Wanted: Puppy sitter

Wanted: A trustworthy, puppy lover to occasionally watch our Indiana. Must be willing to play and cuddle with puppy. Must also feed him and take him potty every few hours. And must not get too attached. We'll want him back:)

I really felt like a Mom this weekend when Ben's parents babysat Indiana while we were at a wedding. It was hard to leave him. But I felt so relieved to leave him in safe hands -- and not in a kennel -- while we spent the afternoon and evening out of town at a wedding.

Ben and I plan to be out of town for long weekends in January and February. But our parents live three hours away. So we need to find a puppy sitter willing to watch Indiana (how could you not want to watch our little guy. He's so cute!) in exchange for beer and/or wine.

Brooke and Tony already have dibs on watching him when we travel to Honduras for a week. But they live two hours away. It's not logical for us to line up their help every time we leave town.

So, I'm on the hunt for a puppy sitter. Any takers?

A small milestone

I just entered tonight's run in my log on Runner's World, and I saw that I have run 1,000 miles so far in 2008. Actually, I've run 1,003 miles to be exact.

How cool.

Second annual baking party

Baking with the gals during the holidays at my house has become a tradition.

For the second year, I invited my close friends to bake and swap cookies and other goodies. This year's gathering was a big hit. We added a fourth person, meaning more sweets to go around.

While sipping wine and sparkling juice, we baked and talked. We each worked at our own "station." And everyone took turns washing and drying dishes, though Heather did a bulk of the work (sorry Heather!).

Within about four hours, we were able to pull off six different recipes. With the exception of burning my first batch of spritz cookies, we had no major catastrophes.

Photos to come. Until here, here's the line-up of ladies and what we made:

Brady
Chocolate Snoballs (see recipe here)
Spritz cookies (see recipe here)

*I have two recommendations for the spritz cookies. Depending on your oven, you likely will not have to bake the cookies for the 12-15 minutes recommended. Mine were done in about eight minutes. I wanted to double the amount of cinnamon, but forgot. Don't make the same mistake I did.

Britt
Double chocolate cherry drops (see this amazing recipe here)

Naomi
Mini ginger cookies (to die for)
Chocolate pumpkin fudge (healthy and delicious)

Heather
Rice crispy bars with Dots!

On motherhood...

In less than two weeks, I've become a doting mom.

Today, for example, Ben and I brushed Indiana's teeth, cleaned his ears, expressed his butt glands, and so on.

I carry him down the stairs, because at 5 months (he's 5 months tomorrow) they are still a challenge for him. I clean his butt after an occasional messy poop. And we wipe his paws when we come into the house.

Even though we pledged not to bring him into our bed, we occasionally will sleep with him in our bed for a few minutes at night or in the morning.

And while I type this, he is relaxing across my stomach.

Indiana, explained

After several e-mails today, I realized I left a lot of questions unanswered about Indiana.

Q: What's behind the name?
A: Ben is a huge fan of Indiana Jones. So long time ago, Ben asked if we could name our dog Indiana if we ever got one.

Q: How big is Indiana?
A: He appears big for a puppy in his close-up mugs. But he's really only about 10 pounds. He'll likely end up around 20 or 25 pounds.

Q: Is he trained?
A: He poops outside but pees indoors.

Q: Did you know you were getting a puggle?
A: Heck no. I had a weird feeling Saturday that Ben might get me a dog. But I knew better. And I had recently gotten an e-mail from our landlord saying he preferred we not get one. So that was that. Ben called him yesterday, though, and explained that puggles aren't big dogs.

Indiana is a huge surprise. It was hard being away from him today. I feel like a mom.

Q: Does he have any weird quirks?
A: He snores loudly, so he and Ben have that in common. He hasn't barked yet. And he hates his leash.

Q: Is he playful?
A: Not really. He sleeps a lot. We're sure that will change.

The family is getting a new addition

Our household is expanding.

Ben and I have decided we're going to have a baby.

A baby puggle, that is. My honey came home tonight with Indiana, our 4-month-old puppy.

He's timid and quiet, to be sure. But he'll get used to us soon. He's easy to love, even if he does snore.

My car hates me

My car is bad luck.

In the last month, I've forked out more than I want to mention on my car.

--I broke down and fixed my window that wouldn't roll all the way up.
--A bolt flew off the compressor and punctured the radiator. Radiators, my friends, are very, very expensive.
--My neighbor this morning pointed out that I had a flat tire. Turns out a small nail punctured it. The spare appeared to be a little flat, too. Thank God I don't have to go into work until 4 p.m. and was able to get the vehicle fixed in time before my trek to St. Paul.

So I've deducted that my car hates me.

Thanksgiving all year long

It's Crockpot season, and I have a recipe that will have you thanking me all winter long.

It's called Chicken and Stuffing, and it's as easy to make as its simple name implies. Ben and I spent five minutes prepping Monday night, and threw the pot in the fridge over night. On Tuesday morning, we covered the ingredients with dry stuffing and some melted margarine and set the Crockpot on the 10-hour setting.

When we got home, it was like Thanksgiving. We had some garlic mashed potatoes (instant) as a side to our chicken and stuffing.

So here's the recipe. Try it, and I bet you'll thank me.

Ben got me a dog!

I wish. This is Cyrus, my sister's adorable puggle. My sister, her man Tony and Cyrus stayed with us this weekend.

Another puppy post...sorry.

I have puppy fever.

On Friday night during a lovely dinner with another couple -- proud owners of Panda, a Papitese -- I dominated half the conversation about wanting a dog.

They gave us the name of their breeder, and I have been daydreaming about a future Morkie or Malti-poo every since. They are both cute, non-shedding dogs. The puggle still pulls at my heartstrings.

