Had the shortbread crust for cheesecake ready to go last night after Duck went to sleep. Patted it in the pan as required, baked for 10 minutes at 400 degrees. Burned it, literally, to a crisp.
Had to start again on the crust. At least this time I’d had some practice. This one went better. I bumped the heat down a bit (obviously my oven’s running a tad hot) and kept an eye on it.
The cheesecake recipe requires an ungody amount of beating. Careful beating, too – cakes are so freaking persnickety. Doubt I’ll be making cheesecake again anytime soon, but this one turned out well (more or less – at least I think so.) I set a pan of boiling water in the oven to give it some moisture as it cooled – it’s been so dry here lately and the last thing i wanted to see was a big cracked cake when I woke up in the morning. Monster of a cheesecake, too – New York style, in memory of the trip to NYC the bride and I took years and years ago. Maybe it’ll taste good, maybe not. You know at this point I’m not entirely sure I care much. Drench old shoe leather in chocolate and raspberry sauce and it will likely improve substantially. We will have both. And caramel.
Maybe four hours of sleep from having to babysit the slow-baking behemoth. Back up at quarter to six, spent plenty of time with Duck, and she still pitched a fit when it came time to brush her hair and put her shoes and socks on. I have never seen a mosey like this girl’s mosey. It’s spectacular, and irritating as hell.
I had a shocking, nauseating urge to paddle her bottom with the flat back of the brush. It was terrifying. Wasn’t it just Tuesday that we had to resort to a real spanking? Wasn’t it just three days ago that I was in tears because I couldn’t find any way to make her comply?
I didn’t dare threaten it – because I would have had to go through with it. I don’t want to be that parent. I could never be that parent. Could I? Oh God oh God oh God please there has got to be another way, I just have to find it! It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m the only one looking.
Get up earlier? Hold her juice hostage until she’s dressed, do we really have to go through this shit again? And for crying out loud, why does it always seem like it’s my fault that we get out of the house ten minutes late, no matter how hard I try?
Tried 10 minutes of practice yesterday and ended up with 30 instead. How do you manage a 10 minute practice, anyway? Seems like you could do maybe five poses, if that. Six, if you rush them.. I don’t get it. I should try again this afternoon, though. In-depth practice tomorrow, and I’m damned tired, did I mention?
My friend Sam will be coming to pizza-movie night and to help with preparations for H’s wedding party. P and T and their baby A come in tomorrow afternoon. Our other friend W is also going to be staying with us, so that’s five adults, two kids, one bathroom. I’m kicking the guys out – they can piss off the back porch for all I care, we live in the country, after all, and it's not supposed to be all that cold.
I can’t wait for next week. No baking, but worse – in-depth budgeting. Get me a bucket. Bluurgh.
This is the first full week I’ve worked since mid-December. My eyes are drooping right down into the keyboard. Two more hours. (OK an hour and a half now.) I can manage here, then I go home, do the absolute minimum for house, dinner, and cakes, and go the fuck to bed. I’m better in the mornings anyway.
Saturday (crap, is that tomorrow?) will be fun anyway – a little bit of adult playtime, punctuated by test-driving these freaking cakes and indulging in things I shouldn’t be eating or drinking. And maybe another early night.
I’m gonna try to stop whining now.
I’m grateful for my tired eyes because it means I have a job.
I’m grateful for my tired body because I’ve used it to create spectacular baked goods for my friends.
I’m grateful for my resentful husband because it means he loves me and misses me.
I’m grateful for my maddeningly stubborn daughter because it means she is strong-willed and independent (and strangely clingy and affectionate all at the same time.)
I’m grateful for yoga because it allows me some time to float outside the confines of identity.
And I am totally grateful for diet Dr. Pepper. At this point I’m fairly certain it’s the only thing keeping my eyes open.