Super Buttery Yellow Cake

I love yellow cake. It's always been my favorite. But I'd never really known a good way to make it myself until I came across a recipe from Yum Sugar that includes a little pinch of butter flavoring and whole lot of, oh yeah, actual butter. Being me, I decided to turn the recipe into cupcakes. I think the thing that makes yellow cake great is when it's really buttery and moist, so wrapping these in plastic about 10 minutes after pulling them from the oven seemed to really help in that area.

Here's the recipe. And yes, that's a lot of butter.

YELLOW CAKE

2 sticks butter, room temperature
2 c. sugar
4 eggs, room temperature
3 c. self-rising flour, sifted
1 c. whole milk, room temperature
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. butter flavoring

Preheat oven to 350. Line cupcake tins. Using a mixer, cream butter until fluffy. Add sugar and continue to cream for about 7 minutes. Add eggs one at a time. Beat well after each egg is added. Alternate adding flour and milk to creamed mixture, beginning and ending with flour. Add vanilla and butter flavoring to mix until just mixed. Fill each cupcake liner about halfway full with batter.

Bake 15 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans 5-10 minutes, then remove, place on cooling rack, and wrap in plastic to seal in moisture.

After cooling completely, frost with your favorite icing. I beat together 2 sticks of butter, 1 lb. powdered sugar, 1 tsp. vanilla extract, and 2 tsp. whole milk.

The Diary Diaries, Part 2.

A few years after bringing you the exciting highlights of my eighth grade diary, I am excited today to present the highlights from my fourth through sixth grade diary because I was finally able to pick the ultra-secure Lisa Frank tiny padlock. Charlize Theron in The Italian Job I am not. But, at least for me, it was worth the wait. What you are about to read are the musings of a woman on the edge -- the edge of going to middle school. I laughed. I cried. I walked and bought Wacky Wafers. Enjoy.

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September 11, 1987: "Today was a boring day. The only thing I did was take a walk and buy Wacky Wafers." 

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December 30, 1987: "Christmas has passed and we got a computer! I also got FOUR sets of markers, TWO art kits, and GOBS of books. We have two disks for our computer. One is Facemaker and the other is Jeopardy!, which is fun, but the other contestants -- Glenn or Keith -- can really get on your nerves."

I actually remember those little pixelated turds on the Jeopardy! game. They buzzed in before you could even read the question, so yeah: Eat a big bag of dicks, Glenn and Keith.

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February 10, 1988: "Sorry I haven't written in a while, Diary. I dropped you behind the drawer and I finally figured out a way to get you out."

Jaws of life.

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December 8, 1988: "I went to the orthodontist today. My teeth hurt. They're constantly changing the wires and I'm sick of it. I'm like, "When is it gonna be final?" And I hate it when they are sitting there talking to each other about hamburgers while putting on one of life's most painful things."

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Between December 15-19, 1988, there are multiple entries and quite a bit of drama about not wanting to wear some fancy dress to school, including: "I don't see why I have to wear a dress that is so fancy for the whole school day Monday when all the other girls will be wearing jean skirts and Scottie dog sweaters." (Apparently Scottie dog sweaters were all the rage in '88.) I wish I could remember what this was all about, but I'll just have to assume it was another example of my mother's taste level being too high for me to fit in. She once staged a coup at our church when I was told I was supposed to wear white shoes for my Lutheran confirmation and the ceremony was BEFORE MEMORIAL DAY YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.

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December 24, 1988: "Santa will bring all kinds of nice stuff. I don't know why but I just can't stop thinking about it."

I have no idea why a kid would get excited about Christmas morning, either. Probably the greatest mystery in this diary.

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January 24, 1989: "I'm never telling my mom about my D on my open book social studies test."

Don't read this, Mom. It says 'never.' Also: I got a D on an OPEN BOOK test?

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April 1, 1989: "Sam Mack was arrested a few days ago."

Ahhhh, great moments in Cyclone history, documented by a child.

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April 16, 1989: "On the 18th Cocktail is coming out on video. I want to see it, but it's rated R. I love Tom Cruise."

Barf. Wow. Just wow.