I know the barriers to not getting a dog:
--Ben says not yet.
--Although our rental contract stipulates we can have a pet for a monthly fee, our landlord has changed his mind. He can ignore serious fixes the house needs -- including a front door we asked for when we moved in a year and a half ago -- but he won't allow a five-pound puppy to live in our home? Where are his priorities?

Barriers aside, I still want one. And I think there is no harm in looking at classifieds and various breeders' Web sites until I get a dog.

What happens post 26.2?

There I am at mile 26, still smiling.

On Sunday, I ran the Twin Cities Marathon and finished the 26.2-mile race in 4 hours, 20 minutes -- my personal best. I have only run one other full marathon, and that was three years ago.

It wasn't an easy race. It rained between miles 3 and 13. And not some mist, either. Ponds formed in the road. My hands got so cold that when my shoelace came undone at mile 8, I couldn't get my fingers to work to tie it. After two minutes, I asked a spectator if he would kindly double-knot my shoe. He did, and I wish I got his name. I'd write him a thank-you letter. My soaked shorts and T-shirt stuck to my skin. And my shoes were water-logged within the first few miles.

Crummy weather aside, I had fun. And I would run the Twin Cities Marathon again in the same weather conditions in a heartbeat. I might wear gloves, though.

The best thing about the marathon was having those I love come out and support me. They cheered me on like I was a rock star athlete -- at least in their eyes -- for a few hours one day. At mile 7, Ben showed up on his bike. He shouted and made certain every runner near me knew I was his wife. A few steps later, my cousin Stef and good friend Britt cheered me on. They were soaked, too, but didn't mind standing in the rain to see me run by. I saw them near miles 17, 21 and the finish. My friends Naomi and LeAnn showed up, too.

And the spectators I didn't know -- who cheered me on by yelling out my bib number or the color of my shirt. The ones who reminded me there was a cool T-shirt at the end. The ones who told me that I looked great and it would all be over in a few more miles. The one who didn't know me, but got down on his knee and tied my shoe anyway.

I was happy to cross the finish line Sunday. But within a few hours, I was mourning the end of training and having the marathon behind me. What happens next?

Today I signed up for a half-marathon that I will run with my friend LeAnn on Oct. 25. I hope to run the Fargo Marathon in May. And Ben and I plan to sign up for the Chicago Marathon in October 2009. .

Running is in my blood. It relieves my stress. It boosts my confidence. It almost guarantees that I will get to spend time with my good friend Naomi every week (we're running soul mates, though she's the faster runner of the couple). And when I'm running around the lake or along the river by myself, it's a time when I get to think of only myself. There are no outside demands -- it's just me and the sound of my feet hitting the pavement.

It's my thing.

Twin Cities Marathon

So I'm running the Twin Cities Marathon Sunday. Yep, all 26.2 miles of it.

So if you're interested in watching 10,000 runners race from Minneapolis to St. Paul, come on out. We could use all the cheers and good wishes we can get.

Must-have luxuries

I know what luxury is: It's car windows that roll up and down.

For years, my windows have not worked. The one has refused to roll up 100 percent since my senior year in high school. The other window doesn't roll up at all. It's like the motor has died (I have power windows). In May, my mom rolled the window down. Big mistake -- BIG. Now, it's stuck about a half-inch from the top. You might be wondering how bad a gap a half-inch really can be. Well, let me tell you:

--when it rains, I get wet.
--you cannot go through car washes. I learned this the hard way. I was in Blaine covering a murder when, before I returned to work, I thought I should treat my 98 Pontiac Grand Am beauty to a little bath. At first, the water is just a sprinkle. But within seconds, it turns into a soapy downpour. Dressed in all black that day, I trudged into the office with some soap spots. One, in particular, covered my butt. Fortunately, I was dry by the time I got to work. I used a bag to soak up some of the water in the seat. And I turned the AC on full blast.

Yesterday I drove Ben's 02 Jeep Grand Cherokee into work. I felt powerful, on top of the world, luxurious behind the wheel. Best of all, I could roll down the window to use my pass to get into the ramp. I've had to open my door since I started using the ramp -- which was February -- because of the window.

Why was I in Ben's wheels? Winter's comin', and I can't deal with a window that is perpetually open. So it was in the shop -- where it still sits today -- to get fixed. By the end of today, I'll have a new $300 luxury -- a car window that opens and closes.

Aunt Vickie's Mexican stew

I grew up loving my aunt Vickie's Mexican stew, so when I got married, she gave me the recipe and the pot to cook it in.

After a year of delaying, I made it last weekend. It had been such a long time since I made a new recipe, so I felt good about treating Ben and my cousin, Stef, to something different.

The prep work for the stew went well -- this was a good sign since I usually muck up something, whether it's forgetting to buy everything at the store or adding ingredients too early or splattering the kitchen with food.

But within minutes (Ben helped cut the 2-plus pounds of round steak), I had the steak sauteing in garlic and onions. And a few minutes later, the stew was on, ready to soak for two hours.

Soaking it did. Two hours later, we piled the stew onto rice and loaded it with sour cream and cheese.

But at first bite, it didn't have that kick I remembered when my aunt made it. And Stef laughed to get through her first bites. She wasn't a fan and said the stew was bland. Ben, on the other hand, will eat anything and cleaned up Stef's plate, even though he, too, admitted it lacked pizazz.
I evaluated and know I followed the recipe. I didn't forget an ingredient and, in fact, put more chili spice in the stew than required.

This stew won't defeat me. When it gets colder, I'm going to make it again. I'll let the stew sit longer -- maybe three or four hours so the meat really absorbs the juices. I'm going to use hot salsa versus mild. Heck, my family can take the heat -- I'll experiment with a dash of Tabasco sauce. I may cut up a few jalapeños and throw them in there, too. And maybe I'll sauté the steak with green peppers, too.

