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You are here: Home / 2010 / Archives for January 2010

Archives for January 2010

January 31, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

Vanilla Cupcakes with Chocolate Frosting

Before you say a word, I know this cupcake doesn’t look pretty.  I made it for a men’s meeting hosted by FringeMan.  Men don’t require pretty, at least when it comes to food.  According to FringeMan, this cupcake tastes “boutique”.  I’m not sure what that means, but I’m taking it as a compliment.

I took an ordinary white cake recipe and added a box of vanilla pudding, the boutique touch.

Here’s the recipe:

Cake

1/2 c. butter, 1 c. sugar, 2 eggs, 2 tsp vanilla extract, 1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour, 1 3/4 tsp. baking powder, 1/2 c. milk, 1 package vanilla pudding

Beat softened butter until fluffy and add sugar.  Beat.  Add eggs one at a time and then add vanilla extract.  In a separate bowl combine flour and baking powder.  Alternately add the flour mixture and milk until well combined.  Right before stopping the mixer, add the pudding and only beat until incorporated.

Bake cupcakes in a 350 degree oven for approximately 20-25 minutes.

Frosting

1 stick or 1/2 c. butter, 2 c. powdered sugar, 1 tsp. vanilla extract, 1 1/2 tbs. milk, 2 tbs. cocoa powder

Beat softened butter until fluffy and slowly add the powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, and cocoa powder.

Ice cupcakes and you’re done!

I’ve recently been baking cupcakes instead of a cake, because it ensures you only get one serving at a time….less calories that way.  Consider these diet.

For more recipes and food foolishness, click HERE.

January 29, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

Double Digits

I shoveled curly seasoned fries into my mouth at speeds only seen on the autobahn, while my purple escort burped carbonated Sprite at each stoplight.  Approximately every 2.3 seconds I rolled down the window for a burst of fresh air.  It didn’t matter that the harsh winds of Maine’s frigid winter would rush into my lungs and push discarded Dunkin Donut wrappers from under the front seat.  The morning commute was long and my breakfast stop a full forty minutes from my front stoop, but afternoons brought my satiating appetite almost immediate gratification.  Some call it chance, others good planning; I call it nothing less than miraculous.  Arby’s sat at the mouth of the highway.

Pure ignorance nurtured my pregnancy and fast-food nourished my quickly growing baby.  Today I would be considered a failure among the perky, slightly bloated with baby, Yoga moms.  I neither read the appropriate amount of baby books and magazines, nor did I reunite with my core, fostering balance and peace.  I was all sway, my back arching in directions sure to cause osteoporosis or at least ache.  Standing upright without sending shock waves through my office was pure success.

My sole purpose in pregnancy was to avoid what some call morning sickness, an illness that strikes with no regard to the clock.  For me, keeping my tummy full kept the waves of nausea at bay, so I ate my way through two hundred eight-days (give or take a few hours).  No grown man’s lunch tote was sacred territory when hunger struck.  Although I kept my top desk drawer chock full of snacks, I often out-ate my shopping list.

I reflect on my appetite, not with pride, but with awe.  It seems humanly impossible for an otherwise average woman to wake up one morning and find she’s eaten the equivalent of the corner market, but I did much worse.  I attempted to hide wrappers and eat behind my husband’s back; however, the scale bragged.  It also lied.  I am convinced, and there is no changing the mind of a hormonally distraught woman.

I no longer knew the body I hauled.  I felt like a woman trapped inside of a baby instead of the other way around.

I’ve never felt as physically mortified as I did the day my doorbell rang just a few weeks postpartum.  My newborn lay snuggled in his bassinet when I went to greet my husband’s friend and coworker.  I hadn’t had the opportunity to know him pre-pregnancy, but never considered it to be unfortunate until the moment I looked into the eyes of pure confusion.

“I-I’m sorry.  I must’ve stopped at the wrong house.  I thought a friend of mine lived here.”  He stammered in a fog.

