Tuesday, August 30, 2011

back to school preview

I could do the obligatory back to school blog post tomorrow or the day after. The one where I post all the cute pictures of the kids being all nervous and stuff for their big day.

But why? It's the same every year. Nervous, excited kids. Weepy proud mama. Blah blah blah....

It would be weird to do that today though because there are no pictures. Except this one......

Little Miss Mia's new indoor shoes are so cute I want to eat them.

Huh? I don't even know what that means. Moving on.

I can't blog about it, however, because the big day hasn't happened yet. Back to school is tomorrow.

The kids are so excited. Especially the big one who home schooled last year in an effort to drive me out of my mind. What she doesn't know is that it actually worked out great. She babysat the loud one a ton for me while she put herself through grade 8.

What a gal. She's the best.

The kids are picking out their 'first day of school' outfits. Which actually look a lot like all their other outfits because I don't buy my kids back to school clothes. Yes, I'm mean like that. Trust me, I've heard all about it. I buy them clothes when they need them. Whatever. September is expensive enough. Plus, in my experience, when I buy them stuff in September it doesn't fit by December and that is really super annoying.

Like to a spectacular degree super annoying.

The two little ones got new shoes and it took many hours at the mall to accomplish that much. That was torture enough, yes it was.

Plus I got my curly, unruly hair stuck in my favourite earrings twice and I had to tear it out both times. I hate that so much.

Anyway, tomorrow they ALL go to school ALL day. By 9:15 tomorrow morning I will be a free agent until 4 or until someone pukes and the school calls me to come get them. This has never happened, so...............

Did I just jinx my first free day in like 100 years?

While my children sit around today and wonder about teachers and friends and all the glorious anxiety inducing moments they will have the first day, I have only one thought:

What movie should I see tomorrow?

Tomorrow at 9:15 am, if you listen hard enough you will hear me woot wooting over here. Alone. While the kids are away.

I might be a bad mom.


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

stuff my kid says. part one

Kids say the darndest things, do they not? Sometimes one of my kids will say something and for the life of me I will not be able to understand what that kid was thinking.

Seriously. What are you thinking?

We are on holidays right now and I am blogging from my phone. I know, I know, my skill set never ceases to amaze you. I am talented, this I know.

We were on our way to the beach a few days ago and we stopped at 7-11 so the man could get his Big Gulp. He's old school. He drinks the Big Gulps. We love him anyway. While he was in the store a shirtless man riding a bike came to a stop right outside my window, which was rolled all the way down. This man had some distinct qualities that may lead a person to conclude certain things about him.

My son Jack says, quietly, "Mom, is that a homeless person?"

To which I responded that yes, he may very well be a homeless person.

Amelia then shouts from the top of her lungs "IT'S A HOBO!!!!"

I barely had time to reach out and pinch her knee before he rode off. We all held our breath and waited for any repercussions.


Oh mercy, whose kid is that??

Friday, August 19, 2011

random ramblings of the officially insane

At this moment:

- the kids are "wrestling" but all I hear are sounds that always inevitably end up with screams and/or tears.

-I have been waiting since Tuesday to get out of town. What day is it? I don't even know anymore but I do know it isn't Tuesday!

-I'm waiting for the man. SURPRISE! It isn't his fault that we're still waiting. At least that's what I've been telling myself since Tuesday so as to not lose my mind entirely.

-"It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault. It isn't his fault." This sentence repeated 1 million times a day coupled with sensory deprivation has successfully brainwashed me.

-It isn't his fault.

-Yes, it is.

Dang It!! Didn't work. Okay it's not entirely his fault but it's one of those things where if he'd done a couple of things differently the whole week may have looked different. It might look like a beach and some sand.

I'm just saying..... it's not his fault but it sort of is. Do you have a husband? Do you understand what I am saying? If you have a husband and you do not understand what I am saying then you should not be here because you most likely do not understand a single thing I say. Ever.

Moving on, y'all.

-The truck is packed. We have a showing in 20 minutes and I need to sweep the floor. The man is still not home.

-I blog instead of sweep. Why? Because I can.

-I am officially insane. I have diagnosed myself. It's all good.

-Why fight the obvious? I have embraced it. Please say you'll visit me in the "home" (asylum) when you have a chance. I'll be hard to miss. I'll be the one in the corner rocking, drooling and whispering "I didn't kill them all. It wasn't me."

-Now I sweep.

See you later lovies. I'm going to give the beach another go. If I don't return it's because I have filled my pockets with stones and walked into the lake. Very Virginia Woolf.

