What Can We Eat Today?

Clara had the whole pacifier thing sorted out from the get-go.  Why suck on a piece of plastic when you have these alternatives (in this order, of course):

1.  Your mother (times two)

2.  Your own thumb

3.  Everything in sight

I mean, really, who needs a pacifier?

This little lady cracks me up.

New Beginnings

We have officially opened a new chapter in our book of life. Our newlywed apartment has been emptied out, cleaned up, and the utilities have been shut off.

During the final walk through, the landlord suggested that we scrub the stove and tub a little bit harder, in order to get more of our security deposit back. On Saturday, I headed over to our Tempe digs with bottles of newly-purchased Scrubbing Bubbles and Lime Away.

It was over 100 degrees outside and there was no electricity inside the little apartment. Being 38.5 weeks pregnant, scrubbing bathtubs with abnormally short arms and legs, and an abnormally large stomach, in a small sauna, was a pain.

Holy perspiration!

All that’s left to do now is turn in the keys and say one last farewell… to Dunkin Donuts, that is. We really didn’t take advantage of having a DD within two minutes of our apartment.

I will really miss those strawberry frosted donuts.

More than that, though, I will miss the Tempe Ward, especially the Young Women girls and leaders.

At our new ward yesterday, I was feeling rather lonely in Relief Society.  An older women was talking with me when a lady that I'd met at our pool sat down behind us.  I thought she might move up to chat with me, after the woman left. 

Opening exercises began and suddenly, the Young Women were dismissed from the room.  The neighbor lady went with them and I couldn't help feeling a little pang in my heart.

The only person I knew was going to the only place that I wanted to be.

Musings of a Beached Whale

Over the past 24 hours, I have experienced many of the joys of pregnancy.

1. Wicked calf cramp at approximately 6:00 am.

2. Wanting to drink a gallon of water while peeing a gallon of water.

3. Doing housework for one hour = sore back and feet, profuse sweating, extreme thirst, an attempt to wash dishes while sitting on a birth ball, and too many mini Twix bars.

4. Praying every night that I will be more grateful for the blessings in my life and nicer to my husband. In other words, praying that I will be less of a grouch.

5. The inability to use my ab muscles to lift myself out of bed and resorting to a strange flip/flop/bounce, while Husband stands at the side of the bed and laughs.

6. Did I mention peeing A LOT?

On top of the above madness, I ate five cheeseburgers in one week and I don’t even like cheeseburgers! Okay, well I like Lenny’s cheeseburgers. I think it’s all in the bun; the cheaper, the better.

So, here’s some Lenny’s.

The Lenny’s in Phoenix is more expensive than the one in Mesa, so that stinks, because $1.49 suddenly becomes way too much for an ice cream cone.

And here I am at 31 weeks and 33 weeks.

I can't believe there's a baby in there!

Wanna Know Why? Cause I'm Little

It takes a lot to offend or anger me. I think it’s because I am a lazy bum. I would rather eat some ice cream or something. The only exception is when an authority figure yells at me. Like the time a Wal-Mart employee asked me (age 12) to stop causing a ruckus - instant tears. Or that time that an old grandpa yelled at me (age 16) for cutting in line while my high school boyfriend (jerk) pretended like he didn’t know me – instant tears.

This is a story about an offensive pregnancy comment. I didn’t cry, so I guess Rudeness McGee is on or below my level of awesomeness – nowhere near as intimidating as a Wal-Mart employee.

As I am starved for attention, I love when people comment on my pregnancy, because I love being pregnant and I love my baby friend! Whether they say my belly is big or little, I look beautiful or have a lot of acne, I feel proud to be a fertile woman.

I have gotten a few comments on my small stature throughout pregnancy, but one woman had to take it to a whole other level.

“You’re so tiny!”

“Yep.” (Instinctive touch of the belly and a big smile)

“I was going to ask if your doctor was worried about you!”

UMMM.

WHAT!?

