child in one arm, cake in the other and a wild-eyed stare as she lumbers towards the chocolate chips.  I can only imagine what she’s baking and what she’s going to do with it afterwards.

I quickly recover, side step a slew of bloody limbs, do a quick bob and weave and scoop up the flour as I focus in on the pecans just three shelves over on the other side.  I start to move towards the pecans when…”POW!”  I’m hit!  Everything is fuzzy…cloudy…and just a little bit sweet.  I’ve been hit with three bags of powdered sugar as the two sweet little grandma’s have taken to hand to hand combat, grabbing whatever baking items they can off the shelves for defense.  I fight the white haze of sugar and take two more steps towards the pecans and fall to my knees as a six year old pounds my knee with a can of evaporated milk so her mother can take the last of the pumpkin.  My heart sinks.  With no pumpkin my mission is futile.  Who cares if I get the pecans.  She can’t make the dessert without canned pumpkins. I duck as a pair of kitchen shears flies passed my face into the throat of an innocent stock boy.  I bend down to try and help, but he shakes his head “No” and mouths “Save yourself” before placing something in my hand.  It’s a bag of pecans, the outside bloodied from his fatal wound.  How he knew what I needed I still can’t fathom, but his bravery and courage under fire renewed my sense of destiny.

 I was going to find pumpkin somewhere even if I had to steal it from someone’s cart.  I look behind the other canned items, hoping perhaps a canned pumpkin rolled to the rear of the shelf.  Nothing.  I quickly scan the baskets and carts flowing passed me, ready to swipe a couple of loosely packed cans of pumpkin at a moment’s notice.  Nothing.  This is impossible.  No pumpkin on the shelves and no pumpkin in anyone’s baskets?  I try and think…where am I going to find cans of pumpkin?  Just then a bright light shone down from the ceiling of HEB like a great spotlight.  I followed its beam as it is showered over a young employee carrying two cases of canned pumpkin.

 

He walks meekly down the aisle towards the open space in the shelves. The other shoppers stop.  Silence ensues as they begin to circle their prey.  An injured deer limping helplessly towards a pond as a pack of wild dogs slowly haunt its shadow.  The other shoppers’ eyes focus in on the fresh meat…pumpkin being served to them on a silver platter.  They begin to drool and pick their teeth with the bones of their previous victims.  The soft clang of a salvation army bucket rolls to a stop next to my feet as the body of its owner falls beside me.  The poor santa needed just one more dollar before calling it quits for the night, instead the melee that is HEB during thanksgiving claimed another life. I concentrate on the stock boy.  We make eye contact and I see the fear in his eyes.  He places one can on the shelf and the beasts surrounding him, dressed in festive sweaters and their best make up, take a collective step towards him.  Another can…another step.  As he begins to unload the third can and place it on the shelf I intercept it and toss it in my basket, not even thinking.  ”I just need one more I say.”  The boy is trembling with fear, but he manages to shakily grab another can and hand it to me when a giant she-wolf steps in between us.  We both freeze.  We both recognize it as the worst kind of she-wolf.  It’s attractive with blond hair and blue eyes and nothing but the basest of instincts between her ears.  She knows she’s an attractive beast and is used to getting her way.  

She puts her perfectly manicured fingers on the can of pumpkin being handed to me.  ”Tee hee, I just need four cans.”  She gives me and the stock boy a sweet little grin that’s probably been used for centuries to devour unsuspecting, hormone driven men.  She’s mistaken me for a makeshift stock boy and placed me in the category of victim.  What she fails to realize, as I did earlier, is that this is Thanksgiving, hooker; I’m not a stock boy; and I’m one can short of getting the fuck out of here.  She begins to pull the can back towards her cart, my hand still attached before I yank it out of her hands and throw it in my cart.  ”I just needed two” I reply and give her a sweet smile of my own before making a terrible mistake…I turn my back to leave.  What’s the harm?  I’m finished and there is plenty of pumpkin left for her.  I glance back and watch in amazement as that sweet little, get-me-anything-I-want grin fades into the angry, sneer of a wounded she-beast.

I quickly realize my mistake and begin tearing items off of the shelves, hurling them at the pumpkin whore beast.  She waves them away like so many mosquitos on a summer evening.  Her tentacles curl around my throat causing me to drop my basket, I grasp thin air as it yanks me back towards its jaws.  This is it.  I’m going to die in HEB two days before Thanksgiving.  The young stock boy empties the cases of pumpkin on the shelves and hurries back to the safety of the ice cream section, knocking over  a butcher knife on his way out.  My fingers just barely reach the handle of the blade and I manage somehow to tear open the packaging.  ”Saved” I think as I raise it above my head and jab it aggressively into the belly of the beast.  Nothing.  I do it again and again, still being dragged towards it’s open jaws.  Still nothing.  I see my reflection in the steel and am aghast at the dark red complexion.  I can’t hold on much longer.  Just then a lighting bolt of an idea hits me.  ”That’s it” I think to myself.  My eyes search the shelves frantically.  I have seconds to live.  I spy a large metal baking sheet and will my fingers around the end of it.  I turn my body to face the hideous she-wolf slut beast and hold up the baking sheet.  The grip around my throat loosens and the tentacle falls to the floor.  It worked.  I quickly grab my basket and briefly glance back as the bimbo creature continues to admire its own reflection.  I’ve slayed the beast.

 

I check out as quickly as I can suffering just three stab wounds and a gun shot wound to the left shoulder.  I limp to the car and slowly crawl home, dousing my wounds with flour for clotting.  I survived Thanksgiving week shopping.  I can only imagine the aftermath.

Wednesday evening arrives and my wife begins to bake.  It was all worth it, I think.  She’ll make the desserts and we’ll be heroes at the party.   She finished preparing the lemon bars and moves on to the pumpkin spice cake.  ”Oh, poop” she says, “We don’t have enough eggs.  Well, I just won’t make the pumpkin spice cake.”  My body freezes as I watch her place my hard earned canned pumpkin in the pantry.  ”But…” I stop mid-sentence.  My knees buckles and I collapse on the floor in defeat.  HEB won again.

26 Weeks Pregnant

Here i am!!! we had an engagement party for Christina and Reed to go to, so i actually dressed up. yay 26!!! one more week left in the 2nd trimester

Birth Fair

A couple weeks ago i went to a birth fair, and got to be a MODEL in their maternity wear fashion show!!!! Ok so it’s not going to be my next big career move, but it was a nice change of pace anyway.

 

Here i am before the show…

 

The show was lots of fun. They had panel discussions, and TONS of booths from childcare, to lactation consultants, to doulas, to natural cures for diaper rash, you name it, it was there.

 

i did a bit of browsing before the show, got a TON of brochures and cards, and my mom and nick came to enjoy the show with me. 

 

I got to model 2 different outfits… a dress, and a sports outfit. 

 

sorry about the blurry quality :-p nick has a hard time operating the camera

 

 

so what do you think? awkwardness personified? or the next heidi klum?… alright, i’m not really looking for an answer to that.

25 weeks!

here’s my latest belly shot!

i know i’ve been negligent with my blogging, i promise to get on the ball soon. We are working on the nursery this weekend, and by “we” i mean, Nick, thanks to the paint fumes thanks honey!

soooo… i may have some time to post some updates after the …*drum roll*… QUILT FAIR!!! wooohoo!!! lots of fun scheduled for Saturday, oh man. get excited. (and yes, sometimes i like to pretend i am an old woman, who loves quilting, and crocheting, and all things crotchety and crafty)