Oh Fudge.

I am not a baker. I cook. From recipes. My siblings are incredible bakers. No one makes a pie like Eric and Shelley's cookies are softer than Lucy's bum. I did not get this gene. I can make macaroni and cheese, tuna casserole, and sloppy joes. I cannot make a double layer chocolate cake from scratch. I know my limitations. I work from within them.

But I make the best fudge on earth. I wish I was kidding, but humility ain't a part of this recipe. Probably because the recipe is so ridiculous, laughable really. I might as well have pride with my complete shame.

Because I have my new lens and I love my new lens. Really, really, wanna marry it, play MASH all day together, love it -- I decided to make this a photo story. I'm the pioneer woman of Klahanie.

The lineup for this little gem.

And here's the recipe:

Oh yes. That's the back of the marshmallow cream. Let it sink in. This is the greatest recipe ever and you will care to stop laughing. Make this and then try and laugh.

What I love most about this recipe is that it makes sense. How do you make good fudge? How about a saucepan full of sugar, a stick and a half of butter, and some evaporated milk? My guess is, PK will not be thrilled with this. It isn't raw or organic, but it has to be better than my Kool-aid. Has to be.

You will also need this.

Because you will be stirring for an ungodly amount of time. Not just stir here, stir there. You will stir like your life (and by life, I mean fudge) depends on it.

So happy about my stirring. SO HAPPY.

Once it gets to a rolling boil (that's a boil you can't kill by stirring), you get to stir some more! YEAH STIRRING!

You add the marshmallow cream (don't worry PK. I'm pretty sure it's free range mallow) and the chocolate. It melts somewhere between instantly and....instantly.

Pour into a pan.

Find a helper to clean the bowl.

The End. No raw egg. No mixer. Momma Fe raised me right.

********
The SUPER SECRET, SO HARD recipe
That is on the back of a marshmallow cream jar.

3 cups sugar
3/4 cup butter
5 oz evaporated milk
12 squares of Baker's semi-sweet chocolate squares
1 jar JET PUFFED MARSHMALLOW CREAM (how could this not be good?)
1 tsp. vanilla
You can ruin this by adding nuts, if you feel it's necessary.

Grease a 9x13 with butter.
Place sugar, butter, and milk in a medium saucepan. Stir for eternity over medium heat. If you stop, you lose. It's just that simple. Once it hits a rolling boil, stir it into submission for another 4 minutes. Remove from the heat. Add the mallow, the chocolate, and the vanilla. If you decide to add those god-awful nuts, ruin your fudge at this point too (wouldn't it be nice if someday I could really say what I feel and not be so wishy,washy?? huh??). Pour into a pan, cool 4 hours on the counter.

Done and done.

Human Make Fire.

Cave Cat like fire.

My public apology.

I need to make a public apology. A very, tail between my legs, can we be friends, I'll invite you to my birthday party, kind of apology. The kind, where, no matter what, you know that you have caused damage and hurt, and you will never be able to make what you said go away.

Because it can't. I can't select-all and delete my words. They aren't the same as the text I type and constantly edit or rearrange. What I can hope is that those I've hurt love me enough to know that I am truly sorry and am trying to make amends for what I did.

Here we go.

I read Twilight and I loved it.
LOVED IT.
(biggest understatement of my life)


So, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I made fun of your Twilight birthday party here.
I'm sorry I made a few snide remarks there.
I'm sorry I ever doubted how amazing these books are even if they are written at the same reading level as Super Fudge.

I didn't know. I didn't know that Edward was the real love of my life and that Chuck was just a pawn (Twilight pun INTENDED). I didn't know that I would consider leaving my husband for a fictional 108 year old vampire, permanently frozen at age 17. I didn't know that I would seriously reconsider any friendships I have (or more appropriately had) with any Team Jacob supporters.

I may have read all four books in 10 days.
I may have purchased book four at 5 pm Friday and finished it Saturday at 11pm. 30 hours, 756 pages. Whatever. True love reads that fast.

Sigh.

Ok. There you have it. I'm a TwiHard and I've never been more fine with anything in my entire life. I figure, I didn't get wrapped up in Harry Potter or Dungeons and Dragons, so I was owed one roll in the fantasy genre hay.

Can you ever forgive me, love?
Susie Cullen.

If only you knew how close I am to changing my name....

ps. To really "own" my apology, I think I need to specifically apologize to:
Emy, Jessica, Dania, Cheryl, Libby, Laura, Catlyn, Shar, and Karen.
You win. You dazzle me.

My camera. My heart.

You may not be as excited about this as I am. Seriously. So excited. See:

I know. Pretty stinking excited.

Santa Fe gave me my xmas present early so I could properly photograph the holiday season. She's a gem. It's a new camera lens, it's the love of my life, and I'm pretty sure I can't remember life before it.

It's a Pentax 50 mm 1.4. It basically means I can take pictures in low light without having to use my god-awful flash. Which I hate using. I hate a built in flash. We are not besties and we get in lighting disagreements all the time. They get pretty darn heated, if you ask me.

