>So I tried the donut recipe posted below. It was lots of fun if you think staying up late to make dough, getting up early to roll and raise said dough, and then frying donuts after an hour of raising is fun. Anyway, they were a bust. I didn’t raise them right so they totally did not become the productive members of society I had hoped. Then when I went to fry them, I didn’t get the oil hot enough and they became rather hard and calloused on the outside and not exactly soft or fluffy on the inside either. Therefore, my commentary on donuts (and child rearing) is: raise them in a warm environment covered in a soft towel and make sure when you through them into the frying pan that the oil is hot enough to get them fried and back out again quickly. I will be giving it another try tonight and tomorrow morning.
In other news, we all made it to church this morning although it was an effort. There was no potluck today so Martha brought us lunch at our house. AWESOME! Let me tell you, being taken care of by the church members is the best.
I always wanted to be that person that brought the awesome dish to potluck. You know the one, that dish of cheesy type goodness that just made everyone drool and it was always gone by the time you got that far in line. The one that everyone was raving about and made someone in the fellowship hall stand up and say, “Hallelujah! Who made that?” I have those recipes. I can be that person. But I’m also a mother and in order to be that person, I’d have to take my kids to SS naked and I would be a total shambles myself (not that I’m not already that way half the time.) Do you know what it’s like here with an infant and a toddler and a husband AND a dog that won’t stop barking on a Sabbath morning? It’s like WW III!!! Someone is in the shower for two hours and I am always last. After braiding Abby’s hair, getting her in a dress, washing out the babies neck folds and making sure everyone is in fresh diapers and has offering in their purses, Andy and I vie for the bathroom. We are dashing out the door as he tightens his tie and I slip on my shoes. There are blankets and bags everywhere and we are almost always about 10 minutes late. I hate being late.
So here’s to hoping we get it together enough for Mommy to make one of those yummy, gooey, cheesy dishes once again soon. Until then, Martha, you are the best. Keep it coming.