Parent teacher conferences and my increasing anxiety

It's that fabulous time of year again ... the time when teacher's send happy, pastel-colored papers home and ask you to check off what blocks of time are best for you to come in and talk about your precious offspring.

I always get a little excited for parent teacher conferences. It's the perfect time to get that rare insight on who the heck my child is when she's not with me - you know - when she's out in the real world being her own little person.

And that excitement lasts for about three minutes because then I remember what happens during parent teacher conferences - you find out exactly who your little sugar muffin is when you're not around - but sometimes, they're not little sugar muffins, sometimes, they're downright assholes, so then you spend the rest of the time leading up to these conferences trying to figure out if your kid is THAT kid.

So I basically spent the past week quizzing Pearyn on all the hot first grade gossip her classroom has, things like who gets the most "yellow" or "red" days (signs that they've been making trouble for the teacher), if any of her teachers have had to talk to her about anything and if she understands the different stuff they're learning.

I, of course, get the typical sixTEEN year old response of "I dunno mom, yeah ... and can I have my iPad?"

Thanks babe for all that deep reflection (said no parent ever).

My anxiety was in full-throttle for this year's conference, as last year's had a few surprises I wasn't ready for. Our bright, inquisitive, never-shuts-up little girl was struggling with reading. And by struggling, I mean she had no desire to do it whatsoever and so she went through the literacy support program her school offers to catch her up.

I know, I know, she's still so young, what's the big deal. I think it just shocked me because if my kiddos get any part of my intelligence, I always assumed it'd be my love of books, words and writing. I mean that stuff is basically genetic, right? Not so much.

We did learn however, that even though she was in kindergarten (AND despite that she was learning common core, barf, yuck, yarf, did I mention BARF), she was actually excelling way past in her math comprehension.

So how's that karma for ya folks? I, the book-obsessed,  math-loathing chubby vegan mom, managed to birth a tall, lean, not-as-interested-in-books but is a math-loving machine.

Cray cray, right?

So the good news is I went into last night's conference ready for whatever that teacher had to throw at me. I was armed with all our knowledge from last year, all the books we read and read and read again this past summer, and her own little workbook we've been doing at home since school let out.

And are you ready for the big "thing" my daughter needs to see improvement on this year?


Much to my relief, our little sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice baby girl is doing gloriously in reading this year; her math skills are still ahead of where she should be; she's a social butterfly and respectful little girl; but she may or may not have a tendency to lose her folder and leave her coat lying around for all to walk all over.

Gee, I wonder where she got that from.

Seriously though, I wish my Pear Bear had gotten some semblance of organization from her father, because if her room and my housekeeping skills are any indication of what her future holds for her, I have a feeling that little "well organized" box on her report card is NEVER going to be checked.

But ultimately, I'll take it, as long as she doesn't become the little asshole.

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4 things I learned when my husband was gone for two days

I'm back! I'm alive! We're all alive!

Amazing, right?

So finally, I've set aside my work (which I sometimes spend far too much late night "me" time on), I've carved out a little niche of time so I can delight you all with my inner musings (and by delight you all, I mean so this stressed out mom can get some real life things off her chest.)

It's almost October. I still don't really know how that happened. It seems like just a few weeks ago the kids were dragging me to the pool we joined; I was sitting on my yellow softball bucket calling pitches; we were at Disneyworld living an adult hell.

And all the sudden -- I blink -- and it's the end of September. And the end of September means it was time for my husband's work to have their two-day convention. That means two days of full-blown only mommy parenting the kids, trying not to damage their fragile little psyches while hiding the fact that I'm basically losing my shit.

And so last night, at 10:11 p.m., when both my sweet bundles of joy closed their very heavy eyelids, rested their sugar-addled bodies on my legs and chest, I finally sighed in relief ... well, that or sheer amazement that I didn't pull all my hair out.

