All I ever want is to be loved (and a man who'll serve me).

But, alas ...  I have this. (sigh)

I texted Beau Saturday morning from upstairs while I was lying in bed.
(He's the early riser and was downstairs doing absolutely nothing, so what's the harm in asking a favor?)

Here's the text and question:

Look closer at the response he sent to me.

He's a little overdramatic.

I made my own coffee. And, got my paper.

Afterwards, he told me he had every intention of completing my request.

Oh well ... next time.

Death by Zester

Definitely not the way I want to go.

But this little baby (or one like it) nearly killed me.

Imagine what a horrible death that would be.

I began my zesting late Wednesday night in preparation for my second Thanksgiving dessert I was preparing, Citrus Cheesecake.

The recipe called for me to zest four large oranges, not like you would typically zest, but starting from top to bottom, creating longer curls of orange zest that would be turned into candied orange peels (which ended up being quite delicious).

First of all, zesting in itself is not that easy. And, then to make your zesting pieces long and beautiful ... even more difficult. But, I was up to the challenge.

Halfway into my first orange, I could tell I was going to hate this process. Keeping the zester steady and putting enough pressure on the zester to create the long pieces across a round surface from top to bottom was awkward and laborious. Me not likey.

But, I pushed through.

Until, the zesting part of the zester, in mid-zest, detached from the handle and flew across the room, causing my hand to bump the bowl which held the already zested orange peel. The bowl tumbled to the ground. A good amount of orange zest was lost.

But, I would not give in.

The zester would work. I tried to hold the zesting part in place, while zesting. No dice.

I had the brilliant idea of taping the zesting part to the handle with duct tape. Again, no dice.

So, I would proceed to zest the rest (I like that ... "zest the rest.") with only the 1 1/2"-head piece.

Do you know how hard it is to zest long, curly pieces like that? That takes skillz (spelled with a "z" instead of an "s" to belabor my point of how difficult this was).

I bled, people.

Slicing my wrist and scratching up my hands. I bled in two places.

I think that qualifies me as a good cook.

A great cook.

The final product (complete with maybe a few pieces of skin zest).

Citrus Cheesecake

And, happy people.

You want the recipe, don't you?

Make sure your zester is up to par.

Citrus Cheesecake

• 4  navel oranges
• 3/4  cup  sugar
• 3/4  cup  water
• 1/4  cup  sugar
• 2  cups  graham cracker crumbs
• 1/2  cup  butter, melted
• 1/3  cup  sugar
• 1/2  teaspoon  ground ginger
• 3  (8-oz.) packages cream cheese, softened
• 1 1/4  cups  sugar
• 1  (8-oz.) container sour cream
• 4  large eggs
• 1  tablespoon  grated lemon rind
• 2  teaspoons  vanilla extract
• 1  teaspoon  orange extract
• 1  large pomegranate, seeds removed

Using a zester and working from top of orange to bottom, remove peel from oranges in long strips. Combine 3/4 cup sugar and 3/4 cup water in a small saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Bring to a boil; reduce heat, and simmer 2 minutes. Add orange peel; simmer 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, peel and section zested oranges. Seal orange sections in a zip-top plastic bag, and refrigerate until ready to garnish cheesecake.

Drain orange peel well. Toss with 1/4 cup sugar in a small bowl. Place candied peel in a thin layer on wax paper to dry. Store in an airtight container up to 2 days.

Combine graham cracker crumbs and next 3 ingredients; stir well. Press mixture firmly on bottom and 2" up sides of a lightly greased 9" springform pan.

Bake at 350° for 14 to 16 minutes; let cool. Wrap bottom and sides of pan in aluminum foil and place in a large roasting pan; set aside. (Wrapping the pan is insurance against leaks in case your pan is older and not 100% airtight.)

Beat cream cheese at medium-high speed with an electric mixer until creamy. Gradually add 1 1/4 cups sugar, beating just until blended. Add sour cream, beating just until blended. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in lemon rind and extracts.

