Archive for February, 2011

February 14, 2011

giveaway winners + the conversation

As there were only two entries into the Great Cookie Giveaway, I asked my husband to pick a number. One or Two.


“Just pick one, honey. Please.”

“Why? Why do I need to pick a number?”

“I’ll tell you once you pick.”


“Honey, please…”

“I need to know!”

This went on for a bit until Spencer finally said: 1. So, congrats Miss Beth! You’ve won a dozen cookies from the Blue Squirrel. And as Miss Erin made such a valiant effort, I think she’s earned an honorable mention, which comes with a dozen cookies as well!

Just contact me with the type of cookie you’d like, and the Blue Squirrel will ship them soon!

Cookie party details to come. For now, congrats to the winners and happy V-day to everyone!

February 11, 2011

giveaway + party

In the great tradition of true bloggers, like my friend Erin, I have decided to throw a cookie party.

“A cookie party?” ask the masses. Indeed! You simply take the two things girls love the most (cookies and friends) and put them together. And the result? A tasty evening full of conversation, and several dozen cookies to donate to a soup kitchen. Everyone wins. Especially me, because I have exceptional friends with exquisite taste in baked goodies.

As the hostess for this party, I chose to make 4 different types of cookies. Absurd? Perhaps. But will they all be gone by the time the clock strikes midnight? You bet your knickers.

In the hopes that there will be so many cookies left over after all the girls have had their fill, Spencer and I made up little baggies for girls to fill when they leave with the leftovers. Another copy from Miss Erin, we tried to come up with silly cookie themed phrases for the baggies. My favorites were “CookieBlanca”, a knock-off of Casablanca, and “Cookies are a girls best friend” (instead of diamonds). As we sat coming up with ideas, I thought that this would be a worthwhile theme for a giveaway.


Come up with your own cookie phrase that would look good on a baggie. Random or logical, it’s all valid! And you can’t use CookieBlanca! Post it as a comment and check back on Sunday night to see if you’ve won. I’ll be randomly selecting the winning phrase, and then picking one or two honorable mentions if they’re extra clever. The prize will be a dozen cookies, homemade by yours truly. You’ll get to choose the type as well: Perry’s Peanut Obsession, Cafe-Ready Chocolate Chip, Italian Wedding Cookies, or Homemade Oreos. If you live outside of Siloam, I’ll mail them to you, unless you are outside of the country. In which case, I’ll send you a mental high five.

Let the wit-dom begin!

Also, Sunday night, check back for info on how the cookie party went, as well as details on how to throw your own!

February 8, 2011

3:08 am and don’t tell my mom.

Dear World,

It is past 3 am. I should be in bed, toasty and asleep. Why is has this not come to pass, you ask? Why is the blue squirrel far from her den? Which, by the way, are squirrel homes called dens? Dens. I think that spelled right.
People, this is raw 3:11 am Christa right now. Raw. Rawrrr.

Most college people can do this, however, marriage has added twelve years to my life in that, since wedded bliss, I have the sleep patterns of an elderly sloth. Speaking/writing of sloths, here you go. May it bring light and laughter to your late nights as it has mine.

Anyway, I go to bed around 10 each night, and wake up when the sun does. Or a little later. I do my little P90X stuff, and proceed on with my day, always looking forward to slipping back into a scrumprulescent bed at the end.

Now, I’m up late doing homework! Like, like… like a college kid. Actually, I’m done with my homework and found myself with a strange desire to blog about this event. In the moment. Like I said: raw.

I wasn’t raised to be like this. My parents are hard workers. They stay focused on their jobs during normal people hours so they don’t have to bring it home. Time at home was always for the family. My mom would always warn me about the woes of procrastination. But to a chubby twelve year old, why learn how to work? Especially when you could spend your time eating a Little Debbie? Yum. Any Nutty Bar lovers out there?

So, here I am. I have completed my work and would like to issue a statement:

“People of the procrasti-nation. I, one of your own, recant my beliefs that a Little Debbie (metaphorical of course) is not worth it! Do your work, and then go to bed! My mom was right!”

But don’t let her know I said so.

This brings me to a question for any readers that might be out there. Do you have a similar virtue your parents often exercised, but somehow you still missed the point and practice? I’m curious.

Righto. Off to bed. Tedward, Burnie the Hand, and I are over and out.

(Peppy for 3:32 am, right? Yeah. We keep it real.)

