Baking As Therapy | Cinnamon Raisin Pumpkin Bread {Gluten Free}

On Friday night the phone rang.
The voice on the other end of the line was shaky. My heart sank somewhere deep into my gut. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Grammie had a stroke.”
My brain stopped. My heart froze. My body went numb and I found my formerly-upright self, sitting on the floor, clutching the phone so hard my hand started to lose all feeling.
“Is she okay?” I managed to get out in a slightly tortured, high pitch squeak.
“She’s in the ICU. They are watching her very closely.” I could hear the heartbreak in my mother’s voice as she told me she had to get off the phone.  As broken as I was feeling after receiving this news, I reminded myself that this was her Mama. This was the woman who raised her and rocked her to sleep and put band-aids on her boo-boos and reminded her to be kind and taught her how to love everyone. All of the things that my Mama has done for me. […]

Salted Peanut Butter Cookies {Two Ways} | Gluten Free

Here are a few things that make me happy:
Peanut butter. Chocolate with peanut butter (so much so, that this was our wedding cake flavor combo). Peanut butter and bananas. Peanut butter cups. Giving my dog peanut butter and watching her try to lick the stickiness off of her palate for a full five minutes. It’s the simple things.

These cookies are TOTALLY simple. We’re talking five-ingredients-simple. Sure, they are a little sticky and you might get the batter all over your sleeves and maybe in your hair…but that’s just something that happens. You might not even realize that you still have peanut butter cookie batter all over your forearms before you go to answer e-mails and your arms stick firmly to the top of your desk. Peanut butter is sticky. That is a true story. I probably should have  titled my blog “Wait… Do I have food on my face?” to which the answer is almost always a firm YES. I write to you as if you have my same problems. I shouldn’t do this. You probably have way less food on your face and in your hair on a daily basis. I admire you. […]

Roasted Cauliflower Salad With Olives And Capers

Look-y here. I’ve managed to make you something that isn’t breakfast. I’ve apparently been on one serious breakfast-y kick. I’ve been turning out waffles, quiche, and smoothies galore. I point out the fact I’m bringing you something non-breakfast since I am pretty sure tomorrow (or at least soon) I am posting something breakfast-y. Sorry (not really).
So…yesterday got weird. Mostly because I’m me and can’t seem to stay off the internet no matter how terrifying it can be. I had a weird tingle in my leg, which I promptly Googled (bad move). Don’t do this, friends. Don’t Google every twinge or tingle or pain that happens in your body just because you can. I’ve been telling myself this for years, but I can’t seem to take my own advice. When you Google a symptom, no matter what your symptom is, it usually leads to “OMG, I AM DYING!!!” Since I was experiencing a weird leg tingle, the sage and soothing advice of the interweb made me believe that I was probably, most likely, right in the middle of a stroke. Things got dramatic. I started pacing back and forth, thinking “OMG. I am having a stroke. This is not good. This is extremely bad.” The dog looked at me suspiciously and without major concern. Aren’t dogs supposed to be sympathetic? Geez. […]

Orange & Ginger Creamsicle Smoothie

When you are a kid, there’s pretty much no vehicle more awesome than an ice cream truck. It’s sugar on wheels. I remember the ice cream truck targeting our neighborhood since it was filled with kids. My brother and I would perk up, then in a joint effort run to our parents. “Can we PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE get some ice cream?!” It was as if nothing else mattered and maybe we could possibly die if ice-creamy goodness did not hit our lips in the next two minutes. Sometimes the ice cream truck would travel to our house close to dinner time, and the answer would be no. In these cases I remember the world ending a little bit. There was some light pouting, maybe some foot stomping. My brother, who is six years younger than myself, would either follow my pout-y lead, or in a true act of excellence THROW himself on the floor. We were dramatic. Mom ignored it. Good move, mom. Imagine what we could do if we had an audience! […]