Don't get me wrong. I adore my children. They're blessings, they light up my life and honestly, they really are all that cliche crap people drone on about. But what they also are, which not many people are ready to admit, are soul-sucking tiny spawns who know every little button to push and rather than simply pushing it a dozen times over ... they leap on it, stomp on it and dance a little jig until momma's ears are bleeding from listening to the 300th video about Minecraft and my hands are ready to fall off from making 795 vegan cheese sandwiches as a bedtime snack.

Cause, I mean, who gets hungry at dinner time, right? That shit is for the birds (or adults, rational people and basically not any child ever).

The thing that makes this difficult is my husband. He's a keeper that's for sure. And because we don't adhere to those gender stereotypes of what a mom and dad should do, when one of us is gone, the other one feels it. Like, a lot.

With that being said, here are the four things I've learned while my husband has been at his convention.

I am literally the messiest human being alive

I mean seriously, guys, by the time the night was over there were at least eight paper plates dotting the living room couch, floor, table, fireplace mantle (keep in mind only three of us ate one meal ... so I'm not sure where the other five plates mysteriously came from), there were five juice boxes lining our living room table alone, toys here, toys there, toys everywhere, and don't even get me started on the kitchen. I didn't even COOK and there were vegan cheese wrappers decorating the counter like I just hosted a party for 20 small vegan children, 10 empty kids cups and to make matters worse, I'm pretty sure I fed our dog cat food.

So I think it's safe to say my husband DID NOT marry me for my housekeeping or wife skills. Hell, he's lucky if I remember to make the bed in the day.

Bath time with one parent means nakedness everywhere

So I'm normally in charge of bath time for the kiddos, which is totes fine with me because it gives me a chance to read some trashy teen vampire novels or play some Candy Crush. Usually I do all the cleaning and hair washing of said children and then when they get out it's daddy's problem to wrangle the wild beasts and attempt to clothe them. We don't bother to dry them, that would take too much of their precious time away from picking their noses and making fart jokes, so instead we throw giant t-shirts on them, call it pajamas and let them air dry.

But when there's only one parent for bath time, that means once I get one child out, they wander the house in total nakedness while I finish washing the other. Which would be fine, if I didn't have to hear my daughter ask why the dog keeps trying to lick her bare ass all while comforting my son who is convinced I'm trying to poison him when I attempt to wash his hair. And then, once he's out of the tub it's basically a naked free for all, which includes blocking my son in a room so he can't streak through the house and slip on the wood floors, while trying to put my daughters "favorite" pajamas on from when she was three, because you know, they still fit now that she's SIX.

I lose my shit a lot less when my husband is home

And it's not just because someone is there so I'm on my best behavior, oh no. I would lose my shit a lot less if Mary Sue Ellen from across the street was there with me, ya know why? Because someone else is in the trenches with me. I mean sure, I certainly prefer my husband to be the one waging toothbrushing and technology-restricting battles with me, but ultimately, I'll take any semi-living, breathing human being at this point, just SOMEONE. Someone to see that I'm on the edge of losing my shit and give me that look, you know, the one that says "I'm going to lose mine too, so let's not and we'll be in this together."

I could do it by myself, but I never, ever want to

It's true, life is better when you're together. Today marks my last day that I'll be without my husband in our humble abode, and while it's been secretly kind of nice to have them all to myself, I can't wait for him to walk through the door late tonight and resume his role in our family bed as the heat source for my daughter and son.

And sure, it was fun to order pizza for dinner and give zero fucks about planning anything out, but I'm pretty sure I'd eventually get tired of vegan pizza and my children would revolt and fashion some sort of shooting device out of their pizza crusts with their leftover black olives.

At the end of the two days, I made it through my one-on-two time with my kiddos. I mean sure, the dogs may be dehydrated and the floors might be a lot stickier than when my husband left, but we're all alive and unscathed as far as I can tell. Except for Silver, our cat. He's seen far too much nakedness and I think we might have scarred his one working eye.

But ya know, that shit happens.

When daddy goes away, everybody gives up something ... a small piece of their soul, the gift of eyesight ... clothes ...

It's whatevs.

