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Plan B.

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I woke up before dawn on Sunday, to a sweet smiling toddler with an an avocado obsession.

B- Cado, mommy. Cado.

We’re out of ‘cados, so we have to get up and get dressed to go find some at the store. I’m exhausted and in desperate need of coffee, but realize as soon as we walk in to Safeway, that I’ll need something to distract her with if I really intend to wait in line. Everyone else wants coffee this morning too. I consider the immediate options available to me and remember that she’s learned the magic of a band-aid this week. Her last tattered Minnie Mouse bandage had fallen off on our way out the door this morning. We rush down the health/first aid aisle first… in search of some new cartoon icon band-aids  to replenish our stash.

I catch sight of an old man, slowly searching through the disposable razors, the antacids and shaving cream. I hear him grumble about not being able to find something.

I’m a server. I really cannot stop myself from helping someone, no matter where or when. I’m tired… but I love the grey-hairs and he is looking more anxious by each frantic second.

So I offer.

J- Can I help you? I hate to eavesdrop but you seem to need a little help and this is the only place I shop. This is my store. I hate to say I know where everything is, but I do.

He looks relieved and because his phone is on speakerphone, I can hear his wife, clearly.

W- You never look. I could be standing beside you holding it and you couldn’t find it in my hands. For Pete’s sake.

He turns his back to me and barks briskly into the phone.

H- Would you like me to put the nice woman who offered to help me on the phone? I’m doing my best.

W- Oh My GOD damn it, Howard, you asked for help? How embarrassing.

I smiled at him to let him I know I was not a crazy person, and he opened his mouth and leveled me.

H- I’m looking for Plan B or the Morning After Pill.

W- It’s not called the morning after pill anymore, it’s just Plan B.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I fought back laughter and leveled with him.

J- I’ve only gotten it once and I had to get it from the Health Department.

Which he relays, loudly, over the loudspeaker on his phone.

H- It’s not here Dear. She got it from the Health Clinic. Is this, Oh for hell sakes, stop shouting at me.

W- We sound like perverts. Come home. I’ll get it myself.

Meanwhile, I’ve led him to the condom/pregnancy test/tampon aisle. The pharmacy is closed and it’s the only place I can imagine it’d be.

It’s not there. You can cure a stinky vag, replenish your feminine hygiene basket and prevent pregnancy… all in the same 10 feet.

Alas, you cannot stop a misfire spermatozoa from landing his lady outside of pharmacy hours.

She’s furious. He’s frustrated. I’m crimson and biting the inside of my cheeks to hold it together.

W- Let the poor woman go. How embarrassing.

H- You’re embarrassed? A complete stranger just led me to the condoms and pregnancy tests.

I’m coughing to keep from laughing. He stammers a “thank you” in my direction and I walk away before dissolving into giggles. I was shopping for Band-aids, so we went back down the other side only to hear more of their conversation.

W- I should have gone myself.

H- It’s the Superbowl and the pharmacy is closed. I can buy condoms or pregnancy tests, which feel late and early, considering.

W- Take a picture and send it to me.

H- I’m never shopping here again. Pour me a scotch.

Wouldn’t you know it… that coffee line had emptied by the time we’d secured our Doc McStuffin’s and Hello Kitty Bandaids after the wild goose chase for the Plan B.

Never a dull moment. Never a bad day.

Fresh Butternutty Goodness

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I love love love seeing 10 hits on my blog. I feel like celebrating.

Gone are those 1000+ days. Amen.

I deleted all the baggage and cut all my ties.

I’ve been watching Hoarders lately and felt the same way about my blog. It had piles of shit I didn’t like, recognize or want anymore. It was so infested with douche bags and liars that the clean up would have been exhausting and endless- so instead I just burnt the whole fucker down- like most of the people on that show should do with their houses!

🙂 Ahhh. Peace. Clean sheets, new socks and your favorite sweatpants, sort of cozy freshness.

I’d documented my midlife crisis and sad attempts at having faith in the worst of humanity and took the last, very necessary response… and threw it all into the fire.

When you don’t like the view in the rear-view mirror anymore, you need a change of scenery and a fresh perspective.

Now I don’t mind writing anymore, though I may bore everyone to death with recipes, teething woes and too much gardening…

but at the very least… you’ll get to eat great food because I’m a domestic whirlwind these days. Behold! The perfect butternut squash soup, in my not-so-humble opinion… to celebrate this nice clean house.