Do I look like I am starving my baby? Am I subjecting my child to an eating disorder? Is Blue Bell ice cream not fattening enough?! I already knew it wasn’t nutritious enough! This is too much!

Seriously, what can you say to that, besides the nervous laugh?

This is for you, mean lady. I hope Dunkin’ Donuts can make me fat enough to deliver a healthy baby.

If my dang husband doesn't eat all of the dang donuts first.

Food on Wheels

There is actually something cool happening in Phoenix and it happens every Friday!

What a glorious (and tasty) surprise!

Around 11 am, in the parking lot of the Public Market, the food trucks assemble. Without warning, the trucks circle a group of picnic tables and someone hits the misters and fans. Ice cream is on one side - gourmet hot dogs are on the other. It's a food truck feast!

Anson’s favorite is the Cajun truck, complete with catfish sandwich.

My favorite is the crème brulee truck, because really, there has never been a more perfect dessert, especially when it’s served up for cheap, through the window of a food truck.

I Am a Small Clown

This weekend, I was the bearer of bad moods.

(I hope that I used the right bear/bare.)

(If not, I don't care.)

It all started on Friday morning, when Husband and I got into a dumb fight on the way to work. Sometimes an argument can really ruin the whole day, you know? I topped that by descending 27 flights of stairs, for which my calves have still not forgiven me. I, in turn, have not forgiven whoever reported a false fire in my skyscraper.

At least I have now exercised enough for the rest of my pregnancy.

(Success feels great, doesn’t it?)

Basically, the rest of the day was terrible, except for when I died and went to Chicken Madeira Heaven. (Thanks, mom!) She is a girl after my own heart, that one. (In actuality, I am a girl after her heart, since she is the one who birthed and raised me.)

But, forget about that short, curly headed ray of sunshine.

This is a pity party.

On Saturday, I woke up early and it was beautiful outside! However, my insides were FOUL. I was a mean, little lady. Husband tried to help and he did, a little bit. (I am a sucker for massages.)

Then, Husband made me late for a baby shower, then I forgot to buy a gift bag, then I forgot to buy a card, my high heels were squeaking, my calves were screaming obscenities, I lost the gift receipt, I accidentally squeezed the new loaf of bread, I started crying in the car, I screamed bloody murder because it felt good, I worried that I may have caused psychological trauma to my unborn child, then I got lost on the way to the shower, then I had to interrupt the baby shower recipient for directions, then I cried some more, my make-up got messed up, then I realized that I was parked outside of the correct house all along, then I cried a bit more, then I felt like a fat hormonal pregnant woman, then I accidentally matched the baby shower theme (Sailor party), and then I ate two servings (of each) of strawberry spinach salad, cake pops, handfuls of Swedish Fish, and strawberries with dip.

In all honesty, though, I felt a lot better after pigging out.

The crazed lunatic phase naturally followed.

My SIL asked me to pick up some balloons for a birthday/baptism party. I arrived at Party City, grabbed the balloons, and headed out into a (surprise!) windstorm. As I made my way across the parking lot, I wondered which was more likely: Me flying away while holding the balloons or the balloons slipping out of my hands, while I stood there like an idiot.

Thank goodness I was a pregnant midget and not just a normal midget!

Well I stuffed thsoe 30+ balloons into the back of my Mazda 3 during a windstorm, with only my abnormally short legs and arms. 

Only two people laughed at me, only one balloon popped, it only took ten minutes to accomplish, and I didn’t get into a wreck while driving my clown car.

All the while, I laughed hysterically, like the crazed, pregnant lunatic that I was.

Then, I ate a lot more food and sweets, and collapsed into a sugar coma.

(I feel a lot better now.)

Three Cheers for Fudge Stripes

Have you ever been married to a chap who wants to lose some weight and “get healthy?” Have you ever told your hunky mate that he should eat a sandwich for lunch or have some scrambled eggs for breakfast? Has said man candy ever insisted on eating fruit snacks and chips instead, because they have fewer calories? Does this make any sense to you, as a person with basic nutritional knowledge?

