Author: Julie Mashaney

In the Kitchen: Caramel Apple Pie

I know a lot of people closely guard their favorite recipes. Some won’t even write them down for fear of sneaky pilferers. I have a cousin who makes a great banana pudding and said she’d tell me how if I promised never to bring it to a family function, because it was her thing. (I promise, Jenny, I’ve never served it to anyone you know, and I gave you full credit when I did make it.)

When I decided to share my apple pie recipe, I admit, I felt a little naked. This pie is, along with my praline-filled carrot cake, my thing. But I’d love for you to take it and maybe make it your thing if you’d like. This is me, learning to share.

But first!

You know when you take a stand on something and then later you go against what you said? Awwwwwkward.

Awhile back my friend Denae asked me to write a guest post for her about holiday traditions, but I ended up breaking tradition. Oops.

Follow me here and see how I screwed up.

I was featured on New Mom Adventure

Now on with the pie. Pronounced PAH with a Southern drawl. Get it right. 

Last year, our sweet neighbor had a bumper crop of apples, and he would walk through the neighborhood once a week and drop off huge bags full of fruit.

I had apples in bowls, apples on countertops, apples taking up every drawer in the fridge.

And my husband hates fruit.

Except.

Except if it’s baked in a pie.

Now, believe it or not, I had never made a fruit pie before. I spent an afternoon hanging out on AllRecipes.com reading reviews of different recipes. It was overwhelming.

People are fanatical about their pie, especially apple pie. Nobody makes pie better than mom/grandma/Aunt Sue and don’t you even try to pretend like you can serve storebought crust and call yourself an American.

I was so stressed out that I turned to the bottle.

And then I had an idea.

Instead of soaking the apples in lemon juice, like one recipe suggested, what if I marinated them in Maker’s Mark, then seasoned them, then made a caramel-ish sauce and drizzled it over everything?

And what if I went ahead and bought premade crust at the store, but made up for it by cutting a latticework top?

So I made one. It lasted a day thanks to some visitors with hefty appetites. (Really, my husband ate the whole thing, but he made me write that.)

The next day, my neighbor showed up again with two bags of apples. Peeling and coring all that by hand did not sound like fun, so I went and picked up one of these brilliant things, and spent an entire weekend baking pies.

I sent one to the apple man, one across the street, one next door. Pie for everyone!

I was really looking forward to a repeat performance this year, but my neighbor’s trees did not yield a single apple. Not one. We were very sad.

Fortunately, there’s no shortage of them at the market and even though they’re not free and they don’t taste nearly as good, they’ll still make a pie. Or four.

Mamamash’s Caramel Apple Pie

1 premade pie crust in a pan (freezer section)
1 premade pie crust, rolled (refrigerated section)
1/2 cup unsalted butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup water
8 tart apples – peeled, cored and sliced
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons Maker’s Mark plus 1 shot
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 can 7UP

In a tall glass, mix a shot of Maker’s Mark with a can of 7Up over ice. Put your feet up and sip while your husband/kid/friend who owes you a favor peels, cores and slices the apples.

Place apples in a bowl with cinnamon, nutmeg, whiskey and juice.

Melt butter in a sauce pan. Stir in flour. Add white sugar, brown sugar and water; bring to a boil. Reduce temperature, and simmer 5 minutes.

Fill your bottom crust with apples, mounded slightly. Cover with a latticework crust.
Learn how to do that here.

Gently, slowly, ever-so-carefully pour the sugar and butter liquid over the crust.

Cover the edges with foil or pie crust savers and bake 15 minutes at 425 degrees F (220 degrees C). Reduce the temperature to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C), and continue baking for 35 to 45 minutes.

In the Kitchen: Talkin’ Turkey

Last year I hosted Thanksgiving at my house, which meant not only did I have to clean behind the toilet and wipe off the three inches of dust that collected on the ceiling fan, I also had to provide the turkey.