My Better Butternut soup

8 cups good chicken stock. I make mine- you can do the same easily or buy it pre-made. Buy the organic one, really… because commercial chickens are perhaps the least respected meat raised and you should do your part to stop it. Even if your part is lazy- it counts. Ish.

1/2 c. Butter

2 c. Shallots. They’re the Filet Mignon of onions- trust me- spend the extra $.

3 cloves Garlic, minced, and while you’re at it- plant some! Garlic goes in to the ground this week and it’s so delicious home grown!

3.5-4 lb Butternut squash. Peel, seed and chop it into cubes. It’s a smooth textured winter squash and its glorious if you’re type A like me and want to see perfect orange cubes in a big white bowl.

2 c. Pumpkin puree. Finally something to make with all those pumpkins from the garden or in a can from the store- it all tastes the same.

1 c. Half & half

Just typing this recipe up makes me want to go make some more, and I just finished the batch I made this week for breakfast this morning.

s1

Dice your shallots and garlic while the butter melts in your stock pot. Let them soften over low-medium heat until they’re translucent. Add your chicken broth and bring to a boil over medium heat. Add your butternut squash cubes and pumpkin puree.  Simmer until the cubes of squash are soft and use your stick blender (don’t tell me you don’t have one. Go buy one!) until roughly half the cubes of butternut squash are blended. It will be a creamy lumpy texture and smell like heaven. Salt & pepper to taste.

s2

Add your half & half and stir, stir, stir. I usually make some naan or croutons to go along with it, but it’s good all by itself too. Enjoy a fresh & happy fall!

mmm

Salsa for Canning Recipe

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salsa

This is absolutely my favorite recipe and it’s taken a decade to perfect. Enjoy!

Heirloom Salsa

10 c chopped tomatoes

5 c bell peppers

5 c onions

2 1/2 c peppers. (Be sure to remove the seeds if you want to keep your salsa mild!)

1 1/4 c lime juice

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 bunch of cilantro, chopped

3 tsp salt

1 tsp pepper

1 can of tomato paste (optional)

This is so easy and so ridiculously time consuming… but worth every minute spent until you’re placing the jars in your pantry! Throw all your ingredients in a stock pot and let simmer on low until the flavors are combined and your salsa has thickened to your liking. Fill sterilized canning jars, adjust lids and process in a hot water bath canner. 20 minutes for pints, 30 minutes for salsa

tomatoes

I can’t recommend highly enough to mix and match your flavors. I made a batch of Brandywine tomato & habanero pepper salsa this week that is amazing, and my Aunt Ruby’s German Green tomato & jalapeno mild salsa is equally as delicious. You can tailor this recipe to fit your heat preference and favorite flavors. Be sure to remember that salsa continues to get hotter after canned if you leave the seeds in the peppers!

Happy dipping!

The little things they fail to mention…

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In the midst of the painfully uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, there are a few things they fail to mention in the millions of parenting books I’ve borrowed from the library. Most of these details are old news since this is my third baby, but one of them is completely new to me.

Graphic dreams.

Sigh. I’ve had some WILD dreams the duration of my pregnancy, beginning at 16 weeks when I had nightmares of accidentally cooking kittens every night for a week. I was sick over it and finally sat down with my midwife and confessed in horror.

J- I accidentally boiled a kitten in my sleep last night. I was so mortified when I woke up I could hardly look at anyone.

M- It’s completely normal. When you’re pregnant, you wake up in the middle of your REM sleep cycle and you wake up frequently so you remember more of your dreams. The increased estrogen only makes them more realistic.

So I tried to chalk it up to nocturnal insanity brought on by the increased estrogen of growing a baby girl. Until I hit about 20 weeks and started having graphic sexual dreams. Constantly. Trying to shake them was of no use, and this was by no means a vanilla sort of experience.

A quick 15 minute nap turned into skin tingling torture by way of his teeth and misuse of kitchen utensils.

I woke up a dozen times in the middle of the night with beads of sweat on the back of my neck, having escaped from the restraints I’d been tied in… by a friend of mine.