Thinking he must be having a lapse in brain function, but not wanting to cause offense, I happily welcomed him into my home.

“Barry, John should be home any minute, come in.”  I said.

He blinked no less than a thousand times in thirty seconds.  I saw beads of perspiration burst from his taut brow and feared he may have a stroke on the threshold of my home.  Reaching for his arm to pull him into the house and onto a seat, I asked if he was feeling ok.

Hesitantly he looked me over with a mixture of intense wonder and slight disbelief.

“Tr-i-c-ia?”  He asked.

My face must have indicated my response, because before my voice could escape my mouth, he continued.

“I didn’t recognize you.  You had your baby.  You don’t even look like the same person now!”

With the clarity absolute knowledge brings, I regretted every mid-pregnancy bagel I had consumed.  Eventually I shed the weight, but kept the baby.

Today he turns TEN and once again I do not recognize the woman I am – mother of a double-digit.

Happy Birthday FringeBoy!

Here are ten things I love about you:  (I stole this idea from Nina@Portugal Bound)

– you are smart as a whip, although a whip now and then probably wouldn’t hurt. 😉

– you have grown from an ever questioning child, into a hysterical kid.  Your sense of humor and quick wit astounds me at times and often makes me laugh despite my better judgement.

– you are a loving little boy with a wide open heart.

– you still give me a great big hug when you come home from school.

– you are kind and gentle with babies and small children and I love to see you interact with them.

– you befriend those who otherwise would be friendless.

– your speckled face gives you an impish charm that is endearing.

– you’ve learned the joy of reading and you won’t drink the last sips of milk in the carton, an inherited trait. 🙂

– your heart is tender toward the Lord.

– you are my gift from God.

I’ve linked this post to Mylestones’ Flashback Friday.  Go visit for more great stories.

January 27, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

New York City Museum Event

Virtual Universe: The Farthest Reaches of the Cosmic Ocean with Jason Kendall

Tuesday, February 2, 6:30 pm

Hayden Planetarium Space Theater

The American Museum of Natural History

NYC

$15 Adults $13.50 Members, students, seniors

Step inside the world’s largest cosmic atlas, cruise through intergalactic space, and explore the immense distances between galaxies. Explore the cosmos while learning about the universe and how it has changed with time.

On the first Tuesday of each month, Virtual Universe offerings take visitors on trips through our solar system and beyond in live, interactive programs that include question-and-answer. The American Museum of Natural History invites all to take the journey of a lifetime.

For a quick glimpse of a Virtual Universe program, visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17jymDn0W6U

**  The people at the Museum of Natural History asked me to share this upcoming event with you.  Wish I could attend.  I was privelaged to blog live from the Museum this past Spring.  Listed below are my previous Museum blog posts.

Extreme Mating Behaviors in Mammals

Extreme Museum Exhibit

Enjoy your night!

-FringeGirl

January 27, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

Celebrity Doubles

I’ve never been stopped in the street and asked for an autograph; however, back in the ice-age, before global warming turned our nation into a tropical paradise, complete strangers and friends told me that I look like someone on television.

Repeatedly.

Thankfully I’ve only been told that I look like Phyllis on The Office once, but I’ve forgiven that oversight.  Forgetting is a much more difficult task.  Since I was a teenager, I have been told that I look like Mary Calvi, an anchor woman who got her start on Cablevision.  She’s slightly older than I am and I must admit that her fresh out of college look was very similar to my own; however, she has aged well and I have simply aged.  I think it may have something to do with moving her career from Cablevision to CBS.  I haven’t seen a make-up artist since FringeKid gave my look a complete overhaul last Spring.

CBS does a slightly better job at accentuating a woman’s best features.

Mary Calvi

me

I know you cannot see the resemblance.  Me either, but it sure feels better to be called Mary than to be called Phyllis.  I tried to find an old photo of Mary, but she must have rid the internet of all unflattering pictures.  I would do the same, but when I am eighty, I think any photo free of false teeth and wrinkles will be flattering.