Well, if I said it once, I’ll say it again: That is straight crazy! (Referring to the manly man, of course.)

Here is a new series of mind-bending questions for you:

Have you ever hated vegetables, in all of their rainbow colors of disgustingness? (Except green beans and dark green varieties of lettuce?) (Especially corn and carrots.) Let me rephrase that question: Have you ever hated all vegetables that were not green like unto the green on trees not native to Arizona? Have you ever done a 10-minute workout video for pregnant women and not taken a break, for the first time? Has your very unhealthy lover forced you to eat salad afterwards, instead of cookies baked by magical elves from Keebler?

Have you ever been like, why is this really nutritionally deficient person telling me how to nourish a baby in-utero? Have you hated that the violator of all things healthy was actually correct in their suggestion, so you ate some salad, even though you didn’t want to? Did your ironic nutritionist watch you eat your leafy greens while munching on the above cookies?

Well, that happened to me.

All of it.

This is completely unrelated:

I saw Atlas Shrugged on Friday and it was amazing!!  Cult films are always fun and this one made me feel a lot more sophisticated than Twilight (even though I love me some werewolves without shirts) and a lot cleaner (physically and morally) than The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Oh, and let's not forget the most epic Mormon movie of all time:  Napoleon Dynamite.

These movies are straight brilliant!

Seriously, though, Atlas Shrugged is my favorite book, so I was really happy that the movie producers didn't completely butcher Ayn Rand's message.

Examen Para Mis Estudiantes

What would you think if you took all four of these pictures in one day?

 

A. If I don’t stop eating office cupcakes, when will I be unable to fit through the small space leading to the next cubicle?

B. If my fetus is to grow healthy and strong, should I be eating numerous cupcakes and ice cream treats?

C. Do I look fat or pregnant?

D. If I have gained one pound a week (which is the average, dang it) in the last five weeks, will cupcakes keep me on track or bump me up to two pounds/week category?

E. Is this cupcake the reason that I had to take a break during my 10-minute video workout, where the instructor is a 36-week pregnant woman?

F. Would taking wheatgrass (per midwife’s instructions) help offset my cupcake compulsion?

G. Should I spend more time looking at my feet?

H.  Is there a correlation between cupcake consumption and cankles?

What do you think?

Same Outfit All Weekend

For the sake of my marriage, I will not tell you about the latest bathroom riot between myself and “The Pooper.” It is filled with too many olfactory details, bodily functions, innocent wives trying to wash their faces, and husbands who demand that their families bow down and worship bowel movements.

Besides the minor bathroom blip on our Richter Scale of Happiness, the weekend was absolutely fantastic, especially the rain.

On Friday, I was distracted by a huge fire that I watched from my skyscraper, then I devoured some veggie rolls and panang curry with Husband, and then we attended the (free) ASU Symphony! It was my very first symphony and the music was stellar, except that Mercury’s song was not the coolest, which it should have been, since he is my favorite Greek god. Also, I swear that the first chair (I think that’s the technical term?) almost poked his neighbor in the eye with his violin bow (another technical term?) like 14 times. It was slightly distracting for someone as uncultured as myself. 

Saturday was busy for me. I woke up, cleaned, didn’t kick Husband out of the bathroom for showing up on the toilet while I was washing my face, had an eye appointment at Costco, dropped stuff off at Goodwill, visited family, and hung out with a chubby baby for the rest of the night.

I would like to add that:

Costco is the best place for an eye exam because it is affordable, efficient, quick, you don’t have to wait in a dumb waiting room or be shuffled around, you can buy your contacts at the same time, and then you can wander around eating free samples! If I could own an optometrist/warehouse/$1.50 polish sausage joint, it would definitely be Costco. Also, I got 3rd place out of 4 while playing Scrabble, which is pretty much my record and pretty much why I hate Scrabble.