Yeah… oops… they’re never with my boyfriend- and never from experience. I’ve never dated or so much as kissed the poor victim at the center of my unintentional fantasy life. He’s the most respectful guy I know and I would die, die, DIE… if he knew what my subconscious has made him do. The jealousy I deal with from my baby-daddy is already unbearable and I don’t dare add another name to his list of friends I’m not allowed to have. I’ve tried everything to shake it… but as soon as I close my eyes… there he is again.

He told me once how tired he was and I know I turned fifty shades of red just thinking of the long night he’d had at my house, while feeling wholeheartedly guilty and incapable of controlling or curtailing it.

His voice sounds strange in my ears anymore because he’s said some unbelievable things to me in the last 6 months, lol…

My midwife does her best to comfort me while assuring me it’s completely normal. She suggested I Google it so I could see what she meant, and sure enough… I am not the only one.

I do what I can. I watch murderous television and children’s movies. I try my best to put it out of my mind, for fear I’ll make the situation worse. I’ve only told a few of my closest friends who laugh mercilessly and beg for details.

He’s smiling and I’m not pregnant. He’s swinging a spatula at me and I’m breathless and giggling, trying my best to stop smiling while he chases me through the house with the best of carnal intentions… ignoring my shrieking laughter. Gahhhh make it stop!

My poor perfection… the dream guy who extends his already ridiculous hours into my subconscious acrobatics routine nightly while being none the wiser.

I can’t complain too much… it sure beats the heartburn and insomnia… but I may never be able to look him in the face again after last night.

The Last Straw

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Unfortunately my settings on one of these stupid dating sites has it chiming on my phone every time an email comes in, which is a lot. I finally sat down yesterday to change the settings in hopes of putting an end to the infernal distraction.

Success… oh and 22 new emails. I open the first one…

D- Hi.

That’s all. I see so many of these I just have to wonder what the hell these guys are thinking. You’re establishing contact with someone for the first time, hoping to spurn a response.

And all you’ve fucking got is Hi? Hello? Sup? Yo? Hey? I’ve seen them all and I never respond… but then you have to be a freak to ilicit a response from me because I’m only in it for the story at this point.

The playground is shut down for remodeling… and I’m a bored woman as a result. lol… I open the second email and it only gets better.

S-

4/28/2012 11:50:37 AM

Let me guess.. You found my profile more than a bit on the vulgar side.. Perhaps a bit disturbing as
well. you must have had a few glasses of wine to have even clicked on it.. I know your type.. Your a
mile above me.. And your clearly more than a bit too classy for my common ass.. but I might just
surprise you… And it’s not like I would expect you to tell your friends about me 😉

This guy has emailed me three times, and frankly; he’s repulsive. He’s not my type, I would really be being mean if I dated him.

What really stuns me, is that they make this assumption about me based on one picture, and one paragraph. Enough to insult me for not being interested in them.

They say women are crazy? Oh no. The penis-clad species is equally as crazy, if not more so, because they’re entitled to their jealousy. We’re supposed to understand that boys can be boys and “well you know he’s a man… he’s bound to be protective.

Turn those tables and you know what they call that girl? A date crasher. A stalker. A bunny boiler. Fatal attraction.

He’s protective, masculine, he just loves you a lot.

No. He’s a stalker and if I come up missing, check his house.

Yikers. A stalker is a stalker, is a stalker- and this guy is getting his panties in a bunch because he’s emailed me three times and I haven’t responded, but he can see that I viewed his profile.

Imagine him in real life. He’s the guy who stalks you daily, the one who wants to read your emails, look at your phone and account for every minute in your day and who you came in contact with. He “just stops by” and “just stays for the weekend”. Allowing this guy into your life is like petting a raccoon. They can imprint on you and follow you for life. They come in through windows, dog doors, chimneys. If they love you- they will do anything to be next to you.

It reminds me of fungus- no thanks.

The next email is a perfect example of why I’d really love to meet a nice woman every now and again. If anything inspires me to switch teams… it’s this guy.

USMC-

USMC

4/8/2012 12:18:29 AM
Wanna Chat
USMC

4/24/2012 10:59:16 PM
All girls like me I was in the military
USMC

4/24/2012 11:11:28 PM
And I have a very large penis

Yeah… he said that.

Like he actually expects a response finally that says “Oh well in that case, let’s chat” <eyeroll>

I don’t think I can even handle these internet retards any more. I may be officially ruined for men entirely.