I’m not the only one in the FringeFamily with a celebrity look-alike.  FringeMan shares a face with a famous foodie.  Before we ever watched Bizzare Foods, our neighbor’s children told us tales of FringeMan’s twin.

Andrew Zimmern

FringeMan

If FringeMan starts eating locusts, I will worry.  I think these men look very much alike.

FringeMan would do a great job hosting Bizzare Foods.  After all, he is slightly famous for fried squirrel and Bear-rittos.

Who do people say you look like?

January 26, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

Reconsidering my Facelift

Every so often an overwhelming desire for change surges through my bloodstream, raising my blood pressure and squelching my good sense.  The results are seen in my living room’s reconfigured furniture, my hair’s uneven locks, and now my blog’s facelift.

Everyday I see blogs sporting seasonal wallpaper, blinking bling, and eye-catching fonts; however, I’ve determined that these flashy looks are not suitable for the domestic fringe.  It’s simple; I use too many words, but you already knew that.   If my words had to compete with sparkly pink wallpaper, I would need to include a warning from the surgeon general.

WARNING:  Migraines, Blurred Vision, and Strokes possible

Recently I found myself twiddling my thumbs while waiting for my dog to chew her way through my kid’s toybox, so I took a fashion quiz.  My personal style results were ‘Urban Classic’.

Translation:  I live in a city and wear other people’s old clothes.

I’d like to think I dress my blog a little like I dress my bod – clean and classic with a few embellishments to keep reader’s from falling asleep.

Giving my blog a facelift is something I have considered for as long as I’ve contemplated having liposuction on my thighs; however, liposuction requires oodles of cash and anesthesia, whereas a new layout is only a click away.  I like the three columns because I can post three items in one day (not that I will) and you can see them all at once.

The big question – Do YOU like it?

Is it still easy on your eyes or does it make your brains cells scramble, sending signals of impending doom to your pupils?

Here are a few navigation tips for the one confused blog reader (me).

*  Click on the post title to enlarge the column into a full size page.

*  Click on the small ‘thedomesticfringe’ title or the large ‘the domestic fringe’ title at the top of the page to return to the main, three column page.

*  Comments are left by clicking on the red ‘comment’ button at the bottom of each column.  Comments are always welcome and appreciated.  In other words, SPEAK!

*  The archives are listed by month at the bottom of the main page, so you can read my entire life story.  (That’s for the one person who has no access to the library and real writing.)

*  Other blog links are located at the bottom of the first column.

I think that about covers everything.  Feel free to ask any questions or leave comments and suggestions.  If you hate the new look, tell me.  You do read and I want to keep you happy, or else I’ll only be writing for my mother.

In other news, the ‘reader survey’ page will be disappearing later today and my baby story will magically appear in its place.  My baby story is like the Reader’s Digest condensed version of my second pregnancy; however, I used more words than Mr. President will probably use in his State of the Union address.  This story will only be accessible for one week and then it goes into a nine month gestation.  If you are compelled to read, creative criticism is welcome.

Blogger, the evil tool practically every blogger in the universe uses, hates me.  For the past two days, I cannot make ANY comments on any blog that uses Blogger. So when you decide that you hate me too for not reading your blog, know that it’s blogger’s fault.

Why do you hate my words Blogger?  I only leave kind comments.  Is it because I love WordPress?

Enjoy your day!

Sadly I am looking out my window into a wild snow squall.  Send me your warm thoughts, rays of sunshine, and pictures of green grass.

January 24, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

I’m Like an Elf with an Afro

I’ve never been more boring than I am today.

I am not counting the last thirty-two days.  Yesterday I briefly scanned over my recent posts and I nearly fell asleep.  I actually felt sorry for you.  I’ve subjected you to reading about my kids, my dog, and my gooey plastic mouse.  I am sorry from the bottom of my elf-clad toes.