On Sunday, I did a lot of church stuff, some family stuff, and some laying around stuff. More importantly, I found my church twin. She was wearing the same exact outfit as me, which is a huge compliment, especially since she is about 60 years my senior. Also ironic is the fact that she was up on the stand directly in front of me, so I spent all of Sacrament Meeting looking into my future. Talk about spiritual enlightenment!

Juicy, Bloody Steak of Heaven!

Finally, the pictures of our anniversary dinner have arrived! 

Actually, they've been trapped on my memory card, imprisoned inside my camera, bouncing around in my purse with about one thousand bobby pins and gum wrappers.  In all honesty, my purse is not a fun place to hang out.

For the one year anniversary, I decided to take control of the situation. 

No more feeling sorry for myself, people!

Upon serious contemplation of my spoiled-ness, I realized that some of my thinking has been flawed.  First of all, there is no reason that I should have a sense of entitlement, regardless of the fact that I have been spoiled rotten for 22 years straight. (Does this sound like Husband?  Don't say yes, even if it's true.)  Secondly, I should be the controller of my emotions, not someone/something else.  Thirdly, I should be grateful for what I do have/get.

Resolving to be in charge of my emotions and situation, I forced Husband to take me to a fancy restaurant, dress up, and talk about romantic things.

It went a little bit like this:

"Someone commented on my newest post.  This guy was a total buffoon..."

"I bet.  (Blatant subject change)  Do you remember what I was wearing when you picked me up for our first (blind) date?  You were wearing your Yakima shirt, your hot jeans, black Asics, and had a shaved head.  You were so hot and tan and freckle-y!"

Bada-bing-bada-boom!  Romance!

My point was proven.

It's pretty easy to get what I want as long as I stay optimistic and in control! 

Pouting is a death sentence.

(and Husband is the executor?)

Anyway, the restaurant was Morton's and we highly recommend it.  We shared a huge bread puff, garlic mashed potatoes (too much garlic), and the best porterhouse steak on the planet!!

(Seriously, the tastiest hunk of bovine, this side of the Mississippi.)

Other cool tidbits:  They explain everything on the menu to you and use props.  The props included real vegetable and raw meat and... a LIVE LOBSTER!  It looked at me!  Also, I should not have worn my Banana Republic dress at 17 weeks pregnant, though the zipper has proven to be industrial strength.  That dress was seconds away from exploding off of my body all night.

...

So, with that, I would like to direct you towards my newest blog page:

Le Belly

Click above or on the right side of my blog to see the belly transformation!  You will want one of these for yourself!

I would like to point out how there is no belly in the first few pictures, even though I SWORE there was at the time.  Also, check out how freaking awful/sick I looked.  No wonder complete strangers kept asking me if I was feeling okay! 

Wish Upon a Passing Airplane

You know in movies, when the main character walks into a bakery and the worker knows his name and order? “Hey Tom, how’s it going? One pumpernickel bagel with strawberry cream cheese and a small hot chocolate, coming your way!”

Is it strange that I have always wanted to be that guy? Little did I know, the recipe for this scenario is painfully simple:

1 cup of predictability

1 cup of frugality

1 slice of sausage and mushroom pizza

1 water cup

1 Kieren (can and should be substituted with Karen)

Mix together and bake at 350 for approximately 5 months.

In January, I was bowled over when the pizza guy asked me, “It’s Karen, right?” In February, I almost went into cardiac arrest (in a good way) when the pizza cashier double-checked that I wanted a water cup with that sausage and mushroom. Then, in March, oh glorious March, my pizza lover asked, “Is it the old standby today?”

Yes, I said!

And I kissed him full on the mouth. 

(No, I did not.  But wouldn't that have been fitting?)

I offered him $3 and he handed me a receipt, 76 cents, a water cup, and my most shiny accomplishment.

Thank you, pizza man. Thank you for making my dream come true.

