1. Go ahead, there’s some leftover birthday cake in the kitchen. Please eat it so that it’ll stop screaming to me from inside its little plastic box.

2. The urge to clean: I keep hoping I’ll get that soon!

3. Don’t worry, God’s got this…whatever “this” may be! (Reminder to self...)

4. I have not yet eaten all my calories for the day. So I can, like, splurge on a carrot stick or something. Whee.

5. Pretty much have decided that trying to lose weight when battling PCOS sucks no matter how positively I try to paint it, no matter how I try to call it a “lifestyle change” or gear myself up for what basically amounts to a long period of self-sacrifice — wash, rinse, repeat. I hate the process. Hate it. But I want the result. So there’s no choice but to suck it up and carry on.

6. May the Lord richly bless all the poor souls who journey down this diet path with me, whether they volunteer or are inadvertently dragged along. For I am hungry and cranky and my last nerve is continually exposed.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to chatting with my friends in Uganda, tomorrow my plans include grocery shopping for YUMMY DIET FOOD and Sunday, I want to enjoy church and hopefully come outta there with a better attitude than the one I have tonight! LOL!

Find fun Friday Fill-ins here!

I know this probably sounds strange, but one of the most profound moments of my entire Christmas season happened while I was in the kitchen, making candy.

I make a mean peppermint bark. It’s basically crushed peppermint candies mixed into melted white chocolate, then broken into chunks after being spread out and cooled. I also add dark chocolate drizzle or chopped Andes mint candies to mine, because who doesn’t like a little extra chocolate with their chocolate?

In years past, I delegated the candy-crushing to my husband. Those little round Starlight mints are very difficult to break, and Donnie, with his greater upper-body strength, could always accomplish the task in no time.

But last week, Donnie wasn’t home and our guests were due to arrive any minute. I had no choice but to handle the pulverizing myself.

I placed the candies in a zip-top bag, and smacked it a few times with my heavy rolling pin. It barely flaked the edges off a couple of the mints. So I tried rolling the pin over the bag, pressing hard, and still—nothing. I realized that if this candy was going to be made, I had to mimic my husband’s actions and really put some muscle behind it.

So I did. I slammed that rolling pin as hard as I could onto one of the candies and watched it shatter into a hundred tiny bits. Then I moved to another, and another, and suddenly, it felt very satisfying, like doing something deliciously wrong.

And that’s when an experience at a therapist’s office came to mind. Years ago, while my husband was deployed to Iraq, I saw a therapist to help me through the experience. Next to her sofa was a basket of foam baseball bats. I asked what they were for, and learned that they were useful for venting anger; clients could use them to hit the sofa pillows to let out their angry feelings.

I laughed. I told her that I could not imagine doing that, or even needing to do that. It seemed so barbaric. She just smiled her quiet smile and said, “Perhaps that’s a sign that you, more than others, might actually need to do it.” And I thought her response perhaps indicated that I wasn’t the crazy person in the room.

But last week, as I smashed that candy, something clicked. And I knew exactly why she thought I needed a little “bat therapy.’ I also wondered why it took me 43 years to figure this out.

I began to put faces and feelings onto those mints. Bam! That is for the person who totally used me. Slam! That’s for the relative who is rude to my two-year-old because he doesn’t behave like she thinks he should. Crash! That is for the extreme poverty that is hurting my friend. Smash! For the person who lied about my family.

Oh, it felt so stinking good.

And that was the finest, most gloriously crushed peppermint I’d ever worked with—by the time I was done venting, some of those red and white chunks were reduced to pure powder. The resulting candy was probably the best-tasting batch I’d ever made.

I already run a small side business making birthday cakes. Maybe I’ll add a candy component to it as well: Kari’s Krushing Kandies, featuring Powerfully Pummeled Peppermint Perfection, or P4 for short.

Just know that if I ever show up smiling like a Cheshire cat, bearing a bag of P4—you’ll know it’s been a rough week.

Maybe making peppermint bark is the secret to world peace? Because if more people found positive ways to vent their anger, they wouldn’t have to hurt each other.

Thank God for my kids and the Christmas gift they inadvertently gave me. If it hadn’t been for their friends coming over, I wouldn’t have been rushing to make candy on short notice. And who knows how much longer this woman, who was raised to believe that nice girls didn’t act out, would’ve missed out on the delicious, peace-bringing release of physically venting negativity.

I wouldn’t have believed it if someone predicted I’d give birth to two picky eaters. My older sons actually refuse to eat fresh fruit. I struggle to understand this behavior.

Both of them opened up like baby birds for pureed peaches, plums, even prunes when they were infants. Zachary loved Gerber bananas, but the first time I gave him the real fruit, he gagged on the texture and has hated them ever since. Eli consumed his “nonnies” like a proper monkey until he got old enough for Zach to influence his choices. Sadly, it’s been a year since he’s eaten a banana.