Cool factiod of the day

This is way cooler to me than it is to you. But I have to say it:

I ran 121.9 miles in August, despite the week-long vacation in California that month. I ran maybe three times -- and not for more than 45 minutes at a time -- while I was there. I noticed the monthly summary when I entered tonight's run into my training log on Runners' World.

I don't expect any pat on the back except from, maybe, myself:)

I'm a tease

I've been absent from the blogosphere way too long. I went home for Labor Day weekend, then worked Labor Day and 12-hour days last week covering the RNC. This week is much slower, but I have a 20-mile training race on Saturday.

So soon, after I run Saturday and get a quality nap in, I will post. And I have a post that actually relates to the purpose of this blog. Here's a teaser: I made Mexican stew last weekend. I did everything right, but..........



You'll have to stay tuned to find out.

Striving for gold

Most friends think I'm crazy to run as much as I do. They should read the weekly profiles of "regular" runners online at Runners' World. Those folks log maybe 60-plus miles a week. My 38-mile week earlier this month doesn't compare.

I plan to celebrate Labor Day weekend at home for Box Car Days. Before I can pound back glasses of MGD in the beer tent, I have to run 20 miles. You read that right -- 20 miles.

I think I've convinced my sister to rollerblade the entire route with me, which is such a blessing. When you're alone running on a hot day, anything over mile 10 seems grueling and the mind can start to do funny things. You want to quit.

I told my mom tonight that, yes, I actually have to train and do seemingly foolish things like run 20 miles on the weekend. I explained to her that the Twin Cities Marathon is like the Olympics for mortals. Only instead of training for four years, it's more like four months. And we mortals don't want to half-ass it during training. You try for 110 percent because on the big day -- in my case, the marathon -- you want to be victorious. Whether that's first place and a $20,000 purse, or a medal and a T-shirt for finishing.

Nine lives

When we went to California for a weeklong trip recently, I didn't ask anyone to water my plants. I doubted my cousin or Ben's brother, who both live in Northeast, would be interested in making the 20-minute drive for plants. And I didn't think about asking a neighbor until about 10 p.m. the night before we left.

So when we returned home I wasn't surprised to see that all five plants had kicked the bucket. I didn't feel all that bad -- the fact that the plants had lived almost three months was a huge feat.

For fun, though, I watered them a day after we got home. And by the next day, they had all perked up and bloomed.

These plants have multiple lives.

On the trail again.

I just mapped out an 18-mile route I will run tomorrow in preparation for the Twin Cities Marathon.

I'm excited to run the marathon -- I get the same sensation when I'm looking forward to a wedding, seeing family or going on a mini-vacation. But I have to put in the work to get there.

I'm blessed that I have a good friend who is going to run a large portion of tomorrow's route with me. Otherwise, it'd be a lonely and quiet 18 miles.

Two people, one GPS device and a California highway

When I first started writing this post, I detailed every pit stop during our trip to California. I've since decided to bore you only with the highlights.

We....

-- watched six different baseball teams play in four stadiums.
--put about 1,000 miles over a week on the PT Cruiser we rented.
--visited three different graduate schools.
--drove along scenic Highway 1.
--hiked in Big Sur, and I almost cried (OK, I shed a tear or two) because I'm afraid of heights.
--stopped at four wine tasting rooms, where we drank probably 20 different wines. I got buzzed.
--paid about $10 to travel along the 17-mile drive at Pebble Beach. Not sure if I'd pay to drive along the beach again.
--barked along with the seals.
--stayed near San Diego, Los Angeles, Monterey and San Francisco.
--ran on rocky cliffs along the ocean.
--realized that a properly-working GPS device and a pact to get along mean we won't have to suffer through hours of couples' therapy.

***Photos to come soon. Ben saved them to his computer.

Royal thoughts on the throne

I do some of my best thinking and reminiscing on the road or in the bathroom.

Today, during a potty break, I thought about the last six years. Now, you're probably thinking: That was one long pee break. Not true. I was in and out of the bathroom in a matter of minutes.

Around this time...
Six years ago, I was preparing for my freshman year in college.

Five years ago, I was about to wrap up a communications internship in Sioux Falls and move to Thailand, where I lived with Ben for four months.

Four years ago, I was living at home and getting ready to start working for the Minnesota Daily.
Three years ago, I was about to finish a summer gig at a newspaper in Winona. I was also in training mode for my first full marathon. I also said goodbye -- for a few months -- to Ben, who had just moved to NYC:(

Two years ago, I was in Washington, trying to climb the hellish learning curve of covering DC politics.

One year ago, I had just gotten married and returned from a 10-day honeymoon in Hawaii.

Today, I'm in a good place. I have a great job, a wonderful husband and a very loving family. Now, about that dog....

Love and money.

I have never been good at math or very knowledgeable when it comes to money.

If I need to do a math problem, I look it up in one of my favorite books, Numbers in the Newsroom. And then I call my husband to make sure the math is right. Percent change gets me every time.

I married a financial analyst with deep knowledge in the ways of Wall Street, so I read up when I can about the economy, credit card debt, etc. There's nothing sexier -- so I've been told -- when I can talk about diversification or debt service at the dinner table. (That's an exaggeration. I string a bunch of financial-related words together, pretending to know about debt service and bonds and whatever else.)

Now, economics of love. That's something I get. Here's an article from the host of Ben Stein's Money on the ways of love and money. And it's not about finding a sugar daddy

Oops!

I made a mistake. The recipe I used for scones didn't come from Paula Deen. It comes from Tyler Florence.

Pardon my error.

Just call me Paula Deen

I'm happy to report that I mastered Paula Deen's recipe for blueberry scones with a lemon glaze this afternoon.

