An Ode to Snow Days {and a Recipe for Snowflake Cake!}

We've had a handful of snow days so far this winter, and I look forward to each and every one.

As long as there aren't too many back-to-back, that is. A girl has her limits, you know, and it would only be a matter of time before my sanity boards a flight to warmer climates. I wish I could go with it, but alas, I'm stuck here in a polar vortex with four crazy lovely children.

But snow days do bring with them a sort of magic. It blows in across the threshold in the wee hours of the morning, along with the frigid air desperately seeking refuge from the winter wonderland outside as daddy trudges out the door on his way to work. A gratitude and relief takes up residence inside our cozy walls as we anticipate a day of nothing and everything all at the same time.

Snow, as unwelcome as it can be after Christmas, makes room. Shifts priorities. It moves responsibility to the side and sets childlike freedom in it's place. It takes away routine and instead brings fun and excitement. It pushes work to the bottom of the list and chooses to showcase rest and quality time together first.

I know that every day can't be a snow day, but I do look forward to them with as much anticipation as my children. And I'll continue to cherish any that blow our way. So without further ado...

Ode to Snow Days

By Jacqui Roberts

Oh, eagerly envisaged days of no school…

Temperatures plummet, flurries swirl in globe-like

The freezing cold holds promise of lingering leisure.

Anticipated by student, sage and parents alike

We wish and hope and pray for an ensuing snow day.

With a penny under the pillow of each little tyke,

Pajamas on backwards, ice cubes down the toilet, 

Elation is well-earned upon receiving the call.

Cue the deleted alarms, warm covers and cuddles

To sleep in past eight and make a big brunch,

Which really becomes lunch, as time is muddled.

But there are no complaints, no room for that,

Only giggles and shrieks from sibling huddles.

Building forts, watching movies, sipping cocoa

Mom, enjoying the mess, leaves cleaning for later

Most of the day, that is, until the children must go

Outside to play in the soft, sparkling white

That fell all night under a cover of deep indigo.

The same sky, now a bright blue, offers opportunity

For endless tumbling, unlike falling dominos.

We treasure the impromptu gift, time to be together

A poignant blend of laughing, fighting and affection.

************

To continue the wintery spirit, I have a new recipe for you! It reminds me of a fresh dusting of powder on a chilly snow day, but words do it no justice...

You guys, this cake. I just can't even.

If you're a fan of coconut cake, YOU WILL LOVE THIS. Period. End of story. Even if you don't think you love coconut cake, you still need to try it, because you will now.

I started with iambaker's homemade yellow cake mix and made a few adjustments and some complimentary frosting. Her recipe is the best homemade cake I have ever had--infinitely better then the store-bought kind, and with ingredients you already have in your pantry. 

This is the perfect cake recipe for a snow day, but you certainly don't have to wait for the next one before you make it. Enjoy!

Snowflake Cake

{makes one 9x13 cake}

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup granulated sugar

3 1/2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

1 1/4 cups milk

1/2 cup coconut oil, melted

1 tbsp vanilla extract

3 large eggs

Place all ingredients into a stand mixer (or a large bowl to mix by hand) and mix a few minutes until only small lumps remain. Pour into greased baking dish and bake at 350 for about 25 minutes or until the cake is fully cooked in the middle. Let cool.

And I have to say something else. I know that the ingredients call for regular, processed flour and refined white sugar (insert horrified emoji + thumbs down), but listen: IT'S CAKE. If there's one thing I've learned about whole-grain, non-refined foods on this whole food journey, it's that they don't translate well into cake form. They just don't. Believe me, I've tried.

Cake, by very definition, isn't supposed to be good for you, people, so just suck it up and use the flour and sugar. Because bad cake is worse then no cake at all. If you don't eat the whole thing yourself, you'll be just fine, okay? And if that's challenging for you, I have a solution: have a whole mess of kids and they'll eat most of it before you even get the chance. It works for me. 

