So-Gal's Recipe: Honeybun Cake

Oh.My.Mercy.

Make this cake. That's all I can say.

I baked this cake on Wednesday night for my lifegroup. I kid you not, the entire cake was gone in five minutes. No exaggeration.

I found this recipe on Pinterest, and I tweaked it a little bit.

You will need:

• A 15.25 oz. box of yellow cake mix
• 4 eggs
• 3/4 cup of vegetable oil
• 1 cup of sour cream
• 2 tsp. of cinnamon
• 1 cup of light brown sugar
• 2 cups of powdered sugar
• 7 tablespoons of whole milk
• 1 tsp. of vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 325.

2. Mix the cake mix, eggs, oil, and sour cream. Set aside.

3. In a separate bowl, mix the cinnamon and brown sugar. Set aside.

4. Grease a 9x13 pan. Spread half of the cake mix on the bottom. Top this with have of the cinnamon sugar mixture. Then, the rest of the cake mix, and the rest of the cinnamon mixture. {cake, cinnamon, cake, cinnamon}

5. Bake for 40 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

6. Poke holes (but not too many!) in the cake with a toothpick.

7. To make the glaze, mix the powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla extract. Pour over the cake.

And there you have it! Simple as can be!

Really, I promise, if you've got something coming up--a Bible study brunch or a dinner party--make this! 

First Day Of Spring

Well, it's here! The first day of spring! Hallelujah!

We pulled in the driveway today, after getting lots of volcano books at the library, and Nathan asked, "Mom, can we eat our lunch outside?"

Yes! A picnic! Now that's a good idea!

We ate our lunches and enjoyed the sunshine. Our next door neighbor came over and chatted for a bit. It was heaven! I'm ignoring the fact that we're supposed to be getting our third March snow next week (kill.me.).

Spring, it's about time you got here! That was a looooooong winter!

And do you know what I went out and bought for myself two days ago? Tulips--my favorite flower! They're yellow and white and happy! :)

Happy spring! Thank you, Jesus, for newness--and sunshine, when I needed it most!

My Boys

One runs, stumbles, trips, toddles. The other jumps, stomps, crashes, dashes.

When one wants the tricycle, so does the other. When one wants the light-up ball, or the baseball bat, or the golf club, so does the other. And there are crocodile tears. And, "Mooooooommmmm's." And pouty lips.

Mud throwers. Dirt eaters. Puddle jumpers. Skinned knees. Dirty hands. Flushed cheeks.

They rush by, and they giggle with strawberry grins. Fine, straight hair--my hair--sweaty, sticking up like straw. Cheeks that ask for pinching, that beg for kissing, that plead for hands to hold and cup and instruct.

The ding of the tricycle bell and the low growl of the scooter. These sounds I treasure--I breathe so deeply in.

I stood back today and watched you both. I remembered small, little, hospital newness. And those things seem so far away. And in between has been life, full of snuggles, blankies, trips to the library, trips to time-out, kisses, corrections, stern voices, contagious laughter, dinnertime, bedtime. Life.

You, little boys, my boys, will never know how much I love you. Will never know how much I adore you. Will never know how every word--every syllable--you say to me, I savor. You could never bore me. You grasp the world with both hands and ask questions. Good questions. And make observations. Good observations.

Little boys are treasures. And tiring. And everything in between. You are my soul and my strength. I pray over you and your skinned knees, and your elbows, and your strawberry hair. I kiss you at night when I stand by your bed and over your crib--watching you, and knowing you'll never know how much I love you. You are the ache and the fulfillment. You are the adventure I lead, and the adventure I want to succeed. You are my little boys, my children, and I love you to the moon and back.

Lately

He's obsessed with Batman. And striking a pensive pose. And looking like he's fourteen.

But even superheroes get tired and fall asleep on the couch while watching Planes.

We bought a sled. It's exciting. For everyone but me, who does not like sledding, nor cold weather, nor all this snow that has become the norm around here.

He loves the tricycle. And the bell. When I say, "Jack, ring the bell!" he gets to ringing.

They wrestle. They laugh. They love each other. They own my heart.

Jack is allllll about coloring now. He specializes in scribbles and crayon breaking.

While the ten tons of winter gear it requires to step out your door in Virginia used to annoy me, I'm an old pro now. Winter gear galore! I'm now a certified PBU (professional bundler upper).

We went on a date! That might not be a big deal for you. But your husband doesn't work eighty hours a week and you know one or two babysitters.

We played in the snow! No we didn't. That's a lie. We posed for a picture in the snow.

Jack's First Haircut

I knew the time was coming: Jack needed a haircut. The curls were turning mullet-like, only because the front of his hair was short! (Let it be known, I otherwise would have let that boy's hair keep growing with those sweet strawberry curls!)

Here's a picture I took of the boys just a few nights ago. See how long it had gotten?

I ran my fingers through those soft curls a million times. I breathed in their sweet peach smell. I washed them with shampoo. I kissed them goodnight after a bedtime story.

There's something about the long, sweet curls that say baby. Little boy. Small.

So, when the time came that he did need a haircut, I didn't quite know what to do. When I say we haven't had good hair cutting experiences in Roanoke, I.Mean.It. I couldn't let some stranger cut my baby's curls for the very first time. That's special. That's memorable and meaningful. That's potentially tear-inducing.

So, what did I do? 

I cut it myself.

If you know me at all, you just gasped. Loudly.

I know. I can't believe I did it, either.

Why did I do it? Because I wanted it to be special. I didn't want some stranger cutting Jack's hair for his very first haircut. I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to stay in my heart and my memory.

So, I took out the scissors and comb, and I got to work.

And may I say, for those of you who gasped and are still waiting to hear about a disaster. . .

. . . it turned out perfectly. I'm tooting my own horn. Per-fect-ly. Like, whoa. I got skills.

And yes, he looks like such a big boy. And my big boy is saying new words every day now! Slow down, little one.