It’s been a minute. Yes, I know you’ve all been eagerly checking your inboxes, biting your nails wondering O MY GOODNESS WILL LINDSEY EVER BLOG AGAIN?
My loves, you can rest at last. Pour yourselves a glass of wine or a mug of tea because I’ve got some ground to cover.
By the way, in case you’ve been wondering, I’ve been super productive in the past few months! In fact, I would love to share a few wins and fails of what I’ve been up to.
First and Foremost:
I WROTE A BOOK. Well, I wrote a book with 12 other people, and Holly did most of the work, BUT MY NAME IS IN IT.
Here she is. Isn’t she beautiful? (If you want to snag a copy, use my special contributor code SHSF20 and go here to order)
Most all of my writing/editing/communicating energy has gone into this little number, so I have not been wording on the computers as much as I should. Either way, this is a win, and I’m so thrilled that I got to be a part of this project. If you like laughing and crying or laughing until you cry, buy this book for yourself and everyone you know who has estrogen.
My Fail? Social. Media.
Before you pass me the Werther’s , please know that I was one of THE first people on Facebook, when Facebook was reserved only for college students. (Hipster facebook user? Is that possible?) I loved it, but for reasons that I still need to flesh out in a longer post, I stepped away entirely a year and a half ago and have never looked back. I’ve tried Instagram, but I can’t quite seem to find my voice on there. I’m much more of a words gal than photog, so I keep trying Insta like someone trying to start an old car on a cold morning. It’s painful.
This book has highlighted my premature entry into my semi-Amish lifestyle and has stretched me past my comfort in terms of self-promotion, posting, etc. But I needed that. I tried to make up for my lack of contribution to the marketing of this puppy by busting out my best Adele at the karaoke Launch party, but I think the chick that could both sing and dance all of the Bruno Mars totally owned me.
I’ve been waking up in the early morning LIKE AN ADULT and have reaped the amazing benefits of not starting the day chasing children.
Except for the one day I slept in and walked downstairs to discover the toddler sitting on the couch, a carton of ice cream between her legs, going full Winnie the Pooh in the Moose Tracks. Both fists.
Another Win, you ask?
I’ve been hard at work at my sewing machine cranking out some of my most favorite little happies: crayon rolls. I was really happy with how they sold at Christmas, so I modified my pattern and made more for Easter Baskets, etc. Add on a bunch of home projects, birthdays, a few holidays, etc., and I’ve about met my creative capacity for the year. And that’s saying something.
Nevertheless, I’m still trying to work some creative magic on behalf of our Wildflower’s big 5th birthday party coming up.
The theme? Narnia. (Shocking, I know.)
But seriously, this thing has been snowballing for the last few months, including very wonderful, amazing, loyal friends dressing up. (I love you, Ber.) (Yes, I know I still owe you.)
We spent this afternoon building a wardrobe out of cardboard boxes (not finished yet, but getting there!). We also successfully created a full Pinata makeover, turning this:
(Peter slays a wolf that’s trying to eat his sisters. It seemed like a good villain.)
But the fail came in the kitchen, as it often does.
I am a notoriously ambitious baker. Like when I tried to build a 3-D squirrel cake the night before my oldest’s first birthday party. I attempted this with boxed cake mix and all the knowledge I had gained from watching 3 episodes of Cake Boss.
It did not fare well.
(Bonus fact! I was able to concoct a decent squirrel out of rice crispies treats, but when covered with chocolate icing, it resembled the new vocabulary word my 8 year old learned at school last week that rhymes with “bird.”)
I come by it honestly. One Christmas my mother made candy that had an uncanny resemblance to deer droppings, and there’s another story about “Roach Candy” in the archives.
For all of the successes we have casually slid onto the holiday table, there’s a graveyard of culinary catastrophes in our closets. I have turned more cakes into trifles than I can count and have learned that homemade whipped cream covers a multitude of sins.
But tonight, there was no recovery.
I have thankfully learned from my ways and decided to test a daunting recipe well in advance of the actual party day. My experiment: Turkish Delight.
I read the recipe THREE TIMES. I cross referenced TWO RECIPES for consistency. I went to a Middle Eastern Grocery store and pretended not to be awkward to secure the elusive rose water extract needed.
All was going swimmingly. Soft ball stage. Hard ball stage. Double saucepans, candy thermometers. The coloring was perfect, the rose flavor, delightfully subtle.
And then, the pistachios.
The recipe insisted they were the key to authenticity, and not wanting to neglect the STAR of the Dessert table. I dumped all 16 ounces of lovingly roasted and chopped pistachios.
And it took a horrible turn.
What do you mean, you wouldn’t sell your soul and your siblings for a piece of this?