...and so are the Days of Our Lives.

Kahlen and I snuggled watching a PVRed episode of Days of Our Lives tonight. The WHOLE episode. My kid, Miss damn-it-mom-put-me-down-I-have-more-important-things-to-do-than-cuddle-with-you, snuggled in beside me on our lumpy, well loved couch, and watched an entire episode of Days of Our Lives. I attribute this to two very important factors: 1) She LOVES Stephano (the evil villain for those that don't watch) who was a major part of today's episode and 2) she had just wrestled me for the remote control and won. She played couch commando, dominating the remote, increasing and decreasing the volume level with glee. She lazily stretched out using my robust thigh as her pillow and I sat nearly motionless, fearing that one wrong move or breath may bring our moment to a grinding hault. We watched an hour of TV. I avoided fast forwarding the commercials like I normally do, greedily enjoying every second with my girl. Admittedly, watching TV with your 14 month old is far from quality time, but I'll take it because these moments of prolonged physical contact are rare for Miss K and I. For a fleeting hour my toddler regressed, and I had my baby back.

Just one of those nights...

Im a crier. Im a big time crier. Just ask the people in my life. I cry, and Im not a fan of hugs (which often makes for awkward moments). I cry because 1) Im a softy, and 2) I often don't know how else to deal with something. I cried every day while K was in the NICU. Literally everyday. Tears of joy, sorrow, and fear. Often several cries a day. Now, I cry less often, but I cry. I cry when I think that my amazing little 25 weeker is going to be a year old in 10 days. I cry because I am so happy that she is sleeping quietly in the next room right now. I cry because we were told she would make it, twice. I cry remembering the times she was blue and unmoving. I cry remembering the first time I held her, the first time she wore clothes, the first time she smiled. I cry because I haven't finished processing it all yet, and Im at a loss how to deal with these heart wrenching memories. I weep bitterly, cursing everything and everyone at all once, about how unfair it was Kahlen came early, and then chastise myself for being so selfish. My daughter, my amazing little girl, is home... is healthy... is thriving! I am so lucky and have so much to be thankful for.... but I cry.

I am making a new blanket for Kahlen. I suppose if I am being honest I am making it for myself too. I am reverse nesting. My daughter is nearly one, and I have decided (sometimes against my better judgement) to start nesting. Odd, but so is life when your kid arrives 15 weeks early. I am on the floor with meters of fleece fabric. Warm, soft, inviting fleece. I am cutting, measuring, cutting again, and swearing. I laugh out loud at my pathetic attempt at domesticity (yet another one), and yet am excited for tomorrow morning when I show Miss K what I made her. I document the fiasco with pictures, hoping that Martha Stewart never stumbles across my blog, and Days of Our Lives plays in the background.

Then, she whimpers. My sleepy little girl whines. Quickly the whine develops and evolves into a cry, and then a wail. I leap up, 'mom to the rescue', and open the door to find her standing in her crib begging "mom mom mom". She desperately reaches for me, and I lift her and embrace her. She inhales deeply, still begging "mom mom mom" and then she lets out a long, sighing, peaceful, breath and melts into my arms. She snuggles her nose into the nook of my neck, and releases the tension of her body, trusting me to support each and every part of her growing body. She breaths deeply, and slowly, and I hum some random unplanned melody. We snuggle in the dark. Me, sitting on the most uncomfortable kitchen chair in the world, unsuccessfully masquerading as a nursery chair; and Kahlen, sleeping peacfully in my loving embrace. I cry. Its okay though, Im already getting a hug from Miss K... and for a change, its not an awkward one.

Muffin Tops

Before I dive into the 'meat' of my latest culinary fiasco, I should make it clear I am speaking literally about muffin tops and NOT the fat parts of my waist that bulge over the top of my pants creating a 'well baked' effect, and causing me to lament about not working out enough.

So, my latest culinary delight...more accurately, fiasco. I was having 'the girls' over for an evening of Big Love, Movies, and chit chat. In keeping with Steve and my agreement (which is to use all the food in our pantry before buying anymore 'pantry food'), I decided to bake some muffins for my guest and use up some of the pantry goods. Kill 2 birds with 1 stone, so-to-speak. So I dug up the old family recipe for oatmeal toffee muffins from the dusty vault in my memory (I feel obligated to emphasize it was VERY dusty, so you judge me a little less as your read, and feel more pity than disgust at this posts conclusion) and pulled out the necessary supplies. A bag of Skor toffee baking bits and a bag of oatmeal muffin mix. Okay, its not really an old family recipe, but the ingredients were in the pantry (in keeping with the deal) and made for a good indulgence for my story. Play along! Where was I? Oh yes... I pulled out the ingredients, mixed them together, poured the batter into the mini muffin pan (I make minis cause they are so darn cute) and then had an unfortunate realization. I forgot to grease the muffin pan. "SHIT!" I exclaimed. I really did. Out loud. Kahlen gave me a disapproving look, then went back to chewing on her stuffed hippo. "Darn it!" I corrected. Being the lazy baker I am, rather than removing the batter, cleaning the muffin pan, greasing it, and repouring the batter I say "Meh, Im sure it'll be fine" to myself. It is NOT fine. I cant get the muffins out of the pan. No, that is a lie. I CAN get them out, but when Im done with them they no longer resemble muffins. They look more like a pile of discarded muffin crumbs. Which I suppose is essentially what they become, so its fitting. I try in vain to scoop a few out, to salvage just a few, to serve my guests. No dice. Each attempt produces a more pathetic excuse for a muffin than the last. So I give up, put a tea towel on top of the muffin pan (to hide the evidence from my guests) and forgot about the fiasco until my guests left.

Then I engaged in full blown shame spiral... I ate the tops off the muffins. Out of the pan. In my undies (okay I made that part up but it makes for a better story). They were DE-LISH!

And, once I was sufficiently stuffed with muffin tops I left the muffin pan on the coffee table, waddled to bed and had a great sleep. The next day, I looked at the pan. "Shameful," I muttered to myself. I moved the pan from the living room, to the kitchen, and unceremoniously dumped it, face down, in the sink and forgot about it. I finally decided to deal with the pan tonight. The muffins were not only baked on/in, but were now stale and even more stuck on (which I didn't think was even possible) cause the toffee bits melted and then hardened after spending some time in the sink! So I grabbed a spoon, turned on Days of Our Lives (Beau and Hope, just get back together already!), and proceeded to scoop the crusted, stale, remnant muffin bottoms from the pan. Glamourous!

I suppose the point of this post is to... uhhhh.... no point really. Anyone have any ideas about the moral of this story? Suggestions welcome. Be kind though. I may be a terrible baker, but I have feelings. Ha!

Talking Girl

Well Im a goof! I wanted to post a few videos of my talking girl, but I couldn't figure out how to upload them on here (which is even more embarrassing since I've uploaded videos before...Oops!) So I decided to post a few links so that you can take a peek if you are interested.

Kahlen Talking to Her Mobile

Miss K watching Days of Our Lives

ENJOY!