Now, I’m a pretty experienced cook but the thought of tackling the turkey freaked me out. I couldn’t face the possibility of burning the bird and having to serve cold cuts along side our beautiful casseroles and perfect pies.

Luckily, my mom had come into town and she walked me through the basics. I also added in a couple of ideas of my own and we ended up with a fantastic turkey and a magical meal.

I had a few requests from friends to share my turkey tips, so here you go.

Mamamash Talks Turkey: Do’s and Don’ts

DO plan ahead. Most turkeys are sold frozen, so you’ll need to plan for defrosting time. It takes 24 hours to defrost 5 pounds of turkey, so do the math and realize that 20-pound bird you’ve purchased needs four days just to reach a non-frozen state.

DON’T defrost the bird in the sink. It must be kept cold. Place the turkey in the refrigerator in a jelly roll pan lined with paper towels so you don’t end up with unwanted juices mingling with the fresh produce. Salmonella is not a good way to lose the holiday weight.

DO remember to remove the giblet bag once your turkey is defrosted. It’s not a nice surprise to pull it out in the middle of carving your bird at dinner.

DO brine your turkey. Once your turkey is defrosted, you’ll need an extra 12 hours to brine it. The night before, while you’re off marinating yourself in martinis in order to calmly handle your houseful of relatives, soak the bird in a salt solution in order to increase the moisture holding capacity of the meat. You can choose from many brines, like this one here, or this one, or this.

DON’T substitute one cup of table salt for one cup of kosher salt when making your brine. Table salt is much saltier.

DO continue to keep your bird chilled while brining. You must keep your turkey chilled to at least 40 degrees Farenheit during the brining process. If your brining container won’t fit in the fridge, put the turkey in a cooler, cover with ice, and pour the brine over the top. Stick it in the garage overnight if it’s cool outside. Last year, my turkey hung out in its cooler in the bathtub. To be completely honest, it was very odd to be doing my business next to a large dead bird, but definitely worth it.

DON’T attempt to deep fry a frozen or wet turkey. It will explode and burn down your house. Seriously, Google fried turkey mishaps. You’ve been warned. In fact, here are some great tips for frying birds.

DO let your turkey come to room temperature before cooking it. It will roast/fry/smoke more evenly that way.

Now, if you’re smoking or frying your bird, check here and here for tips on those two methods. I’m going to continue on discussing how to roast the perfect turkey.

DON’T be afraid of the butter. Pull a Paula Deen and set out a whole stick of butter, y’all. Soften it, then gently separate the skin from the bird and rub that butter all over the place. Give the bird a nice butter massage.

DO be creative. If you want to use herbs, place them inside the gap you’ve made between the breast and skin. If you like citrus, throw some orange slices into the bird’s cavity. Be sure to salt and pepper the skin as well. If you don’t have a roasting rack, line the bottom of a roasting pan with carrots and celery stalks to elevate the bird.

DON’T ever cook the turkey with stuffing inside. Yes, I know that’s how your mom did it. No, the fact that fact that you never got sick doesn’t discount the fact that it’s a recognized health hazard. If you must have your dressing flowing out of the turkey as you place it in all its glory on the table, stuff it with separately cooked stuffing when you pull it out of the oven.

DO truss up the bird’s legs for more even roasting. Also, it looks cool. Look, you’re a chef!

DON’T forget to preheat the oven. It can take 30 minutes for a cold oven to reach 325 degrees Farenheit.

DO roast the bird with its foil-covered breast side up in the oven at 325 for 20 minutes per pound if previously frozen and 12 minutes per pound if fresh.

DON’T even think about peeking until about 45 minutes before you estimate the turkey to be done. Remove the foil so the breast will brown and check the internal temperature. Baste with the pan juices.

DO ensure that the meat reaches 180 degrees at deepest spot between the leg and the breast.

DON’T immediately cut into the bird. Tent it with foil and let it rest for 20 minutes so the meat can absorb all the juices back in.

