What Is up with Amber?

“What is not up with Amber?” should be the question. I’ve been having one of those whole “life interrupted” experiences filled with non-stop streams of sour news and chaotic crap that continues to happen, leaving the well of my writing resourcefulness rather dry, in turn leading to my noticeable absence from my blogging abode and making me wonder if this drought of mine has lead to a whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” effect, as a few friends have been moved to remind me of said absence and offhandedly mention that more frequent bloggage would be nice – would be nice to have for some summer [break] reading material that is . . . .

So at this point my mind jumps a bit – perhaps it’s a lack of self-esteem on my part, or perhaps even the opposite, an overdriven ego which has made me misunderstand my friends’ insinuations, but I find it very odd that I am relied upon as the source of anyone’s summer entertainment, for I am sure there far more entertaining reads (with far shorter sentences) at one’s local library than I can ever ink out: The Woman Who Walked into Doors and its somewhat superior sequel Paula Spencer, both written by Irish author Roddy Doyle, being two perfect examples . . . , just sayin’. *smiles coyly*

Nonetheless, a request has been made (I think), and I certainly do not want to let the very small handful of those who have been steadfast readers of my scribed spewing down and out, which leaves me to beg the question: What do I do when life throws me dried up lemons with no writing wit in sight . . . ?

I post a recipe for CITRUS SUGAR COOKIES, and give the requesters something to do during this turbulent time of mine, hoping they will still be around when I make my return to regularly written essays.

May you be able calm your cravings with something for your palate while I calm the chaotic currents of my currently crazy life . . . . Happy baking!

CITRUS SUGAR COOKIES (recipe adapted by moi from http://www.marthastewart.com/)

Makes about 30 large cookies

* indicates to check note at base of recipe

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
1/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
2 large eggs
*2 tablespoons finely chopped candied orange peel (optional, but don’t use orange zest if using candied peel)
Zest of one lemon
Zest of one lime
Zest of one orange
*1/8 tsp lemon or lime oil
*1/4 tsp orange oil
Fine sanding sugar, for sprinkling

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with Silpats or parchment paper; set aside. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside.

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter and the granulated and brown sugars on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating to incorporate after each addition. Mix in candied orange peel, the zests, and the oils. Reduce mixer speed to low, and slowly add dry ingredients. Beat until fully combined and dough begins to form around paddle.

3. Use a *2-inch ice-cream scoop to drop cookies onto prepared baking sheets about 2 inches apart. Flatten cookies with palm of hand. Sprinkle with sanding sugar. Using a pastry brush, lightly brush tops with water. Sprinkle with more sanding sugar. Transfer to oven, and bake until just set and beginning to turn golden at edges, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from oven. Transfer cookies to wire rack to cool completely.

*Candied orange peel can sometimes be found in stores around the holidays, but there are recipes on the internet to make your own.

*The citrus oils can be found at most stores with candy making supplies. For example, in Columbus they can be found at Drug Mart and Hobby Lobby.

*Feel free to make the cookies as large as called for in the recipe, but they are just as I said, large. I usually make them with a traditional cookie scoop and begin to check them after about 6 min. Always check your baked goods early until you know best how they will bake in your oven.

Why Did the Elephant S**t on My Week?

Weak, disoriented, and hardly able to stand, my pulse begins to race and sucking in air has become a chore rather than part of the natural rhythm of life. The room begins to spin and my stomach lurches, and it's everything I can do to keep my dinner where it belongs.

Just when you think things are going great, the forbidden French foible happens. Some may say it hits the fan, but for me it comes from an elephant's ass, leaving copious piles of poo in my path.

It was about this time two years ago that I found myself making my first official "blog" post, otherwise known as a "note" on facebook. It was entitled A Week Worth Writing about, and it was indeed a week worthy of expression through written word. I could never forget those seven days filled with stories I had told my friends, stories inevitably to be told to my children and grandchildren some day. It was a week of D's; a downward detour of disaster that involved a dishwasher in flames, a drainpipe that wouldn't drain, and a dog untrained, which respectively resulted in a dish stack in the sink, a newly refinished basement becoming a lake, and an forbidden bite out of a four tier wedding cake. It was one of those weeks where one might indulge in a stiff drink to drive away the angst at the end of it all. Alas, that was not the way I rolled back then, so my liquor was left untouched.

I find that while a lot of things have changed since then, so many things have also remained the same, and two years later I find myself with another "week worth writing about".

After Emie's birthday bonanza a couple of weeks ago, we were invited to attend an adult birthday bash of an old buddy of ours. My perception of taxing times was poor, and after what I thought was a somewhat strenuous week, I deemed a stiff drink (okay three) necessary to smooth over the serrated edges and celebrate another year of life, forgetting it had been a day of inadvertent dehydration. Only two screwdrivers and a Mike's Hard Lemonade later did the tough times actually present themselves, and the aforementioned elephant took its first of many dumps on my series of seven days.

At 32 years of age, I finally faced what so many experienced after many more than three drinks, and at an age half that of mine - the first hangover that had hung over my head for so long finally happened . . . . I imagined many would not suppose that was such a bad thing, as a hangover has happened to the best of most. However, while Emie's precious party was the day of my lightweight drunk fest, her actual birthday was the day of dreary drunken regret. Having had many more liquor lavishes in one evening in the past, I never dreamed that three of them would fling me full force into an abysmal after affect. I spent much of the morning praying to the porcelain gods and crying like a crazy woman for the horrible mommy I felt I was in that moment. Sitting in a chair unable to move while my daughter opened her remaining presents was not how I envisioned spending Emie's birthday. Putting on my best happy face, I began to be thankful for Emie only turning three . . . she was none the wiser to my state of suffering, and had she been a bit older she would have assuredly understood the circumstance at hand.

So as each birthday passes in a child's life, subsequently do annual well check-ups . . . Emie's pediatric appointment of 2010 is one I may never forget. Not only, as many of you may already know, am I handed a book called The Difficult Child, but I am informed, after assessing Emie's gait and reflexes, that she may have a condition called Tethered Spinal Cord Syndrome. The panic does not set in initially, as the doctor does not fully explain what this means for my adorable daughter if she continues to live with this condition, but after Googling it I feel like vomiting once more. TSCS is when the spinal cord is fused to at least one part of the spinal column, and is a condition that can eventually interfere with Emie's ability to walk and appropriately relief herself on the potty, a condition that can be cured, but only by surgery on the spine. I try not to think about it much, as no official diagnosis has been made yet. A diagnosis can only come by way of a very expensive and very invasive MRI. Since the condition deteriorates only with growth, we have a bit of a window to watch for possible improvement . . . three months of waiting before we know more.

I am blessed with two days of calm before the storm erupts again – one of my mom's best friend passes away, my Goddaughter is taken to the hospital, and I get a bad burn on the palm of my left hand, and all in the course of one afternoon. The barrage of bad news begins to be too much to manage, and I think about a glass of wine to wipe away the worries for awhile. But the nausea returns as I remember the recent morning of mourning over the misguided decision to drink my misconceived woes away, and just like two years ago, I choose not to roll like that and stay stunningly sober.

So what I am grateful for in this week of wretchedness that my room spinning, heart-racing, short of breath experience which I described above did not occur as it has so many times before. For all it is worth, not having one of my many migraines (which I usually get weekly) is the only redemptive thing about my story of seven days. And much like Emie had no punch line for "Why did the elephant poop on the ground," nor do I have one for "Why did the Elephant Shit on My Week," other than *it* happens sometimes, and so goes the ebb and flow of life and poo.