I can’t even begin to recall when my last blog post was; the time of day, the emotional or physical state I was in, the dessert I had in hand (if anything, I’m certain I must’ve been munching something); everything is a blur. These days, timeline exists only this way for me: pre-kids, post-one kid, and post-two kids.
All praises to Him, I am now a mom of two. Something I still have yet to get accustomed to saying out loud, without doing a double-take and giggling to myself. I admit I still have yet to fully grasp the art of being a helicopter-parent / homeschooling mom / SAHM, and handling an active toddler and a clingy nursling concurrently, and I’ve been told things can only get more interesting. But I have had my good days when a silent self high-five awaits (silent because it means both kids are down for a nap at the same time;- too good to be true!), and not-too-good days when I wonder how my mother raised all six of us, with the youngest me forever tugging at her sarong.
But at the end of the day, at the end of each Duplo-stepping, sensory bin-toppling, and baby spit-up everywhere day, we return to this; a reminder of the overwhelming love that encapsulates my every day, as I hear my cradled 3-month-old baby-babble emotively in between nursing, while my 2.5-year-old holds my free hand and dances along to a random tune she came up with, laughing uncontrollably as the mister imitates her.
And yes, lil A, “when Adik (younger sibling) bigger, can share muffin”.
Is it just me, or did the month of September just zoom by way too fast? And while we’re at it, I highly suspect August was its sneaky precursor of an impetus. With almost every weekend of September spent catching up with, and in my case, getting acquainted with new relatives (via extension of my first Eid as a missus), it is no surprise that the weeks had gone by in a blink. Not that I’m complaining, though. The past month(s) saw some significant changes in my life, where I have found myself looking at each day with great faith and renewed priorities, and just between you and me, I must admit that even the adverse-to-changes yours truly is feeling nothing short of sheer excitement in anticipation of things to come.
And speaking of the future, these blondies, or more specifically, these butterscotch chips blondies, my dear beloved friends, now these are the ones which will definitely keep popping up in the future. They are, to quote an over-used sentiment in reality shows, “the one to beat!”. Continue reading
Confession: This has been the fourth, or maybe fifth, time I’ve made this recipe, each time with my own variation and adjustments, and to date, I have never shared any of the aforementioned versions. And believe you me, they turned out better and better (well, to my palate, specifically) with each newer treatment, but I never got around to sharing. Judging from the above photograph, I reckon you could guess the reason, yes? It just refuses;– and I mean that in the most horrifying terrible-three tantrum-throwing feet-stamping manner;– to be photographed! The day would start off bright and sunny, but once the brownies were cool enough to be handled (and photographed), the dark clouds would come stomping in, and the skies darken, almost shadowing the hue of these rich cocoa morsels. And then there would be an instance of baking-on-a-whim when the sun is almost retiring, and you postpone photography to the next day, only to be dampened when you find the not-so-pretty ones left. I could of course go on and on, but I’m sure anyone with a penchant for photographing their food can understand what I’m getting at.
Yet as vehemently diva-esque these brownies may act, the more insistent I am that good things must be shared, even at the cost of unjust presentation.
Things had been pretty hectic over on my end, and I can only imagine it becoming busier with each week inching closer to the day. As of this moment, it is just weeks to go, but with the mister needing to serve the nation a week prior to the wedding, there are lots of loose strings awaiting to be tied within a shorter period of time. The past week or so had seen me playing the role of a postman, or a postlady if you so prefer, writing and sending out invites either through the mailbox, or personally. The best part about sending out invites;– that is, after conjuring what ever little memory you have of your guestlist and re-writing it for the second time after having had misplaced the first;– is receiving all the sincere reactions, along with the thrill of rekindling old ties and making new ones. It’s amazing how within the span of just a week, I’ve met up with old friends from my teenage years, caught up with a close partner-in-crime from my varsity days, as well as fixed a blind date of sorts with some of my dearest blog / Twitter friends whom I’ve never met prior to this. Along with some wedding shopping and final selection of outfits, you could say things had been very much happily hectic.
There are certain flavours from my pantry which have a mental tag attached to them, bearing indication of their crowd ranking within the household. Anything decadently drowned in chocolate, for example, will be a dream for myself, but a nightmare to the sister. Quickbreads and yeasted treats glistening in cinnamon sugar get an immediate thumbs up from the dad whilst the aroma wafts through from within the oven. Loaf cakes complimenting the natural flavour of fruits would find itself frequented by the mother one too often.
But peanut butter?
It just falls under the category of I-don’t-know-what-to-make-of-it.
Literally everyone reacted the same way when I mentioned I had baked sour cream brownies. I can almost imagine the mental image they had lingering in their minds;– a deathly pale-coloured 2 by 2 inch square, possibly clumsily slathered with a foul undecipherable frosting of sorts, and the only ‘brownie’ part of it all was a misleading meager sprinkle of chocolate chips here and there. I think the mister summed it up pretty aptly with his “Oh yah… The… sour cream brownies…” The ellipsis denoting his hesitation was enough to gain the empathy of the next man whose wife asked if she looked fat in a curve-clutching black dress.
Yet, as you can clearly see, these sour cream brownies really don’t look half as horrifying as they may sound. In fact, they look just like any other brownies. And then some.