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30 things I've learned by 30

Well, it's happening again.

My birthday is tomorrow.

And while 31 doesn't seem quite as epic as 30 did, it's certainly been meaningful in its own way. So now that I've been living, breathing and making oodles of mistakes for the last 30 years, I thought it might be worthwhile to jot down the things I've learned in my one-day-shy-of-31 years old.

  1. I'm always going to be a work in progress -- and that's completely OK, acceptable and actually a wonderful thing. 
  2. Fall in love -- as many times as you can. It doesn't matter if it's puppy love, friend love, love for a parent, just fall in, headfirst. You might get some scrapes and bruises along the way, but I promise you, nothing is ever, ever lost by loving.
  3. It's OK to not know what you want to be when you "grow up." I have always had a passion for words, for the way you can construe them and twist them to imply and mean things, so I'm completely enthralled in my current profession. Will I be a managing editor forever? Who knows?
  4. Friends doesn't always mean forever. This one has taken me a while to really embrace, but it's true. It seems sad in a way, to think the people important to you may not always be, but that's the way life seems to go, and it's OK. Shedding people you used to be close to (whether it's due to distance, life changes or simply parting ways), makes room for new people in your life you might need right now.
  5. Some people, however, do mean forever. I have had the same best friend for over 10 years now, she's not going anywhere, I'm not going anywhere, and if she or I tried to, we'd probably hunt the other down. Because I love her, she loves me, and somedays, she's the only person in this whole world I want to talk to. Not to mention my husband. The crazy guy who decided to settle down and raise a family with me. I wouldn't let him go anywhere if he tried. 
  6. Becoming a mother has changed me forever. Every day I learn something new, my children blow my mind with their love, wit and enthusiasm for the small things. When you become a mother, you see everything through your children's eyes. 
  7. The small things really do matter. Sure, the old adage is true, "don't sweat the small things," but more importantly, enjoy the small things. Savor your tiny bowl of ice cream you treat yourself to, smell your kids hair when they can't seem to stop clinging to you, save that text from someone that makes you feel happy. The small things in life add up to the bigger picture, so don't be afraid to soak them in. 
  8. Do things for yourself. Whether your working out at the gym, treating yourself to coffee or trying on a killer pair of heels, don't be afraid to give a little to yourself. Even if you're single, live with a cat and have no other responsibilities in life, make sure treat yourself to something special every now and then. 
  9. Own a killer pair of heels. OK, so maybe this one is for the ladies, but it's true. Whatever your definition of "killer" is, own it. They can be four-inch stilettos, one-inch wedges or simply a kitten heel, either way, own a pair. When you're having an "ugly" day, a killer pair of heels can take you right out of that mood. 
  10. Learn how to cook one super awesome meal. Even if somewhere down the road you don't get the itch to host a dinner party, you'll feel like the super-est adult in the world after making an awesome meal all on your own. 
  11. Find a cause and care about it deeply. It doesn't matter if it's ending worldwide hunger or world peace, find something to care about, something you can contribute to and I guarantee it'll make you a better person. Cause that's what thinking about a bigger cause does for you, yo. 
  12. Make someone a mixed tape. OK, by now it's probably a mixed playlist for their iPod or maybe a CD if you're still old school, whatever it is, make one. Anytime someone sees it they'll have fond memories, and it's meaningful. special and wonderful to impact someone that way.
  13. Get to know your parents. Sure, they may seem annoying in your teenage years, but one day it's really going to hit you that they won't be around forever, and it's going to scare the crap out of you. So once you're able to, get to know them. Find out what they loved before they became your parents. Hell, play Nintendo games and visit them on Sundays if you want. Either way, enjoy them. 