DO lay claim to your favorite piece before allowing anyone else near the bird. After all, you’re the one who’s been working on this dish all week and if you want a leg, dammit, you get a leg.

If you happen to run into a turkey emergency, don’t forget the awesome experts at the Butterball Turkey Talk-Line. I’ve never used their services, but I’ve heard that they are enthusiastic and very helpful.

Also, if you’d like to bring something besides green bean casserole to your family’s celebration this year, try this corn casserole from  The Bearded Iris.

Good luck and have a Happy Thanksgiving!

In the Kitchen: Tomato Basil Soup and Grilled Gruyère Sandwiches

The bright red leaves are almost gone on our beautiful silver maple in the front yard, and the temperatures have been teasing their way toward freezing for the last week or so.

I’m prone to developing the winter blues, so to avoid spending the next several months in fetal position in the corner, I’ve tried to focus on the fun things about the season: warm fuzzy socks, flannel sheets and fabulous food.

While I was delightedly browsing soups, stews and crock pot creations, hubs spoke up and said he’d really like some tomato soup and grilled cheese.

Now, he’d probably be happy with Campbell’s out of a can and a couple of pieces of Wonderbread with a slice of American slapped in between, but I had other ideas. Ideas that involved fresh basil, and cream, and roasted tomatoes. Ideas that called for rich smoked cheese and fresh crusty bread.

Ideas brought to fruition with the help of Tastespotting, which led me to SpoonForkBacon.

Go on, look. It’s drool-worthy. The recipes are fresh and easily recreated, the food styling is enticing and the photography is gorgeous.

I decided to try the Creamy Roasted Tomato and Basil Soup and made a couple of small adjustments to fit the contents of my pantry. I paired it with some grilled cheese sandwiches made with Smoked Gruyère and just a touch of mustard, and we all sat around dipping crusty, cheesy goodness into the rich soup and watching the Chiefs endure an ugly beating from the Dolphins.

I like to think the men were crying because the food was so good, and not because it was such a devastatingly sad game.

Creamy Roasted Tomato & Basil Soup
Serves 4

10 Roma tomatoes, sliced lengthwise
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp butter
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 tbsp dried thyme
1 (28 oz) can diced tomatoes
2 cups fresh basil leaves, roughly chopped
2 tbsp dried basil
1 tbsp sugar
2 cups chicken broth
salt and pepper to taste
2/3 cup heavy cream

Drizzle tomatoes with olive oil, season with salt and pepper and bake at 375 degrees for about an hour.

Sauté onion in butter until the bits begin to brown. Add garlic and thyme, sauté for another couple of minutes.

Add the can of tomatoes, dried and fresh basil and sugar. Lower heat and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.

Add broth and roasted tomatoes, cover and continue to simmer for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Carefully transfer soup to blender (or use an immersion blender) and blend until smooth.

*Pro Tip: Don’t fill the blender to the top then blend on high unless you like tomato-spattered walls.

Pour the soup back into the pot and slowly stir in the cream. Continue stirring over low heat for five minutes. Ladle into bowls and serve with Grilled Gruyère Sandwiches.

Grilled Gruyère Sandwiches

1 loaf good, thick-cut white bread
8 oz Smoked Gruyère
½ cup yellow mustard
1 stick butter

Grate the cheese. Try not to eat it all before it ends up in the sandwiches.

Butter one side of the bread. Spread a small amount of mustard over the other side and place on a griddle set to low heat, butter side down. Sprinkle cheese over the mustard, top with another slice of bread, buttered on top. Turn when the bread reaches a dark, golden brown.

Slice in half and serve.

In the Kitchen: Italian Wedding Soup

I’ll be honest, I’d never heard of this until I found a recipe while FoodGawking one day. When I expressed my utter joy in having discovered such a fantastic food, everyone laughed at me like I’d just discovered Google or something.

Perhaps your mom/grandma/Aunt Gus makes this, or maybe that café on the corner serves it for Tuesday lunch and you’ve already been there, done that.