One of my favorite pastries in the world -- if done right -- is the scone. So I'm pretty jazzed that I was able to make eight of them today.

An experiment gone badly.

Why must I experiment with food?

Tonight I modified a recipe for BLT pasta salad. I didn't have tomatoes, but I used extra bacon and pasta, as well as cheese to make up for the missing ingredient. It's not as unhealthy as it sounds: I used lettuce out of the garden of Ben's parents.

But it tasted flat, despite the dressing. Although I normally don't like the food I make, I threw this stuff in the garbage.

Now I'm sitting here yet another night with a bowl of cereal for dinner. You won't read complaints from me. I could live off of cereal.

But my man needs to eat. And though he's excellent at picking up my slack in the kitchen, he has a rough next few weeks ahead of him at work. He doesn't want to spend time in the kitchen after a 15-hour work day.

I don't blame him. But I can't feed him -- nothing good, anyway.

Marking a milestone

Ben and I have been a Mr. and Mrs. for one year.

We marked our anniversary yesterday with an afternoon marathon of watching Arrested Development, dining at W.A. Frost and Company and then stuffing our face with Izzy's ice cream.

I'm pretty darn happy being a Mrs., and I couldn't have a better Mr.

I've changed my mind

After much debate, I've decided that a dog is no longer for me. Neither is a cat. As a matter of fact, I would prefer something without skin, say a lizard.

This one reminds me of my mom, because she is old...


This one remind me of my sister, because she's not good at coordinating outfits...

This one reminds me of my inlaws. They are scary...


This one reminds me of my husband because he is so sweet and lovey and cuddly and I shall never send emails from his email account in the future.


Happy Fireworks Day!!!

No Deal

Ben said no to the cute little puggle. For now, anyway.

It's not so much the money, it's the responsibility, he said. We lead "intense" lives. So it's in our best interest and that of the dog's that we wait.

That said, Ben is open to a cat. I don't mind cats, but I don't love them the way I really love dogs.
I blame it on all that hair...

My old roommate and I had a short-hair domestic kitten for a short while, and she didn't shed much. But I worry that we'll adopt one that will leave hairballs all over the house.

On the small chance that we get a cat, my vote is for this short-hair domestic.

The joys of marrying a financial anaylst

My desire for a dog has turned into a full-fledged obsession.

The other night, I dreamed about a batch of puppies. They were either Boston terriers or miniature schnauzers. They look dramatically different, but I can't recall my dream well enough to remember which kind of dogs they were.

Anyway...

A few weeks ago, Ben -- probably fed up hearing about dogs -- called and asked me to spend a few hours doing what he does every day at work. So I put together a spreadsheet, calculating the acquisition and annual costs of owning a dog.

Dogs are expensive. But I already knew that. And as my colleagues and sister, who are dog owners, said, you can't put a price on a dog. They're cheap therapy. Man's best friend.

So I think I'll be getting one of these anyway. Someday.

Ben just gave me $100, which I initially said I'd give back. Now I'm not so sure. Two words: Dog fund.

Today I smelled like my coffee drink

I treated myself to a cafe miel this morning on my way into work. It was my reward for crawling out of bed at 6:15 a.m. to run.

The cafe miel is my favorite froo froo drink. It's the perfect blend of sweetness and caffeine. The cinnamon and honey give the drink a natural flavor, unlike the syrups. Gross.

About 10 minutes into my ride to Anoka County, I grabbed the cup for a quick sip.

I don't know how it happened. Going 65 mph (in a 60 zone), the cup slipped from my hands. Instead of raising it to my lips, I dropped it onto my lap. Hot coffee onto my lap.

It burned slightly. But that wasn't the worst of it. The I-just-had-an-accident sensation was worse. The coffee soaked my black capris (thank God I didn't wear the white skirt). All this before a county board meeting.

So I stopped at a McDonald's, ran into the bathroom and stood under the dryer. I stayed in the bathroom as long as I could without a missing persons report being filed.

Then I drove the rest of the way to the board meeting and walked into the government center, soggy pants and all.

Fast feet in Duluth

I'm too tired to write something clever now, so I will just tease you with photos from the Garry Bjorklund Half-Marathon in Duluth over the weekend.

Enjoy.

Golden goodness

I can successfully make no-bake bars.

I made these beauties last night. I ate these bars until my belly ached while living in Centennial Hall during college. So after six years of not having that chocolate-y Golden Graham taste on my tongue, I found a recipe and made the bars.

They're good, but taste different. The bars from college had a pure chocolate flavor. This recipe called for melting the marshmallows and chocolate together, and as a result, they're not as rich. So next time, I may have to alter the recipe and hold the marshmallows until mixing the cereal with the melted chocolate.

Is my car trying to tell me something?

My car, at fewer than 90,000 miles, isn't just coughing. It seems to have a perpetual flu.

January: Forked out about $500 for a fix that I can't remember.
April: Tree fell on trunk. State Farm insurance will cover when it's fixed this week. Whew.
May: Another $700 for a new air compressor system.
May: Mom rolled down window. Family knows that it's a no-no to roll down windows on my car. Window won't roll up. Waiting for an estimate on the body shop.
June: Radio re-sets on car every time I start it. This weekend, symptoms worsen. Not only does radio re-set, but I have trouble starting the car. Battery is corroded. New battery plus labor: $143.

I told a colleague about my car. She asked me if it's trying to tell me something. I'm beginning to wonder about that myself.

Too many bumps in the night.

I feel violated.

We had an intruder last night. Don't worry -- it wasn't human. No, it was far, far from that. This had wings and likely fangs. It was a f&%*$@g bat. Our second bat during our tenure here. Dammit.

I understand that bats and other critters, namely mice, are a byproduct of century-old homes. But it's hard to accept their presence when they literally go bump in the night.

