Welcome, little baby!

I got word this morning from Daddy Hitzeroth that Olivia Juliet came into this world today at 8:41 am! Mommy Hitzeroth and Baby are both fine. Olivia is 7 lbs, 13 oz and 19 inches long. She gets to meet her Big Sister today when Grandma Hays brings Georgie to the hospital after her nap.

Mommy is recovering (it was a c-section) and Olivia is learning many new things.

I'll post a pic as soon as I have one. :)

I Like Blue Eyes

"Hey babe?" Hayley asked as she uncovered a pot on the stove filled with something mysterious. "Tell me what you think: Every breakfast dish I've made from my new cookbook has turned out amazing, so when I came to a breakfast recipe in the book that had two awesome ingredients and one weird one, I was a little wary but I went ahead and got all the ingredients to make it. I was preparing it for breakfast for us tomorrow morning, but now I'm wondering if it's worth the effort because the one weird ingredient just seems so gross with the others."

"What's the weird ingredient?" questioned Brent.

"Endives," answered Hayley.

They both peered into the pot of steaming, blanched endives that were to be wrapped in ham slices, set in a casserole dish and sprinkled with cheddar cheese to be put in the oven. The endives looked nauseating, but maybe, just maybe, they would magically smell and taste more appetizing.

Brent submerged his nose into the pot and immediately sprang up, laughing, and said, "Nope, not worth the effort."

Hayley took a whiff as well and came to the same conclusion, pouring the blanched endives in the trash and preparing mentally for Plan B breakfast in the morning: the ever-faithful bacon and eggs.

"I really thought that the ham and cheese would make up for the weirdness of the endives," Hayley said. "But after smelling them I'm wondering, 'What were they thinking?" she exclaimed, referencing the cookbook authors.

Mimicking Hayley, Brent pretended to be considering a new recipe: "I like salt. The other ingredients are strange, but I like salt. I think the salt will make the whole dish something I like."

Hayley giggled and punched Brent's stomach, then Brent drew her in for one of those always-satisfying embraces. He said, "What were YOU thinking when you married me?" Then he kissed her on the cheek.

Hayley responded with a thoughtful look: "I like blue eyes...."

And the two burst out in laughter.

The end.

The Life of a Cat

I've lived with six different cats over the course of my life, and I have come to a remarkable conclusion.

According to a cat, the most important, all-consuming purpose in its life is to get as comfy as possible.

There are other priorities, of course. The top five, in decreasing order, are as follows:

Eat.

Define the word "spooked" by fluffing the tail and/or springing 3 ft up in the air upon being surprised.

Explore crevices.

Play with and examine squishy and/or crinkly and/or fluffy and/or rapidly moving things.

Get comfy.

Take Pdub (aka, Prince Winston, aka, PW, aka P-Diddly, aka, Sir Dubicus McPiedemont (the last was dubbed by my brother, Hunter)). When I bring the towels in from the dryer, it does not matter what activity he is involved in at the moment. He sees an opportunity to get comfy in the warm folds of the freshly dried towels, and he snuggles in. Before I have time to stop him. Before I notice.

He'll get curious about things if I make them worthy of curiousity...like wiggling a string or rubbing my fingers together quickly.

But he resists the temptation to go play and examine because he is as comfy as he will ever be all week, until the next time I bring the towels in from the dryer.

The difference between the last two pictures is in his eyes. In the former, his eyes are active, demonstrating that he's thinking about whatever I am doing that is making him curious and tempted to get up and explore. In the latter, his eyes are lethargic-like...he's settling in for the long haul of a good snuggle and nap.

Until I bothered him again by poking the camera lens into his face. I'm sorry, Pwege. (Yes, another nickname.)

When he became assured that I would no longer try to entice him out of the warmth of his towels, he stretched and maneuvered to an even comfier position.

Contemplating purring....

He skipped the purring and went straight to the closed-eyes catnap.

Oh my goodness. So comfy cozy.

Oh my. I just wanted to cuddle up with him.

How can cats look snoody even when they're sleeping?

Contentedness is starting to overwhelm his snoodiness.

There we go. Out like a light.

I just wuv my kitty.

How to Make a Topiary

The other week I arrived early at an early in the morning appointment in Pasadena. Because I had time to kill, I parked in a nearby shopping center thinking maybe I could do a bit of window shopping. There was an Anthropologie, one of my most favorite home/clothing stores (it would be my absolute favorite if its items weren't so unaffordable), and a perfect store for window shopping. Unfortunately, it wasn't even 9 o'clock in the morning, so Anthropologie wasn't open yet. In fact, the only store I found open at the center at that hour in the morning was a Walgreens.

I'd never thought of Walgreens as a go-to place for window shopping.