  14. Every girl should have a spare pair of shoes (ones that are easy to walk in), panty hose and a jacket in her car. Seriously, it's sounds silly now, but when you're on your way to the airport and you rip your only pair of hose getting on the shuttle, you'll be ecstatic to have another pair. 
  15. Eat real, 100 percent, unadulterated maple syrup. Screw the calories, it's amazing. And you're worth it. 
  16. Find your favorite book and read it every couple of years. You'll be shocked at the different things you can take away from the same 500 pages after a few years have passed. Chances are, you'll fall in love with it all over again.
  17. Make goals for yourself. They don't have to be big ones, they can be something as simple as waking up every day and having breakfast ... or walking four times a week. Make goals so you can achieve them, which will give you something to be proud of.
  18. If a boy likes you, he'll call or text, because he won't be able to stand not doing it. 
  19. Write real letters (the kind with a pen and paper), send birthday cards (not just texts) and remember thank you notes. These are the little things that make people smile. 
  20. I promise you, you do not need that extra shot of tequila. Sure, it sounds like a great idea at the time, but you will NOT miss it the next morning. I repeat, you will NOT miss it the next day. 
  21. Lend a hand whenever you can. Something as simple as baking muffins for your best friend after she has a baby to getting dairy-free ice cream for your mom at the store, be as helpful as you can when you can. You never know when you're going to need someone. 
  22. Hate less. Trust me, this one is a hard one for me, as I can be queen of the grudges if you really, really upset me. But the older I get, the more I realize how dumb it is to stay mad. When you hate something, you chain yourself to it. When you accept it, forgive it and move on (or away from someone if they're detrimental to your well-being), you're free. And I'm serious about that. Not giving a damn about something is about as free as you can get when it comes to negativity.
  23. Speaking of negativity, be more positive. I know, this one is so hard for me too. I have a tendency to see that darn ole glass not only half empty, but also full of like curdled almond milk or something. Trying to find the good in everything isn't naive or unrealistic, it's a healthier, simpler way of living. So seriously, start looking for the good in every situation, even if sometimes you have to look a little harder. 
  24. Spend more time with people you admire. Maybe it's a family member, a friend or an old college professor, regardless who it is, make time to be around them. Spending time with people we admire gives us a boost in the way we feel about ourselves. Because seriously, you're probably a pretty awesome person, which means the people YOU admire are probably just as amazeballs. 
  25. Don't be afraid to start over. Sometimes, starting fresh is exactly what we need in life. Maybe it's your career; maybe it's your house. Whatever it is, decide you don't like things the way they are anymore and MAKE a change. Starting over isn't giving up, it's simply opening your life to new and better things. For realz though. 
  26. Learn the lyrics to your favorite song. You know that song you always jam to with the windows down and on full blast? Instead of just "hmmm shh muh huh-ing" your way through the parts you don't know, learn the lyrics to your favorite song. They just might bring a little cheer your way when you need it. 
  27. Try new food. I'm SO serious about this one. Do you know how many people I know that have never had Indian Food? Heck, even Mediterranean food is considered oddball by some people in my life. Try a new cuisine, try a new vegetable, just try something new. Maybe you'll hate it, but maybe, it might just become you're new favorite.
  28. Try to understand more and judge less. It can be super duper hard, but more often than not, we don't know what battle someone is going through. 
  29. Wear red lipstick. I know, again, this one is more for the ladies, but don't ever doubt what an awesome tube of red lipstick can do for your outfit. You can feel fancy and it's a great way to break your old routine!
  30. Learn from others ... 
No seriously, learn from others. People have amazing things to say, which is why I'm leaving that last one open, because I want to know what YOU'VE learned in your XX amount of years you've been alive!