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On June 9, 1989, I was apparently left home to babysit my brother while my parents were at a party. I went on for four pages about how I was afraid someone with a knife was going to jump out and stab me but that I didn't want to tell my parents because then they wouldn't let me stay home alone with my brother anymore. Then I wrote, "I wish my parents would come home soon."

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June 18, 1989: "I'm getting all kinds of letters, cards, and stuff about my poetry. It's the biggest thing that's ever happened."

(That year I won a state poetry contest and there was an article about it in the Waterloo-Cedar Falls Courier. It truly was THE BIGGEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED. Especially considering that I was a dummy who got a D on her open book social studies test.)

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October 3, 1989: "School is going well. I can always get my locker open."

It is obvious from reading several pages of this diary that my major concern going into middle school was whether or not I would be able to get my locker open on a regular basis. 

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There are also several entries updating my diary on what was going on in the wide world of sports. If you need any men's college basketball scores from 1988-1989, this is probably your definitive source. Please note, however, that all scores also come with a report of whether or not I practiced piano.

Off weekend.

My year with the man.

September 2011-September 2012 was the best, craziest, worst, scariest, most exciting, and least exciting year of my life. And now Labor Day 2012 has come and gone and I'm left wondering what the future holds.

Last Labor Day I became a mother at 6:26 p.m., when a cone-headed purple stranger came out of my uterus and started asking me for things. I probably should have known something wasn't quite right when my first reaction to this event was sheer terror, though I also suspect many women have felt the same but don't want to admit it.

As the first day folded into the first week I started to learn who this little purple person was, and I loved him. But I was still terrified. Every time my son reached a new developmental milestone or required a different type of care from me, I spent a week walking around with a lump in my stomach, certain I was unable to meet the challenge and certain that the terrifying situation was some sort of permanent change in my life. Hormones and fear were, at times, paralyzing forces in my life.

Now that a year has gone by, I have felt some of the stress melt away. In fact, I distinctly remember waking up a few weeks ago and feeling completely happy and content for the first time in quite a while. I know that I will be worried about C.J. forever -- I get that. But I also know that every time I think of my boy, my heart hurts because of how very much I love him. At the end of the day, I believe that's the salient point.

So what have I learned through this experience? I have learned that the first year of parenthood is actually pretty boring. You don't leave the house much. I have become a pretty big TV watcher, which I kind of hate. To make matters worse, I have found myself drawn to happy-go-lucky programs that require little mental investment. I guess I spend enough time worrying about my son that I don't really want to worry about world events, too. As this begins to change, I will stand behind my year of "Man vs. Food" and "19 Kids and Counting" as something I needed for mental health reasons.

I have also learned, for all the feminist notions I carried with me into this marital adventure, that I'm pretty much in charge of the parenting stuff. When I recently overreacted to a doctor's visit at which I was told my bottle-loving son was already supposed to be weaned, my husband suggested that maybe I should have read a book about feeding a 1-year-old. When I asked him why HE didn't read a book about feeding a 1-year-old, his reply was simple: "You're the mom."

Touche. I am the mom. There's a reason those NFL players say "Hi, Mom" after winning the Super Bowl and those scary biker types have heart-shaped "Mom" tattoos: because Mom was the one who read the book about how to comb out their cradle cap when they were four months old.

One other thing I have learned is that our culture really glorifies the concept of being busy. If you're not being pulled in a million directions, you're not a good parent, a hard worker, or a person of worth. I'm okay with the fact that there is not a lot going on in my life right now, and I'm okay with the fact that I sometimes have to tell people I can't do something even though I don't have a "good reason." I have vowed to raise my son to live in the moment and appreciate the simplicity life can hold without scheduling every minute of his day.

What else have I learned? Denying a baby the gift of sleep is cruel. Moms like to judge one another in even more detailed ways than I ever imagined. Kids develop at their own paces. Whole milk is delicious. "Zoey" is now a major character on Sesame Street.

And I've learned that when your baby smiles and hands you a book he wants you to read him, you truly learn the meaning of the phrase "melts my heart."

Now to hose C.J.'s dinner off the kitchen floor.