Snowflake Frosting

1 stick butter, softened

4 oz. cream cheese, softened

2 tsp vanilla extract

3 cups powdered sugar

1/2 cup unsweetened shredded coconut 

plus

1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut {sprinkle on top}

Cream butter and cream cheese in a stand mixer until light and fluffy. Gradually add the vanilla, powdered sugar and coconut, mixing periodically until fully combined. Frost cooled cake with an offset spatula, covering evenly. Sprinkle the remaining 1 cup coconut on top. Nature's sprinkles are the best kind!

My kids loved this cake so much it only lasted 24 hours at our house…

Hope yours do, too! 

Winter Cranberry Mandarin Jam

There's no need for cranberries to disappear after Thanksgiving, and if you're anything like me, you have a few bags sitting in the freezer that you bought at bargain prices around the holidays. If you don't find something to do with those delicious berries, however, they might just sit there until next Thanksgiving rolls around. 

Psssst… By the way, if they do, they'll still be perfectly edible. Trust me. 

So what's a girl to do with her now random bag of cranberries? Pair it with some juicy, sweet mandarin oranges, which are currently in season, and you've got yourself a tangy, delicious winter jam. Biscuits just got an upgrade, y'all.

Winter Cranberry Mandarin Jam

1 bag fresh cranberries

3 Mandarin oranges, peeled and separated 

1 cup water

3/4-1 cup sugar {or sugar substitute}

1/4 cup chia seeds

Place the ingredients {except chia seeds} into a heavy-bottomed saucepan on medium heat and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low until berries start to burst, about 10 minutes. Mash and continue cooking another 10 minutes until mixture thickens slightly. Remove from heat and stir in 1/4 cup chia seeds. As the jam cools, the chia seeds will soak up the remaining water and thicken it further. Place in an airtight container once cooled and store in the refrigerator. 

Enjoy!

Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God

The scalding water began to run down the back of my stiff neck, and I let out a deep, guttural sigh. The kind that gets pent up and forced down, buried under a jam-packed day with no room to breathe. The kind that enunciates relief without actually uttering a word, grateful for a reprieve from the dreaded homework hour for a little while longer to bask in the glorious, hot running water.

Tell me all your thoughts on God…

And tell me, am I very far?

My phone blared from the faux marble countertop a few feet away. Dishwalla filled the bathroom and hovered in the air like the cloud of steam wafting up from the shower. Trapped in the familiar but forgotten lyrics, nostalgia has a tendency to rush back in like a wave, breaking on the sandy beach of life and leaving behind a treasure trove of antiquated memories.

We said, “Tell me all your thoughts on God

‘Cause I would really like to meet her

And ask her why we’re who we are.

I wonder if I considered back then the heresy immured in those words or if I even cared. In the midst of my identity crisis as a hormonal teenager in the 90’s, my guess is the latter. It does strike me now though, in hindsight, how many of the songs I once listened to were searching, attempting to mine the infinite mysteries of the universe and uncover the precious nuggets of truth hidden amongst the debris. Much like I was.

The door bursts open and brings me back to reality.

“Hi, momma.”

Hi Eva.

She has found me.

She’s good at that—finding me, even when I don’t want to be found. Toddlers are like bloodhounds in that regard. What they lack in methodology, which involves wandering from room to room only as fast as their little legs can scurry, they make up for in perseverance, relenting only upon acquiring their target, i.e. Mom. For now at least I can keep the shower door closed and maintain a perimeter, albeit a small one.

It’s getting cold picked up the pace

How our shoes make hard noises in this place

Our clothes are stained

We pass many cross-eyed people

And ask many questions

Like children often do

Tell me all your thoughts on God…

Decades ago, I don’t know if I would’ve grasped any thoughts on God, replete with truth and wisdom, in the same manner I do now as a parent. Because the fact is, all that is distantly profound, all that is simply beheld, will always fall short of experience. Once you’ve lived it, the preposition fades away, and no longer do you simply know of it, but you know.

And what I know is, those little people who run around my house and find me when I’m taking a shower and make deafening noises and drive me crazy, they sure have taught me a lot about God. Sometimes it takes a parent to really know a Parent. And for that I’m grateful, even in the chaos. Especially then.

