On a dodgy day when you haven't contributed to society...or seemed to get yourself totally together before the day is over, you'll need to remember this. To immediately win the Nobel Prize.

Our life got flipped, turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute..just sit right here and tell you how I actually baked something that didn't suck.

I have a thing for blackberries. Always have. When I was a little girl, my dad and I would 'go looking' for wild ones in the woods behind my grandparents' house. And then I'd race Dad back to the house and I'd get dusted. Every time. It was our thing. I was always amazed by how fast he was. But I believe I've discussed, at some point, just how slow I am. Was. Have always been. Will be for eternity. Concrete blocks in sand, my feet. 1st eaten in zombie apocalypse slow. Anyway.

We had an unfortunate grout issue (boring myself to death, already) in our master bath a few weeks ago and have since been subject to many early-morning, loud, long repairs which rendered us housebound for much of the day. My banter with workmen before 8:00 a.m.? Don't buy a ticket to that show.

Anyway. We baked.

(Instead of drinking blackberry beer.. because up until now, that's how my 'thing' has manifested itself. Or just buying it at Harris Teeter and waiting longingly for an opportunity to drink it, which never comes. Because the only thing harder than waking up at 12, 2, and 4 with a teething baby is doing so with any amount of alcohol in your body.)

Ah, yes..:

A blackberry cobbler that's changed our lives.

It's basically Pioneer Woman's, but I found myself with no regular flour and used Bisquick instead. Then I tried it with flour, but I like Bisquick better. Holds together better.

Do this. If you do nothing else on a cold, Fall day, do this.

Preheat oven to 350.

Butter a 8x8 or a 9x9 baking dish.

Stick that stick of butter in the microwave and melt it.

Meanwhile, mix together 1 cup of sugar and 1 cup of Bisquick.

Slowly incorporate one cup of milk into the sugar and Bisquick. You can slosh it all in there at one time, but it's going to be lumpy that way. Whatev. It's your bicep.

Slowly incorporate melted butter.

Pour the whole shebang into the buttered baking dish.

Evenly sprinkle two cups of blackberries on top. Or raspberries. Or both. Two cups.

HOLY ROLLER NOVOCAINE, LISTEN UP. THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART:

Evenly sprinkle 1/4 cup of sugar on top. If you skip this, you may as well throw the whole thing in the trashcan and hang your head in shame.  Or yank it out of the oven and pretend you didn't forget, if it's not too late. No, it'll still be fine... but shameful.

Cook it for an hour... or a little less is OK, too. I usually take it out at 45 minutes. You're looking for a little more than golden brown. And a little panicky (did I burn this, dammit??!) brown around the edges of the dish.

This is a total Courtney-approved recipe because if you overcook it a little, it's still great. And if you undercook it a little bit, that's alright, too, b/c it doesn't have egg and won't kill you dead. Just let it cool a little before you eat it and it'll still hold together OK.

Prepare to gain 5 lbs. in a month.

Make haste, while the blackberries and raspberries don't cost an arm and a leg.

You're welcome.

Come on over and lemme teach you howta cook.

Because what could be easier, right? A can of pie fillin' - pick whichever one you like! and a box of Angel Food cake. 350. 25 minutes. Boom. ..Also? Zero Weight Watcher points for one piece. So there's that.


Indeed.

And this!

(obtained in the frantic pulling out of said cake as it rose approximately ONE CUBIC FOOT in the oven and threatened to, literally, stick to the top if I didn't pull it out RIGHT THEN, still jiggly as all get out)

Oh, that burn is gonna be lookin' mighty hot and open-a-vein-scar-like on Saturday night for my 10 year high school reunion. The planning of which, ironically, would make some do just that.

Zero points.

Nailed it.

Possibly Unpopular Opinion of the Week

an "I know, right?"

when a simple "I know." or "Right." will do

tells me everything I need to know about you.

hairbrush hostage

For my 18th birthday, Brandon burned me a CD. Very early 2000s, yes? Which I played constantly in my Camaro Z-28 convertible (yes. seriously.) until, one day, Mom had to drive my car. And she heard the CD. And she took it! For its explicit nature! fair enough. Trick Daddy never covered a nursery rhyme.

Lord, the yell fest that ensued when I realized she took it.

And said she wouldn't give it back! (Why didn't you just throw it away?!)

Because she was planning to use it as leverage. That's why.

And in my first offensive move of teenagerdom, I quit hollering.

And when she wasn't home, I took her favorite hairbrush. And hid it. And waited.

The first day, I felt awful. Mom scrambled around for 30 minutes. A whirling dervish of periwinkle pastel terry cloth. Late for work. The whole nine yards.

For the next week, she scrambled on.

Oh, y'all.. did she complain about that brush.

My resolve nearly buckled at the sight of her daily distress.

She went through the seven stages of grief, one of which was definitely Blame Courtney and Ransack Her Room. Multiple times.

Which may have revealed a lone empty Miller Lite can.

Which is when I quit feeling sorry for her at all.

After a terrible, terrible awful tongue-lashing, she went back to ransacking her own room. Daily.

See, best-brush-ever-for-trademark-hairdo had been procured a few years previous in a Clinique free gift.

Even so, 'replacements' were purchased of nearly every drug store variety along with those from multiple department store make-up counters.

And I giggled. And I reported to my friends daily. I hollered a little about the ransacked room. And car. And closets. You know, to make it seem genuine.

It was a big deal at school, as almost daily, someone would ask in passing, "Still have the hairbrush?"

Every now and then, a couple of days would go by and I would hear no tale of woe.