Just kidding.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

i am very busy over here. doing stuff.

Sometimes it seems as though there is nothing to do. Wiping the counter for the three hundredth time is not something to do. Neither is sweeping or dusting or unloading the dishwasher.

Going outside, where the sun is, is something to do but apparently we aren't doing that. I guess we're too busy.

Folding laundry is also something to do and can be done in front of the tv so it isn't entirely counterproductive.

Reading is something to do but when one of the kids has come and interrupted you for the three hundredth time it takes away from the awesomeness that is your book.


So sometimes, when there is nothing to do, I sit at the computer and wait for children to come in and need something. Like a drink. Or a band aid. Or food. Or to tie up a balloon that is filled with water.

Wait..... why do they have a balloon filled with water? You know what? Never mind, I don't care why. Just don't throw it at me.

Anyway, as I sit at the computer I think: Hmmm, I haven't checked facebook in awhile.

So I check facebook. Then I think: Oh yeah, I'm on Twitter now. I should check that out.

So I check out Twitter. And then I tweet that I am doing nothing, as usual.

Then I think: Maybe I should update my blog. But, I haven't really done anything remotely interesting in like a month so what will I write about? I sit and stare at the empty white space that is eagerly awaiting my brilliant prose.



Still staring.

I write something. I delete it. I think to myself: Hmmm, I haven't checked out facebook in awhile.

So I check facebook. And then I think: Oh yeah. Twitter. I forgot.

So I check out Twitter. And then I tweet that I am thinking about what to make for dinner. Which is a bold faced lie because I haven't thought about what to make for dinner since June.

Last night, I told the kids we were having lasagna for dinner. The frozen kind you buy at Costco. I told them that because they asked "what's for dinner?" and I was all "oh, we have a frozen lasagna in the freezer" in my mind so I just said it out loud. But then I sat down to read and at like 5:34 they are all "Mom, when's dinner?" and I'm like "Oh yeah, food. Right. I forgot you guys like to eat on a somewhat regular basis."

So I got off my ever growing duff and went to read the instructions for the lasagna and it said it needed to cook for 70 minutes and I was like, in my head of course: "70 minutes!! What on earth? But then it won't be ready until 7. Since they are used to eating at 5 and it is practically 6, I am thinking this is not going to work."


At 6:30 I called to them that dinner was ready and they came running, slipping on their drool in their haste to get to the table. I swear I can hear the faint humming of the word lasagna coming from their panting, starved mouths.

"This isn't lasagna."

"Nope it's Quinoa and left over **Silly Greek Chili. You hardly ate any last night so there was tons leftover for tonight. How lucky is that, you guys?"

"But you said we were having lasagna."

"Did I?? Hmm, don't remember that........"

So......what was the point again??

I don't even know anymore. I'm just sitting here.


I have folded 6 loads of laundry this morning AND put it all away. The dishwasher is unloaded and I'll wipe the counter later when the you-know-who's have decided they are done eating for a few minutes.

I tried to read my book but the you-know-who's won't hear of it. They are demanding things. It's rude.

Hmmmm, I haven't checked out facebook in awhile.........

**As a side note, I went to link the Silly Greek Chili for those of you who are curious and instead of trying to find it in my blog I googled it and my blog post about Silly Greek Chili was listed as number two so I am thinking my google rating is wicked.

Monday, August 15, 2011

grody to the max

When I was a kid we used to say 'grody to the max' all the time. If you've never heard this saying before then you are young and unschooled in the art of publicly claiming something to be disgusting.

It's sad for you, but what are ya gonna do?

In all honesty, I thought it was 'grody to the Mac's' but I think that was because I had candy on the brain all the time.

Every Saturday my mum would give us $1 and send us to the down Mac's. There was an up Mac's and a down Mac's. The down Mac's was at the bottom of a monstrous hill and I think her reasoning for sending us to this Mac's was to work off the sugar by the time we got home.

Whatever her reasoning, it doesn't matter. Candy is its name and ingestion was its game. We could buy a bag of chips, a small Froster and a candy for a buck.

Ahhhh, the good ol' days.

Bite me, I'm not that old.

This is totally not what I came here to discuss today. It was the grody part of the title that prompted this trip to bloggerdom, not the Mac's part.

Good heavens, what is the matter with me?

You know what grosses me out? Bulk Cheezies. Can you even imagine going to Superstore and buying bulk Cheezies? Why would anyone do that?

Wait a minute, I buy bulk peanuts for baking. Oh mercy, I'm starting to shake and rock........