How the Neurotic and Fashion-Impaired Buy a New Handbag {or Is It a Purse?}

No sooner are the gift cards and money I've collected from Christmas {and my ensuing birthday} placed in my wallet then they start to burn a hole in the bottom of my bag, and I cannot wait to get to the store and start shopping. With four kids, two cars, a dog, and diapers, our one income is stretched pretty thin throughout the year, leaving minimal spending money in the wake of an ever bulging list of expenses. And trips to Starbucks. Priorities, you know.

By the time December rolls around, the list of things I want to buy is longer then my receipts used to be when I was an obsessive coupon clipper, although I had substantially more spending money in those days. But we also routinely ate cheap, fake crap, so there's that. The mandatory self-restraint is good in a way, I suppose--I don't have nearly as many impulse-buying hangovers as I did in my previous life before children. And consequently, my house isn't filled with as much stuff that I don't really need, though there still is some, certainly. Mainly in the craft and ill-fitting bargain clothing departments.

Not only is the bottom of my bag singed from the gift cards I put in there, but I notice the straps are also worn and fraying from daily use as I pick it up, fling it over my shoulder and run out the door, no doubt late for something again. Although Vera Bradley fabric is vibrant and colorful with many beautiful and ever-changing options to choose from, it doesn't withstand everyday wear and tear in the long run. Especially when one never washes it, as I'm sure you're supposed to every once a year or so. Apparently, I only wash my bags about as often as I mop my floors, which is not very often. At all.

So I decide that I should probably buy myself a new bag, one that isn't as tattered and worn as my grandmother's quilt, perhaps. Probably one that doesn't look like my grandmothers quilt, too. It's been years since I've carried anything other then a Vera bag, and that sounds like a welcome change. A fresh start to go with the New Year. Eva {my 2 year old} loves to go to Target while Toby is in preschool, so off we went to spend some money.

First, we return a few things that didn't work out at Christmas, and then we head over to Starbucks to get a "nilla miwk" for Eva. The Valentine's Day stuff has arrived at the Dollar Spot, and I can't help myself as I pour over all the new pink and red pretties with hearts for days. Festive burlap banners and washi tape have a special place in my heart, so into the cart they go.

Just past the dollar section are the accessories, and I walk over there next in eager anticipation of a cute, new bag to make me look more grown up and fashionable. Something crafted of supple leather, with gold accents, and maybe grommets or buckles or locks. That sort of thing would go perfectly with the grey sweats and brown Ugg knockoff boots that I left the house in this morning. Eva spied the brightly colored clearance bags at the end of the isle and ran over for a closer look.

I recognize a few from my online perusing right away and am thrilled to see that they have the exact turquoise bag {of course} that I had wanted for my birthday. They have several of them, in fact, giving my obsessive nature an opportunity to examine each of them closely for scratches, knicks, or imperfections in the stitching in order to choose the most perfect and best one. I can compare their symmetry and evenness as they hang on the rack and figure out which straps have the ideal arch, not unlike the one in St. Louis, only on a much smaller scale, of course.

I pick up the first turquoise bag and begin to open the compartments inside. There are three of them, which at first seems like a great idea for organizational purposes. I start to think, okay, I might actually be able to find my stuff for once in this purse. I could put my wallet in this compartment and my phone and chapstick in this one with the little pockets and…… What else? I don't know that I have anything to put in the third one. Besides papers and junk. Do you really need three compartments if you have no use for all of them?

And then I realize, I like the idea of being organized…but I'm not. Not outside the fantasy world in my head. Just ask my husband: we fought about that last night. I'm a consistent and chronic "piler," and I have sifted through stacks of stuff and moved things from this pile to that all of my life. Now this purse seems to be threatening my well-entrenched way of functioning and I begin to feel overwhelmed. I've long been accustomed to the "tote" style bag with one big compartment that I can just throw all my crap into and call it a day.

Furthermore, this nice turquoise bag has something that they like to call a "zipper," which I believe is supposed to keep all your crap from falling out, but I can't remember the last time I had a zipper on a purse. I seem to prefer everything flying out of my purse and onto the floor of the car when I slam on the breaks, and a zipper now seems like too much of a hassle to contend with on a daily basis. So I put the turquoise bag back on the hook and am back to square one.