But if you haven’t! Oh my. Give this a try. The key here is to layer the flavors, so be sure and take enough time between each step for the tastes to meld. I’ve simplified the recipe quite a bit, so if you’d like to make it more authentic, use your favorite meatball recipe.

Italian Wedding Soup

16 oz frozen Italian-style meatballs
2 tablespoons EVOO
1 cup minced onion
1 cup diced carrots
1 cup diced celery
8 cups chicken stock (can use Better than Bouillon to make this)
1 cup orzo
10 oz ounces baby spinach, washed and trimmed
salt and pepper, to taste

In a large Dutch oven or soup pot over medium heat, heat the olive oil. Sauté the onion, carrots and celery until the onion is transparent.

Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Add the pasta and meatballs, return to a boil, and cook until the pasta is soft, about ten minutes. Taste the broth and adjust the seasoning to your liking with salt and pepper. Add the spinach and simmer for a couple of minutes more.

Serve with Parmesan, if desired.

In the Kitchen: Stuffed Bell Peppers

I don’t like to run out of things.

At this moment, there is a back up/replacement product for just about anything in my pantry, medicine cabinet and baby supply closet.

Just used the last cup of flour? No problem. Check the third shelf, behind the spaghetti noodles.

Took the last two Immodium Tuesday after that unfortunate undercooked chicken sandwich incident? There’s some at the back of the cabinet next to the year’s worth of deodorant.

Wipes? Hell, I’ve got enough wipes to clean up after a zombie invasion. Brrrraaaaiiiins are no match for the cases of Pampers Sensitive I’ve got stacked in my son’s closet.

No matter how well I plan, though, I always seem to run out of “the good meat” and am occasionally left to choose between a UMO (unidentified meaty object) and a pound of ground beef when I open the deep freeze looking for dinner.

The UMO will likely remain in the freezer forever because I’m just not brave enough to defrost it, so I end up with ground beef.

And sure, I could make tacos, or burgers or spaghetti. Again. But sometimes, I’ve got bell peppers in the crisper.

Those are always good days.

Stuffed Bell Peppers

3 large green bell peppers, halved and seeded
1 lb ground beef
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 can tomato sauce
1 can diced tomatoes and chilis
1 cup cooked rice
1 tsp black pepper
½ tsp seasoning salt (Lawry’s, or I use Tony Chachere’s)
¾ cup water
1 cube beef bouillon or 1 tsp Better Than Bouillon
½ cup breadcrumbs (I like panko, but you can use whatever you have)
Optional: Cheese

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Brown ground beef, then add onion and garlic and cook until onion starts to become transparent. Drain well. Add rice

Combine tomato sauce and diced tomatoes. Season with pepper and seasoning salt. Pour half of the mixture over the meat and rice and mix well.

Mix water and bouillon and pour into the bottom of a casserole dish.

Stuff each pepper half with the meat mixture and place in the water. (You may parboil the peppers beforehand if you would like them to turn out softer.)

Spoon out more tomato mixture on top of each pepper and sprinkle them liberally with breadcrumbs.

Bake for 25-30 minutes.

*If you’d like, top with grated or sliced cheese during the last five minutes of cooking time.

Sometimes you have to share

Every family has a collection of stories they tell about each other. Sometimes the stories are funny, oftentimes they are embarrassing, but occasionally they are sweet and translate well from generation to generation.

My Aunt Jan tells the story of how when I was five, I told my two-year-old sister that she was coming to visit. But I set very clear boundaries about the relationship my sister could have with our aunt.

“She’s my Aunt Jan,” I said. “I will share her with you, but she’s mine.”

I was serious.

My Aunt Jan is by all accounts an amazing person.

She has a servant’s heart and a wicked sense of humor. She’ll give you the shirt off her back, the lipstick from her purse and the earrings from her drawer. She even carried dog bones in the trunk of her car for the longest time in case she came across strays. She’s an unbiased listener, a wise counselor and a fearless learner. She completely embodies the definition of the color purple.