Early this morning, I had to wake Ben up because I thought a burglar was picking the lock downstairs. It's nights like this when I want to equip myself with a stun gun -- burglar or bat, that fool is going down. After disposing of the bat, we were up until nearly 2:30 a.m. watching an old episode of The Office so we could forget the swooping black beast. (I know bats have their benefits, but not when their flying into your face.)

After getting about 45 minutes of shut-eye, I woke up to the sound of the patter of little feet, scampering back and forth inside the wall and ceiling in our bedroom. Do you remember the post about the critters last summer? I'm not certain they ever disappeared. We heard them a few times this winter and for the last few weeks, they've been very active at night. This morning, they went back and forth for about an hour and a half. I seriously considered punching a hole in the wall and "disposing" of those damn critters myself. Cooler thoughts prevailed.

I e-mailed our landlord. Then I followed it up with a phone call to make sure he read every details. Turns out he's traveling in France, but didn't say a peep about it to Ben or me. We're getting a quote tomorrow for a pest control company -- not Orkin (because they're obviously not doing their job here) -- and asking our landlord if we can take care of the problem ourselves, provided he reimburse us.

Here's the much-too-long text of my e-mail:

Hi Andrew,

We had an intruder last night. I woke up around 1 a.m. to what sounded like someone breaking into the house. It turned out to be a bat. We're positive it didn't come through the kitchen chimney, as the previous bat did. Still, we're unsure how it got into the house. Our two main theories on how it entered the house:

-- Through the upstairs utility room. The door does not fit snugly, and therefore, there is a huge (big enough for a bat) gap between the bottom of the door and the carpet. It's also possible it could have gotten into the house through that room and traveled in the vent system. The vents in the bedroom and living room are wide enough for a bat -- or other critter -- to exit them. We propose adding some kind of mesh to prevent this from happening.

-- Through the back or front door. The front door does not close all of the way, so it'd be easy for a bat to hide out in the porch.

After we removed the bat, we investigated the upstairs area because we heard more noises (and thought someone could have broken into the house). Turned out to be the critters. We heard them near the utility room, the ceiling and the west wall.

We woke up around 3 a.m. again to more noise. The critters traveled back and forth along the eastern wall in the bedroom and in the ceiling. They didn't stop for over an hour.

I know you stopped by recently, but we have been hearing the critters for weeks, sometimes several nights a week. We're wondering if you could arrange for Orkin to come when one of us is home. That way, we can show Orkin -- or you -- exactly where we're hearing the animals. I will be home until 2 p.m. Monday.

If the bat and critters weren't bad enough, Ben thinks he saw a mouse yesterday in the living room.

Sorry for all of the drama! But we wanted to make you aware -- for your sanity and ours:)

Brady

Snobby beer rules.

Forget wine-and-cheese parties.

Last night Ben and I hosted our first party (not including a pre-race spaghetti dinner) at our sweet Minneapolis pad. We invited a few dozen friends and family and asked them to bring a six-pack of "snobby" beer. We told them specifically what to leave at home (your Miller, Bud, Coors and so on). We provided appetizers and some brew of our own.

Guest filled two tubs with beer and five paper grocery bags with the empty bottles. And we have a map to show where all the beer came from. We had beer from Japan, Australia, Belgium and so on. I'll post a photo of that later.

Things kicked off at 7 p.m., and the final guests left after midnight.

I think another beer party might be in our future, given the compliments we received. Although one guest proposed throwing a "white trash" beer party, in which we ask everyone to bring crappy beer.

One party down. Many, many more to go.

Redemption

We went to Bachmann's today. which is the giant of all garden centers. I wanted one of everything, include the pastries from Patrick's Bakery next to the indoor plants.

We settled on a flower bed and filled it with New Guinea impatiens. I don't have to write about how gorgeous they are; you can see for yourself. I pray they survive the summer.

We also picked up some herbs. This time I'm giving basil a try. Ben bought mint and oregano for the deck.

Plant killer.

I know what you're thinking.

That girl is a murderer.

It's true. I have killed my first plant at this house. (I must be a serial killer because at least one other plant -- one in college comes to mind -- died on my time, too.)

Even as the rosemary was so brittle that leaves fell on a daily basis, I denied the plant's slow death. I continued to water it, usually weekly. The plant wasn't dead. It was just depressed. It needed a pick-me-up. Some nice weather. A nice caretaker that remembered to water it more often.

Even yesterday, when Ben told his mother that I could use a rosemary plant since mine was dead, I argued that it was alive and well.

When we got back home last night after a weekend in Tracy, I agreed to sign the death certificate. Ben buried the plant deep in the garbage for me.

Not a $9 T-shirt

We found the house yesterday.

It had three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. The location was just three blocks from Lake Harriet. It had all the amenities we wanted, and it didn't need thousands in repairs.

We thought we'd make an offer. We were so serious that we went through the house a third time, marking down any items we wanted thrown in with the house (i.e. appliances).

Then we got home. And we thought about it a bit more. It's a challenging decision; I have a hard enough time buying a $9 T-shirt from Target.

There will likely be no better time to buy a house. It's a buyer's market. Getting a house now could pay off later.

But....

Ben and I worry about a house becoming our life. If he goes to grad school, we can rent the place. That's somewhat easy. But if we want to drop everything and travel the world for six months or a year -- something we're contemplating -- having a mortgage will make it very hard to do that.

We're not making an offer, and we're not going to rush into buying a house. This doesn't mean our search is over. We'll continue to look for a house, perhaps something less expensive. Something that won't be our ball and chain.

Thanksgiving in May

Ben and I are about to have a kitchen misadventure.

We're making a turkey, as in the kind you fuss over on Thanksgiving Day. We're sticking 'er in the oven on Saturday.