Disgusted with the species… I signed out of the craziness that is meeting a date online.

I decided to make dinner and invite family over. My mama, her fabulous boyfriend, Sober One Kenobe and Mr. Man Card. My little princess.

Fresh pesto tortellini, asparagus, a green salad & garlic bread. Eclairs for dessert… with a glass of wine, around the kitchen table we’d pulled into the greenhouse and filled with spring flowers. It was a twinkly perfect evening full of the stuff that feels right. Family & friends and great food, laughing around the table in the light of white lights strung around the inside of the greenhouse with the smell of little tomatoes and flowers growing.

Internet dating cheapens what it’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to see a cute guy and smile. He’s supposed to ask for your number and you’re supposed to have dinner or something in this sort of circumstance. The twinkle lights are optional but I’d say they’re worth a few bonus points.

It’s supposed to be as good as dinner with your friends and family- it’s supposed to leave you smiling the next morning, washing a stack of dishes and throwing the tablecloth in the washer.

Internet dating is depressing- and that’s not what I’m looking for.

I can do without the creepy stalking oversharers.

I officially quit my internet presence as potential prey. I climbed out of the mud puddle.

……..and I feel cleaner already 🙂

Puerto Rico… part 4

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[youtube:http://youtu.be/rtOvBOTyX00%5D

Getting lost in the rainforest with him was next to heaven on earth. I spent the good portion of the last day, crying. I’m a crybaby- it’s how I roll… don’t judge. I’ve seen the worst mankind has to offer in the last year and here was my forever- standing in front of me and loving me out loud.

With words…and actions.

He did little things that counted so much more than big displays…. yet he walked in front of me and doesn’t open doors. I’m so old fashioned at my core…. and those were the flags that resonated the most.

My favorite man ever used to kiss me on the cheek, then move to whichever side of me was closest to the road. He opened doors for me everywhere we went. Cars, restaurants and such. Gentlemen are my downfall… and I’d always thought the man of my dreams would be a door-opener.

But… my mantra is: Expectation is premeditated resentment. Given to me by my very best friend and something that replays any time I start feeling disappointed. Perhaps I need to learn to feel a little comfortable having a few expectations?

He spoiled me- didn’t question a thing I wanted and fed me anything I wanted. He bought me a purple toothbrush… and of all the things I left behind, I’m the saddest about that. I miss my purple toothbrush as much as I miss him. It was one of those tender gestures- along with the bag of seashells he bought for my daughter, which I balked at and he assured me we could throw them in the sand and pick them up and it was nearly the same. There aren’t shells in Puerto Rico… and I’d promised her. He found them… and they’re another thing I left behind. I still wonder if he threw them away or took them home with him.

At any rate…we got back to the hotel from the rainforest (and don’t we all wish we could type that sentence, at least once?) and had 20 minutes to get ready. I flew… got dressed and smiled at him from my teary eyes. Positively heartsick. Begging God to slow the clock and let me have a hundred more years with him…. or just one more day?

But the seconds just kept ticking by… and we left for dinner. He handed me his phone to call the restaurant to tell them we’d be late. I could hardly breathe and just kept thinking about sand and love and anything but leaving him.

Being a princess suits me just fine, thankyouverymuch… as did this enigma I’d fallen in love with so long ago. I didn’t want my fairytale to end, and I could feel it slipping away like sand in an hourglass. He parked the car and we walked down the same stairs of the parking garage that we’d fought on the night before. Shudder…

He never told me I looked beautiful. The valet smiled at me every day and said it. The bartender said it. Frankly? I know it. I played fashion show before I left, I only took the shit that made me look smoking hot. Come on now, I’m not an amateur. It was almost like a game? He pointed out other women. He commented on other women. He didn’t compliment me.

Ouch.

It really stuck in my throat the last night though. I wore my favorite dress. I wore my favorite shoes which make my beautiful tattoo just ridiculously sexy…

Nothing.

We walked out of the garage and the cobblestones are kicking my ass. I’m searching for the tiny sidewalk that lines the street and he’s giggling at me.

J- I love these shoes, laugh all you want.

T- I love the girl wearing them.

Sigh… tears… sigh…. tears… ugh.