Blowing my nose also grosses me out. I can't hack it. I won't tell you the story about when I was at church a couple of weeks ago and had to blow my nose and how somehow what came out of my nose ended up in my hair. I'll save you the grody details of that gag inducing adventure.

Cutting fingernails and/or toenails also invokes a vomit-like reaction in me and when I was pregnant the man had to cut everyone's nails for me, on the front stoop, in the dead of winter, to save me the time dry heaving incurs. He even keeps clippers on his keychain and cuts his claws at work so I don't have to hear him trying to saw through his unguis.

That's a new word for me. Unguis. Like it? Kind of gross, no?

Don't clean your nails in front of me either. It makes me nauseous. The kind of nauseous that only a burger from Five Guys can cure.

Fat, hairy men who walk around their neighbourhoods without their tops on is also seriously gross. Why don't the women who love these men tell them that as a group we got together thousands of years ago and voted that men are sexier with their clothes on?

Remember that? That was good day. I think that was the same day we decided that baseball hats and decent cologne should be mandatory.

The man has this one cologne that....... mm mm mm.

Picking scabs. This genetic mishap has been passed down from the man to my children and when I see it happening I begin to envision packing a bag and moving out. After a good old fashioned upchuck.

Popping zits on anyone but myself is just not going to happen. The man insisted I do it to him once when he had small mountain growing on his back. I refused and he didn't speak to me for a whole day.

This was unfair, I declare. I have my limits. He should recognize that. AmIright?

Dogs that eat their own poop. Honestly. No wonder they're called man's best friend.

This is pretty gross.

Watching people barf is gross too. Gross to the point that others feel the need to join in creating what we lovingly refer to as the 'barfarama'.

When I was kid we had a 15 seater van. It was Indian Red. I learned how to drive in that beast. We had a couple of foster kids and we went to visit my nana's house. There were 7 of us kids. As we were climbing in the van my brother decided it would be funny to spit on the window and smear it around which is just gross in and of itself. One of my beloved foster brothers barfed. And then the other one did. And one by one all the children took their place in the barfarama. My mum lost it. Who could blame her.

Poor woman.

My stomach is a tad unsettled. I'm pretty sure it was unsettled before I sat here today but now I'm not so sure..........

What do you think is grody to the max? Besides this post.......

Friday, August 12, 2011

stuff to do

This week has really been something. The man has taken the boys with him to work four times. When they are gone I feel as though there is nothing to do. I read. When they are here I want them gone because all I do is break up fights. I'm the bouncer.

Plus they're really loud. Vaulted houses are for people without kids. I have kids. It's loud in here.

I don't get paid enough for this job.

Moving on. I shot myself in the foot last week.

Not literally, although that really would have been something to talk about. Maybe I should go shoot myself in the foot, for real.

Seriously though, the man told me he thought he may be able to go with us on our next trip to Vernon (next week). The last time I went the weather sucked so bad I have decided to book a week off from my painfully busy summer schedule and go again. The man wants to come. The man needs to come. He really does. He is worn out.

Anyway, he gave me the "I have one job to do before we go. It will only take a couple of days and the then there will be a few days where I will be waiting for the next job so I think I should be able to come" speech.

That was last Friday. I was so worried he wouldn't get done in time I told him I would come and work with him if he thought it would help. I made it perfectly clear I wasn't coming to work my duff off and then have him not come with me. I would only help if it would guarantee his butt would fill a seat in my truck on our way to the beach.

Bang! (that was me shooting myself in the foot) Ouch!

He got all excited about this. He started thinking how fun it would be to work together again. Just like we did last summer on the reno. See, he and I share very different views on our working together last summer.

My view: I have left my children to do this horrific job that I hate more than life itself and I can't believe I agreed to this horrible awful reno and why is this so hard and why can't anything just be easy with this stupid hard reno and when will the nightmare end?

His view: Now this is the life. Working with my beautiful wife who makes me so happy with her cheerful demeanor. Since I have to work anyway because that's my job as the man, I may as well bring my amazing wife with me to keep me company all day since she's my favourite person in the whole wide world. Plus, she looks really hot when she's all sweaty and stuff.

Like I said, slightly different outlook on things.

Back to the present. Monday came along but so did my period.

"Is there a toilet out there because I'm going to need a toilet, if you know what I mean" says I.

"Nope. But there are lots of trees" says he.

"Then I can't go. Sorry. Take the boys" says I. And he took the boys.


"You coming to work today?" Hint hint.