If you have any recipe suggestions for leftovers, let me know. This bird, so far, will only be feeding us two.

Buying our first place

It's true that we are looking at houses again.

The market is in the pits, which means the ball is in our -- or the buyer's -- court. Still, in the last week, three of the homes we were interested in looking at were sold. That's good news. It means that even when the market suffers, homes in southwest Minneapolis fare somewhat well. And that's good for us, considering our first home will be a starter place -- not a gem out of some HGTV episode -- that we'll likely sell down the road.

We've looked at eight properties so far, three of which might be worth a second look. Most were built around 1900 or 1910. So they have the charm of homes built in that era -- hardwood floors, built-ins, fireplaces and "hidden potential." But they also have the quirks -- radiator heat, air conditioner boxes instead of central air and tiny bedrooms.

The prospect of buying our first home is exciting. But Ben and I share different opinions on some of the homes we've seen, making it a little bit stressful, too.

I hope we find a place that wows us and is suitable for our future dog, Indiana (Ben named our dog today after watching his favorite movie Indiana Jones).

News announcement

My prolonged absence from the blogger world is due to our renewed search for a house.

I will have details soon....

My gift to you

I love pastries -- a ginger pear scone, a cherry danish, my sister's homemade oatmeal muffins. My love for the sweet stuff motivates me to run. Of course, I run to relieve stress, stay in shape and enjoy the outdoors.

I am still daydreaming about the sweet side I had this weekend at Amore Victoria during brunch. It was an Italian funnel cake. This was not your typical funnel cake from the local carnival or fair. It was much, much, much better. It didn't have that gross overly-fried taste. It wasn't caked with powder sugar -- this had granulated sugar. It looked like a fat French fry perfectly coated with sugar. It reminded me of a fresh, moist donut.

For only $3.95, I implore you to try it. I have a feeling you will thank me.

Love is...

When your man sweeps you away to Dairy Queen at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday, knowing you've been craving a Snicker's blizzard for months. And he does this even though you're wearing pajamas.

Sweet Success

I finished today's Earth Day half-marathon in 1:58:45. That's a PR (personal record) for me, and I'm stoked. I ran an average pace of 9:04 per mile.

I'm happy. For my age and body size, I should probably be faster. I know I'll get there someday. For now, I'm satisfied with a new personal best.

I've run the St. Cloud half-marathon (13.1 miles) three times now and recommend the race to anyone else who's thinking of doing a half.

I did it.

I signed up for the Twin Cities marathon.

I can see clearly now; the rain is gone.

The last two-and-a-half months have resembled what hell probably looks and feels like.

On top of Ben's demanding work schedule, hestudied 20-plus hours for the GMAT and took preparation class on Sundays for two months. The test is the equivalent of the LSAT or GRE, only this exam is to get into biz school.

Well, our hellish days are behind us. Ben took the GMAT Monday, and he showed that test who's boss.

So no more using our dining room table as a desk. No more putting off date nights and adventures. No more horrible stress and nervousness.

This lady rocks!

Kathleen Jobes works full time for Runners World, has a husband and two kids and qualified for the Olympic Trials in Boston. She runs 80-plus miles a week to train for the Trials. Did I mention that she didn't start running until her late 20s?

Check her out in this short video. Whether you love or hate to run, I think you'll be amazed. I am.

Just ask Deena

What does Deena do?

I came up with this little motto this week to help challenge me to be a better runner. So when I want to wimp out during a long run or on a particularly hot day, I'll just ask myself, what does Deena Kastor do in these situations?

Deena is an Olympic marathon runner. She is an elite. I can't compare myself to that caliber of runner -- she can run a marathon in less than half the time I can -- but I can be motivated by her success.

In that spirit, I am going to try to abide by a training plan for the Grandma's Half-marathon in June. In my three previous half-marathons, I've never followed a plan. I've always run between three and five miles on weekdays, followed by a long weekend run. Through experience and research, I've realized that I will never improve as a runner if I stick to the same routine for every race. So I'm going to mix things up a little for June.

I'm running a half-marathon in a few days with Ben and my buddy Naomi. It's too late to pull out fancy tricks to do well. But I'll try to not be a major slacker during the race. My hope is to come in under two hours. I won't be disappointed if I run slower than that. It would be nice if I set a new PR for myself, though. That's what Deena Kastor would do.

April snowstorm

Only in Minnesota.

I stepped outside my house this morning intent on running 5 miles despite the storm we got overnight. But the icy slush, rain and high winds sent me back indoors. With a half-marathon just one week away, I hope I can get in decent runs tomorrow and Sunday.

Darn you Minnesota weather.

And here's an exceptionally high-quality photo of the tree that was apparently uprooted and fell across the street during the night. The bulk of the tree missed it. But I took a picture for insurance just in case.

A lesson in romance...

It doesn't mean roses and chocolates. Or a dinner and a sunset.

It's a foot rub, an offer to do the dishes or a rice krispy bar saved from an office function. Or the suggestion that we tape Dancing with the Stars and.....




.....watch it together.

Now that is romantic.

Executive ability

My husband declared me CEO of the household this week. He did this via e-mail, so I have proof. Just ask.

I couldn't agree with his assessment more. I really am CEO of our household, which has me wondering why the top person is doing her own laundry and running errands. Don't we have assistants for that kind of stuff? I'll have to work on getting one. Maybe see if there are available funds in the budget. :)

I love my sister's dog, Cyrus.

Sweet cheeks.

I'm his God mother.


I'll just help myself.

Parmesan -- the answer to everything

Recommendation #1: Improvise with asparagus.

Ben is not easily impressed. But on Monday, I wooed him with a side dish I made up in my head while sitting at work.