We walked in to the restaurant and they sat us. Our waiter was adorable and he explained the local special, something I can’t remember but wish I could. Mofungo? Something like that. It was delicious. Shrimp… red sauce of some sort? Some sort of bowl made of plantain. Yum, yum, yum. I couldn’t decide between that and the shrimp salad I really was craving.

Confession? I turned into a lame teenager around him. I wasn’t ever comfortable eating in front of him… ever. I asked him to help me and he refused. I ordered the special- because when in Rome and all that. The waiter smiled and told me he was sure I’d like it. He ordered himself a drink….

I was so sad in that moment… I can’t really describe it. Just desperate for peace and looking at the paintings that lined the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. Missing my sisters. Missing my mom. Missing my babies. Sick to my stomach and so upset I didn’t know how to pull my shit together for a moment.

This was it. Our last night. The grand goodbye…

They brought our food and it was amazing. Absolutely delicious and worth every penny. He kept telling me to take pictures because I was going to get home and be sad that I didn’t have any of just him alone. Huh.

You’d think he’d get his phone out and do the same if that were the case, right?

Nope.

He’d taken my picture once, the night before… because he said I looked like the saddest little angel, and with my favorite pregnant kitty. Two pictures.

Huh.

Things were nagging in the back of my mind but I was fighting back tears and trying to maintain my composure. We finished eating and left. He had an agenda for our last night together.

Caipirinhas at the Parrot Club…

Pina Coladas at the bar they were created…

Watermelon mojitos at the place famous for them…

While hassling me to ask for the la quenta. Ugh. I could see the potential for trouble before the clouds started to roll in. I just refused to see it. I took a million deep breaths and told him how much I loved him a million times. Not willing to waste a second as they ticked by too quickly.

Devastated. Stupid in love… literally.

Sitting next to him, watching the bartender muddle sugar cane and ice… looking back to see our reflection in the mirror and marveling at the irony of the two of us. My split-apart… this soul mate man of mine… who was slowly turning into someone I would spend every second missing… feeling tears burn a path down my cheeks when I looked at the clock.

His flight left at 6 the next morning, and mine at 9… facing the three hours in the airport I’d be crying in the corner, cursing the knowledge of a love like this. Missing him so desperately I needed to excuse myself to the bathroom. I walked quickly to a little door with a little lady in a dress on it and barely made it in time to be sick. I brushed my teeth, washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face. Determined not to ruin my last night by grieving its passing. Deep breath. Deep breath… and rejoin him at the bar.

Delicious drinks… interspersed with kisses and promises of the sleepless night ahead.

T- We’ll go back and get everything packed… then I want to do nothing but unwrap you until we have to leave for the airport.

Thank you baby Jesus. Or Mary… or God… or whoever aligned my path with this devil/angel. We’d walked by a homeless guy the day before and he told me in Spanish that I was walking with the devil. We giggled about it then… now it’s not so funny.

He led me down Paseo de la Princesa… to the edge of the island. An old fishing pier where I made sure to not destroy my heels… and he kissed me in the moonlight… and told me he’d love me forever. He pointed at the San Juan Gate that we’d just walked through and told me the words inscribed on it said “Life is waiting for you”… but I know a little bit of Latin and knew he was incorrect. It actually said “Blessed are they who come in the name of the Lord”. For the first time I felt like I was on some staged walk through the last night of the weekend with him. I’d bet my life he’s done the exact same thing with someone else because he told me at the beginning of the night that I’d love him so much by the end of the night after seeing all the amazing things he had to show me- and I’m too damn smart to be on a recycled date and not know it.

I cried. A lot… and looked out over the moon-kissed waves of the ocean so far from home. Praying for more time… and reaching in my pocket for the gift I’d come to set free.

That Dirty Boat Stealing Asshole gave me one thing that mattered to him. His mother’s pearls. Seven years of my life for a necklace I couldn’t wear without being filled with regret. He took so much from me and I still felt compelled to return them. So I did. I pulled them out of my pocket, choking on the sobs ripping through me, kissed them, and gave them back to the ocean. I sent them back from whence they came. It wasn’t vengeful, it was a gift to us both. I turned around and there was my heart, walking back towards the arch. I followed, doing my best to stop the flood.

He wanted to dance with me <smart man> but it was Superbowl Sunday and the place we went was having a football party, no dancing to be had.