But I was bored with plenty of time to kill, so I went inside and wandered the aisles. I got asked if I needed help several times by the employees inside who were hurriedly organizing and stocking shelves before the rush of the day began. I continually said no, though I probably past by each of them three times as I looked and looked at beauty products, skin products, cards, candy, etc. I wasn't interested in anything I was looking at.

Until I found the most adorable porcelain flower pots I'd ever seen.

I didn't know what I wanted to do with them or where they would belong in my home, but I knew I wanted them. Funny enough, everything about them looks and feels as though they should have been for sale next door in Anthropologie. Everything except for the price. The price is what sold me on them. Even if I didn't know what I was going to do with them or if I had a place for them in my apartment, I knew I couldn't go wrong for $1.29 each.

$1.29 each. Can you believe it?

I took them home and admired them for a day or two, contemplating how the little cuties could be put to use and shown off. It was difficult to come up with a use for them, as I don't have any sort of a garden plot or a porch available to me and I don't have a window sill suitable for flower pots' contents to see the sunlight.

And then it came to me. TOPIARIES. Like this one. Only smaller, of course. I would make decorative topiaries out of artificial floral materials.

I didn't know how to make topiaries, though. So I googled it. I found several different instructions, all of them extremely vague for the amateur interior floral decorator, but after a little research, I felt confident that I understood the materials that I needed and the procedure for making what I wanted.

I went on a shopping spree at Michael's for my materials, then I came home and performed the following steps:

1. I unwrapped a bouquet of fake twigs. I bought the twigs to use as a topiary-trunk.

2. I cut the twigs down to the height that I wanted, being sure to use the the thicker, sturdier bottoms of the twigs rather than the thinner, flimsier stuff at the top. The tops were just wimpy, not suitable for a tree trunk, as can be seen in the above picture.

3. Using two different purchased bouquets of twigs, I made two tree trunks by twisting the twigs together and rubber banding them at the ends. I made the trunks differ in height by a few inches on purpose.

4. Next, I used modeling clay to form a sturdy base at one end of each trunk.

6. I inserted the clay bases into my adorable porcelain pots, and kept packing in the clay until it was obvious that the trunks weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

7. I opened up my bag of preserved moss and hot glued a few pieces around the circumference of the base of each tree trunk. Then I packed more moss all around the clay surface in the flower pot so that no more clay could be spotted.

8. I stuffed the tops of the trunks into the center of two styrofoam balls. I felt like the topiaries were missing something (besides the greenery that still had to be applied to the foam balls), so I tied some pretty ribbon to the tree trunks. Apparently my cat was a bit jealous that every item on the table BUT HIM had made it into a picture, so he slyly snuck his way in to one.

9. I began adorning my topiaries with fake ivy leaves, using greening pins and a hot glue gun.

And when I finished, the topiaries looked like this:

Just in case you didn't see how stinkin' cute these flower pots were the first time, here is another close-up shot.

Oh, I just think topiaries are adorable.

They are now constant residents of my dining table, as the proud and shining centerpieces.

Deviled Eggs

With the approach of Easter, I find myself wistfully contemplating the problem of deviled eggs. I feel as though the dish has so much potential, and yet it has never lived up to its potential any time it has ever entered my mouth. I dream of deviled eggs with thick, sturdy whites surrounding smooth, creamy, ultra-light filling that's tangy, salty, and egg-yolky. These deviled eggs would look something like this:

My disappointment in the dish lies in the fact that every time I've made them, and every time I've ever tried anyone else's deviled eggs, the whites are unsturdy, uneven, and often breaking apart, and the filling is thick, lumpy, way to tangy, or they just taste like egg yolks and mayo. They usually look something like this:

Nevermind. I was going to post a picture of a gross looking deviled egg, but then I felt bad because the picture was from someone's blog and they took a picture of it trying to make it look appetizing. And I was going to make fun of it. So...I decided not to.

Anyways, Yuck.

What could be a devilishly tasteful dish, has, on every occasion, proven to be a gag-inducing one for me.

I know the perfect deviled egg exists, otherwise we wouldn't all try to make them every year. I know it. My goal is to find it this year. Give me ideas or recipes if you have any.

This Easter, accompanying my ham and cold spinach salad, will be the perfect deviled egg. I'll close my eyes, take a bite, and drift off to heaven.

Valentine's Day Celebration: Attempt #2

This could have an alternate title:

Sometimes You Need to Throw a Party Just Cuz

On Saturday, February 2oth, Brent and I hosted a party at our apartment. We invited Harrison and Vika (and Ksu, as she is a packaged deal with the other two), Ben and Masha, and Hunter. Originally I had planned and advertised this gathering as a Valentine's Day party, but because people were not in town on Valentine's Day weekend AND Hunter was spreading rumors that he wasn't going to come because he didn't have a date, I went about advertising it as simply a "party."

