Clay Matthews Bars

About a year and a half ago, when the Packers beat the Steelers in the Super Bowl, my parents (who understand my love for Green Bay Packers' outside linebacker Clay Matthews) sent me a box of Wheaties with Clay's photo on it, like so:

This has been unopened in my kitchen cupboard ever since.  Brad has been trying to throw the box away since it arrived, knowing that I would probably not eat them.  Since they expire next month, and I can't let Clay's legacy go to waste, I made a batch of Clay Matthews bars today.  Behold my crappy iphone photo:

And if you'd like to also make Clay proud, this is how we do it:

Clay Matthews Bars

Ingredients:

6 cups of Wheaties FUEL cereal with Clay Matthews' photo on it

11 ounces of marshmallows

~1/4 c of extra virgin coconut oil (see what I did there?  This is not the standard krispie-rice cereal bar recipe, no!)

Melt 3 TBSP of coconut oil in large pan over medium heat.  Take another little glop of it in your hands and coat a 9"x13"pan.

Add marshmallows and let them melt. Actually let them get a tiny bit carmelized/brown -- you will see faint swirls of caramel-colored marshmallow in the mix. This is a delicious thing. Just don't let them burn to the bottom of the pan. Stir, stir, stir.

Mix in cereal.

Pat mixture into pan. Let harden to room temperature. Eat a little corner piece, then cut the rest into squares.

                                                                            ---

This weekend, Brad and I and our friend Dave are headed up to beautiful Snowshoe West Virginia, here Brad will be participating in some ridiculously long mountain bike race, and I will be eating Clay Matthews Bars -- hey, the baby needs FUEL.

Someday I'll tell you about the time that I was 6 months pregnant and it as 100 degrees every day and we didn't have power for a week.  

Fauxjito

I saw a huge display of one of my favorite Summer beers from back home, Leinenkugel's Summer Shady, the other day at the grocery store, and realized that I'm going to miss drinking this summer.  There's nothing like an ice cold summer beer on a hot afternoon, or a glass of cold, fruity sangria sipped on a porch on a warm summer night.  

I have never really been a big drinker, but I have been known to enjoy an adult beverage or two now and then. I remember the last drink I had. It was a lovely glass of Cabernet enjoyed at our favorite local restaurant, Lola's, with Brad and two of our friends.  The very next day, I found out I was pregnant and thus, my 9 months of teetotalism began. 

Years ago, when we lived in Milwaukee, we went to a Cuban restaurant and I had my first Mojito. It has been one of my favorite cocktails ever since.  Mint, sugar, lime, rum -- what could be better?  We happen to have a huge, overgrown patch of mint in our backyard, so I took it upon myself to whip up a faux-Mojito this afternoon. It's not quite as good as the real thing, but it's pretty darn refreshing.

Fauxjito

fresh mint leaves (maybe 6-8)
lime juice (fresh if you have it, I used the little lime-shaped squeeze bottle and it tastes just fine)
lemon lime flavored soda

-place the mint leaves in the bottom of a pint glass. Muddle them with a spoon until they are a bit broken down and you can smell the deliciousness.
-add a couple of squirts of lime juice (maybe 2 to 3 Tbps).
-fill the glass about 1/2 way with soda.
-add ice, then top off the glass with more soda if you'd like.
-stir and enjoy!

You could absolutely muddle the mint with sugar, as you do in a regular Mojito, and use seltzer water instead, but I took the easy way out.

I'm going to experiment with other herbs that I have in my garden, like basil and lavender, this summer, as well as maybe adding fruit. I had a strawberry basil Mojito once in Pittsburgh that was incredibly good.  Maybe blueberry and lavender? Or peach and basil?  The possibilities are endless.

An Actual Conversation

I don't know what position I have been sleeping in lately that has resulted in this, but every morning I wake up with my hair sticking at least 4 inches from my head.  It's like a cross between televangelist hair and a raggedy Southern girl poof.

This morning, I roll out of bed like a zombie and walk into the hallway, where Brad is tying his tie and looking all handsome getting ready for work.  The door to our spare room is open, and I can see a large pile of clean laundry on the bed.  I point to it.

K: "Oh my god, laundry mountain!"
Brad: "Whatever, James Brown on a cross-country crack spree."

K: ...

Expectant

I met Brad when I was 20 years old. We were kids and neither of us really knew how to be an adult. We spent our money on stupid stuff and had inane conversations about things like Sublime and Corona. I knew from the beginning, though, that he was going to be in my life for a long time. It took a few years for me to realize that it would be forever. We basically grew up together.