T- You blew it last night, I wanted to take you dancing.

Huh.

We stopped at Burger King for burgers, and headed back to our hotel. He kissed me when I told him I was taking the food up to our room. He told me he was going for his double…. and I agreed to come down and meet him. I allowed myself to really cry about it in the elevator alone. The door opened on the fourth floor and the man who walked in was instantly comforting.

M- You ok?

J- Yeah, just really sad. I leave my boyfriend tomorrow to go back home.

M- You look beautiful, where is he?

J- At the bar.

I held the burgers up and he grinned.

I dropped the burgers off, cleaned up my make-up, put some perfume on and fresh lip gloss… and headed back downstairs to face what would end up being the very worst night of my life.

The valet stopped me before I got to the bar.

V- Are you ok? You were so upset last night. Your husband, he is angry?

J- Thank you, I’m fine.

V- Here is my number if you need anything. You are so nice. Please call me if you need help.

J- Thank you.

Oh the nightmare that awaited me… and oh how the number in my pocket would become my lifeline…

Date with destiny…

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It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, that I’m  that I’m only beginning to let myself enjoy this crazy in love feeling.

I’m an expert optimist. The glass is always half full, and though I’ve seen it empty a few times in the last year… all of a sudden… it runneth over. 😉

The baking began yesterday… and continued on pretty late into the night.

Oh how Jenni bakes when she’s from the tip of her nose to the tip of her toes, beaming happy.

Marshmallows…sugar cookies: purely because I wanted to cut out hearts… lol… go ahead- gag… carrot cake cookies and granola and on and on and on…

All tied up in pretty red waxed ribbon, complete with my favorite vanilla bean caramels.

Joy makes me bake, sew… etc. My Mormon roots come screaming out and I turn into my favorite version of myself. The happy domestic goddess.

Complete with a dress, heels & apron.

One of my oldest friends stopped by and surveyed the fruits of my inspiration.

M- Holy shit… you’re not fucking around, are you? You’re really serious about this guy. Caramels even… dammmnnnn Betty…I haven’t had those in years.

J- Hungry?

M- Lemon tarts? Lemon BARS? Ooooh coconut….

My kitchen is a veritable smorgasbord for the munchies crew… because I don’t eat any of it.

Weird, huh? I don’t touch it except making frosting and checking the sugar level.

I have a bowl of basil, romaine, grape tomatoes and fresh mozzarella with balsamic vinegar and sea salt, sitting in front of me.

I have a bakery-full of delicious baked things in my kitchen.

He brings out the girl in me that I love best. Jenni Crocker-Stewart.

I have a dozen things I’m knitting, and enough treats coming out of the kitchen that I’ll naturally appear to be succeeding at my diet because the rest of my friends and family will all put on weight due to my falling in love. It seems pretty win-win, if you ask me.

Nothing lets me smile and create at the same time, like being in the kitchen. ♥

He inspires me so delightfully, that I naturally occupy myself with the other things that make me happy, in his absence. I’m painting the kitchen…. and perhaps a bedroom. I’m sure all my friends will be wearing new hats by the time I leave, and I guarantee they will have ALL put on weight.

So here… because I can’t spoil all of you with cookies and caramels… I’ll share my recipe. Make them- they’re delicious…and use Meyer lemons if you can find them. ♥

Lemon Bars

Ingredients:

For Base

  • 2 cups sifted flour
  • 1/2 cup powdered sugar
  • 1 cup butter

For top

  • 4 large beaten eggs
  • 2 cups white sugar
  • 1/3 cup lemon or lime juice
  • 1/4 cup flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon or lime rind

Directions:

  1. For the base mix the butter into the flour and sugar.
  2. Mix with hands until it clings together.
  3. Press into a 13 x 9 x 2-inch pan.
  4. Bake at 350°F for 20-25 minutes or until lightly browned.
  5. For the filling, beat together eggs, sugar and lemon juice.
  6. Sift together flour and baking powder.
  7. Stir into egg mixture.
  8. Pour over baked, cooled crust.
  9. Bake at 350°F for 25 minutes.
  10. Cool and sprinkle with powdered sugar.
  11. Cut into bars.

They’re amazing. Enjoy… and smile while you make them- it makes all the difference in the world.

Heels don’t hurt, either.

😉

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