February 6, 2011

bathrobes and a burned hand

Over and over again, I hear from people who love to bake that the price of such a hobby is at least one (disgusting) scar. You know, the big shiny kind that clearly resemble whatever burnt them. Now, I am a very careful baker. I wear shoes in the kitchen if I’m going to use a knife at all because I learned in a class that dropping knives on bare feet is a major cause of kitchen injuries. I have about five potholders to avoid burns, strategically placed around my tiny kitchen so as to access them with speedily if need be.

Why this love for safety? My mom. She can keep four kids and their playmates safe all day. However, when you’re keeping both eyes and 97% of your mental energy on said kids, it leaves little time to be concerned about potentially burning your own hands or slicing your fingers as you chop up veggies. Thus, in the 30 years my mom has been a mom, she’s had a few kitchen injuries, which she always uses as a teaching moment for her girls.

Because of her, I know that I should never put a Corell dish on a hot surface because it will explode. Yes, explode. Not fun. I know that you should wear long sleeves when working with oil in a pot or skillet or you will suffer burned dots on your arms. And I know you should never, ever, ever forget that you put a steel pot in the oven and grab the handle without letting it cool (foreshadowing).

That’s right. Last night, as I prepared a special meal for Date Night with my husband, I got injured. Injured bad. The dish? Roast chicken with creamy dijon sauce. I purchased all the ingredients that day, I had cleared out my husband to relax as I cooked, and I was going to dominate that recipe. After searing the chicken for about 5 minutes, I transferred the entire shallow pot to my oven. The temp? 450 degrees. Just let that sink in.

After 15 minutes, I slid both hands into my very thick and sturdy pot holders, removed the pot from the oven, placed it on the stovetop, and turned around.

Somewhere in that turning, the fact that a 450 degree pot sat behind me fell out of my head. I pulled off my faithful pot holders. I turned back to the seemingly harmless pot and fully grasped the handle.

Sizzle. Sizzle, sizzle, scream, tears, Spencer running to my aid, Spencer calling our moms to ask what to do, more tears, Spencer driving through the ice to get to a drug store for gauze and salve, more tears, calling my sister in med school (Bonnie), and finally wrapping up my shiny, nasty hand.

Needless to say, dinner was put on hold for about an hour. Despite Spencer’s repeated “no’s”, I still finished dinner. Honestly, it was delicious. The sauce was perfect, the chicken cool but juicy, and the rissole potatoes were to die/burn for. Needless to say, I was not in a mood for pictures so those will have to wait for another post.

As Spencer and I sat down for dinner and the new episode of the Office, I thought about how it was sad that I didn’t know what to do when I burnt my hand so badly. I mean, I love being in the kitchen, and that’s the most dangerous room in the house. So, I apologize if you already know this or are bored by the following, but, for the sake of any girls who might read this and think “I wouldn’t know what to do either,” here is what you should do (and not do) when you burn your hand badly (but not so much you need to go to the hospital):

  1. Despite the strong urge, do not cut off you hand. I’m glad that knife was far away.
  2. Do not just sit on the floor and cry. This will not help, as I discovered.
  3. Do run your hand under slightly cool water. It should only be a little colder than room temp. My Bonnie said that anything too cold will shock the injury, which you don’t want. As if your entire system isn’t shocked enough.
  4. Do not begin picturing the blisters that will soon appear. Like me, you might start to feel like you’re about to throw up, which helps no one.
  5. Do clean the burn with soap and apply salve, neosporin, aloe, etc.
  6. Do not take out your frustration on the very attractive red head helping you.
  7. Do call you sister in medical school while your husband is driving to get supplies for you. She will calm you and let you cry while you’re hand is in the water.
  8. Do not drop the phone containing your sister’s very calming voice into the bucket of water. This will ensure further frustration.
  9. Do not ask the person who just drove to the store to help you out why they took so long. Not nice.
  10. Do cover the burn. Exposure to air will allow for infection, according to my sister.
  11. Do take some ibuprofen for the pain.
  12. Do let your nice husband make puppy chow and take care of you.

Simple enough, right? I honestly couldn’t remember if you were supposed to run a burn under cold water as I stood in my kitchen last night, looking at the tight, shiny skin I’d just scorched. Now I know what to do. I hope any readers who might burn themselves soon will be able to use that information.

Oh, one last thing, after burning your hand, don’t even bother trying to wear normal clothes. Put on a bathrobe. And eat some more puppy chow. It burns even more on day two, and sweet crunchy things will distract you.