We had one bunch of asparagus that was days away from going bad. I wanted to use it, but didn't have an recipes ready and didn't want to search online. Plus I've found lately that even the greatest-looking recipes can end up being disasters. So I improvised.

I threw in a little bacon and minced garlic with the asparagus, which I sautéed in olive oil. Then I sprinkled some garlic salt and black pepper. I also threw in a dash of red chili spice because Ben loves a kick with his meal. And after I scooped up the side dish, I added some Parmesan cheese. It's good on almost everything (see below).

A note on the bacon -- it wasn't for me; it was for Ben. This boy has to have meat with every meal.

His review: "You can make this anytime for me."

Recommendation #2: Parmesan cheese on Kraft Mac 'n Cheese is to die for. Try it.

It sounded gross to me at first. But then Ben made me try it. Now, I don't think I could ever eat the dish without a few spoonfuls of Parmesan. It's that good.

I can't stop looking at puppy photos

Source: Star Tribune classifieds

What can I say? I'm obsessed. Someday, when Ben warms up to the idea and we're ready for a little pup, I'd like a "bug" (Boston terrier/pug), a puggle (pug/beagle) or a Boston terrier.

DD gets her groove on in the kitchen

Sort of.

I had Friday off after working a late weekend shift, and I decided to return to the kitchen with the extra "me" time.

I made lasagna for the first time in my life. But this wasn't your traditional lasagna. It called for asparagus, onions, garlic for the filling and a combination of sun-dried tomatoes and basil for the top and bottom. I left out the pancetta because it was a Friday, and it's Lent.

The good news: the dish turned out.

The bad news: it looked good, but didn't taste that good. And I had a hell of a time combining the tomatoes and the basil in the blender. I think I need a fancy food processor because this wasn't the first time that my blender didn't deliver. It's too bad that the dish wasn't phenomenal, as I had hoped. The jars of sun-dried tomatoes were expensive -- so expensive that I won't repeat the cost here.

Today was a better day in the kitchen. I made banana bread. Ben and I traditionally make it together. But he's busting his butt studying for the GMAT, so I decided to stop whining for his help and do it myself. I'm pleased to report that I don't need a man when it comes to banana bread. I'm quite good at it. Plus, I clean up afterward:)

The recipe comes from a former colleague. It's ultra basic, which means it's easy -- even for challenged people like me. So I'm sharing it with you. If you have a banana bread recipe of your own, please post it in the comments section.

Banana bread
From Trish's kitchen
Makes one loaf

Ingredients:

Mix in large bowl
1 c sugar
1/2 c butter
2 large eggs


Mix in small bowl
2 c flour (I used one cup each of wheat and white flour)
3/4 tsp soda
1/2 tsp salt

Combine two bowls into large bowl. Mix well. Add three large ripe bananas and mash thoroughly with a fork. Mix well.

Bake at 350 degrees for about one hour or until toothpick comes out clean from center. (I did not use a dark pan, so it took closer to one hour and 15 minutes.)

I wish.

Ben says that if I come home with the above, it's grounds for divorce. He is only kidding, I'm sure. But I won't press my luck anytime soon.

Still, I want one. I really want one.

And it's hard not thinking about owning one when they populate the running paths near my house and I see all kinds of them -- fluffy, scruffy, petite, athletic, toy and chubby ones -- every day.

Best idea of the week. Maybe month.

I can't take credit. My aunt, who gave me a bag of yellow corn tortillas yesterday, is the brain behind this: homemade tortilla chips.

I love, love, love restaurant-style tortilla chips. It's next to impossible to find quality chips at the grocery store. And it had never really occurred me to make them at home. That is, until my aunt suggested it.

So tonight I set out to make the warm, crispy, salty tortilla chips that I've only found in Mexican restaurants. Mission accomplished. Even someone who's as incompetent in the kitchen as me can pull it off.

Here's what you need to do:

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Cut small corn tortillas into six triangles. (I used about a 1/3 of a bag for two people)
Set the tortillas on a cookie sheet.
Brush them with a 1:2 mix of olive oil and lime juice (1 tbsp. olive oil, 2 tbsp. lime juice)
Sprinkle with salt.
Sprinkle with chili powder (optional).

Bake for 7 to 8 minutes on each side at 350 degrees.

I plan to make more chips tomorrow night and can't wait to share them with family and friends. Yeah, they're that good.

Check out these beauties

If journalism doesn't pan out, I could always be a pastry chef.

I made these little beauties today and made sure I had the above evidence to prove it. They did come from a box cake, but I added strawberry Jello flavoring and low-fat whip topping and sprinkles. Sprinkles.

The icing on the cake? They're delish. I ate three this afternoon.

Yeah, I won't be quitting my day job, which I enjoy, anytime soon. But I'm proud of these sweetheart cupcakes.

Minnesota -- and the insanity of stepping outside in winter

I have witnessed two acts of amazing, crazy, pure dedication -- or desperation, perhaps -- during the last two days. And the blue ribbon belongs to smokers.

Yesterday, at 15 below zero (not including the butt-biting wind chill), I saw a man driving down Nicollett Avenue puffing on his cig with his car window rolled down. Better to suffer frost bite than have your vehicle smell like an ash tray.

And today, just as my toes were about to fall off from the four-block walk to work and I was yelling expletives in my head, I saw a woman standing outside my building smoking. Without a coat. Or gloves. Or a hat. Or a scarf.

Holy poop.

Didn't they get the memo? It's frickin' cold outside.

I write this as I sit shivering at home, in my pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, slippers and Pepto Bismol-colored robe (it's not attractive).

Then again, I went to a press conference today that was outside. As in out on the street and not indoors. I stood out there for an hour in my pointy, not-so-insulated boots. Finally, a colleague threw a headband at me, told me that my ears looked like they were about to fall off and urged me to come to my senses...after I had turned down his offer earlier in the afternoon. So I put it on.

