Praise The Lord And Pass The Biscuits

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It happened.

Finally.

Get your megaphone. Get your stadium. Get your copy of Oh, The Places You'll Go.

Tonight, I walked out of class for the last time. (Ssssshhh, no talk of an MBA or a PhD right now.)

I cannot even begin to tell you how good it felt. It's not that I don't enjoy school and classes and learning. I do. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that with a medical student spouse, a full-time job, a child, a book deal, and a house to manage, that the thought of not worrying about papers, articles, discussions, presentations, and essays makes me want to jump.for.joy. It makes me want to shout--like one of my co-workers used to when she was especially elated--"Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits!!!"

I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted--like I have (gasp! maybe?) free time (whatever the hoo-hah that is).

A few years ago, if you would have told me, "Hey! Guess what? Less than two months after you graduate, you're going get married. One month later, your husband is going to start medical school and be on his eleven-year journey to a career as a doctor. That same week that your husband begins medical school, you are going to start graduate school. And two months after that, you're going to be pregnant. Nine days after your first anniversary, you're going to give birth to a beautiful baby boy. Keep in mind, you are not taking a semester off in your Master's program during the whole baby thing."...I would have broken down weeping...OR...laughed in your face.hard...OR...tried to do the math in my head and then, probably, broken down weeping.

And yet, it's over. OVER. OVER. O-V-E-R.

(Okay, almost over. I still have to write a seventy page thesis and defend it.)

No more class. Hallelujah. I feel like my upset-to-leave-Mommy-and-Daddy five-year-old self is doing a barefooted cartwheel in the backyard. Like my bored-out-of-my-mind thirteen-year-old self is running around singing for joy. Like my get-me-out-of-here eighteen-year-old self is speeding down the interstate with the windows down.

Yep. After twenty years of school, it really does feel like that big of a deal. :)

So-Gal's Recipe: White Chocolate Christmas Cookies

I have a couple cookie exchanges coming up, so I decided to play around in the kitchen with a bunch of yummy ingredients and see what I could come up with. This recipe is perfect for cookie exchanges or for baking Christmas goodies to drop off at friends' houses. Why? Because it makes 100 cookies! (Oh yeah, and because it's delish!)

You will need:

• 1 cup of unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup of dried Ocean Spray cherry craisins
• 12 oz. of white chocolate chips
• 3/4 cup of pecans, chopped
• 1/2 tsp. of salt
• 1 tsp. of baking soda
• 2 1/3 cups of all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 tsp. of vanilla extract
• 2 large eggs
• 2/3 cup of granulated sugar
• 2/3 cup of firmly packed dark brown sugar

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. Combine dried cherries, chocolate chips, and pecans in a separate bowl. Set aside.

3. Beat butter and sugars in a mixer until fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla. Beat until well mixed.

4. Add salt, baking soda, and flour to butter mixture. Beat until well mixed.

5. Stir in cherry/white chocolate/pecan mixture.

6. Shape dough into 1-1 1/2 inch balls (about quarter-sized--very small). Bake for 8-10 minutes. Place on wire racks to cool.

Our Christmas Tree

Yesterday, we went on a quest in search for the perfect tree for our little living room.

First, we overslept (happy happy, joy joy!) and had to rush, rush, rush out the door. Poor little dude was still pretty sleepy when we buckled him into his carseat.

We soon realized that our tumblies were rumbly, and so we stopped for...what else? Doughnuts.

DISCLAIMER: We do not discriminate between Shipley's and Krispy Kreme. We love them both. The deciding factor is always which one is closer. :)

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Christmas tree farm. We quickly began our search for the perfect tree!

Dragging Bear-Bear in the dirt, of course...

And looking positively adorable, of course!

The toddler then realized that his tumbly was rumbly, so he took a "gode-feesh" (goldfish) break.

Feeling energized from his snack, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and so he marched off (determined, mind you) to find our perfect tree.

And we got our Christmas tree! We found a Fraser fir, just like last year. They're my favorite kind of Christmas tree! We loaded it into the bed of the hubby's truck (thank God I married a country boy); and after visiting the petting zoo and drinking some hot cocoa, we were off!

We haven't named our tree yet (a tradition in our household), but doesn't she look pretty? :)

Talking Into The Calculator

We recently bought the toddler his own "cell phone." In fact, we went ahead and got two for him. Are we the coolest parents, or what? ;)

Heavy Skillets and Cloud Gazing

Have I ever mentioned that Thanksgiving is my gosh-darn-really-truly-seriously favorite holiday?

Well, it is.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it's that it's a holiday that centers on cooking and eating. Two of my hobbies. Maybe it brings less stress than the gifts/tree/decorations/traveling/traditions of Christmas. Maybe it's that one of my all-time greatest memories from growing up was cooking with my mother all day long on Thanksgiving.

Whatever the reason, I cherish the day--even when it starts really, really early.