Fe quickly regretted her gift giving decision. Oh yes, Mother. Me and My Camera are going to be a whole lot worse now. We're going to be AMAZING together and you have only added fuel to my annoying fire. Send all picture and obnoxious photographer complaints to Fe. She's expecting them.

I know you could care less, but I care, so humor me. I've only had an hour or so of play time. Here's what we've got (remember that NOTHING I took pictures of was even remotely interesting. What's interesting is the no flash and the colors and the crazy shallow depth of field -- meaning it gets blurry fast).

Basically, it's going to get a whole lot more photo-y around here. Like it or not.

Thanks for humoring me.

That dreaded picture.

Let's be honest. When it comes right down to it, one of the hardest parts of every year (blanket statement, total honesty) is finding/picking/taking a Christmas card picture. Put it right there on the list between unemployment, filing taxes, and deciding between medium and super sized at McDonalds. I'm just being real. We all know I'm right. It's that bad.

Nothing like my-side to leave it to the last minute to take a picture together. We've only had 11 months. Actually, we've done worse. Last year, we procrastinated so long, we never sent one out. We collectively blamed it on Shelley's never-ending pregnancy (we wanted Lu in the picture). Taking a picture before Dec. 1 is basically as good as we're going to get. Taking a picture together is a Christmas miracle, in and of itself.

Finding one that we all look good in. Difficult. To put it kindly.

I figured I'd post the evolution of this year's picture taking. All the "no that's not good", "ew I look bad" pictures because it tells a story about the family that Fe and PK raised.
Try #1. Apparently, I'm not sure how to AUTOFOCUS my automatic camera. Oh well. Dad wins MVP for this one. He was being a Chatty Cathy, as usual.
Try #2. Lucy wins MVP. I don't blame her. He is uncomfortably tall and it is unnatural to look him straight in the eyes. No one should be up that high.
Try #3. This one's all me. In my defense, I only had a giant blinking red light for 12 seconds that got progressively faster as it counted down. It totally caught me off guard.
Try #4. You'd think this would be the winner. You think wrong.
Try #5. We're going to give it to the "non originals" in this picture. Stacia and Chuck really brought it here. And brah-vo to Eric for bringing the soft glow of electric sex into the picture.
Try #6. This is the one we chose. Why? Because it's true. It's us. Eric has a lamp. Shelley is focused on Lucy, who is focused on being an airplane. Mom's giggling. And then there's Newman. She's a little smug ever since she found out that Lucy finally out weighs her. Only took 10 months there, Newm.

And that's my family.

Decisions.

No judging please. I stand behind my decision. November needed to hurry up and go. It's overstayed its welcome. I'm just doing my part to pick up the pace. Truth be told, I'm surprised I held out this long. Honestly, I deserve a bloody medal for almost making it to Thanksgiving. Almost.

Even though this is what our house looks like from the outside:

(tisk tisk. I said no judging. No judging. I can actually feel your disapproval over the Inter Web)

It looks like this on the inside:








And don't think this was done today, Thanksgiving Eve. No , no. I did this Sunday. I'd had enough, we have a fake tree, and I'm not hosting Thanksgiving so what do I care? What was I holding out for? What am I living for again?

Oh and those stockings hung with a few ounces of care?

Don't read too much into those. It's not 2053. That's Jack's stocking in the middle. We wanted to surround him with our love because he's an angel.

This last part pains me. In the spirit of Christmas, I made a snap Holiday decision and I think it's sending the wrong message to Chuck. Maybe a bit "leading him on".

Yes. I did this. On my own accord. No gun to my head. I'm so ashamed.

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas.
Love,

Susie

November

I got a tongue-lashing from Emy yesterday. I know, I said. There hasn't been anything "blog worthy" around here lately. And, I might add, in my defense Chuck has been rather normal lately.

It's been a while hasn't it. Val said Blogger is going to revoke my membership.

My name is Susie.
Hi. Nice to meet you.
Thanks for stopping by.

After Emy left, I got a tongue-lashing from Chuck (apparently, it wasn't my day to feel the love). "Check your camera, Missy. I have NOT been normal lately. You just keep forgetting to post it."
I checked. I died. I'd forgotten. About Chuck's ridiculousness. About you. About the life we share together on this interweb.

On my camera, I found:

Toilet Chuck. Declaring it to be toilet fixing day. I caught him "mid-declaration".

Laundry Chuck. Yes, that's a loin-cloth made out of a pair of his underwear (which I'm hoping was thrown away, but at the time of press, frighteningly not sure). That's a spatula. It's his scepter. He's very into scepters these days. "Laundry Chuck Fold Laundry." Well ok.
Worker Chuck.

In our house, Chuck acts. Chuck waits. It's always a wonder: How did he think of this? Why did he think of this? How long has he been posed like this waiting for me to see?

I love my husband.
No tradesies.
I'm keeping.

I know you're jealous.

ps: Sorry about November.