Pour batter into baked crust. Add hot water to roasting pan to a depth of 2". Bake at 350° for 55 minutes or until edges are set and center is almost set. Carefully remove pan from water bath, and immediately run a knife around edge of pan. Cool completely on a wire rack; cover and chill 8 hours.

To serve cheesecake, remove sides of springform pan. Place cheesecake on a serving platter. Arrange orange sections in concentric circles on top of cake. Pile pomegranate seeds in center of cheesecake. Decorate with candied orange peel.

I just don't like uneven numbers.

And, that's the reason why I had to eat the seventh egg nog crème brûlée I made last night.

Not enough space in my pan to make eight and with only six people here for Thanksgiving lunch, it would just be awkward when deciding who would eat the seventh. So, I made it easy. Yes, Beau ate half. I am watching my figure, you know.

The crispy brown sugar topping is divine and this picture doesn't do it justice.

Here's the recipe.

Egg Nog Crème brûlée

3 c. heavy cream

5 egg yolks

2 eggs

1/2 c. white sugar

2 T. dark rum

1 T. brandy

1 tsp. vanilla

1/2 tsp. nutmeg

Hot water

1/2 c. firmly packed brown sugar, divided

Heat oven to 325 degrees. Place 8 (unless you only have room for 7 like me) 6-oz. ramekins or custard cups in a 15X10X1" baking pan. Heat cream in a medium saucepan just to a simmer. Remove from heat. 

In a medium bowl, combine egg yolks and eggs; beat well. Stir in white sugar until combined. With wire whisk, stir in hot cream until well-blended. Stir in rum, brandy, vanilla, and nutmeg. Pour mixture into ramekins. Place pan in oven; pour hot water into pan until it's 1/2-3/4" up the sides of the ramekins. Bake for 30-35 minutes until the centers are just set. Carefully remove from oven. Place cups on wire racks to cool. Cool 30 minutes. Refrigerate 3 hours or overnight. Before serving, place ramekins back in the baking pan. Top each with 1 T. brown sugar. Broil 4-6 inches from the heat for 1-2 minutes or until sugar is melted. Watch closely. Store in refrigerator.

Totally delicious!

Not only am I thankful for the ability to sit on my couch at 10:00 at night and share crème brûlée with my sweetheart, but so thankful for my precious girls and the life that we all have together. 

Most of all, I am thankful for the unconditional love and grace that I have through Jesus Christ.

We are very blessed. God forbid I become complacent and take all this I have for granted.

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Enjoy your families!

The Double Standard in Action ... Twice!

You all know how much I love Beau. He's the peanut butter to my jelly, the spring in my step. Gosh, I love that guy. Now that you know that, let's get down to business.

We headed out to spend the day in New Orleans yesterday. Both the girls had actually never been there even though we live only a couple of hours away. We never really had the desire to take them, especially when they were younger. Then, Katrina happened. 

Now, as they get older, I feel more comfortable taking them. Still not sure I would want to walk the streets with them at night.

But, I'm getting off-track here ... 

We headed out early, after stopping for gas and picking up some much-required Starbuck's.

I had a headache. Woke up with the headache, but left without taking anything for it.

I mentioned that to Beau.

Let me explain a little something about traveling anywhere with Beau. He does not like to stop for anything. He's the Hitler of not-stopping, forcing you to go to the bathroom, and threatening you within an inch of your life if you do ask to go.

When I mentioned I had a headache, his first words to me were, "We're not stopping."

So, basically ... deal with it, which I was fine with. I figured the coffee would do the trick.

A couple of miles from the interstate, Beau has a tiny incident with his eggnog latte. And, by "tiny incident," I mean he haphazardly spilled it on his shirt ... the white part of his shirt, creating the sloppiest, ugliest-looking stain ever. I giggled. OK, I laughed hysterically and then told him at least he wasn't the one who had to walk around with the guy with a huge coffee stain in the middle of his shirt all day long.