Like, my day may or may not start at 5:00 AM, with the cheesecake in the oven by 6:00. Yeah.



When you cook as many things as we do, you know exactly what it's like to have a 14-hour cooking day. Exhausting. Exhilarating. (Only fuels my dream of one day being Paula Deen--love you, Paula!!) Needless to say, when you've been on your feet for that long, your back starts to hurt. And when you peel off your apron and plop down in your chair, you're not quite sure whether to devour the food or to let the food devour you as you crash face-first into your plate.

It's not just about the food at our house, though--it's about the laughter and memories that fill the kitchen all morning, all afternoon, and (nearly) all evening.

Like dancing in the kitchen at 10:00 AM with my momma to Rihanna singing on some ridiculous-looking float.

Or like bursting out laughing after my mom helped me flip my pineapple upside down carrot cake--not an easy feat with a cast-iron skillet that Tony Horton would have trouble lifting (P90X reference, any takers?).

Or like making my eggnog pound cake--AKA the most boring dessert ever--because it's my hubby's fave. He gushes over it like I spent all day slaving over every single delicious ingredient.

Or like my poor father going to three different stores to find Pillsbury Big and Buttery crescent rolls, so that my siblings could enjoy one of their favorite holiday menu items:

Or like taking sips of the ginger-pear sparkle (AKA--should we just serve this in shot glasses?) all day to "make sure it isn't freezing."

Or like tossing marshmallows into each other's mouths over and over and over to see who can catch the most.

Or like deciding with your siblings that Tom Turkey is going to have four middle names this year--one middle name decided by each sibling. I have to say, Tom Frederick Gobble Guapo Lurkey Turkey was super delish.

Or like slaving away over my very first cheesecake only to have my mom and dad praise it to the point that we just about called in the Southern Living kitchen staff for bragging rights.

Or like arguing with my mother over which is more Southern: "Stuffing" or "dressing"?

That's it.

That's why Thanksgiving is my favorite.

Because no matter how old you are or where you are in life (on happy times, hard times, or somewhere in between), we get a day to reflect and to be thankful. A day uncluttered with things, and so very, very cluttered with people.

Having my son running circles around the table, playing hide and seek, and throwing his turkey all around his high chair of course made the evening. What a blessed time to pause and reflect, to sit back and enjoy. Although my lethargy was palpable by the time we all actually sat down to eat, nothing could have been more precious than seeing my family around me, holding hands, talking, remembering when such-and-such happened.

And Black Friday?

Bleh.

I'm scared of getting shot/pepper sprayed/trampled to death in an attempt to purchase something that can definitely wait 24 hours.

I'm much more into cloud gazing. And family hikes.

Thankful

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!" 2 Corinthians 9:15

The Book Demon

I'm afraid that I've passed on a curse to my poor child.

When I was 18 months old, I could sing my ABC's. One time, my mom was at a church function, and the pastor approached her and said, "I hear that this little one can sing her ABC's!" My mom prompted me to start singing. So I did, "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I--"

And then something happened.

My mom puts it like this, "The alphabet demon crawled out."

"G, H, I--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The foundation at the church split. Glass shattered. Trees were uprooted. Nearby car alarms sounded (did they have car alarms in the eighties?).

The alphabet demon reared its ugly head, and my mother stared red-faced at her pastor and prayed really hard that an enormous hole would open up under her and her child who just scared the daylights out of a pastor by going from zero to sixty like someone in a straitjacket.

Yep.

Anyway, my son does not have an alphabet demon, but he most certainly has a book demon. I know I've said before how much he enjoys reading. One day a week, we go to the library and pick out new books. Well finally, last night, (I'm not lying, people), my husband and I had to hide the library books (they're behind the big couch cushions, if you don't believe me). It was simply becoming too much.

We will read him a book, and as soon as we say, "The en--"

"Again."

Over and over and over. That little "again" keeps popping up. We finally, around the fourth time typically, say, "No, that's enough. Pick a different book." Or we say, "No, that's enough. I have to go fix dinner."

And it happens.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Fists pound the bare floor. Windows shake. The glass break goes off on the alarm. The neighbors stop what they're doing. Dogs all through the neighborhood whimper in fear.

The book demon has reared its ugly head.

Do I know what to do about the book demon? No, not really. I'm thrilled to pieces that my son is nearly seventeen months old, and can sit and enjoy books for hours on end. And I've seen the benefits that reading has had on his little brain. He's now putting three words together, and every day uses words like "excavator," "airplane," and "faucet." But still. When that book demon comes out, I want to run far, far away and hide. ;)

What goes around, comes around--isn't that right, Momma?

Discovering His Shadow

This afternoon, the toddler was goofing around in the living room and happened upon...his shadow! He kissed, waved to, and attempted to high-five the wall-bound fellow. Precious. And hilarious. :)