My fingers -- though properly covered -- still suffered. The Raynaud's disease (the poor circulation problem I have in my fingers) raged, and I almost sat on the quiet residential street because I swore I was a minute or two away from throwing up due to the pain. Damn you, Raynauds.

Next time -- if there is a next time -- I will have a hat, the expensive pair of "warmest" gloves I own from the Running Room and boots with a wool-lined interior.

So many kitchen misadventures to be had, so little time

I realize that I'm not living up to the title of this blog. As of late, I've had very few kitchen misadventures.

I can only blame myself. My work schedule hasn't been too demanding, although that's likely to change with a new job that I started yesterday. I also like to plant my lazy butt in front of the TV and eat a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar (this is a recent discovery, and I've fallen in love with oatmeal) while Ben sits nearby with work he has brought home. I forget how romantic it can be to spend time in the kitchen with your significant other.

Today, I'm working the 3-to-11 shift, which means I've had the morning to myself. It reminds me of this summer and how I foolishly complained about having all the time in the world to get in trouble in the kitchen. I long for the days when I can spend as much or as little time as I want in the kitchen, go for a run with my buddy Naomi in the morning or afternoon and have hours to read magazines and books.

Until then, I'll work on the kitchen misadventure part a little more.

Those darn resolutions

The New Year's resolvers continue to come out of the woodwork. Or maybe it's the wind chill of 45 below zero?

Tonight, I had to wait in line just to get my pass swiped at the YMCA. And there was a line at the registration desk where people can join the fitness center. Lucky for me, though, people generally don't like treadmills So I got to have one all to myself for four glorious miles.

Salsa picante!

Three words to spice up your marriage/relationship: salsa dance lessons.

For Christmas, Ben bought me a pack of dance classes. We opted to take salsa dancing, although we plan on pursuing other ballroom styles at some point. So far, we've taken four group classes and have loved it. Every Friday after work, we head to the dance studio in St. Paul, take our 50-minute class and have dinner at a new restaurant. Talk about heating up our date night.

When I told a former colleague recently about our latest adventure, he thought it was a great way to keep our marriage fresh. Only six months in, it really isn't that stale. But we'll always have salsa if it ever turns that way.

Butt steam

Tonight, as I was sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger on the bus, I considered myself lucky to have a warm seat amongst the packed crowd, even though the warmth was radiating from said stranger's but.

Why I cried like a baby at the I-35W on-ramp tonight

It all started on Tuesday, when, just blocks from home, Ben's Jeep died at the corner in front of Java Jack's.

Thankfully, we got it re-started only to have it die again 30 seconds later. We waited a little longer before trying it again. And by God, we made it all the way home. But Wednesday morning, the car started making funny noises again and keeled over again. So we had it towed to Roseville.

I have not a clue about cars, so I can't go into what was wrong with it. But tonight, I picked it up, paid the enormous bill and was on my merry way home, knowing I'd make it in time to watch Grey's Anatomy, when on the I-35W on-ramp , the malfunction indicator and check gages lights flickered on and the engine died.

This had never happened to me, at least when I was behind the wheel, so I quickly pulled the Jeep over hoping I wouldn't hit a car, flipped on my flashers, tried to start the car again, called Ben and started to ball.

So that's my story of why I cried on the I-35W on-ramp tonight. At least I got to drive a sweet silver Chrysler Town and Country home all the while feeling like a tool.

The six-month mark

Ben and I have enjoyed holy matrimony for six months now. Our schedule today reveals just how much a typical (though we're happily typical) married couple we have become.

8 a.m. I took my brother-in-law and cousin to the VFW to pick up my cousin's car. We experienced a wild night of karaoke and cheap beer last night at the veteran's club. OK, they enjoyed cheap beer. I put the kibosh on drinking beer after one. Someone had to get the kiddies home at the end of the night.

9:30 a.m. I connected with my kick-ass aunt, who, just a notch over 40, can push me at running any day. We logged seven miles.

11 a.m. Ben returned from his run and cooked us a fine, hearty lunch of baked pork chops. Yumm.

1:30 p.m. We went to the Running Room, where the gear is spendy but necessary. He got running tights (so sexy!) and a hat. I bought gloves that are marketed as the store's warmest. I hope the store isn't using false advertising because I have diagnosed myself with Raynaud's disease, which means keeping the digits warm is very, very important.

2 p.m. We proceeded to the Tea Garden to treat ourselves after our ambitious morning runs.

2:30 p.m. We returned home. I retreated to the kitchen, where I did the dishes. Ben took his spot in the living room, where he's been working for the last 45 or so minutes.


I'd like to take a nap now, but I have to whip up a batch of homemade chili instead. Ah, the domestic life.

Happy New Year

For the last few years, I have made the same resolution: gain a six-pack and lose five or 10 pounds. Neither really happened, and that is OK. I'm fit, so whether my stomach looks like a pack of beer doesn't really matter.

This year, as I nibble on a holiday cookie, I am documenting my 2008 goals. New Year's resolutions are cheesy and seldom followed through on, but goals are absolutely necessary for self-improvement. So here goes:

--Run one marathon and two half-marathons in 2008. It's way more attainable than it comes across. I ran the Twin Cities marathon two years ago, and I havelogged three half-marathons. I am weeks away from signing up for the Earth Day Half-Marathon, and Ben and I look forward to running the Chicago marathon together (we'll both be signed up for, but won't run next to each other, in the race). I just have to find a second half....

--Work at being a better writer. How vague is that, right? Well, that's why I phrased it "work at being" instead of just "being." Since college, I have spent much time at professional development. But that all changed last week.

So here's to a year of logging more miles and choosing better words.