Do you know what he had the nerve to do?

Stop.

He stopped at the nearest gas station to try to get the stain out in the bathroom.

I, of course, was dumbfounded that he would stop for a coffee stain on his shirt, but not for my pounding head. I shared this thought with him and explained that he is the king of the double standard. Always.

He agreed.

The stain did not come out. He was determined to buy a shirt when we got to New Orleans. This was a pretty bad stain. No joke. 

Halfway to Baton Rouge, I found a Shout wipe in the glove compartment. Thank God!

We were now on our way.

First stop: Cafe' du Monde for beignets & more coffee

(Not sure why I'm pastey white. La Petite Belle, the lover of all doughnuts, doesn't like beignets. Where's the logic in that?)

Double standard #2 happened at Cafe' du Monde, where Beau dropped his iPhone 4 on the nasty, wet New Orleans concrete. There was no reaction. It was cool.

However, when I seem to drop my phone, I seem to hear a sigh and get the glare of death.

I, again, called it to his attention.

He agreed again.

Um ... does anyone else see a problem here?

Yeah, I thought so.

But, despite his double standardness, He's still the love of my life. His double standards actually make me laugh because of how blatant and ridiculous they are. And, the fact that he recognizes them is endearing.

The rest of the day ...

 We went to the Aquarium and the Insectarium.

Yes, everyone but me ate the chocolate-covered crickets.

So, La Petite Belle wouldn't eat beignets, but ate crickets? Weird.

Um ... just delightful and a great way to end the day.

Now back to ripping up linoleum adhesive (which is of the devil), baking my Thanksgiving desserts, and getting out all the Christmas decorations ... Yay!

Don't be jealous.

I'm on vacation this week.

What a great time to peel up the kitchen floor, right?

Seemed easy enough. Just peel it up and it would be ready for tile once we find something we like.

Original floor from when we moved in a little over 5 years ago.

Linoleum under the original floor, with complimentary mildew.

Linoleum under the linoleum under the original floor, with additional complimentary mildew.

Another new discovery ... giant hole in the concrete, filled with sand over some electrical conduit (I don't even know what that is, but there's a whole in the concrete.).

A whole section of the wall that just peeled off due to massive water damage from one of the many hurricanes or rain storms we had. Finally time to rebuild this baby.

As you can see, we will be busy this vacation working in the kitchen. 

Our only comfort will be a nightly bowl of this.

Beau mixes his with a couple of scoops of this.

I eat mine alone and eat very small bites to make the serving last longer so that I won't want more once that last little melted spoonful is gone. That's a sad moment.

Updates on the project to come.

Now, let me think about my Thanksgiving menu. Recipes also to come.

The Day I Quit

(Image courtesy of Anne Taintor)

I am not a quitter.

I don't even allow my kids to quit anything. It's just not acceptable.

Always finish.

But, day before yesterday, I quit.

"Quit what?" You ask.

Motherhood.

I had had enough.

There was an incident or two, which I won't get into, involving my children that simply pushed me over the edge. The incidents weren't even major. They didn't kill anyone or take drugs. It was just a matter of simple obedience and respect.

There are days I think my kids have learned nothing I've taught them over the years. Nothing.

It's like there are strangers living in my house, eating my food, and acting like my children. 

When I was a young mom and older moms told me that it only got harder as they got older, I didn't believe them. How could anything be harder than dirty diapers, late-night feedings, and potty-training?

Let me tell you. It's harder.

It's enough to make me go batty sometimes. And by "batty," I mean totally lose it.

I finally did that night.

I told my children that I had had enough. I quit. And, I was leaving.

Beau wasn't home at the time. Had he been home, this all could have played out a little differently. Dual-parenting is a lot easier than single-parenting. Single moms deserve a medal and more.

There were tears. And, not just from my kids.