"Sorry. Still on my period and it's rough this month. Take the boys" says I. He took the boys.

Wednesday. Things seem to be under control but the man is still hinting that I should come to work. He thinks it would be fun.

"Look, I'm not coming to keep you company" says I.

"You said you would come" says he.

"Yeah, if you NEEDED me. I don't think you need me. You said you are almost done" says I. "Plus, I have stuff to do, you know."

Stuff to do: The Help came out in the movies and it was imperative that I see that. On Wednesday. Opening day.


Lately I have caught him reading my blog so hopefully he will recognize the importance of what I do all day and not begrudge me an afternoon at the movies. Disregard anything I said at the beginning of this post that may have alluded to the fact that him taking two of the children to work all week has left me nothing to do except read.

My life is hard. It's my burden. Never you mind.

Friday, today.

"Are you coming to work today, because I could actually use you today."

I believe him. But........

there is a showing today and I need to clean the house since it isn't that clean. I've been busy. I had stuff to do.

Take the boys.

He took the boys.

Where's my book? I mean......vacuum.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

get outta here!

We are really bored around here. Not up to much. Except Amelia. She's pretty busy.

Today I found 101 of these 'home movies' on my computer.

Monday, August 8, 2011

the palsy and some planning

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's sort of an anniversary around here. I am celebrating one whole year since the palsy!

That's right. It's been a year. One year ago yesterday I fell to the palsy.

Remember that? Good times.

Not so much.

Every now and then I feel a twinge in my cheek. Or an ache in my brow. Or a laziness in my smile that sends me running to the bathroom to stare myself down in the mirror.

I only took one picture of it and texted it to my friend Jess and then deleted it. I wish I hadn't.

Go look in the mirror. Pinch one eye shut as tight as you can. Now, on that same side bring the side of your mouth up as high as you can. Do all of this without disrupting the other side of your face at all. Now say.....

aaaaarrrrgggghhhhhh. Like the pirate I know you are.

There's your snapshot.


On to happier topics. In a couple of weeks all 4 kids will be in school all day.

Take it in a moment. Ahhhhhh..........

I have been pondering for years what my first week will look like with the kids back in school and what I plan to do with that week. I want to hear some thoughts.

What did you do the first week all your kids were gone all day?

If that hasn't happened to you yet, what do you WANT to do the first week your kids are gone all day?

Tell me. Tell me. I will have four days to contend with and I want to start the fantasizing now.

Ready..... set..... GO!

Note: if your answers involve cleaning or bill paying or laundry or basic housewife things that are not fun in any way whatsoever, you need not respond.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

things i learned this weekend

I should be at church but I'm not. Well, I was at church, but now I'm home because well....... because I have some issues that needed to be dealt with.

Things I learned at church today:

-severe cramps, many Advil Liquigels and an empty stomach leave one shaking, sort of blind, feverish and incoherent. And by feverish I mean sweating profusely even in the A/C.

-this knowledge may or may not be the reason I am sitting here all alone babbling incoherently at the computer.

Am I even making sense? I simply don't know.

Another thing I learned this weekend:

I bought TurboFire on Kijiji for $65. I forgot to ask why it was being sold so cheap. I was just so proud of my shrewd finding skills. It came in the mail 2 days later. Still sealed. It appeared to have all the things the website said it would have. I took the manuals out of the box and threw them to the side. I work out. I don't need any info other than 'insert disc, press play and work your body'. I just wanted to try it. After the first workout I sat down and started to read the info. I opened up the little book that had all 15 DVD's in it and this is what I saw:

"Over the next few months. you're gonna be working out front row center with the best group exercise trainer in the world, Chslene Johnson. The music is your motivaation to move faster, kick your legs higher, and punb those fists harder so you sweat like never before."

".......Chalene teaches you the chonreography....."

"Can't get enouge of the burn?"

I could go on, but why? It has become glaringly obvious that a 4 year old typed this. The manuals are just as bad. Legible, but barely.

So, I think I have the prototype? Or something? I don't know what it is but what I do know is that the DVD's are correct and if they aren't then I have the version that Chinese Prisons use to torture their inmates.

Things I learned from TurboFire:

-TurboFire felt a lot like Chinese torture.

-Chalene, or is it Chslene, said I would suck wind and I sucked enough wind to power a small town.

-I learned that as incoherent as the paper info is, it should be read, in it's entirety before one starts.

-I wanted to do a quick one but not read anything yet so I picked the 30 Hiit. (I thought this was another typo but found out it isn't)

-the 30 Hiit is the hardest one. I think. I'll let you know if I find a harder one.