We saw each other through bad times and good times, and lived a nomadic existence for years as we moved from town to town, state to state. We finally got married after 11 years, and 2 years later bought a house. In West Virginia, of all places.

Now, it's time to start a new chapter. Brad and I are going to be parents. I found out that I was pregnant on a Sunday in February, and I took four home pregnancy tests just to be sure. Then I kept it to myself for three days (which was torture), wrapped up the positive tests, and gave them to Brad for Valentine's Day. It was a moment I will always remember.

I was lucky enough not to ever get morning sickness, but I did spend the first three months feeling like I got hit by a truck after running a marathon. By that I mean I was exhausted all. of. the. time.

Fast forward to today. I am almost 16 weeks. I am showing, and am wearing maternity pants almost exclusively. I feel really good. I've gained a bit too much weight, which was an embarrassing conversation to have with my doctor, but I have much more energy now. I've joined a new gym by my house and am working out again (no running outside in the southern heat for this pregnant chick). I'm tracking my food intake on this website called babyfit.com, and I'm trying to make good decisions about what I eat. Because I don't want to be huge, and I don't want to have a 10 pound baby. I also want to remain active because I've read that it can make labor easier and recovery shorter.

We have a million things to do before my due date in October, including picking names and, you know, learning how to parent a child. But I have nothing but faith in Brad, and that makes me feel better about my chances as well.

Thanksgiving

Ah, the annual day of thanks and gluttony. As per usual, Brad and I made a big Thanksgiving feast this year. I am thankful that we are financially able to indulge like we did. Here are some other things I am thankful for this year:


Brad. Today, tomorrow, for the past 13 years, and forever.

My group of Charleston friends, who I have only met in the last year, and who make living here so much better.

Our new house, the nice flat neighborhood it is in, and again, that we have the means to live here comfortably.

Our upcoming trip back to Wisconsin to see family and friends. There is a new six month old addition to our group of hometown friends this year, and we can't wait to meet her.

My health, Brad's health, Ilsa's health, and the health of those we love.


I'm off this afternoon to lovely Fayetteville WV to hike and support local businesses. Happy 65 degree day in November.

Confession

I really like Drake. There, I said it and I'm not ashamed. Judge if you must.

An Ode to My Dog

This is Ilsa:



Four years ago, we were living in Pittsburgh. I had few friends, fewer hobbies, and Brad was super busy with law school, work, and cycling. I really needed someone or something in my life. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and after months of deliberation, Brad and I went to the animal shelter in our neighborhood to look for a dog.

We saw a few dogs that day that caught our eye: a black lab who had the loudest bark I've ever heard, a beagle mix that bit the volunteer as she took him out of his kennel, and two pit bulls: Dice and Candy. We decided not to bother with the biting beagle, and we took the lab, Dice, and Candy each into the visitation room and for walks around the block. Candy was the best. She rubbed on our legs like a cat in the visitation room, tail constantly wagging, and when we took her out for her walk, she acted like it was the best thing ever. She was runty and skinny and had recently given birth, but she was as sweet as, well, candy.

I never had any intention of owning a pit bull, but we adopted her on the spot and she became part of our little family.



She had been abandoned, neglected for sure, possible abused. She winced when you made too sudden a movement. Still, we took her home, renamed her Ilsa, and hoped that she wouldn't kill us in our sleep. We were so scared that first night, not knowing what to expect. She was timid and frightened, but still loved attention and wagged that tail almost constantly.

Over the next year, we learned a lot about her. She would destroy books sometimes, mainly dog training ones. She ate a Garmin once. She didn't like other dogs. She enjoyed licking her belly. She smelled really bad sometimes. She would occasionally go for days without eating for no real reason. She would shit on the floor out of spite every now and then.

She was home with me when our apartment was broken into and she scared the guy away with a bark I've not heard before or since

She still loves every single person that she meets.



She has since warmed up to certain dogs, but not all. She hasn't eaten a book in a long while, nor has she shit on the floor recently. She knows when I am sad and sticks to me like velcro. If I cry, she comes over to see what is wrong. She loves to sprint in circles in her new fenced-in backyard. She's my favorite hiking partner.



And we have gone on many adventures together.



She's not the best dog in the world, or the most easy to manage, or the most media-friendly. But I wouldn't trade her for anything.