I called Beau and inquired about his whereabouts and how soon he would be home. He was on his way. I expressed my need to leave the house for a few hours. Where I was going to go I didn't even know.

Of course, I couldn't leave my kids alone. So, I waited on Beau. I got calmer as I waited and the need for retreat wasn't as severe. Plus, my kids still hadn't eaten dinner. I still had to work that out. So, leaving became simply ridiculous.

Heart-to-heart talks happened. More tears shed. 

It's only with God's help that I can make it as a mom. Not only "make it," but be the mom my kids need ... to inspire, to encourage, to speak truth, to love, praying daily for my kids. That's not to say I won't make mistakes. All moms do. It's what happens after the mistakes that matter.

I found out afterwards that K Belle had told La Petite Belle not to worry ... that, of course, Mama was not going to leave.

Glad they take me seriously.

I may need medication.

Or at least a nap.

Practice Interrupted

La Petite Belle can be quite a distraction.

(This video took approximately 12 hours to upload. Seriously, Blogger, you need to get it together.)

K Belle will have this Bach piece down within the next couple of weeks for her recital.

Her piano playing has improved dramatically this year.

Her problem seems to be skipping practicing her Bach piece for working out chords for Paramore songs. Or any other song she may hear on the radio that she thinks is cool.

Ah ... discipline. You are our biggest enemy and our greatest friend.

Sleep pretty much trumps most things in life.

I have a slight sleep obsession. I love it. Ask my husband.

I am usually the last one up on Saturday mornings. And, Sunday naps are a must and have been since I was a teenager. Ask my mom.

I DO NOT like to be woken up before my designated time.

I also need a little extra time to actually get out of the bed, while Beau pops up the minute the alarm rings. Weird. I need a good 10-15 minutes to wake up ... slowly and gently, not abruptly. This is probably part of the reason for my failed attempts at early-morning workouts. Not happening. By the time I actually get my behind out of the bed, get dressed, get my running shoes on, and my iPod set, it's too late to run or do anything because it's time to wake up the girls, pack lunches, and be that continual fire under their booty to get a move on. Hmmm ... apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess.

Imagine my disdain every time I am woken up by being practically scared to death due to the fact that  someone's face and breath suddenly appears one inch from my face.

Any mom knows what I'm talking about.

It's true. Every kid does it at some point.

La Petite Belle has been doing it a lot lately due to her fear issue we're still dealing with. She'll get through it. I just hope it's sooner than later.

Her fear is starting to wear on me. It's gettin' old.

She has good and bad weeks. It all depends on what she's seen or heard that week.

For example, she saw the preview for "Paranormal Activity 2," which I haven't even seen, but, somehow, she did. And, now, here we go ... fear ... totally scared at night ... not wanting to sleep in her own bed. This usually lasts a few days before she gets over it.

The last two nights she's asked me or Beau or K Belle to sleep with her. We all say no.

We pray with her and Beau (aka Mr. Sympathy) tells her she needs to face her fear and get over it.

When that girl comes in my room at midnight to tell me she's scared and wakes me up, I am not a nice mama. Most of the time, I just tell her to go back to bed and not worry about it. I quote a Scripture (half-asleep ... that's pretty good) and tell her to pray, but I know she'll be back in ten minutes and make me even grouchier. And, most times, we do go through this three to four times before she gets the picture. (or sneaks into her sister's bed)

Then, there are those times when I don't have the energy to argue and tell her she can just sleep on the floor. And, she does. The authors of "Babywise" and "Growing Kids God's Way" would wag their finger in my face and look at me with disappointment.

I'm sure the good motherly thing to do is walk her back to her bed, tuck her back in, rub her hair, and sing her sweet lullabies until she falls asleep. 

If she were six or below, it would be a different story. She's 10.

I wonder if this is a typical response from moms, or am I just one of the horrible ones?

I think her allergies may be acting up. She may need some Benadryl tonight.

