moosh in indy.

Internets, I have a secret.

I’m working my way through a possible food allergy.

The culprit? Perhaps gluten, perhaps a wheat allergy. Maybe it’s adrenal fatigue. It could also be cancer, or a third world parasite.

Regardless, if you know me at all, being allergic to the main things involved in baking chocolate cake is pretty much like telling a dolphin “Sorry dude, but you’re totally allergic to water.”

Tonight I made dinner that had finely chopped cauliflower as a stand in for rice. Not only did I feed it to the people related to me, I fed it to guests.

Oof.

What a bad time to come eat at Casey’s house, when she’s working through a possible gluten allergy. Kind of like going to Olive Garden and having them say “WHOOPS! SORRY! NO NOODLES! May I interest you in some garlic with a side of garlic?”

It’s probably just as bad as going to Olive Garden expecting olives and being very disappointed.

People come to eat at my house with a twinkle in their eye and stretchy pants on.

Imagine their disappointment when I serve them vegetables posing as rice, mixed with vegetables. And no dessert.

But I have had a rash. A horrible awful no good very bad rash. That burns and itches and welts and travels and is fairly unnerving. Thankfully my very lovely Jessica has recently suffered a very similar welted nightmare and told me everything she tried, everything that worked and more importantly everything that didn’t work.

I joked with her that God must like us most since we’re all Job like with our nasty rashes and vomitous pregnancies.

We also may have blamed our rashes on reality television.

She has come to the conclusion that diet and adrenal fatigue are most likely to blame which has led her to omitting anything fake from her diet, telling gluten to take a hike and taking enough supplements to restart a whale shark’s adrenal glands. (Do whale sharks have adrenal glands? Grant?)

Anyway, I turned to a local raw food healer whom I met through twitter and she talked me through an adrenal jump start.

(May I just say I love how the Internet has brought people to me so that I don’t have to suffer in puffy hives alone?)

Today I picked up my adrenal support capsules she recommended.

They are made from cow adrenal glands. And for some reason (taste? I think?) they add cloves and ginger to the cow parts in the capsule.

I loathe ginger (thanks pregnancy!)

I despise cloves (clove cigarettes, I was once young and stupid and impressionable.)

So dehydrated powdered cow parts, cloves and ginger.

If a 98 year old woman hadn’t stopped me in the health food store and commended me for not giving into the man and believing the lie that FDA has my best interests at heart, I would have left the cow caps there.

Three days gluten free. I’m really an awkward kind of hungry. I know I’ve eaten plenty, but there’s all these empty cracks waiting for chocolate cake and noodles. Carbs give you a very deliciously full feeling. For me, looking at gluten free recipes is probably similar to people reading their credit card statements, depressing, but it has to be done.

We’ve never been really crappy eaters. The treats we eat are almost always made from scratch by me. But we’re no perfectionists either. This isn’t a really dramatic change, just a sort of depressing one.

The cow caps begin tomorrow morning.

Forgive me if I moo.

This having an only child thing is a tricky business.

It’s one of those topics I’m afraid to look up on Amazon.

I’m sure there’s books about the subject. I’m even more sure the internet is just BURSTING! with ADVICE!

I want to ask her preschool teacher how obvious it is that she’s the only only child in a class of 12.

But I don’t want to know the answer.

Or maybe I do?

There are lists of famous people who are only children (Carey Grant, Frank Sinatra, Rudy Guiliani) also famous people who are middle children (Madonna, Donald Trump, Bill Gates) and of course the babies of the family (Drew Carey, Jim Carrey, Billy Crystal) I’m sure there’s also lists about only girls in families, only boys. Blah blah blah. Cody is a middle child and an only boy.

Needless to say he’s good with the ladies. And successful.

I am the youngest, I tried way too hard to be grown up like my sister way before my time.

I should technically be the funny kid.

And that brings me to Addie. When there’s only one there’s a bigger chance to screw up, you know, because there’s only one. You don’t have one to practice on and a second one to get right (because I’m sure that’s how it works.)

Eh. Sorry, I just have to say it out loud.

I’m really afraid of screwing up.

Thanks for listening.

Cody bought it the day before our first date.

Apparently he wasn’t getting much action with his grandmother’s old Barcaloungers.

I thought it was ugly.

It’s green.

The front pops out and it reclines.

We first held hands on it.

Our next date we had our first kiss on it.

I knew I was going to marry him while laying in his lap on it.

It’s where we first fell asleep together.

Two cats claimed it as their kingdom.

I slept through morning sickness on it.

I barfed from it.

I brought a tiny baby home to it.

That tiny baby leaked all sorts of liquids on it.

I shampooed it. A lot.

It moved across the country with us.

I’ve napped on it every Sunday.

We’ve taken turns sleeping on it, for multiple reasons.

I recovered from surgery on it.

It was the first thing we had to sit on in our new house.

It’s currently in our bedroom as laundry base camp.

Addie likes to hide behind it and scare Cody.

I still hate it.

I still think it’s ugly.

It has become worn out, parts have broken and it leaks grease on the carpet.