Just don’t piss her off.

She’s an angel, but if you hurt her family, she will cut you. No lie. Ask the receipt checker at a certain Sam’s Club in Southeast Texas who was rude to my grandfather.

Anyway, when my son was a few weeks old, my aunt flew to Kansas City to be the first of my family to meet him. She cooked for me, ran errands, and took about eleventy billion photos.

I was in awe of how quickly she fell in love with my son.

Over the last year, she has made it a point to video chat with the Monkey on Saturday mornings. Because of those chats, he recognizes her face and voice, and they’re quite the adorable pair.

Sometimes she’ll show him toys she buys and keeps at her house. She’ll sing to him and chatter at him, but mostly she just watches as he tears around the living room upending everything in sight.

We’ve been counting down to her visit this weekend for months now, and when she got off the plane last night I was not surprised when my son went right to her, laid his head on her shoulder, and snuggled her until she was forced to put him down to claim her baggage.

He was thrilled to see her this morning when she came downstairs and shrieked like a banshee. My heart melted along with my eardrums.

After breakfast we all headed to the Weston Red Barn Farm – our third trip in as many years – which I guess makes it an official family tradition.

But first! First we had to finally flip the carseat forward facing. We’d originally wanted to leave it rear facing til at least 18 months, but my 27-lb, 33-inch toddler has been twisting his legs into a pretzel to fit for the last few weeks, so it was just time.

Also, he got his very own cup of juice at QuikTrip today. Holy crap, my kid is grown.

I was a little bummed because it’s been too warm and the leaves aren’t as vibrant as they usually are, but we still had a magical time at the farm.

We practiced our animal noises with the goats and pigs.

We climbed on haystacks.

We rode around on Daddy’s shoulders to get a better view of all the hot chicks visiting from the local kindergarten.

And Aunt Jan bought us our very. first. ever. PUMPKIN.

We were completely knackered by the time lunch rolled around and passed out during the ride home, but woke up with renewed energy, ransacked the house and wrestled with Aunt Jan until mean old Mama decided it was bedtime.

And when I was getting him ready for bed, I told him to give goodnight kisses to Aunt Jan, but couldn’t resist adding, “She’s my Aunt Jan, but I’ll share her with you.”

 

In the Kitchen: This is why fractions are important

Every year on or around the first of October my husband ventures into the kitchen to bake the one thing he knows how to make: his grandmother’s pumpkin bread.

He doesn’t just make one or two loaves though.

No, after a morning full of flour spills and fished-out eggshells, every inch of our countertops are covered with little brown rectangles. Our friends are ok with this, or at least they pretend to be, because they always smile and take the bread so lovingly offered.

So this morning I heard hubs banging around in the kitchen and at first I think he’s going to bring me coffee. I’m thrilled.

Soon, though, the questions begin.

“Where’s the mixer thingie?”

“Is pumpkin a dry measure or wet measure? Which cup do I use?”

“Where are the measuring cups?”

Damn, dude. Bring me some coffee first.

Then he really runs into a problem. He brings me the can of pumpkin.

“I need two cups of pumpkin. How much do you think this can holds?”

Really?

After we have a short tutorial on how to read labels, he’s back at work, trying to convert the whole recipe to fit the amount of pumpkin he has.

Finally, I tell him to simplify it and scoop out ½ cup of pumpkin to make it easier. A light bulb, in all its incandescent glory, suddenly appears above his fuzzy blonde head.

For all the teasing I gave him, I have to admit, that was the best damn pumpkin bread ever.

I don’t think we’ll share with anyone this year. But you can make your own – here’s the recipe.

Pumpkin Bread

3 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp soda
2 tsp nutmeg
4 eggs
2 cups pumpkin
3 cups sugar
1 1/2 tsp salt
4 tsp cinnamon
1 cup vegetable oil
2/3 cups water
1 tsp ginger

Mix eggs, oil, water, and pumpkin. Mix dry ingredients and add gradually to other mixture. Grease and flour three loaf pans, add mixture, and bake one hour at 350 degrees.

