Thee Angel Project

A year of writing a little bit of everything. Writers Write, Right?


you had me at, “2 – 9×13 pans”

So, there’s this thing about the place where we used to live that I always thought was a little strange. You know how some things just go together…like socks and shoes, Bonnie and Clyde, pizza and beer. Well apparently the same is true about chili and cinnamon rolls. Truly. I had never heard of such a thing and never experienced it, even after 8 years in the midst of adults who had grown up on the duo prepared with loving hands by their local lunch ladies, never…until the baptism of a wonderfully made little girl at our church and the lovely meal that followed. It turns out this odd duo is perfectly paired.

Fast forward to today, then rewind to a little over a month ago when I found a new cinnamon roll recipe I wanted to try. I had plans to make them for the first day of school, but really, there is already enough excitement over that, so I waited. Fast forward again…until the 34th-ish day of school. Today!

The most delicious cinnamon rolls!

This recipe…Holy Cinnamon Rolls, Batman! It is spectacular! It is a little lengthy in preparation, but so very worth it! I will tell you, instead of buttermilk, I used some slightly expired skim (You can do that you know. It’s completely legit.) and I forgot to get a lemon when I was at the store, so the freshly squeezed sunshine will have to wait for round two. Also, it was a little chilly in our home today (thus the chili) and we’re not turning on the heat…yet, so I let them rise a bit and then set them on the post lunch still warm oven and let them sit for another 2 hours or so…basically until they pretty much filled the pan. Even with my kitchen idiot changes, they were delicious!

It’s worth repeating, just so you are well aware of what you’re getting yourself into…2 – 9×13 pans…for 12 rolls…that means those 6 up there in that picture take up an entire pan ALL BY THEMSELVES…delicious and huge! Seriously.

Go therefore and try them. Chili optional.



the longest run-on sentence ever

Have you ever…

been sitting on the sofa in your pajamas at 10:29 a.m. getting ready to work with your child on her spelling lesson when the doorbell rings and the partially covered window on the door gives you a peek at the older members from your first congregation that e-mailed you several weeks ago about coming on this day to enjoy lunch with you, but that you TOTALLY FORGOT were coming, causing you to shout for your child to answer the door while you run into your bedroom and throw on something that doesn’t necessarily say, welcome to my put together home, but also doesn’t say, I just crawled out of bed, only to greet them in the living room with a smile and a hug because you really are thrilled to see them and talk with them, all the while mentally scrambling through any and every possibility of what you are going to serve them for lunch, which you must do, because that is of course the reason they came, and remembering with utmost thanksgiving the delicious hamburgers that your members from your current congregation sent home with you after last night’s potluck, and the salad that you can supplement with the extra vegetables that were gifts from the neighbors across the street, as your children give your visitors a tour of the home with a clean kitchen which is only clean, because you spent the morning making it so, but with piles of laundry everywhere and underwear in some form or another, on the floor of nearly every room in the house, ending back in the kitchen where lunch is now enjoyed, complete with a delicious dessert of ice cream, and of cookies made and delivered last week by your father-in-law, while lovely conversations of friends and family take place, where questions of concern and discussions of joys culminate with more hugs and the taking of pictures with which you will remember not just the craziness of this day, but also of these people who cared for you well and continue to love you in spite of your many, many, MANY imperfections?

Yeah, me neither.


kitchen confessions

I’m an idiot in the kitchen. Truly.

I am 38 years old and I do not know how to cook. Not really. My husband has cooked for most of our married life with the exception of an inkling here and a rash decision there by yours truly. His new call is forcing me to allowing me the opportunity to cook meals on a more consistent basis for my family.  I do enjoy a little baking here and there, but up until this summer haven’t spent a great deal of time in the kitchen. God instilled a love of cooking in the depths of Oldest Daughter’s being when He was making her, and I think He maybe put a little bit of that love into Youngest Middle as well, but the rest of us, meh. If we could live off of chips and chocolate and other various snack stuff, believe me we would. But alas, we cannot, and so we head into the kitchen prepared for battle on a daily basis. My children and I are forging our way through this new field together.

Praise the Lord for the internet and for Youtube and for women who share their recipes because I am learning, but I am making a whole book’s worth of mistakes along the way.

I am still laughing at yesterday’s blunder. Oldest Daughter wanted to make homemade chicken noodle soup using her grandfather’s recipe for the noodles. The making of the noodles went off without a hitch. Then there was the chicken. I have a love-hate relationship with that meat. It fits well into many of the recipes that I enjoy and when it’s cooked correctly, it’s the meat that grosses me out the least. But when I forget which way to cut it or at what temperature it needs to be baked, well, it drives me a little crazy.

For our meal last night I needed shredded chicken and I remembered seeing on someone’s post somewhere about being able to use a Kitchen Aid mixer to do all the work for you. I am all over that! I baked the chicken, (only messing that part up a little bit) and cut each breast in half because the whole, “chicken breast in my precious mixer” thing had me doubting. But after a quick Youtube search, I was confident we would survive this process, both me and the mixer.

I put the chicken in the bowl and so the next step, fittingly, was to plug in the mixer. Normally, this part of any kitchen preparation is for me, without incident, but I had unknowingly set the speed to 10. (Permission granted to shake your head.) As soon as I inserted the plug, the mixer whipped that chicken around and pieces started flying all over the kitchen! I hesitate to tell you, we picked up the chunks and used them anyway. (We’ll just keep that between the two of us.) It was a tasty dish in spite of all of the drama.

Please, please tell me I’m not the only amateur out there!

Feel free to share your own kitchen mishap below.