A party complete with spaghetti & meatballs, a rip-roarin' game of Monopoly, and haikus.

Each and every guest was required to prepare and recite a haiku dedicated to that special someone in their lives...or to my cat, Pdub, if that special someone hadn't quite revealed themselves yet. I had anointed each place setting at the dinner table with a well decorated card with space on which a haiku could be written, and before we said grace we all recorded our haikus on the cards so that we could recite from them. We started with the couple who had been married the longest, and we made our way down to Hunter. I wish I could record everyone's haikus here for you all, because they are all sweet, endearing, random and funny in their own ways, but I let everyone take home their cards at the end of the night to cherish forever and ever. Here are Brent and mine, though:

To Brent:

Cozy to cuddle

Artistic in many ways

Brent has caught my heart.

To Hayley:

She does not like feet

She warms my heart with her smile

She is your sister.

Brent looked directly at Hunter as he recited his final sentence.

Brent's had the potential to be romantic, but it missed the mark at the last second. Darn.

I don't remember Hunter's haiku word for word, but it went something like this:

To Pdub:

I have been trying

To write a haiku for you

But I just cannot.

The haikus were a hit; the two other married couples had prepared many more than just one for each other...meaning either that the idea was super cool and WE'RE super cool for taking part in the haiku recital, or we're all just a bunch of nerds.

After the haikus we dove into the spaghetti and meatballs. Halfway into my plate I got a bright idea. I grabbed a piece of my spaghetti, walked over to Brent, put one end of it in his mouth and and other in mine. We slurped the piece of spaghetti until our lips met.

Harrison and Vika followed suit with many "Awww"s.

So did Ben and Masha.

Hunter stood up, grabbed a piece of spaghetti, put one end in his mouth, closed his eyes and slurped. When he got to the end of the spaghetti piece, he braced with his lips pursed and ready for a kiss, opened one eye, then snapped his finger with a shrug of his shoulder and a "Darn it! Didn't work."

I never thought I would ever, EVER, say this, but, Monopoly was a blast. It must have just been the perfect group. Wasn't boring. Produced lots of laughter. I loved everything about playing it...except for the fact that Ben and Masha, as a Monopoly team, are shrewd and merciless winners. They cleaned everybody else out of the water. Ben did most of the action, but Masha was the brains behind their win. She would give Ben her advice with an evil little whisper and Ben would act upon it...and time after time Masha's plans would come through with victory for the Llewellyns. Ugh. Brent and I didn't have a chance.

We had a delicious dessert of Reine de Saba with Glacage au Chocolat (translated: Chocolate and Almond Cake with Chocolate Butter Frosting) from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It was extremely rich, but delicious. I recommend eating it with a hot cup of tea.

Again, this post would have been much more entertaining if there were pictures to go with it (and there ARE pictures to go with it, but they are stuck on Brent's computer, which, for the time being, is out of commission). But this'll have to do for now.

Valentine's Day Celebration: Attempt #1

It's a little late for this Valentine's Day themed post, but my excuse is that Brent's computer, which has all of our pictures on it (including the ones I want to post on my blog), has been having issues with letting me access the pictures. Finally, a couple of days ago, Brent fixed the problem. I snatched the opportunity to view the pictures, edit the ones I wanted for my blog and get them all set and ready. I then took a break from the computer. During my break Brent found it appropriate to take apart his computer and put it back together, and ever since then it has not been starting. GRRRR. I'll attempt to do a few posts without pictures...but don't blame me if they're not entertaining.

Last year, February 14th was a wonderful, gushy, mushy romantic day for the two of us because it was the very first February 14th on which either of us had ever been in a relationship. Being the sentimental young lady I am, my heart just fluttered at the thought that mine would be his first and only kiss on any Valentine's Day in his entire life. He bought me flowers, I made him a card, the whole memory is a fuzzy blur of petals and love notes.

This year, our February 14th was sabotaged even before the first Valentine's Day cards made their way to the store shelves.

I asked Brent a few times in the early part of January if we were going to buy gifts for each other for Valentine's Day, and which of us should take care of plans for celebration. Being the practical provider for our twosome family that he is, he pointed out that we had spent enough on Christmas and that Valentine's gifts were a no go. He would always avoid the question of who should take care of Valentine's Day plans.

Finally, maybe a few days before the event, I asked again: "What should we DO for Valentine's Day?"

He braced for what could be a difficult conversation of convincing the wifey, and responded, "You know how I feel about Valentine's Day, right?"

I said something to the effect of, "It's a holiday made up by the card companies?"