I look around at my other options, and there are indeed a few. But then I start to think, maybe I should choose a purse in a more sensible color like black or brown instead of turquoise. Maybe turquoise is too "loud," and a more neutral color would be a better choice. I call for Eva to come back around the corner where I can see her, and within few seconds she appears, dragging a small, hot pink satchel purse by the strap she'd unbuckled. She likes pink and loud, so it works for her.

There is a tote-style bag that I like a lot, but I still can't decide on a color. I do love turquoise, but as my favorite it tends to be my "default color." Can't decide which color shirt to buy? Go with the turquoise one. Turquoise goes with everything, I tell myself. And repeat ad nauseum until you wake up one day at college on Mismatch Day, only to open your closet and find one solitary red cardigan in a sea of mint green, turquoise, aqua, and robin's egg blue, with the occasional hint of denim, navy and khaki. It's physically impossible to create a mismatched outfit from that palate, and in that moment I discovered my default color issue.

So I feel the need to consider branching out and desperately try to ignore the deeply ingrained pull in the turquoise direction. Should I go with brown or black or the random light tan color that they call "silver mink?" I glance down at my boots and note that the brown purse is the exact same shade of brown, so that would work out nicely as I wear them often. But then I think, I probably shouldn't wear them as often as I do, really. They're basically glorified tall slippers with a medicore sole that's held on in multiple places with generous applications of super glue, and I should probably wear my grown-up leather {or pleather?} brown boots instead most days. So I'm not sure that I should buy a bag to match them, after all.

Sometimes I wear black boots, too, and I begin to wonder if carrying a brown bag with black boots is a fashion no-no. The sad thing is, I really don't know. Black purses are a pretty classic and safe choice, but what happens when I wear my brown slipper-boots with it? Suddenly, I realize the problematic nature of carrying a sensible handbag--the issue of matching. Never once in the last decade or so of carrying a patterned bag have I ever worried about it matching my outfit or coordinating with my boots. Because the answer would be simple: it doesn't. And it doesn't have to. In the event that you wear a purple shirt and it happens to work out for a day, great. If not, it doesn't matter. That's the perk of carrying a patterned bag.

So not only is the new bag trying to mess up my disorganized mojo, but it's trying to make me even more self-conscious about my impaired matching abilities and challenged fashion-sense. Or it's trying to sucker me into buying multiples of itself, which my inner cheapskate would never concede to. I remember the silver mink purse, which is an odd amalgamation of all neutrals, and it begins to look more attractive as it's neither black nor brown. Does that mean it would go with both?

Maybe I should ask someone. I glance around the accessory area and see a woman in the next isle. A quick scan of her cart reveals a black leather alligator skin bag with gold accents. Hmm. Her boots are also black. I watch her bend down and rummage through the pile of clearance wallets on the bottom shelf, wondering what she would think if I just blurted out my brown vs. black dilemma in her direction.

A wave of self-consciousness points out the fact I'm embarrassed I feel the need to ask another person, whom I don't even know, about what bag I should buy, as if there's a right or wrong answer. I suppose there technically is, but then there's the issue of whether I should care or not. And I probably don't, judging by the aforementioned grey sweats/brown boots ensemble that I'm currently rocking in public. Oh, and I haven't brushed my hair, either.

I look back over at the silver mink bag and conclude that not only is it a "safe" color, but it's incredibly bland and boring. It can't decide whether it wants to be black or brown or gray or somewhere in between, and I don't have time for that. Turquoise goes with everything, I remind myself, and I pick up the lone turquoise bag and put it in my cart before I can argue myself out of it again.

A hurried glance at my phone reveals that I've been engaged in a losing debate with purses for about a half hour now, and I'm close to being late for preschool pick-up. Eva starts to cry as I put her hot pink bag back on the clearance rack, but friends don't let friends buy hot pink satchels, even if they are on clearance. In fact, that's probably why they're on clearance. I may not know much about fashion, but I know that much.

The End.


***Update: All the handbags at Target are now 30-50% off {and there's a mobile coupon for $5 off $25}, so you can head there right now and have your very own neurotic shopping experience! My advice: stick with turquoise. It goes with everything. :)