Be careful. I might bake at you.

liwAlmonzo, you’re cute and all, but we need to upgrade all the appliances. You can do that, right?

Last week, the hot water heater died at our house.

It died when I took a shower. Yep, it waited for me… patiently… and then WHAMMO, it decided to unleash its NON hotness on me whilst I tried to bat the water away and made squeaking noises in the shower.

This in fact happened twice. I attempted to take a shower on Friday night because, well, cleanliness and all, and noticed that the water was taking a bit longer than usual to heat up. Like, forever longer. I was actually so tired that I figured it was some glitch in infrastructure, that I needed to inform the hubs, and I squeegeed myself off in twenty seconds and went to bed.

Then, as my brain sort of works like Congress, as I was STANDING in the shower the next morning, my head went: “OH SNAP I WAS SUPPOSED TO TELL THE HUBS THIS IS SO INVIGORATING I THINK MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE WITH VIGOR.”

I mean, the frontier women showered like this pretty much every morning, right? If Laura Ingalls Wilder can do it, so can I.

No. Nope. No, I cannot, Laura. I’m sorry. Plus, you married someone named Almanzo, for Pete’s sake. Your life is weird.

Anyhow.

My sweet Not-Almanzo called a friend of his, and together they installed a brand new water heater that, you guessed it, pours REAL hot water into all the faucets! Like, whenever you turn them on, there it is! A modern miracle!

The biggest miracle of all…??

I made them cinnamon rolls as a thank you, and they actually turned out ok. The rolls, not the men.*

I think I have mentioned to you that I am a bit baking-challenged, right?

Case in point:

The famous Poo Cupcakes, circa October 2012, for the hubster’s birthday. He likes chocolate and peanut butter. Voila, I made him chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. The finished product was… interesting. In desperation to camoflage the poo, I sprinkled peanuts on top. This only increased the Wow! factor.

famous poo cupcakes.

It’s ok. The hubs ate them, with vigor. His life is weird.

My baking ineptitude occurs, I think, because I enter pretty much every baking venture with this ideology:

“What… three cups? I’ll eyeball it. Hmmm… a teaspoon? Lemme just eyeball it. Huh, sifting. I’m gonna eyeball that. Brown frosting the consistency of the inside of a diaper after baby ate a jar of molasses? Sure, I’m not gonna think that one through at all. Let me just eyeball it!”

You get the idea. Lots of eyeballs. Not a lot of skill.

So, THIS time I tried something different. I found my mom’s REALLY REALLY OLD cookbook (sorry Mom, kinda threw you under the elderly bus on that one) and I found a recipe and… (drum roll)…

BEHOLD. I FOLLOWED THE INSTRUCTIONS!

And lo, it was good.

Which just goes to show… I’m not so half-baked after all.

(Half-baked used to be my thing. But that’s another post for another day.)

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*The lawyer added an eye roll here and would like to note that this is the point in the blog post where becomes All About Me. I tell him it’s my favorite topic. I tell him, it’s the only way.

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2 thoughts on “Be careful. I might bake at you.

  1. You know, if Laura were still alive today, I think she would adore you. You’ve got the whole writer connection…and you’re both teachers…from small communities…. I think she’d consider you a bosom friend. (Oh dang it, there I go mixing literary references! Anne, Laura – they’re both lovely gals, as are you!)

    Congrats on the hot water and the successful cinnamon rolls!

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