The truth about Barbies, bodies and blame

Today was a fabulous Saturday. I was actually sitting here perusing Facebook because we'd already done a jillion things in the morning and I thought, "eh, it's OK to kill some time on social media for a few minutes, we've accomplished a lot."

And then I saw an article about the new line of Barbies coming out. They've got good-ole-fashioned regular Barbie (with a whole new assortment of hair, ethnicities and activities to choose from), petite Barbie, curvy Barbie and tall Barbie. If you haven't seen the new models, take a peek at the photo below, it's one example of each one side by side, but keep in mind you can find them in all sorts of different skin tones now, with moles, bright red hair or even shorter, edgier hair.

Now, here's the thing. Some of you might be thinking "hm, big deal, it's a doll, who cares," while others, like me, are thinking "hey, this is a pretty forward move for Mattel to make, good for them." Seriously, that's what I thought. I thought, wow, cool, they're expanding their options, and left it at that. Well, I was going to leave it at that, until I clicked on the comments below the article, because I guess I'm a glutton for punishment, that or just sheer stupidity. 

Before you stop reading, let me throw this out there. Yes, I'm a feminist, yes, I've read probably too many books on the topics of not just female body image, but male body image and emotional stunting. So I'm not just a bra-burning (I can't burn that, I NEED my bra), armpit-hair-growing (more power to ya if you are!), ready to point the finger at everyone else and cry wolf, type of feminist. I'd like to say I'm a modern feminist, which in my opinion, means I think there's a whole hoard of reasons I've got a fucked up body image, ranging from my own head to all those crappy teenage magazines I read as a tween. 

Here's the problem with the comments I was reading. While there were a few "hey, cool, new Barbies," statements scattered about, for the most part, more of them read like the following: 
"Great, you've ruined Barbie by trying to be politically correct, once again,"
"We're too sensitive. What's next, super heroes with beer bellies and cellulite?"
"I never thought about Barbie's body while playing with them. I just thought they were pretty."
"It's the parents job to PAY ATTENTION to their children and to instill the right values. Not some doll."
OK, I get it, and to some degree, I can see where people are coming from. Of course we don't want to perpetuate an unhealthy role model for children. We don't want them to think it's OK to be curvy. Right? No one wants a fat kid.


No one wants to say it, no one wants to admit it, but that's exactly what they were beating around the bush about. If my kid plays with a chubby Barbie, they might think it's OK to be that way too.

Yeah, that's the thing about 'curvy' Barbie. She's NOT fat. AT ALL. She's got a thicker waist and a butt, good for her, but she's not equipped with back fat and a second chin. (And for that matter, so what if she was. While being overweight might be unhealthy, I can't argue on every overweight persons wellness or health, it's not the WORST thing a person can be. I can think of several things I'd rather my child NOT be; a killer, a liar, a criminal, a CRUEL human being).

So maybe you see where this rubs me the wrong way. The majority of people weren't complaining about there being different Barbies, I saw very few comments screaming "political correctness" at the tall or petite Barbie, but the doll with an hourglass figure, well, she's about to bring down the whole doll industry if you ask some people.

Which leads me to my favorite statements of them all; the ones that talk about how they played with Barbies as a girl and never paid attention to her body. Well ya know what ladies, GOOD FOR YOU. But I've got some news for you, not everyone who played with Barbies did so in complete and ignorant bliss.

From a young age I recognized there was something special about Barbie. Her shiny blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, ample bosom, tiny waist and legs for days were something that I noticed, even at the age of eight and nine. Sure, I may not have been lusting after those things then, but somehow, when I closed my eyes at night during my preteen years, I dreamt of waking up one day and having that blonde hair, that tiny waist and those giant boobs. I mean seriously, all of my middle school friends and I wanted nothing more than a larger bra size. Maybe that made us shallow, maybe it made us immature, maybe you want to scream that our parents did nothing and allowed us to seek the wrong things. Maybe they did. But ultimately, we wouldn't know what to have lusted after, what to have secretly hoped for, without all those images and idealizations around us when we were younger. And truthfully, a parent can only instill so much confidence into their children before they stop caring what they think anyway.

So no, maybe Barbie didn't make me hate my body. Maybe it was the magazines I read, the ones that never called girls fat, but did proudly proclaim their "plus-size fashion sections" in bold letters. Maybe it the models or the actresses. Maybe it was the marketing and clothing stores. Maybe it was me.

But I can tell you what it wasn't: It wasn't my parents; they never once critiqued my body, in fact, my mother tried to get me to wear a two-piece bathing suit in my teenage years. It wasn't my friends; they came in all shapes and sizes, from petite to tall, thin to thicker, athletic to feminine. SO who was it then? Who failed me? Who let me hate my body?