Not really. Relax.

Oh Happy Day!

Yesterday, I made Pioneer Woman's Baked Fudge to accompany my first week back on "The Shred."

Oh. My. Word.

Alone, it was good. But, add homemade whipped cream (exactly 2 1/2 scoops), you get divine. (Then, add the same whipped cream to your coffee ... fantastic!)

"The Shred," Day 4 = Failure ... Back to the drawing board. Day 4 will be happening on Day 5. (or maybe 6)

Try the recipe. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Here are a few of my other discoveries this week that made me smile:

Veggie Straws ... I know, kind of sounded unappealing to me too. But, totally addictive. One giant bag almost gone in a matter of 4 days. Think of healthy non-spicy Hot Fries and you've got Veggie Straws.

Getting these babies ... Aerosole brown boots (only the most comfortable boots you've every put on) at an undisclosed discount store (Don't want you to get them and then we'd have matching boots all over town.) for 21.99, instead of 52.99. This was definitely the favor of God.

Meeting my insurance deductible ... Woo hoo! Then, I realized there's nothing medical needed, which is actually a blessing. However, I'm searching for something I can get done ASAP and hoping massage or facials can be considered a medical necessity. Probably not.

Hearing Stephen Colbert suggest that America should turn the Statue of Liberty into a statue of Jesus to compete with Poland's new giant Jesus statue. Um ... slightly hilarious.

Orleans Candles ... Mmmm! Smell wonderful! I was hesitant to try any fragrance that calls itself French Quarter (don't particularly want my house smellin' like that), so I indulged in Orleans #9, the signature fragrance. Goodness!

And, lastly, the fact that this popped up when I was looking for an image for Orleans candles. Brilliant album cover, dudes. What were you thinking?

Now, if I could just discover a way to clean my house while sitting on the couch, that would top it all off.

God knew.

Even before God created the earth, He knew He would form man and woman.

He knew that these creations would, one day, betray Him.

Despite the fact that He knew this, He still created us with the ability to choose ... free will.

It's hard for me to wrap my mind around that because, if I'm God, which I am far from, I would have just decided against the whole thing.

But, I started thinking ... why would anyone want to force someone to love them?

I want to be chosen to love.

God wants us to choose Him. He doesn't want to force us to love Him. What joy is in that?

In thinking about my own kids, I want them to want to love me, want to spend time with me, obey me, worship me ... ok, maybe not that, but you get my drift.

I would never want them to be forced to love me, but to choose to love me on their own.

Same with God.

He knew and yet He still created, still loved, still sought, still waits.

He amazes me.

I cannot be this old.

Imagine my surprise when this came back a couple of weeks ago.

Who is this woman? She's only 13, people. But, looks 23. What in the world?

This is her "Annie" head shot. Pretty.

Ditto for La Petite Belle's class pic. We call her our little Mexican child. You can see why. Yet, not one lick of Mexican blood runs through her or our veins. The French and Indian parts in her have definitely overpowered any traces of Irish or German.

Le Petite Belle's "Annie" head shot. Pretty, again.

I'm in denial over the fact that my children are not three anymore. I stopped counting after that. They will remain three in my mind forever. Three-years-old ... what a great year!

There are times I'm not moved.

The words to the Lifehouse song, "Everything," really get to me: 

"How can I stand here with You and not be moved by You?"

Moved.

In the song, I'm sure the definition of the word "moved" has to do with stirring someone up to strong emotion or being filled with emotion.

Is that really what God wants from us?

Or does He truly want us to be moved in another way?

I think God appreciates sentiment and emotion, however, I think He would rather us be "moved" to change.

Move: To change or cause to change from one's state, opinion, sphere, or activity to another

I think God wants us to literally be moved from the state we're in on a continuous basis.

Because, honestly, there are times I am not moved.

Calloused. Stale. Cold.

Uck ... who wants to be that?

There are those times that we will have no emotion.