I snapped this picture of my feet (yes, they’re mine), because I wanted to show you my cute slipper socks that FringeMom gifted me for Christmas.  I’m hoping next year she’ll give me green tights, so I can moonlight as one of Santa’s elves.  One thing in this photo drives me absolutely batty.  If I weren’t so lazy, I would have snapped another picture, but that would mean reconnecting the wire between my camera and laptop and it’s not really worth the half-calorie I would burn.

There’s A HAIR poking out from under my right foot.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I shed more than my dog and my new coat is coming in gray.  My hair is everywhere.  I’m actually slightly embarrassed to tell you all the places my hair shows up, but that’s the point of blogging, isn’t it?  I tell the worst of the worst and make you feel good about yourself.

For starters, I should be wearing a hair net in my own kitchen.  I’ve told my family that hair is a good source of fiber, so eat up, besides I wash daily.  Before you get too grossed out and refuse every invitation to dinner, I always pull all my hair up when I am cooking for others.  Trust me, I’m paranoid about bringing meatloaf to a potluck and somebody thinking I’ve added spaghetti stringers to the mix.

My hair blows around my house like tumbleweed, it clogs my drains, and FringeMan (poor FringeMan) needs a lint brush because of me.  I should be bald by now, but I am not.  I knew things were getting bad when FringeBoy yelled out of the bathroom that he had my hair stuck in his poop.

I know.

I’ve lost all tact.

I am sorry mom.

There’s just no gentle way to say that my son poops my hair.

Moving on.

Saturday afternoon, I decided that my bush was too thick, too heavy, and too wild.  The time to tame the squiggly mass had come, so I took out the kitchen shears and went to work.  This is what happens when you are too poor to make an appointment at the salon down the road.  You resort to using scissors that also cut the skin from last night’s chicken.  Life is like that sometimes.

After I’d collected a fairly large pile of slightly frizzy hair in my sink, I proclaimed my hairdo momentarily acceptable.  I’m now walking around with a long afro, circa 1998.  Anytime you need your hair trimmed, I’m here for you.

Back to my foot photo…

If you look beyond the pom-pom socks, just past the hair, you’ll see my sheets.  I probably shouldn’t admit this, but hey, it’s national spill your guts day on the fringe.  Officially.  Recently I’ve been somewhat in awe over how thin my sheets have become.  I’m a one set type of gal.  It’s all wash and wear in my house and apparently, my sheets have been worn too many times.  I could see right through my fitted sheet and wondered at the original thread count.  Currently, I can count about twelve threads.

Sure enough I awoke this morning to find a gaping hole just under my left shoulder.  It was quite the pre-coffee shock.  I don’t know if excessive thrashing took place, but I did dream that I was trapped in my college dorm and jumped from a third story window to escape.  In the dream, I kept asking FringeMan if he still had his maintenance ID…like that was going to save us from the impending doom of my subconscious.

At any rate, my sheet is torn and is being flipped to find a resting place at FringeMan’s feet.  Anymore crazy dreams and I’ll be begging bottom sheets on the street corner.

Feel free to join me in spilling your guts.  It’s good for your psyche and mine.  Tell me I am not alone in my sorrows.
If you want to read another hair cut story, click HERE.

January 22, 2010 by: The Domestic Fringe

Mind Tweeting

To provide Oriana with a little early morning relief, FringeBoy walked outside clothed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and wet head.  He returned moments later with a smile on his face and a story about the weather.

“Spring must be coming soon.”  He said.  “There were just birds chirping.”

Skeptically I glanced toward the thermometer.  15.2 degrees.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there are no birds within a two hundred mile radius.

It is nice to know that hope and birds are living in his little head.  That famous chubby groundhog has nothing on my cute little boy.  I only hope he doesn’t see his shadow this evening.

Enjoy a warm weekend!

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