Nothing Says Romance Like a Pterodactyl (+ Key Lime Cupcakes)

I suspected my wedding was doomed long before the pterodactyls showed up.

When Mr. Bear and I pulled up at the venue (read: Local Park) that morning in a U-Haul, I had been awake for 27 hours.  I would not sleep for another 14.  In the time since I had last felt the soothing coolness of a pillow, I had frosted three types of cupcakes and a host of initialed sugar cookies; violated countless unsuspecting dates with wedges of good Parmesan; topped mini cheesecakes; suspended blueberries in delicate single cups of matching gelatin; Cajunized a mountain of popcorn; and made gougeres, two batches of caramel corn, a vat of tabbouleh, a swimming pool's worth of chilled cucumber-mango soup, and a batch of whimsically heart-shaped soft pretzels.  In retrospect, this sounds suspiciously like madness.

Dispatches from the Bathroom Floor (+ Chicken Milanese with Sage-and-Lemon-Butter Sauce)

         

Editor's Note:  A little something I wrote for you on Monday, my post-writing day, while lying on the bathroom floor - because I suspect that this, written in the midst of delirium, has just as much chance of being understandable as anything I would have written later in the week:

Okay, here’s the deal.  Today we’re all going to concentrate on how we’re lucky, because otherwise I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the day.   I’ll go first.  I’m lucky because even though it's my first wedding anniversary and I’ve decided to spend it on the floor of what surely must be the first bathroom ever constructed with moving walls (because how else could they be spinning in such an unattractive fashion), thinking thoughts I’ve never thought before (mostly about how glad I am we never decided to wallpaper this room in stripes), I nonetheless have a husband, a wonderful husband, who is  not only keeping me supplied with both orange Gatorade AND mint tea, but is willing to make the countless trips to the microwave that are necessary to keep the tea exactly at body temperature, the better to sneak it past my esophagus, who has decided that this is the optimal time to play East German Border Patrol.

Fun with Torture (+ Coconut Lime Squares)

Actual Conversation with my Husband Last Night

Me:      I can't believe you just sat there and let me put my finger up your nose.  Who does 
             that?  
         
          [A lot of our conversations start this way.  Try not to let it derail you.] 

Him:    [Shrugging]  It seemed like you really wanted to.

Me:     I was bluffing!  Nobody wants to put their finger up someone else's nose.  It was a 
            ploy.  You were supposed to beg for mercy and offer me a cookie if I'd leave you 
            alone.  [Brandishing finger accusingly]  Now it's all gooey!

Him:    I would've gotten you a cookie if you'd asked.

Me:     But then I wouldn't be asserting my dominance.  You'd just be being nice.  It's not as 
            good.  [If I wasn't so dominant, this tone might be described as petulant.]

Him:    Ohhh.  I didn't know begging was an option.  I thought it was like a mandatory 
            payment.

Me:     A payment?

Him:    Since you're letting me touch your butt.

          [Yes, we're going to talk about my butt in this post.  No, it's not going to get marital.]

I Am the Destroyer (+ Rosemary Apricot Squares)

So look what I made:

I’m guessing some of you might be having identification problems at this point.  I’ll give you a hint.  You’ve probably used it.  It makes a gorgeous roast chicken.   It’s equally lovely with roasted potatoes.  And it's usually substantially greener than this.

No?

Okay.   It’s kind of like one of those Magic Eye puzzles.  You have to sort of squint, and take two steps back, and relax your eyes until it’s juuuuust out of focus, and –

Yes!  That’s right!  It’s thyme!

 

And I killed it.