I look at these darling, intelligent children and wonder how they can refuse fruit? What is there not to like about the honey-sweetness of a crisp red grape, or the heady perfume of fresh golden pineapple? Other kids eat this stuff. I know, because I’ve seen them. Heck, I was one of them.

I don’t remember being allowed to dislike much when I was a child. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always eaten just about anything. I can only recall three things I refused to eat back then—fried green tomatoes, rutabagas, and liver.

I’m a proper Southern lady, so I always wanted to find a fried green tomato that would knock my socks off, something so delicious that I wouldn’t notice the sour sting of unripe tomato. After years of recommendations to try them at the Blue Willow Inn, I finally did. Good heavens, they were fabulous, like no green tomato I’d ever tried before, topped with a sweet red tomato chutney. If you’ve never had them, you must go.

I’ve also outgrown my aversion to rutabagas. My mom and my grandma, Honey, taught me how to cook them right. I get the whole pot to myself because the men in this house abhor them. They gripe about how the house smells when I boil a rutabaga. They have a lot of nerve. It’s not all that different from the air quality when they eat too many baked beans. Rutabagas are my sweet payback.

I still cannot force my lips to open for a piece of liver. I remember crying at Honey’s table because I couldn’t bear to eat the fried chicken livers we had cooked together. I loved to help her cook, and I owe much of my culinary ability to her example. But seeing that yellow Styrofoam tray of blackish, bloody blobs before they were breaded and fried made it impossible for me to eat them.

Several years ago, my husband and I had lunch with friends at a Scottish pub. Liver and chips was the daily special, and my husband and our friend Steve actually plunked down perfectly good money for the foul stuff. They relentlessly teased me to try a bite. I finally caved just to silence them.

“I’ll be nice and give you a piece without too many tubes,” said Steve, smiling as he began surgery on his plate. Too many what? Sure enough, he sliced around something white and hollow embedded in that horribly dark meat. It looked exactly like a wobbly piece of cooked macaroni. Steve removed it, and then offered me a liver chunk as big as my thumb.

I protested at the size of it. He cut it in half. I made him cut it in half again and again until it was the size of a pencil eraser.

Oh, it was vile. Even without a tube.

So, it’s not as though I can’t understand food aversions. I just get stuck on anyone disliking something as heavenly as fresh fruit. I have to admit that my sons have made some progress. Both now enjoy applesauce, along with apple, peach or blueberry cobblers and pies. They eat fruit in yogurt and smoothies, often without realizing it.

Steve’s wife, Heather, insists that once our boys become teenagers, they’ll be so hungry that they will wolf down everything we set before them. I can’t wait until they’re happy to see me coming at them with a big bowl of fresh fruit. But they are on their own if they ever want to try liver.

A few friends have asked for my soft gingerbread cake recipe, so I thought it would be easiest to share it here. I first baked it to use in this amazing Pumpkin Gingerbread Trifle, but it was so great by itself that I’ll have to make it again.

And again.

Oh, and you should try that pumpkin trifle recipe this Thanksgiving— it’s fabulous. It’s good using the gingerbread mix called for in the recipe. But it is positively awesome using half a pan of this gingerbread.

Happy Baking!

Old Fashioned Gingerbread Recipe

• 3 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
• 3/4 teaspoons salt
• 1 1/4 Tablespoons ground ginger
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1/2 cup solid shortening
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 1/3 cup molasses
• 1 cup room temperature water

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.
2. Spray a 9″ X 13″ baking pan with vegetable spray.
3. In a large bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, ginger and cinnamon. Set aside.
4. In a large bowl of a stand mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat together the shortening and sugar until fluffy.
5. Scrape sides of bowl. Add the egg and mix again, then the molasses, scraping if necessary.
6. On low speed, add dry ingredients, alternating with water until the batter is smooth. Scrape sides of bowl one more time.
7. Pour into prepared pan and bake for approximately 45 minutes or until tooth pick comes out clean. Cool on wire rack, and serve warm, by itself or topped with whipped cream and caramel sauce.

**Note: This is not the kind of gingerbread that can be rolled out for cookies. It’s a fluid batter that results in soft cake.

I love fall. Everyone knows that I love fall. It’s still hot down here, but I had to get a jump on the season by making this yummy cake last night. My house smelled SO good. Yours will, too!

Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Spice Cake

1 box Duncan Hines French Vanilla cake mix (if you can’t find this flavor, just use white or yellow)

1 cup canned pumpkin puree

1 cup vegetable oil (yes, that’s a full cup—this ain’t diet food)

4 eggs

2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice

1/2 to 1 cup miniature dark chocolate chips (I only used half a cup—I think it needed a little more)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 10-inch Bundt pan and set aside. Put the cake mix, pumpkin, oil, eggs and pumpkin pie spice into the bowl of your stand mixer. Mix on low for a minute to moisten all ingredients. Scrape the sides of the bowl, then beat on medium for a good ten minutes or so, scraping sides as needed.

(I realize that length of time goes against all conventional knowledge on cake-baking, but my grandmother shared that was one of her secrets for transforming cake mix into something really special.)