Maybe you think I'm being dramatic. Maybe you don't see the bigger picture. Maybe you think I should just get off my lazy ass and exercise, eat better and lose some damn weight if I want to love my body. But that's the problem with having poor body image; no amount of weight, no breast size, no leg length will make me feel beautiful. In fact, achieving these goals simply acts as a catalyst for something new for me to hate, to fix.

Still don't get it? Scroll back up through the collages I've placed in this blog, pay attention to the photos I'm about to post. All of these photos range from the year 1999 (age 14) to 2015 (age 30). We're talking 16 years of life under my belt, 16 years of knowledge, a college degree, a softball scholarship, a hall-of-fame induction, a husband, two babies and countless ups and downs through life.

Do you want to know what all of these pictures have in common (other than my hair color NEVER being the same, ha!).

At the time every single one of these photos was taken, whether 15 years ago or 15 minutes ago, I FELT FAT. I felt ugly. I felt like I wasn't worth as much as a human being, simply because someone could point at me and see love handles. Someone could look at me and see that my thighs touched.

And the most absolute absurd thing of all? In all of these photos, I've never weighed the same thing. At 5'8" tall, I've weighed anywhere from 140-190lbs in the photos appearing on this post. And I felt FAT in every single one of them.

Again, maybe you think I'm being dramatic, maybe you think "now you just want attention. You just want everyone to come on and comment that you're not fat or that you're pretty," but truthfully, that's not what I want. That's not what poor body image is about. If someone telling me I was pretty was enough to cure it, I would have been rid of it long, long ago. Poor body image is something dark and twisty that literally stains the way you see every single picture, reflection or glimpse of yourself.

Consider for example this photo of me on the right, taken my freshman year of college during our spring break softball trip to Florida, where we crammed way too many softball games in a week's time. I'm on the right, this was pre-tattoo me. I weighed 145lbs. I remember, because it was the lowest I'd been since my sophomore year of high school. Guess what? I used to look at this photo and cringe (now, however, I'd kill to have that body and that metabolism)! My thighs were still too thick, my neck wasn't long enough and I had virtually NO curve. Do you know how hard it is to be a "curvy" girl without any actual curves? I was cursed with a short, wide torso, so even at my smallest weight, I never got below a size nine over my gigantor-feeling hips.

But that was just college me right? All girls in college want to change something about themselves, right? "Poor body image" isn't really a thing, it's just an excuse to whine, right? Let's fast forward eight years, to when I was the mother of a rambunctious toddler and was getting up at the crack of dawn every morning to go to a spinning class, kickboxing class or just for a run.

I was determined to get healthy and feel better and I got down to 160lbs. I was pretty pleased with myself, albeit my still-size 12 jeans (what can I say? Childbirth did an even bigger number to my already big hips). I should feel proud and excited here, right?

When I look at this picture, I don't see my accomplishment. I don't see the joy in my daughters face. I don't see my pretty, long hair. I don't see my ample bosom. I see that tiny bit of pudge still protruding above my daughters head. I see that hard-to-get-rid-of pouch that I developed after each child I birthed. I see creases in my shirt that make me zoom in to see if I had upper arm fat or not. I see that short torso which makes it nearly impossible for me to have a curvy, feminine figure.

Still think I'm just wanting attention? Still think I should just get off my lazy ass and exercise? Eat fewer cupcakes?

The last photo is one that makes me the saddest, not because it's a particularly bad one, but because it displays how long I've loathed my body and how absolutely ludicrous it is to.

This was taken in 2012 (yes, the same year as the one above it). I was at nearly my heaviest, but would go on to gain about seven more pounds. And six weeks after this photo was taken, I would give birth to my 10lb, 3oz bundle of baby boy.

I was 34 weeks pregnant in this photo and I still didn't feel good enough.

The one time in your life people tell you it's OK to gain the weight, it's OK to have the extra cupcake, it's OK because you're growing a human life, I still felt fat.