-I worked it, it was only 30 minutes long. I almost puked. The disclaimer said to stop if you feel nauseous or dizzy. Disclaimers are for wimps.

-I peed my pants a lot due to the insane amount of jumping around involved.

-there is no sports bra on the planet equipped to deal with me.

-I did the workout yesterday. By bedtime I was feeling the soreness. Today I can't walk. And it seriously hurts to sit to pee.

And this is what I learned from TurboFire.

Tomorrow we get all serious about it and follow the class schedule. Or....I mean the clsas schduule.

So between the fiery muscle pain from exercise and the inferno scorching my uterus and the slight advil overdose I am feeling a little off my game.


If this post is incoherent in any way and/or full of typos I blame the 4 year old I hired to type it out. And maybe the last two advil.......

What was that? Did you just see a purple bird fly through here?

Friday, August 5, 2011

have mercy on my soul

I have four children. They all have their good qualities, of course. They all have their less than endearing traits, naturally. They all contribute to my happiness and to my joy and to my purpose for living.

They also all have their own unique ability to drive me insane.


Like right now, for example, someone is opening and slamming the back door repeatedly which I do believe, last time I checked, was number 6 on the "Fastest Way To Drive A Woman Crazy" list.

They are all loved and appreciated and wanted. Yes, even during summer holidays.

But there are times when that number 4......

Oh man, that number 4........

She may seal the deal for me. She may be the one to turn me to the darkside.

For 5 years I have loved her to death. I have cherished every single moment we've had together. When she arrived she released a dark heaviness that burdened me my entire pregnancy. She brought me a lightness, a peace, a knowingness that I had done the right thing in wanting her so deeply. She was needed and desired and her arrival solidified that. She brought with her a finality, a completeness, a fulfillment of dreams. She had been longed for and, with all the love I could give her, I showed her that.

For 5 years she's been my buddy, my sidekick, my one chance to focus so distinctly on one child and make an attempt to do everything right. I've been able to appreciate her because with her there were no other distractions. Just me and her, for so long.

This summer has proven that nothing good lasts forever. All good things come to an end......

Who is this child? She looks like my beloved child but she acts like a demon. She is loud. LOUD! She is bossy. And she is driving me out of my mind.

Insane, I say. Completely done for, out of my senses, nutso.

She whines, she demands things that are not rightfully hers. She is insistent and stubborn. She takes goofy to a whole new level. The level where you want to string yourself up or run away from home. The level where you ponder how something that little can have so much power.

She has singlehandedly resurrected the time out chair. The same chair we retired years ago because we thought it was no longer necessary.

Amelia, my lovey, where art thou?

Now she is 5 and a half. She is going into grade one in 27 days. Be still my heart and have mercy on my soul, she is leaving me.

September 1st is coming.

Only.... it isn't coming soon enough.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

9 life lessons of the utmost importance

Today I wanted to teach you some very important things. Life lessons, if you will. Things that will help you get by in this confusing topsy turvy world.

1. Don't listen when people try to talk you into buying a house to renovate that seems perfect and right. Ignore them when they tell you the location will never be a problem because the house is so perfect. And punch them in the throat when they say "the house will sell itself." Just walk away. After the throat punch.


2. Do not send emails to people who make you mad whilst you are pms-ing. When you make a no 'emailing whilst pms-ing' rule, which I made for myself several years ago, follow it.


Poor poor stupid *Enid from the insurance company. I'll bet she didn't even know what hit her when she opened up that puppy.

3. When the man tells you he is 'almost' done his current work project and you ask what 'almost' means and he says another week, allow then for another month to pass before you ask again when he might get paid. And do it nicely.


4. Stand back from the oven after you've opend it for just a sec. Just a teensy sec so as to not melt your mascara. Again.


5. When you wake up in the morning and are already feeling lazy and slovenly, bra yourself anyway, despite your innermost rebellious desires. Because if you do not, without a doubt, someone will come to the door and it will be the kind of someone whom you do not want seeing your taataa's hanging down to your knees.


6. When you announce "beach day" to your progeny and the oldest of said progeny (who hides in her room all day reading like a reading type of vampire) gives you her most exquisite vampire stare-down expression and hisses the words "I'm not going" you say nothing about the sweats she chooses to wear to the beach when you, as the pms-ing ultra vampire mother, get your way.


Let her melt. Or burn up and turn to ash or do whatever it is vampires do.