I don't want to be that one that is not moved by Him. But, is He concerned so much with my emotion or my change?

I show my love for Him by my change, not by my emotion.

"And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. As you have heard from the beginning, his command is that you walk in love." 2 John 1:6

Of course I want to know the results of the election.

Geez Louise.

How 'bout all that coverage last night?

Predictions. Projections. 

Enough.

I mean, I want to know who won, but could you just tell me when it's over and not when 30% of the people's votes have been counted?

Seriously. Just tell me when it's over.

Beau is the direct opposite of me. He's quite a news junkie.

He was enthralled all night and flipped back and forth, back and forth ... FOX, then ABC, then FOX, then CBS, then FOX, then NBC, then FOX, then Comedy Central, then FOX.

I fell asleep on the couch and awoke only due to my "pre-sleep kick" (as Beau calls it).

Is something wrong with me? I just don't really care about hearing reporters and analysts and correspondents talk about the election results and what they mean. 

I just want the results. Plain and simple.

Don't cancel my regular programming. Just put who won on a ticker at the bottom of the screen and I'm good. 

I can make my own predictions about what the Republicans gaining the House will be. Come on. We do have common sense.

And, the other thing that irritated me ... the analysts explaining statistics, like how most college-educated women vote Democrat, while blue-collar "waitress-types" vote Republican. Also, I didn't understand that a discussion was even being made about how women do not automatically vote for women when they're running for office ... well, no duh. That's really the way people think women think? ... "Oh, there's a woman running. I'll vote for her despite the fact that I don't agree with anything she stands for." Duh, again.

Oh man, just glad it's over. One of the ads down here made me want to punch the candidate in the face because of his attack of personal issues of another candidate. Candidates just need to stick to politics. What can you do for our state or city? That's what we want to know. I don't want you pulling up everyone's dirty laundry. Just the facts, people. 

Just the facts.

The weekend was wicked cool!

Ok, that was a horrible title, but just go with it. I was going for the whole reference-to-Halloween- without-sounding-like-we-actually-celebrate-it feel, which reminds me of this post I read yesterday about Christian bloggers posting about Halloween ... totally cracked me up.

The most cool part about this weekend was the fact that K Belle got to help lead worship Friday night at our church's youth fellowship group.

So. Cool.

She, of course, being a typical thirteen-year-old didn't and doesn't ever want her daddy or me to hear her play piano, much less sing. I'm hoping she gets over this soon by realizing that we are her number one fans.

This was part of a text Beau sent out as the band was rehearsing. That's K Belle on keys and lead vocal. (Yes, Beau says her real name because in real life we don't refer to each other as our fake blogging names. I know ... shocking.)

Again, so proud. So cool.

Also, this weekend the girls dressed up for our church's annual Jamboree.

May I present Alice in Wonderland (or as La Petite Belle used to call her, Allyson Wonderland), The Mad Hatter, and The White Rabbit.

They got loaded down with a ton of candy that I am frantically attempting to get out of the house by eating. Seriously, this candy has got to go. It's way too much of a temptation for all of us in this house. 

The Belles + Beau + Candy = Happiness + Guilt + Weight Gain

We spent the rest of the Halloween evening hiding from trick-or-treaters by sitting quietly in the dark, gorging on candy. Good times.

La Petite Belle asked us this for the first time the night before Halloween: "Can we do something we've never done before?"

Beau and Me: "What?"

La Petite Belle: "Go trick-or-treating. Because most Christians trick-or-treat." (Uh ... huh?)

We then explained why we don't, especially the fact that she might see something that would scare her and we want to protect her from that.

(After our explanation) La Petite Belle: "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Do you know this same child had a nightmare that very night and had a horrible time trying to go back to sleep? Geez.

What do you think about Halloween celebrations, whether they're called "Halloween" or "Fall Festivals?" And, where do you draw the lines? Or is it not a big deal to you?

This should be interesting.