The heart's connection to a pan of brownies: A dedication to my Mom

I believe that memories and feelings are tied to certain “objects or tastes” throughout our lives. For example, the smell of bubble gum (Hubba Bubba watermelon flavor) instantly takes me back 20 plus years and puts me in my childhood driveway, colored chalk in hand and drawing a hopscotch game onto the cement. I’m in jean shorts smacking and popping bubbles under the sun and can feel the warmth of the driveway on my butt. When I smell suntan lotion I can also simultaneously smell the fabric softener my Mom used on my beach towel and feel the sensation of my body laying on it, the tiny blades of grass poking through onto my back and the feel of sunshine on my face and the tightness of my ponytail.

Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.

What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?

Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).

Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.

Exclusive: Kim, Kanye, and baby North "take naps together!"

Warning: Venting ahead.

OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”

So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.

Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.

Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.

Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.

Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.

So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.

Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.