I would worry. ..Maybe I've waited too long to pull the string? Maybe she's resigned herself to a life of less fluff at the bristles of a Conair or Goody.

Until one day, I heard her on the phone with Clinique corporate. . . seeking a replacement.

As she listened intently, clutching tightly to the phone cord and her only hope, I saw her face fall in acceptance. Knowing the trail had gone cold.

It was time to strike (and/or haul ass, should the situation not go to plan)

"How badly do you want that brush back?" I asked.

"Bad."

"So if I could find it, you'd give me my CD back?"

"Yes.."

"You swear?"

"Yes." (imagine a look of equal parts rage and relief, if possible - boondoggled, really.)

..So that's how I got it back.

..but not before she, honest to goodness, called me "Diabolical!" and meant it with every strand of her flat hair.

So, she never took a CD again, what with the threat of reciprocity so keen.

And instead, developed a classification system of sorts, pictured below:

Harper's 3rd Birthday Interview

Today is Harper's big day, as of 5:15 a.m., but the celebration has been going on for about 24 hours, now. It is my personal opinion that birthdays for kids are such a big deal - especially once they 'get' it - that there's no way all the fun can/should be packed into one day. Also, there's the matter of nap time. An entire 2 or 3 hours of precious hooting/hollering time lost to sleep. That will not do.

So we decorated a vanilla cake last night and tonight we'll have a chocolate.

Haters gonna hate.

Anyway, I love the interview idea. I'm going to ask the same questions every year on her birthday. However, she was particularly amenable yesterday and anyone with a 2/3 y/o knows you don't scoff at a good toddler mood. . .

Me:  Harper, since tomorrow is your birthday, I'm going to interview you.

Harper: Huh? Surprise!

How old are you? I'm two years old.

Right. Tomorrow, you'll be three years old.

Yeah. I'm three years old.

Who is your best friend? I don't know. 

What is your favorite thing to do? Nope. Not yet.

What's your favorite color? Purple...Pink!

What's your favorite food? Pink cake!

What is your favorite thing to do with your family? 1,2,3 families! Harper counts them all! ((ok..))

What is your favorite toy? Henry's squishy ball.

What do you want to be when you grow up? dinosaur hunter

What makes you happy? smiling

What makes you sad? happy

What is your favorite TV show? Bubble Guppies

What is your favorite book? 1 color for A,B,C Books or big heavy blue book (Berenstain Bears compilation) I have no idea about the former. I'm pretty sure it means coloring books with words. ..but these are totally not her favorite. Berenstain, yes. Huge fav.

((pause for first lengthy potty emergency/disaster..the details of which I do not care to retain))

Continued bath-side:

What do you like to learn about? Uhh.. Harper doesn't know. Pictures. Mommy, find the missing pictures to go in the hat tree. ((?))

What is the best part of your birthday? Pink cake!! Sooo ("so" is her new conjunction of choice and begins almost every sentence with it)...next, we decorate a crown!

Where do you like to go? The car!! 

             Where do you like to go in the car? The red light stops the car. Daddy in the car! Let's go get 
him!

What is your favorite treat? Chocolate!

What do you think about at night before you fall asleep? Bed.

What famous person would you like to meet? Grandma!

What do you want for your birthday? Candles and some eggs!

What's your favorite thing about your birthday? Huh. The cake.

Momma, more questions?


Before I can think of one. . . .

BONUS ALERT.

Harper begins making up her own. I type furiously.

What do in car? Mommy, Henry, Daddy, Harper.

What's Harper's brother's name? Henry!

Are you a boy or a girl? Girl! I'm a girl, Mom!

What does Harper do? Spinning in a pink dress.

What's the best color? Pink. 


Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

Happy Birthday, Momma!

I've heard just about enough.

This camel's back is getting weak. 

In three weeks, we're moving back to our hometown. 

I am a whirling dervish of packing and sorting and throwing away the last four years of our life. 

I can not wait to get back to Fayetteville, North Carolina.

Did you just raise an eyebrow?

It is home to Fort Bragg - you know.. where the men and women who protect your freedom work and train and live and have families.  You may have heard of it. 

You may have a story of a night you spent there. 

And if you did, or your grandma's cat's hamster's turtle's llama spent a night there, as sure as you have a mouth to spew it from, I'm sure you have an opinion.

But what, on Earth, makes you think it's a good idea to insult the city where I was born? Where my family, and my husband's family, have chosen to live for generations?

Maybe it would be a better idea for you to ask me about it, instead. 

And another thing:

Those of you who are from Fayetteville and moved off someplace and have gotten too big for your britches and run it down every chance you get? ..You're from there, too. For shame.

Top of the Muffin to ya - Weeks 4 & 5

Over the last two weeks, I've lost 2 lbs. Which is painfully slow, but exactly how it should be because I'm still (guys and gals not of the parent persuasion, look away now) breastfeeding.

I'm currently on the Don't Eat So Damn Much diet. Three meals. No snacks. Water. Duh.

Our whole house has had the plague, so running was put on the back burner in favor of not publicly coughing up a lung on a busy street corner.

However, it seems that simply keeping the house 'show-ready' with two babies is enough to have me doing the sleepy jerk by 10 p.m. every night.

Future Muffin posts may address the loathing I feel for the namers of 'salads' such as Strawberry Pretzel, Taffy Apple and Ambrosia. Yum. and.. dammit. Call it what it is. The big ass recipe.
 
And also.. these people who "forget to eat." Evolutionarily flawed or....advanced?

Off to scrub something before my psychotic break open house on Sunday.

Don't forget to check out Laura at Navigating the Mothership, Amanda at The Sassy Southern Belle and the baby brain!