7. When you are watching Locked Up Abroad on the National Geographic channel with a child, or two, instead of sitting with your mouth hanging open in utter amazement that people are actually that stupid, use it as a teaching experience and let your children know that if they ever get thrown in jail for drug trafficking in Brazil or Venezuela or anywhere else, for that matter, you are not coming to bail their sorry butts out. Drugs are bad both inside and taped to the outside of your body.


8. Bananas and Diet Pepsi do not go together. At all. Ever. Despite the decade and a half I have devoted to the hope that this basic fact will change, diet Pepsi and bananas are sworn enemies and there is no amount of convincing them otherwise. Sorry banana, but if you are going to make me choose........

Well. We all know how that's going to go. Don't we?


9. Multi-vitamins make your pee fluorescent. Happens to everyone, you're not alone nor are you going to die. Why don't we talk about this more in our homes, during family meetings and stuff, so it doesn't have to be a conversation one hears being mumbled behind them in the line at Superstore? It'll be all right terror-stricken, over dramatic, cancerous, fluorescent pee lady, trust me, it'll be all right.


So there you have it. Nine valuable lessons that will help you cope in life just a wee bit easier.

And....... you're welcome.

*Some names have been changed to protect the stupid. And ignorant.

Feel free to share your own life lessons since this blog is all about helping others.

Monday, August 1, 2011

a recipe @foryourenjoyment and also thoughts on twitter #artoftimesuckage

I am overwhelmed, and a tad frustrated, by the idea of social media. Just when you think you have mastered the art of social media another opportunity pops up that seems impossible to wrap your head around. Facebook is fun and it isn't rocket science. Most people get it and are on it and use it and it's all good. But then there's Twitter. And StumbleUpon. And Pinterest. And Linkedin. And the new Google+ (what on earth is Google+?) And who knows what else. I don't get it and I'm pretty sure I don't want to. Or maybe I do? I'm dazed. And confused.

I have recently started up a Twitter account as a social experiment.

An experiment is defined as this: A scientific procedure undertaken to make a discovery, test a hypothesis, or demonstrate a known fact.

So after a couple of weeks of hard core tweeting to my twats and twips and all variety of people with nothing better to do, these are my findings.

I have discovered that Twitter is fickle and pretty much useless.

The hypothesis that Twitter might help grow my blog is proving to be flawed. More action, but not more growth. How much time should it take anyway? And who has that kind of time?

My joining Twitter has in fact demonstrated a known fact. The known fact is that there is an infinite amount of time to be wasted on social media. I have demonstrated this over and over and over again. I am a champion at the art of time suckage.

So to Twitter I ask: What is your point?

However, I will push on because if you are friends with me on facbeook then you know how much I like to share 'what's on my mind' with the world. Twitter is just one more place to do that. And, since no one knows me there, I can use bad words.

Just kidding.

Am I though??

It's just one more way to feed the beast.

Speaking of feeding the beast....... Have you ever had a pizzookie?

My lovely baker daughter, otherwise know as baker-girl, whose soul purpose in life seems to be to bake until I either need to be jaws of life-d out of my house or until all grocery stores on the planet have run out of flour and sugar, made them a couple of days ago. She has wanted to make them for months now but our lack of ramekins and my refusal to purchase any has hindered her evil plot to rule the baking kingdom.

We stumbled upon them at the dollar store and her eyes lit up like reflections of the moon on the sea at night. How was I to resist? 2 for a $1.25. I guess that's sort of a dollar.

She didn't want to make them like the recipe that inspired the idea. She wanted to make them her way.

Her way is the best way.....as it turns out.

They were unbelievable. And worth all the sleepless, heart racing side effects.

She used our famous Spiced Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe which I will share with you now:

1 cup of butter or margarine, softened
1 1/2 cups of packed brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 egg
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 sp ground ginger
1/2 tsp salt
12 ozs semi sweet chocolate chips
1 cup chopped walnuts (we always skip these because baker-girl does not care for them)

Heat oven to 375 F. In large bowl beat butter, brown sugar, vanilla and egg with electric mixer on medium speed, or mix with a spoon. On low speed, beat in remaining ingredients except chocolate chips and walnuts. Stir those in.

If you just want to make cookies then drop by rounded tsp on ungreased cookie sheet and bake for 7 to 9 minutes

If you want the pizzookie then fill a ramekin about 2/3 full and bake for 15 minutes-ish, give or take. You can decide how cookie dough-y you want them.

Put a big ol' scoop of your fave vanilla ice cream on top and all the sauce your heart desires.

Moan. I mean....eat.

And enjoy.