This isn’t really a food blog, but I adapted a cupcake recipe from Pinterest recently and the results were soooo good that I wanted to share.
I am trying to eliminate chocolate treats in my house because it seems to make the tiny tyrant even more….tyrannical.
But I had a jones for a treat, and ‘nilla also meets the tyrant’s stringent standards. I have made these both as minis and regular sized cupcakes, and they bake up beautiful and fluffy, and don’t DEFLATE as soon as they come out the oven.
I’m not including a recipe for frosting because my absolute favorite, go-to frosting recipe flopped the last time I tried it so I’m a little gun-shy. For my latest batch (which is cooling on the rack as we speak) I am going to try a glaze rather than a frosting. Frankly, the cake is so moist and delicious that I daresay frosting is optional.
And without further ado, here is the path to vanilla happiness.
1 and 2/3 cups of AP flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
1 large egg
1/4 cup vanilla Greek yogurt
3/4 cup milk
3 tsps. vanilla extract
1) preheat oven to 350F degrees.
2) line muffin tin with cupcake papers (12 regular or 24 minis).
3) in a medium bowl, combine flour, powder, soda and salt.
4) in a large microwave-safe bowl, melt the butter. Stir in the sugar. Add egg, yogurt, milk, and vanilla and stir until combined.
5) add dry ingredients to the wet and mix until well-combined.
6) divide into 12 cups and bake for 20 minutes. (For minis, reduce bake time to 18 minutes).
7) allow to cool and ice with the frosting of your choice or enjoy them neat.
I have no idea how long these last because they haven’t survived for more than two days! Enjoy and have a nice long weekend. 🙂
One evening, a few weeks ago, I was feeling particularly frustrated. I was tired from work and it was too many days until the next weekend. Whether by example, or pure serendipity, Nina picked up my mood. I was trying not to be shouty but no matter how hard I tried, nothing was good enough.
The supper I made was yucky.
Can we get Old McDonald’s for supper?
Why was her cheese cut into triangles instead of cubes?
She wasn’t allowed to wear her cape in the tub.
She didn’t like those pyjamas.
Why can’t we watch Frozen again?
She wanted to paint.
What’s that sound?
We were out of elephant-shaped flossers.
Oh the humanity.
After what felt like an eternity of arguing and wailing, we were lying in her bed together. I was trying to breathe calmly. She was trying to choose a story to read. (Negotiating bedtime reading with her is like meeting with a damn Teamster.) She handed me her selections, and then she looked at me so seriously. And she said:
“Mama. Am I a bad girl?”
Of course not, I answered. She is a good girl. A great girl. But even great girls do bad things sometimes. Everybody does bad things sometimes; even Mama does. She is a great girl, who has lots of time to practice doing more good things. And I love her always. Her joy (relief?) at my answer was so unexpected, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me so tightly that I understood what people meant when they said they were so happy they could burst.
Thankfully, for once in my life, I had the right words exactly when I needed them. Sweet Jesus, I hope I can find them again.
Sometimes I am suffocated by the knowledge that another person’s world revolves around me.
Sometimes I wish I could eat cold cereal for dinner while binge-watching Netflix.
Sometimes I wish I could sleep without a small, sweaty urchin pressed against me.
Sometimes I wish I could sleep in on Sunday mornings without having to plan it ahead of time.
Sometimes I wish I could spend my paychecks on tattoos and concert tickets instead of diapers and daycare.
Sometimes I wish I could get in bed and never get back up.
Sometimes I tear up when I fold her teeny tiny little underwear.
Sometimes I don’t want to watch Dora anymore.
Sometimes I want to colour a different page.
Sometimes I just want her to put her f*!@*?g boots on without fighting in the morning so we can get out the door.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a child so I wouldn’t watch the news and face the fact that some parents have to bury their children.
Sometimes I wish for more patience.
Sometimes I wish for more time. To do anything.
Sometimes I wish that I wasn’t responsible for another human life, because I am sure I’m not the person for the job.
Sometimes I hate washing all those tiny socks.
Sometimes I am staggered by my daughter’s capacity for love.
Sometimes I take her for granted.
Sometimes I am grateful that she forgives me so easily when I make mistakes.
Sometimes I listen to Baby Beluga when she isn’t in the car.
Sometimes I am delighted by her quick wit.
Sometimes I melt at the feeling of her tiny hand holding mine.
Sometimes I wish there were two of her so I could have twice the fun.
Sometimes I imagine us talking as adults and I hope that she looks back on her childhood with fondness.
Sometimes I am frightened by the lengths I would go to in order to protect her.
Sometimes I need to remind myself what a privilege it is to be her mama.