"Precisely."

I made things easy and swallowed my heart's desire of a day full of flowers, gifts, sweet nothings, and heart shaped candy and agreed with him that we should lay low this Valentine's Day.

I warned him that I WAS going to make a special dinner for him and me on Valentine's night and that I wanted to watch a romantic movie with him. That was O.K. with him.

I scoured The Pioneer Woman's cooking site for a dinner Brent would flip out over. I chose Pasta alla Marlboro Man and Garlic Cheese Bread with my tried and true tirimisu for dessert.

Valentine's Day comes. It's a Sunday. We go out to lunch with my parents after church. We get to talking about having them over sometime to watch the movie version of The Phantom of the Opera, and I blurt out, "Maybe you could come over tonight for dessert and the movie, if Brent's ok with that." Brent's ok with that. THEN I start to consider my previous words and add, "I'll let you know if we want to officially invite you, cuz I'm not sure I want to share my Valentine's Day with you." (I'm such a selfless, sweet daughter, aren't I? Parents are ones to look up to, though, because my selfish jab just rolls off their shoulders, and they still are as proud of me as before I undid their invitation.)

Brent takes over for his wife who had fallen into a pit of behaving inconsiderately, and says, "We don't need to let you know later. You're officially invited. You're coming, right?"

They're coming. At 7:30. For dessert and the movie.

My new plan for a romantic Valentine's Day celebration: Candle lit dinner. That's all.

I don't know why, but I got started with dinner a little late. Meaning that at 7:15, the meat was just getting brown and the garlic bread was just getting into the oven. By 7:23, I had begun gathering as many candles as I could from all over the home to bundle together as a firey centerpiece on the dinner table. By 7:35, I was calling Brent to the table, antsy and on edge because my parents would be calling up from our front gate at any minute and we hadn't yet gotten around to our Valentine's celebration dinner.

I was totally stressed (for no reason, really). I had run out of time to grate fresh parmesan cheese to top our pasta, so I got out the canister of Kraft grated parmesan cheese that has been in our fridge since before we were married, I believe (I'm an uppity little foodie...I usually only settle for a high class, fresh brick of parmesan cheese, thank you very much). I let Brent know that he should REALLY probably start coming to the table, because my parents were probably parking outside, and as I did so, I shook the Kraft canister to make sure all the cheese wasn't hardened into a huge lump. Three ferocious shakes into it, I noticed a blanket of white out of the corner of my eye all over my clean black table. To my horror, my dining table, chairs, floor, and my left arm were COVERED in Kraft grated parmesan cheese. I let out a desperate and loud, "oh NO!"

Brent: "Babe? What happened?"

Me: Silence.

Brent: "Babe?"

Me: Stubborn silence.

I cleaned myself up a bit and made my way back to the table, and on my way stubbed my toe in a horribly painful way. "OOOOOWWWWW!" I yelled like a toddler. Brent heard his queue, and came to my emotional rescue right away. I needed some warm, husbandly, emotional rescuing at that time.

"What's going on?" he asked as he came to embrace me.

"I spilled the cheese all over and my toe hurts like heck and this is a horrible night. A horrible, horrible night."

"You're right," he says with a comforting twinkle in his eye, "it's just horrible. It is just awful. We should probably just go to bed and hide our faces from the world." He hugs me and kisses my temple.

I search into his eyes and say, "So...it's not all that big of a deal, is it?"

With a smile and another hug he says, "No."

You see...this is why I love my Brent. He is just what I need, when I need him. I throw a temper tantrum, and instead of abandoning me like any sane person would do, instead he is gentle with me. Tender-hearted. Understanding.

And to top it all off, he got in the mushy spirit of Valentine's Day for dinner just for me, taking the initiative to light the candles that I had missed and taking artistic pictures of our meal to remember forever and ever.

The only other sad thing about that night was that there was nothing about the meal to flip out over. I was totally expecting it to be flip-out-over worthy, because every PW recipe I've ever tried is that way. But this wasn't. The pasta was just ok. And the Garlic Cheese Bread was...dare I say it?...too cheesey (I'm sorry). Brent agreed, though he was bashful about it, saying that he felt it was an offense to his self-proclaimed title of Cheese Lover to admit it.

It was not a perfect Valentine's Day, but it was a comforting one. I KNOW that Brent will always love me because he loves me tenderly through temper tantrums. We were able to eat a leisurely meal before my parents showed up, at which time hot tea, tirimisu, the songs of The Phantom of the Opera and some cuddling with my husband melted all the cares of the day away.

stay tuned...

I have SO MUCH to blog about...but I'm having computer problem after computer problem. So please, stay tuned, and I'm sorry about the delay. Fun things to come, I promise!