In the Kitchen: Chicken Spaghetti

Last year I signed up to be a part of this SAHM group here in KC. Now, it’s rare that I’m actually able to make any of the meetups, but there is one thing I can always be a part of that counts as my participation for the month and therefore saves me from getting kicked out. (Which is awesome, because you do NOT want to be ostracized from a mommy group.)

Each time someone in the group has a new baby, we all sign up for a day on the calendar to bring them a meal. I bring the same thing every time – this chicken spaghetti – and it never fails that I get an email the next day asking for the recipe.

This is a great dish to feed a crowd, it can be made using those wonderful rotisserie chickens and you can even make most of it in the microwave.

Chicken Spaghetti

1 lb spaghetti noodles
3 cooked & shredded boneless, skinless chicken breasts OR 1
deboned, skinned and chopped rotisserie chicken (Speeds things
up!)
1 small onion, diced
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 tbsp butter
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can Rotel
1 lb Velveeta, cut into cubes
1 cup shredded cheddar
1 tsp celery seed (Sometimes I add chopped celery in with the onion & garlic if I have it)
salt & pepper to taste

Boil noodles in a large pot of salted water.

While noodles are cooking, in a large saucepan, sauté onion and
garlic in butter. Add soups, Rotel, Velveeta, celery seed, salt and pepper.
Continue cooking until Velveeta is melted. Stir in chopped
chicken. (This can all be done in a microwave safe dish as well!)

Drain noodles, combine with sauce. Pour into greased 13 x 9 in
dish, sprinkle cheddar over the top. Bake @ 350 degrees until
the cheese is melted and the sauce is bubbling.

In the Kitchen: Cheesy Chicken & Spinach Lasagna

Sometimes, I only prepare a meal as a means of a cheese delivery system.

This is one of those times.

Sure, there’s some chicken in here, and some spinach so we can call it “healthy.” But let’s be honest. This dish is all about the three cheeses that make every bite a rich, calorie-laden, scrumdiddlyumptious mouthgasm.

The original, adapted from an old Better Homes cookbook, can take awhile to prep, so I’ve included a few tips on how to make this a little easier at the bottom.

You will need:

9 lasagna noodles
1/2 cup butter
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 cup flour
1 tsp salt
2 cups chicken broth
1 1/2 cups milk
4 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
2 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded cooked chicken
2 (10 ounce) packages frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

*I usually make my own broth when I’m boiling the chicken because it’s less salty than the store bought cartons. Since I had some left over after the dish I just poured it into ice cube trays, froze it and then popped it into bags to store.


Directions

Preheat the oven to 350. Boil, drain and rinse the noodles.


Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Cook the onion and garlic in the butter until tender, stirring frequently. Stir in the flour and salt, and simmer until bubbly.

Mix in the broth and milk, and boil, stirring constantly, for about a minute. Stir in half the mozzarella and parmesan. Season with the basil, oregano, and ground black pepper. Remove from heat, and set aside.

Spread a little of the sauce mixture in the bottom of a 9×13 inch baking dish. Layer with 3 of the noodles, half the ricotta, half of the chicken, and half of the spinach. Pour about 1/3 of the sauce over the top.


Arrange 3 more of the noodles over the chicken, and layer with the rest of the ricotta, chicken and spinach. Pour another 1/3 of the sauce over the top.

Place the last three noodles over that, pour on the rest of the sauce, and sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Top with the parsely.

Bake 35 to 40 minutes in the preheated oven until the cheese is browned and bubbly. Let it rest for several minutes on the countertop to set.

To make this easier: Buy a rotisserie chicken from the deli. Use a jarred sauce.

To make this meatless: Skip the chicken and replace with sliced mushrooms. No need to sauté them first. Just layer them in.

The Pythagorean Theorem in real life

I wrote this post a couple of days ago dedicated to my husband and all the things I love about him for What I Love About Him over at Multitasking Mumma’s.

