Lemondrop Cake - A Tipsy Cake.

I love to cook, but baking things from scratch is really beyond me.  I. DON'T. MEASURE.  It's a big ole waste of time.  So I have come up with my own way of baking.  It's something like Rachel Ray meets the Cake Mix Doctor meets Otis from the Andy Griffith show.  And it makes some darn fine cakes, if I do say so myself.

[Printable Recipe]

WHAT YOU NEED:

A lemon cake mix

A can of lemon icing

2 boxes of lemon Jello instant pudding 

some eggs (probably three, but if you just served scrambled eggs for breakfast, and forgot to buy more, two will do)

some vegetable oil (1/4 to 1/3 of a cup)

your preferred lemon flavored liquor (here I used Lemon Drop, a premixed thing, but I have also used lemon vodka and yummy Lemoncello.  Lemoncello is kind of expensive, but totally worth it.)

WHAT YOU DO:

Put the cake mix, one box of the jello, the eggs, the oil and roughly a cup and a half of the liquor in your red Kitchenaid stand mixer.  What?  You don't have a red Kitchenaid stand mixer?  So sorry, no cake for you.

Oh, ok, you can use any mixer you want.

Mix all that mess up according to the directions on the back of the cake mix box.

Meanwhile...

Spray your red springform cake pans with that spray stuff that comes out of the can smelling like melting ozone meets carcinogenic in a can.  You know what I mean.

What?  You don't have red springform cake pans?

You need a new husband.  All this red baking stuff has been gifted to me by RJ.

Anyway, put half of the batter into one pan (red or not) and half into the other.

Bake it according to the directions on the box.

After the cake is done and cooling, mix the other box of lemon jello with some more of your liquor (1/3 to 1/2 a cup, for those of you with no creativity).  It will look something like this:

Put one layer of the cake flat, scoop all this delightful stuff on top, and put the remaining cake layer on top of that.  

Frost it with the stuff out of the can.

Yum.

This is the most requested cake from RJ's co-workers. 

Of course, they are a bunch of alcoholics, and this cake may get you a bit tipsy.

The Best Part of Being Married.

Minds out of the gutters, people.

Like I would blog about THAT.

Anyway...

There are many, many benefits to deciding to share your life with someone else.  You have a partner in childrearing, a friend to talk to whenever you need to, a housemate, a confidant, a... partner.  Heck, I liked having RJ as a partner so much I married him twice.

But there is no doubt that one of my top three reasons for keeping him around is the fact that he deals with repairs and/or repair people, both of the car and the house variety, for me.  I am normally a very competent woman.  I can pump my own gas, change a tire, tape and sand drywall, lay hardwood floor, and repair a leaky faucet, but for some reason, when faced with a PROFESSIONAL in one of these categories, say a plumber or an auto mechanic or something, I am suddenly reduced to using words like "thingy" and "whasamajig."  I don't know why these folks freak me out so much, but they do.

Recently, as I was pulling in the garage after a long day at work, I noticed - GASP! - that I had a headlight out.

As I walked in the door, I asked, quite nonchalantly I thought, "HiDearhowwasyourdaybythewayIhaveaheadlightout."

I expected immediate action.

I got - "Ok, I'll look at it later."

Really?  Later?  Really?  REALLY?

I kept my cool, but my mind was racing.  What if I had to do it myself?  Go to Autozone?  Not happening.  I had to employ my feminine wiles and go to Plan B.

(Feminine wiles = passive aggressive behavior)


So, a few minutes hours later, I said "So, is it ok if I drive your car tomorrow?  I leave before dark, and I don't want to get pulled over BECAUSE I HAVE A HEADLIGHT OUT."  Serene smile.

At this point, the man instincts kicked in.  That collective consciousness of "Me Man - You Woman" hit and I saw the spark in his eyes.

RJ:  "Oh, I'll run out now and get a bulb."

Me: "Well, I can do it, someday.  Maybe next year.  Or maybe in March.  I think I have a day off in March.  Let's just aim for that.  I'll walk to work until then."

RJ: "I'll get my shoes."

Whew.  Close call.

Fast forward a few weeks, days, hours,  about 45 minutes.

RJ pulls into the garage.  I noticed immediately that there were not one, but two working headlights.

He walks in the door.

Me:  "Thank you, baby.  I appreciate that you did that for me."

RJ: "Well, I had help.  The girl who rang me up at Autozone had to change it for me."

And that's why I love that man.

And THAT'S the best part of being married.

Random Christmas craziness, a photo essay. Because I'm too tired for words.

Christmas came and Christmas went.  Here's a recap:

Ironman the elf came for one last hurrah.

Note the fantastic Christmas morning hair on cj.

Cj was mainly confused by everything.

The wild present-opening began, and superheroes were this year's theme.  Imagine that.

Note the mad present-opening skills.  In this particular instance, all the limbs were necessary, even the legs.

The wild-eyed look began somewhere around 8am and lasted well into the night.

My niece K seemed to enjoy her presents, but I wouldn't really know, since she doesn't speak to me.

Nephew J messed with random gadgets most of the day.

Mama really, really, really just wanted to go home.  As soon as possible, presents be damned.

Aunt B didn't look away from the camera quickly enough, and GASP! It's an honest to goodness smile!

Aunt S sort of lurked around behind the columns.

The monkey suit was a huge hit, and left brown fur all over my house.  It has since been "retired."

 

Christmas with RJ's family was celebrated a few days later.  Aunt A and Baby B were looking very cute.  Baby B is asian.  My children are not.  I am exceptionally bitter about this, and blame RJ's weak genes.

All the J grandkids lined up in a row.

This was taken right after Uncle G dropped zj on his head.  Don't worry, the floor's ok.

Grandpa and Grandma J with cj.

Aunt A and Uncle G got zj not one, but two lovely swords.  Paybacks are hell, guys.

All my boys, intently focused on something.  I'm not sure what.