P.S. This is the reason that my skirt is currently unzipped, but covertly hidden by my maroon cardigan. No, it’s not because of the sausage and mushroom pizza addiction. How very rude of you to attempt to tarnish my splendid achievement like that.

All I Care About is Meatballs

My posts have been very strange lately, haven’t they? Welcome to the ramblings of the fat-belly-brain!

For all of January and half of February, I was so sick after 5:00 and had no energy at any other time during the day, that I had zero desire to blog. Zero. I would much rather have laid in my bed, nibbling graham crackers, drinking heinous amounts of water, and trying not to think about the toilet.

Now that I feel like blogging about my happy little life again, it turns out that the happiest and most exciting thing in my life is Swedish meatballs!!

You may view this meatball obsession with pity or disdain, but trust me, you should be cheering for me!

I think I’m hung up on the meatballs for three reasons. First of all, they were literally the only meal that I have enjoyed in the past two months. Up until the meatball moment, I was just happy to keep something down, let alone enjoy it. Second, I wanted my best-friend-meatballs last night, but Husband said NO! He said NO to his beautiful, fetus-carrying wife!! (That's me.)  (I am still mad about this. Even worse, I have projected my anger onto the church event that I have to attend tonight, instead of eating Swedish gold! My life is falling apart as we speak!) Third, the meatballs are in freaking Ikea. It is like the Disneyland of home décor, much as Forever 21 is the Disneyland of clothing, and like Disneyland is the Disneyland of life.

(I just realized that Husband hates all three of my Disneylands! Where did I find this handsomely Grinchy mate and how did he trick me into loving him and mothering his child?!)

I will leave you with a picture of the coolest soda machine on the planet. It made me more excited than the iPhone! (I was going to list other impressive technological gadgets, but I couldn’t think of anymore).

Husband and I seriously stared at the machine and giggled together.  That's how great it was.

Then, I got water, which was very anticlimactic.

Husband recommends the Peach Fanta.

Tale of Two Kierens

Nothing has satisfied me in the past two months like these delicious Swedish morsels.

Something oh-so-tragic happened over the weekend. Quintessential aspects of the Kieren that you all know and love have disappeared into thin air. It’s true, my friends. Along with my once tiny waistline, my love of shopping has also gone missing. Perhaps the two are connected?

Upon trying to return an article of clothing to the mall, I was offered 25% of my money back. Travesty! I was not about to be ripped off like that, especially after pulling the pregnancy card! I stuffed my clothes back into my yellow F21 bag and stomped out.

Speaking of Forever 21, the store of dreams and magic, I walked inside and felt dead. What happened to the days when I could drop $100 in scholarship money on short skirts, funny rings, and pink satchels? Those were the days before modesty and fat bellies, you see. Now, what was I to do in a store filled with so many cute and superfluous things, all being so inexpensive and tempting? With an air of defiance, I bought a pair of $1 earrings (with my debit card) and walked out with a huff.

Then I sat on a bench in the middle of the mall, like a grandpa waiting for his old lady. Only, I appeared to be both the old lady and the grandpa all at once.

This is what led me to the McDonald’s French fries, which also made a mockery out of me. They tasted terrible and reaffirmed my belief in Wendy's.  I ate that whole bag of French fries, though, just to show them who was boss. Meanwhile, the lemon and I mourned the caramel apple that I could have eaten instead.

It was a rather sad day at the mall.

In retrospect, I believe that the former Kieren is perhaps being held hostage by the villain that is food. He has invaded the fat Kieren’s every thought and action. It is true, nothing can stop her from eating, except for the undeniable urge to pee.

This is what happened on the Ikea date that the Kierens had together on Saturday. One Kieren ate 10 of 15 Swedish meatballs and all of her mashed potatoes; the other Kieren bought a door mat.

The battle continues. The lemon watches.

Someone Stop My Mood Swings

Yesterday, I saw Santa. Don’t believe me? I have photographic evidence!

Exhibit A (the only Exhibit)

In case you didn’t know, Santa is a snowbird and he likes Pizza. I bet they don’t have very many pepperonis at the North Pole, so it makes sense.