Stir in chocolate chips with your spatula or a wooden spoon. Pour batter into prepared pan and bake for one hour. Let cool in pan a few minutes before flipping it out onto a cake rack to cool another ten minutes or so before slicing.

If you can wait that long….

Oh, and by the way—this is a great recipe for using up jars of baby food. Just substitute two 4-oz. jars of baby food carrots, sweet potatoes or squash for the pumpkin.

Yes, it looks like Alpo.

(And no, I am not a food photographer.)

But it tastes so good! And it’s good for you, and honestly — aside from toast — might just be the easiest thing you’ll ever cook.

You’ll need:

1 cup brown rice

1 cup lentils

1 packet taco seasoning mix

4 cups water

Pick over lentils and rinse. Combine all ingredients in crock pot. Cover and cook for six hours on low.

Serve in tortillas, or taco shells. We had ours on whole-grain tortillas with chopped tomatoes, sour cream, salsa and some cheddar. We would’ve had lettuce, but I was too lazy to hand-wash the salad spinner.

Tomorrow night, we’re having leftovers and my mom and sister are joining us for dinner. I think I’ll saute some onions and peppers in a little olive oil to put on top. Yum!

Get thyself to Publix and try their line of Latin-American-inspired flavors. The cartons look like this, with fun little yellow and orange bands at the top:

Eli, my cinnamon-lover, is addicted to the Churros flavor. The Coco Rico, Mango, Banana and Passion Fruit flavors are amazing, containing real fruit and creamed coconut. I was hesitant to try the Spicy Pineapple, but it was wonderful, too, combining cinnamon and chunks of pineapple, with a flavor reminiscent of pineapple upside down cake. And the Limonada Fresca, which combines strong flavors of lemon and lime, was better than some Key lime pie fillings I’ve had.

I was hesitant to try the Guava Pastry, having never eaten a real guava pastry in my life and having no clue what to expect. But I swiped a bite before giving my little one the carton tonight, and it might just be the tastiest of them all. Jonah agreed, polishing off the entire thing in minutes!

The only one we didn’t care for was the Prickly Pear. I’ve never eaten that fruit before, but I expected a strong, fruity flavor like the others we’ve tried. It was disappointing, with no real flavor to speak of. It was just bland and  sweet.

Anyhow, for around 40 to 50 cents a cup, these are decadent-feeling treats that really aren’t that bad nutritionally. As I said, the sugar content is a bit high, but not any worse than kids’ yogurts on the market. Plus, at least on the labels I read, these contain no HFCS.

My sympathies to those  who don’t live near a Publix grocery store! I guess you’ll just have to come visit us!

He’d swiped the strainer of blueberries off the kitchen counter and was bringing them to share. Sweet boy!

That kid loves him some blueberries! It makes for some truly interesting diapers the following day, but  I cannot deny my little buddy his favorite summer candy!

Lately, when he sees the camera, he breaks out into this huge, cheesy smile. I caught the tail end of this one—with a cheek full of blueberries, of course!

I tell him that it goes in the cabinet, on the shelf under the peanut butter, with the other oils.

He leaves, then yells from the kitchen, his voice slightly muffled as his head is in the cabinet, “Wow. So THAT’S what oil looks like when it’s not in a blast can!”

It’s funny how you don’t think about things like that, how my kids have always seen me grab the can of Pam when it comes to oiling a cookie sheet or frying an egg. Just grab a can, and spray.

Ah, the wonder of seeing liquid oil inside a real glass bottle! LOL

1. It’s Spring, grilling begins! If you plan a picnic, do you bow out if it rains?

Yeah…or we find a way to move the gathering inside. This is usually the case even if the weather forecast is just threatening rain.

2. Do you prefer food grilled on a charcoal or gas grill?

Either is fine. Sometimes I like the flavor of a charcoal grill better, but only if they didn’t use lighter fluid, which often leaves a slight chemical taste in the food.

3. We’re at the first grilling picnic. What’s your meat order?

Either a steak or an Oscar Mayer hot dog.

4. What side dishes do you want?

Steak: baked potato (white or sweet), a salad and some good bread. Hot dog: potato salad, baked beans, chips.

5. Now, where do prefer to eat: at the picnic table or inside?

It depends on how hot and humid it is. If it’s under 80-degrees with low humidity, I’m outside. Anything hotter/stickier, I want air conditioning.

6. You were asked to bring a dish. What do you bring?

Probably my loaded baked potato salad. MMM!

7. Does it bother you to have citronella candles burning if you are eating or cooking outside?

Not really. Mosquitoes bother me more.

8. What fellow bloggers do you want to meet at the picnic?

Pretty much every blogger you see in this list over here >>>>>

9. Does there need to be a pool at the picnic, your choice?

That would be nice. But only if the other women are willing to swim. I love swimming and hate going to events where it’s just men and kids in the pool. C’mon, women—we deserve to have fun, too! Don’t be ashamed of your body—suit up, and jump in!