But I can’t ever get rid of it.

It’s our couch.

*****

If you were in Stephanie’s and my Inspirational Writing Workshop with Hallmark at Blissdom last month we issued you a challenge, to write about a couch. The full challenge is here if you want to play along (which you should) and once you do (or if you already have) link your posts up here over at Steph’s place.)

We’re in a breakfast rut around these parts.

If this is what your kitchen table looks like every morning then let’s help each other find more exciting things to eat for breakfast. You may even win a prize pack to help you over the breakfast hump. (Sponsored post. Unsponsored opinion.)

Just in case you had any preconceived notions that I am practically perfect in every way, I assure you I’m not.

My thighs are riddled with stretch marks and lumpy bumpies. I am covered in freckles in strange places. My face is covered with ruptured capillaries from severe vomiting while pregnant over five years ago. The skin under my chin is beginning to resemble that of a rooster. Without contacts I am twice legally blind, my two front teeth are fake and the rest of them are mottled from too much fluoride as a kid. My nose is big, my tongue is bigger, my upper lip is crooked with a scar from falling on my face as a child. I have chicken pock scars in strange places since I didn’t get the pox until I was 14. My knees are chubby, I have a big pink scar in my really deep bellybutton. My little toes point inward, my thumbs bend backwards I am capable of growing a unibrow, four chest hairs, three neck hairs, a sprinkle of whiskers and a shadow of a mustache. Don’t even get me started on the nipple hair. My hair is still recovering from PCOS where I started to go bald and when I look in the mirror all I can see is under eye bags and blotchy skin. My forehead wrinkles too much when I show emotion and I still get asked if my parents are home when I answer the phone. And while it’s only temporary my middle fingernail on my left hand is black from being smashed in a door.

To make matters worse? I found my first gray hair yesterday.

I still don’t even know how to properly apply makeup.

I have thighs I can wrap around my husband. I am covered in freckles that remind me of times I have spent in the sunshine. My face is beginning to show laugh lines rather than frown lines. The skin under my chin is one of Cody’s favorite parts on me. Without contacts my eyes are just as blue, I have never had a cavity. My nose can sniff out my favorite parts on my baby, my tongue has been passed down to my daughter and my lips are always up for kissing. I have chicken pock scars that remind me of my eighth grade year and my first boyfriend. I have knees to pray on, and scars from lessons learned. My feet helped me dance for nearly half my life and I passed my curly hair to Addie.  When I look in the mirror I see a mom, a wife and a friend. My forehead wrinkles up when I smile and I can make Cody and my mom laugh harder than anyone. And even though my middle finger was smashed it can still type out my thoughts and put on Polly Pocket’s stretchy clothes of death.

It’s still too fresh to find something worthwhile about the gray hair though.

So I never wrote a Michael Jackson post when he passed, if you’re into tech lingo and know anything about something called the long tail then you’ll know why I didn’t.

I was a hard core Michael fan, I was given a VHS copy of “Smooth Criminal” when I was a kid and watched it until the ribbon ran ragged.

I remember exactly where I was when I saw “Thriller,” my dad was making tuna noodle casserole while my sister and I watched the making of before watching the actual video so we wouldn’t be scared.

I also remember watching “Black or White” for the first time.

Yes, he got a little weird, so when he passed it was pretty surprising, but I didn’t lose any sleep over it.

About a week after he passed I decided to play some MJ on my iPod on a long drive with the moosh.

Dude, the kid could barely sit still.

She was IN. LOVE.

She couldn’t get enough. Still can’t.

I bought a DVD of his number one videos, oh how the kid danced while I did that whole “happy tears of pride and joy” from the couch. “Thriller” didn’t even phase her, unless you count being possessed by the beat.

I went out last Friday night with some friends so Cody rented “This Is It” to watch with her while I was gone (I had already seen it when it came out in theaters.)

Apparently my house turned into a dance party. While there’s no video evidence of Cody dancing, I know I didn’t teach her all these moves and she had to learn them from somewhere.

For the record, Cody never denied moonwalking across the bamboo.

the moosh told me today if I didn’t watch it I’d have to “just beat it.”

She then proceeded to dance.

My kid is awesome.

I don’t want to be writing this post.

Because I don’t want to be writing about what I’m going to be writing about.

Last year my dad’s dog Katie passed away. Katie was old, diabetic, blind and somewhat paralyzed from a stroke. But she and Addie were thick as thieves and Katie taught Addie more about compassion than any other living creature could. Addie sobbed for days after Katie’s passing, and she still remembers her almost daily.

Then my sister’s dog Delaney passed away from old age. Delaney treated Addie like her little baby. She let Addie crawl all over her and hug the daylights out of her and never once complained.

Addie has an understanding of heaven, and that when people go to heaven they are happy and taken care of. They no longer hurt or suffer. Katie can see and Delaney can walk without pain. Our religion teaches us that death is not the end, that we will be with our loved ones again in heaven for eternity. Now there’s no doctrine when it comes do dogs in heaven, but I can tell you if dogs aren’t there? It can’t possibly be considered heaven to Addie.