I don’t know what to write about, so I will give you some random information about myself.  (You're welcome.)

1. I gave myself food poisoning two Sundays ago. I was too embarrassed to tell my mom this information (now, that’s embarrassed!), but I thought I would share it with the Internet (less embarrassing?). I made myself a tuna sandwich, fully aware that my mayonnaise expired in June. JUNE. Yes, people, that was like half a year ago. Needless to say, I barfed throughout the entire Super Bowl. I held it together enough to watch the commercials, though, don’t you worry.

2. I got stung by a scorpion at my parent’s house on Sunday (maybe Sundays are bad luck?). This little, baby scorpion had obviously spent the night in my shirt. No, that is not cute, it is terrifying. The scary part is he didn’t sting me until I’d been wearing the shirt for like an hour. Can you say, creepy? Luckily, we put some garlic on the sting ASAP and I didn’t feel a thing afterwards. (For your info, garlic is like a magic healing potion.) (And a wonderfully strong perfume, too.  Who would’ve known?)

3. Husband and I are heading to the land of the Mexicans on Saturday, to have our pearly whites worked on. I’m getting a cleaning and he’s getting… well, let’s be honest, he should probably just get a whole new set of teeth. Wish us luck! I googled “Los Algodones murders” and nothing came up, so that made me feel a little bit better.



My Balloon Wasn't Even Pink/Red

The above picture is only slightly relevant to this post.  My mother treated us to a delicious and loved-themed dinner on Sunday.  Oh, how I love that woman, her food, and the beautiful tulips that she bought for me.  Thanks mom!

Now, on the the meat and potatoes (I'm serious).

I have never loved Valentine’s Day, but that is not to say that I would ever turn down free dinner, free chocolates, free flowers, free back tickles, etc. And in case you were wondering, I am willing to accept all free gifts at all times, Valentine’s Day or not.

Valentine’s is a lame-o holiday. Lame, I tell you. Do you know which holidays deserve to be celebrated to the maximum by all close family and friends, including Grinch Husbands? Christmas Eve (better than Christmas, don’t argue), Christmas (duh), my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and other important birthdays (in that order, of course).

I won’t even go into my first married birthday day. The next day was wonderful, but the birthday day will not be spoken of.

Now, back to the Day of Love.

Husband and I went on an amazing date to Sonic, where I got a corndog and strawberry slush float (za best!) and he got the corndog kids meal (cheapskate trick to get tots and a drink). My knight in shining armor was kind enough to give me his Sonic kids meal balloon. What a gentleman! After that epic adventure, we watched The Office, Community, and 30 Rock in our underwear. Really, there is nothing better than watching TV in your underwear.

The only dilemma now is that I feel entitled to a steak dinner. But don’t blame me or the Valentine’s propaganda; blame the little person within! (Another story for another time. Do you already know it?) I want a juicy piece of bovine and mashed potatoes STAT! Unless my stomach revolts, I would also enjoy a crème brulee, in all of its French glory, to top things off.

I hope you loved your Day of Love.

Kieren in the Kitchen: Limoncello Cupcakes

Yesterday, I was a very nice wife.

I was very domestic and I even sat through the Super Bowl.

Thinking that it was the 13th of February (early Valentine's), I whipped up a special treat that I've been planning for a very long time.

Limoncello cupcakes.

Yes, I did have to make a trip to the liquor store where, thank goodness, a nice guy helped me wade through about 100 aisles of alcohol.  It was totally worth it and I even got to show ID.  

(I'm old!)

The cupcakes were/are delicious and Husband was/is impressed!

I will be trying a limoncello cheesecake next and I'm hoping that it will knock his socks off!

If you're interested in the cupcake recipe, I will post it below.  Also, if you need to borrow the 2 tablespoons of limoncello for the cupcakes (I used lemon juice in the frosting), let me know.  I've still got a whole bottle in the fridge!