My friends commented on my photo "I wish I was that skinny when I was pregnant." Or, "Oh you're so tiny!" But it didn't matter. I didn't see that. I saw my too-thick arms. I saw the stomach which now surpassed my bust, I saw my love handles, which now blended in with the butt I never had. I didn't see a glowing mother; I didn't see a happy, pregnant woman; I didn't see someone growing, nourishing and carrying a human life; I saw someone fat. I pictured the stretch marks polluting my stomach under my shirt. I pictured the tiny bit of flesh that just barely stuck out over my regular jeans I wore that far into my pregnancy. I saw ugly.

I'm now 30 years old and responsible for raising a little girl. I feel helpless in this battle we're going to be fighting, because even with an amazingly strong mother and network of friends growing up, I still loathed myself so much. Sure, I look back now on these photos and I realize how irrational I was being, how crazy I am. I'm a relatively intelligent human being; I realize all those thoughts are in my head. And at this age, I realize I'm generally the one putting them there.

But the question still begs answering, what put them there to begin with?

Maybe it wasn't Barbie. Maybe it wasn't the media. Maybe I would always feel this way even if I'd never been exposed to those things.

Maybe not.

But if you REALLY think Barbie doesn't have any impact on how a little girl grows up to feel about herself, then what's the big deal if they make one with a little extra junk in her trunk?

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Vegan Kentucky butter cake

It’s no secret I have a small obsession with cupcakes. There’s just something utterly magical about tiny little cakes with fluffy frosting piped on them, what can I say? However for a recent family gathering I decided to think outside the wrapper … and let me tell you, it was a smashing success. And by smashing I mean we ate every last crumb of this delicious little dessert.

Some of you may already be familiar with it, but I wasn’t prior to making it this time – the Kentucky butter cake. I stumbled upon a recipe for it on Facebook one morning and saved it because it looked simple enough AND you make it in a bundt pan, which I’m always looking for ways to use that forgotten kitchen item.

So here’s the dealbreaker when it comes to this recipe. It’s “butter” cake, which means a primary ingredient is – you guessed it – butter, so you cannot afford to skimp on the good vegan butter with this recipe. I used Earth Balance buttery sticks and the results were absolutely phenomenal.

If you’re on a diet or looking for some lowfat dessert ideas, just go ahead and exit this post right now (and probably my blog), because you are not going to find that with this recipe.

The beauty of this cake is it’s relatively simple and “plain jane,” so you can bake it and bring it along for any occasion!

Kentucky butter cake
(makes one bundt cake)
Cake ingredients:
3 cups all purpose flour
2 cups white sugar
2 sticks of vegan butter (or 1 cup)
1 cup cashew milk
1 cup vegan sour cream
1.5 TBS vanilla extract
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
dash of sea salt
dash of cinnamon

Glaze ingredients:
1 stick of butter (or ½ cup)
1 cup white sugar
2 TBS water
2 tsp vanilla extract
powdered sugar for dusting

Preheat your oven to 325 and grease and flour your bundt pan, set aside. In a large mixing bowl combine flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, sea salt and cinnamon. Stir in softened (not melted!) vegan butter, cashew milk, vegan sour cream and vanilla extract. Combine until fully mixed. Pour batter into your bundt pan and bake for one hour. (You may need to bake an additional 10 minutes depending on how fickle your stove is). The cake should pull away from the sides a tad and spring back when you touch it.

Using a skewer, poke holes all throughout the cake. (We want to let all the buttery glazy goodness soak in)! Set aside so you can get started on the delicious glaze.

In a medium sauce pan on medium-high heat, mix your butter, water and vanilla extract. Once the butter melts, stir in white sugar. Once dissolved, pour the glaze over the cake and allow it to cool completely. Once it’s cooled, place your serving plate over the bundt pan and flip it over. Gently tap the pan to ease the cake out of it. Dust top with powdered sugar.

Serve to your favorite family and friends and listen to them rave how delicious this amazing cake is!

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