In that post, I included this picture.

It seems as though you aren’t going to let me get away with just showing you the aftermath, and have also demanded asked that I explain myself.

So I will, but no judgment, ok?

Last March, when I was pregnant and admittedly hormonal, I stood at the back door and watched my husband tending to our dogs.

Two of the dogs were playing with a toy, and decided they no longer wanted to share, so they snarked at each other.

My husband got in the middle of them, but they were being total assholes that day and didn’t want to let it go, so they continued to bicker around him.

Now, a few months earlier, we had gotten burglarized and I had insisted on the purchase of two kick bars that we could use to block the doors from being opened. Eventually, my fear of getting robbed again was overtaken by my laziness in setting the bars in place, so they’d taken up residence on the floor next to the kitchen wall.

Worried that my husband was going to get bitten by these rotten dogs growling “Come at me, bro,” while they darted in and around his legs, locked in a bitchy slap fight over a freaking $2 piece of rubber, I picked up a metal bar and headed outside.

I fully intended to poke at the moronic mongrels until they came to their senses, but I didn’t need to, as my husband had collared them both and was griping at them as they sat shamefacedly before him.

As he lectured them about how they’d embarrassed and disappointed him, I began to get bored. (In my defense, he’s rather long winded when he’s delivering an ass chewing, and it tends to become tedious.)

So, I began to swing the pole around like a ninja with a…oh hell, what are those things called?

Yeah, so anyway, I’m a ninja with a pole, and I’m swinging it around super skillfully. I turn around in an awesome move, surprisingly agile what with my big belly, and I feel the pole connect with something.

Something taller than me.

“Oh shit,” I remember thinking. “I’ve knocked out his teeth. He’s going to kill me.”

Terrified, I whirl around to see what I hit.

My husband is standing there and his face is missing, completely obscured by a fast-flowing red waterfall.

I began to freak out while he’s just standing there quietly wondering why his hands are all bloody, and drag him inside to put a wet towel on his face so we can investigate the source of the, um, leak.

I was picturing hours of painful dental work, thinking that I may have earned myself a place out back in the doghouse next to our pissy pups, so I was kind of relieved to see that I’d only cut his eyebrow.

Only, as in it was hanging over his eye.

The circular edge of the metal pole had left a crescent moon cut that created a fallen flap of skin, revealing some pretty gross stuff up in there. (On the plus side, at least I know my husband is not an android. So there’s that.)

I tried to push the skin back up, but it was obvious he was going to need stitches. Which is awesome, since he hates needles.

Anyway, I put him in the car and we head over to the ER, which is five minutes down the road, and embarrassingly enough, a place we tend to frequent.

We walk in, tell them about his injury, and they call him back. But they won’t let me go with him.

I’m confused at this point. I always go back with him. That time with the chest pains? I went back. That time he slipped and fell and hit his head on the concrete beside the house? I went back.

Why wouldn’t they let me go back?

My question was answered about five minutes later when my husband stepped back out into the lobby to get me.

He confessed that as the nurses were taking his vitals, they had questioned him about the injury.

“Did she hit you?” they asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But it was an accident.”

“Do you have these ‘accidents’ often?” they inquired.

You can imagine how mortified I was at this point. Ok, yes, I’d broken a few plates during this pregnancy, and ok, so the crack in the bathroom door was from where I kicked it, but c’mon, people! I’ve never hit my husband on purpose!

In a thankfully anticlimactic finish, we go on back and eventually they get him all stitched up (notice how I’m skipping the part about how he acted like a toddler getting immunizations here, that’s cause I’m a good wife) and send us home.

The funniest part of all of this, at least for me, was after I told my students what had happened, two of them got together and drew this for me as part of an assignment.

There were no funny parts for him. For the next few weeks, he got to sport a stylish black eye with his stitches.

Best Easter picture EVER.

See? You can’t even see the scar unless you’re really close.

Not that close. Back up off my husband. I have a pole…