Lemon-Limoncello Cupcakes

Yield: 1 dozen

For the cupcakes:

1½ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

2 ounces (½ stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature

2 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature

1 cup granulated sugar

3 large eggs

2 tablespoons limoncello

½ cup buttermilk

¼ cup lemon juice

Zest of one lemon

For the lemon curd:

Zest of 2 lemons

½ cup lemon juice

¼ cup granulated sugar

1 egg + 1 egg yolk

For the cream cheese limoncello frosting:

2 ounces (½ stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature

4 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature

1 tablespoon limoncello

2 cups powdered sugar, sifted

1. Prepare the cupcakes. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and position a rack in the center. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and salt; set aside. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the butter, cream cheese and sugar on medium speed until light and creamy, 2-3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the limoncello and beat an additional minute. On low speed, add flour mixture and buttermilk alternatively, beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Add the lemon juice and zest and mix on low speed just until incorporated. Divide the batter between 12 muffin tins. Bake for 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the middle comes out clean. Let cool completely.

2. Prepare the lemon curd. In a heavy medium saucepan, stir together the lemon zest, juice and sugar and bring to a simmer over medium heat. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and egg yolk. Whisk the lemon mixture into the eggs to temper them. Scrape the mixture back into the saucepan and place over medium heat, whisking constantly until it thickens, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat, and let cool completely.

3. Prepare the cream cheese limoncello frosting. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and cream cheese on medium speed until light and creamy, about 2-3 minutes. Add the limoncello and beat for an additional minute. Reduce the speed to low and gradually add the sifted powdered sugar and beat until fully incorporated and smooth.

4. Assemble the cupcakes. Cut a hole into each cupcake with the large end of a melon baller or the back end of a large pastry tip. Fill each cavity with the lemon curd. Fill a pastry bag with a star tip (I used Wilton 1M) with the cream cheese limoncello frosting and pipe onto each cupcake. Decorate with lemon and berries, if desired.

Good Morning, Antarctica

When I went to sleep last night, I was pretty sure that I lived in Arizona.

This morning, when it was less than 30 degrees outside and only 60 inside (see proof above), I almost died.  The last thing I wanted to do was crawl away from the sleepy spoon that is my husband.

Needless to say, I was running late for work.  I dodged the ice patch of death outside my door and put my defroster on full blast while I enjoyed one of Husband's homemade (no, not from a box!) blueberry muffins. 

Delicious!

After a text conversation with my brother, I feel a little bit warmer.  He lives in my grandparents motorhome up at NAU (another story, for another time) and his heater is broken.  All he has is a space heater and his toilet water was frozen solid this morning!

Oh man, I hope he didn't have to go #2.



Extra Bloody

A trip to visit one of our favorite families turned into a citrus palooza.

We picked grapefruits, oranges, blood oranges, tangelos, and tangerines.

I couldn’t wait until we got home to peel off the orange skin and taste a fruit that made me feel just like summer. In fact, I didn’t wait. I sat on the grass, peeled my orange, and ate it all up.

When we got home, we started an assembly line of cutting and juicing.

I’ve never been a fan of orange juice (milk is always too good to resist!), but our citrus cocktail is the most bomb-diggity drink that I have ever tasted. The grapefruit gives it a punch of flavor, while the blood orange sweetens everything up. Throw in every other member of the citrus family and you’ve got yourself a masterpiece.

Yep, I saved this picture for last.

Husband is still pretty cute, even with mean eyebrows, a woman’s apron, and a glass of straight blood orange juice.

Kieren in the Kitchen: Thanksgiving Pies

If you want to know a random fact about me, it is this:

I am the messiest baker/cook in the entire world.

Baking my first pie = not the best time to forget my apron.

This year, we were in charge of making carrots.

Lots of carrots.

Husband made lots of carrots.

He also made a pie, which was much prettier than mine.

I wasn't jealous.

I was proud.

Off to my in-laws house we went.

Yum, yum.