Addie even dressed up as Katie for Halloween.

McKenzie was Katie’s little dog sister. McKenzie was always scared to death around Addie until recently. Addie became quieter, slower and gentler (not to mention bigger.) Addie and McKenzie came to a quiet understanding that they were friends, bonded by the spotted one.

Do you see where I’m headed with this?

McKenzie got sick. McKenzie had surgery. McKenzie got more sick.

McKenzie had to be put to sleep.

I have to tell little miss.

I don’t want to.

Sometimes being the parent sucks.

We had guests (okay, the missionaries) over for dinner tonight. I decided to get fancy with dessert after Cody rolled his eyes when I busted out the box cake mix (I think he believes I’m getting lazy in my old age.)

In my Martha cookbook is a Caramel Banana Cake with Mascarpone Frosting.

All you foodie people are all “ooh! ahh!”

Well guess what? I’m not giving you the recipe because the cake was kind of nasty. But everything about it’s creation was perfection. Why perfection? Because this was my first fancy cake with my fancy new Frigidaire Professional Series oven.

I have cooked and baked and loved to cook and bake for years.

I have won awards for baking.

This is the first time I did some serious cooking with a high end stove.

And yes. In all honesty I could tell an enormous difference.

If you love to cook and have been cooking with your landlords entry level stove for the last ten years? Your entire kitchen life will change.

If you like to cook occasionally but don’t live or die by sauteing and roasting? You’ll notice how much easier things become.

If you have every intention of learning how to cook? Starting with a nice stove will give you amazing confidence and an edge.

If you’re my sister in law and can’t even make canned tomato soup without calling me first? Well. A new stove certainly can’t hurt, but seriously? Get help. (also? xoxo.)

So for those of you who “get” cooking? I give you reasons to spend that extra money on the professional series line. For those of you who don’t “get” cooking. Just imagine what the cake could have tasted like if it had tasted good.

First? The oven rack that appears as if from no where. (Okay, so it appears from the oven but it comes out WITH the door! Ever had to slide a peel full of dough onto your baking stone? Then you’ll know how impressive and handy this is.)

(Before anybody asks, it’s a baking stone, and I keep it in my oven all the time.)

I’ve always been a snot about oven thermometers. Mostly because I’ve always had a crappy oven that was off as much as 30 degrees in any direction. With this new oven? I just have the oven thermometer to rub in how spot on it is. No rotating cakes halfway through. Evenly baked. Even a really goopy thick cake like this banana mess.

Next? The range. I chose the gas range. Anyone who likes to cook should technically prefer cooking with gas. Even heat. REAL FIRE! Melting butter on my old range? Turn away for a second and BURN BABY BURN. This new one? Perfect browning. No burning.

Which makes caramelizing bananas even easier. Almost too easy. Not even sure if caramelizing bananas is supposed to be easy or not. But it is with this stove.

You’ll have to excuse the fact that I don’t use the m word. But the cake? Was m. The perfect texture for a cake. (Texture? SCORE. Taste? Fail. Sadly.)

The bananas (which looked an awful lot like squiggly bacon) went between the layers of the cake.

Then I smothered Mascarpone frosting all over the cake. Frosting makes everything better.

Only I wasn’t just smothering frosting. I WAS MULTITASKING! (Man cannot live on cake alone, however a PMSing woman totally can.)

Nothing burned, nothing overcooked and oh so much room for all of my biggest pots and pans.

The cake turned out just like the picture. I drizzled it with some caramel I made on the simmer burner. (Side note, five burners. The oblong oval one in the middle, a PowerPlus boil burner front right (I do wish it was on the left, it’s kind of a wonky burner (wonky meaning it’s either ON! HIGH! AND BOILING! or just kind of on and simmering, not much of a middle ground) and I use the front right burner the most and “used most” and “wonky” don’t go together.) a simmer burner right rear and two regular burners on the left.)

I must say this is one review that I would be doing in my head even if I hadn’t received these appliances (yes, for free) from Fridigaire to review.

Believe me, now that I’m a homeowner I know what it’s like to hand over a whole bunch of money for an appliance you’re responsible for (I’m looking at you fridge and dishwasher, both of you have totally proven your price, and for this? I thank you.)

I hope you can trust me when I say I take this review SEER-EE-US-LEE.

And that I owe the world (or at least my family) a pretty AND tasty cake (seriously, the kid wouldn’t even touch it.)

“I wrote this review while participating in a Test Drive Campaign by Mom Central on behalf of Frigidaire and received a Frigidaire Range/Microwave to facilitate my review.”

outside.

inside.

outside.

inside.

outside.

inside.

outside.

inside.

outside.

inside.

outside.

inside.

Outside is my backyard. Inside are the orchids at White River Gardens.

I love them both.

Also? This is my 1,000th post.

Whew.

Does your family take as good care of you as my family takes of me? I doubt it. But you can tell me all about it and be entered to win a sweet prize pack worth over $175 from GoodNites and yours truly. Click here for all the details and pass the Sudafed.