I didn’t get to round three of #DABWAHA, and as I told Abigail Roux, since I was tired just watching I think the best woman won. Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief—now all I have to do is finish Better Than Love, which is damn, damn close. I was on a roll until Marie Sexton showed up, which is fine, and then as she left it said, “Nah, we want to chill a little longer. Theoretically I was supposed to start back into it today, but in reality this afternoon I’m pretty damn tired. This is because I have gone back into physical therapy.
Though the whole pain thing has been better of late, it started getting worse again, and the last month in particular has been more than a bit shit. I had a quiet moment where I freaked out and panicked and worried nothing I could ever do would stop it or make things right. Then I got over myself and called my general practitioner. I have a new Vicodin prescription, and I’m back in physical therapy.
If you’re the sort who reads those things, you may have noticed that I thanked the Mary Greeley Physical Therapy Department in the acknowledgements of Dance With Me. This was because all Ed’s PT was my PT. I never played football, but my neck was really stupid. I bawled like a baby while I wrote the pain goals scene, and I had to write Ed’s goals (or have Laurie write them) before I could write my own. Well, now I’m back at MGPTD, and this time we’re playing with my lower back.
Today specifically I learned that my abdominal muscles suck ass, and that the right side is so incredibly bad I failed the most easy, inane, people-with-seriously-fucked-up-bodies-do-this exercise: floating in the deep end with a weight belt on and doing marches and scissor kicks. I kept getting shooting pains in my right piriformis muscle, though it’s actually right on my tailbone so I don’t know what what to make of it. The therapist in the water wondered if I didn’t need an MRI, but we’ll see what Matt, my main PT squeeze, thinks about that before I trip over to the metal tube. What we did suss out is that pretty much never are my right abdominal muscles aren’t doing much of anything. So they’re relying on the left side to do everything and the right lower back, which is pissing off my right hip and right side of my pelvic muscles something fierce. This seems to be the whole water problem.
Anyway, there is a whole lot more body work than writing work right now, and now that I’m at my desk to work, I’m barely able to stay awake. Working in the water is exhausting. I didn’t do much of anything, but tell that to my body.
In the meantime, I have a small addiction to copycat peanut butter eggs. These are vegan and can be made sugar-free. I’ve been eating them quite a bit so might try getting some xylitol, but probably I’ll just use powdered sugar and not think about inflammation. I’ve made them twice already, once with the cocoa recipie, and once I melted Enjoy Life chips. I still have some of the melted chocolate in the fridge, and I still have powdered sugar. I feel it’s my duty to make at least one more batch, don’t you?
I heartily, heartily encourage you to make these yourself, even if you don’t have to be vegan. They’re so much better than the store’s, and probably that’s because they’re fresh.
After a nap, I anticipate getting back into the game of writing and continuing it through the weekend. The bunny will visit our house and hide eggs all over as per usual. I have to get a few more things for Anna’s basket, but that’s about it. I don’t even think we’re doing anything for Easter other than going to the barn for Anna’s lesson.
Speaking of my child. A few weeks ago I introduced her to Bill Cosby: Himself and now she walks around quoting her favorite parts. Last night she was doing the high person at Burger King so well we were falling over with laughter. To that end, I’ll leave you with a clip of the real deal. Happy Easter, happy pelvis, and I’m serious, make those peanut butter eggs STAT.
My daughter’s Breyer collection, the stars of her shows.
I think I’ve done smaller promotions on Facebook, but my child has asked that I try and get her some views and hits, so this is a mom doing her best.
Anna the Fabulous, my number one (and only) kid, makes movies. She started watching other kids’ homemade videos on YouTube and decided, hey, I can do this! And so she does. Fabulously.
She has several different storylines and several trailers. What she’s really looking for are two things: comments and regular viewers. I think it’s safe to say the crossover from m/m romance to Breyer toy videos is low, but I do know a lot of you have children who might find my daughter’s humor and dramatic sense enjoyable. The only warning I have is that there’s a high likelihood they’ll want to make their own movies too.
The filming is an intense process that sometimes takes days. She likes to film outside, so a lot of times it’s weather dependent, though Santa brought her a stable and corral so she’s taken to making a few inside. A lot of her videos become an education, teaching her about filters and effects and how to make a cut or voiceover. She went to Apple camp last summer where she learned about iMovies, which helped her cause exponentially.
I promise in January I will do some actual blogging. In the meantime, watch my kid’s movies. Here are some of the greatest hits, but go to her channel for the full effect. Tell your children and others who like to watch YouTube.
My husband entered this contest with the cover for his annual mixtape CD he gives to our family of choice at Christmas. I wasn’t allowed to help him whore for votes sooner for fear they would see the cover before they opened their gifts, and then I just got so busy I simply forgot. I’m trying to make up for that now.
Here’s his entry:
Here’s the original:
As you can see, he spent HOURS AND HOURS on this in photoshop, soliciting help from several online friends and one in particular really helped him bring it home. (Thanks, Holly!) In my opinion, he deserves to win because everyone else clearly just snapped a photo whereas he put in the grunt work to get ‘er done. So go vote for Dan, and feel free to RT or spread the word or share or whatever. Vote whoring, not true talent, is what will win the day, and if I can’t use my modest fame for nepotism, I don’t know what the hell it’s for.
Today we adopted Royley, aka Royal Investment, aka Timberwolf Power, who used to win hundreds of thousands of dollars in races and now accepts carrots and apples from my daughter. To celebrate we made a cake, and the seller decorated Royley’s stall.
Royley got a piece (no frosting, because Anna read bad things about horses and chocolate), and the rest of us enjoyed ours when Dan got home from work. Because Royley and I wanted to eat too, the cake was vegan. It was pretty damn good, I must say, and I tweeted about how good it felt to not have my family balk over the veganized cake but simply enjoyed it and declared it good. Cardeno C asked for the recipe. Here it is.
1 cup Earth Balance margarine (any vegan margarine would do, but I like the health aspects of EB best)
1 cup unsweetened flax milk
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
4 dashes tumeric *the secret weapon for getting the “yellow” color to come out
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 1/2 teaspoons Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 6 tablespoons warm water (equivalent of 3 eggs)
Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour a 9 x 13 cake pan. In a medium bowl, mix your flour, baking powder, salt and tumeric together. In a separate bowl, mix cream together the margarine and sugar. Add the vanilla extract to this. Next add the Egg Replacer mix–about a tablespoonful at a time. Mix until well incorporated. Add the flour in three increments alternating with the milk–beginning and ending with the flour, mixing well and scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition.Spread cake mix into prepared pan.
The instructions said bake for 35-40 minutes, but with 15 on the timer it sure smelled done, and my toothpick came out clean. So as it works for you, grasshopper.
Allow to cool completely before frosting.
Vegan Dark Chocolate Frosting
1/2 cup Earth Balance Butter (1/2 stick)
1/2 cup dark cocoa powder
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups powdered sugar (or a little less–depending upon how creamy you want the frosting)
1-2 tablespoons flax milk
Cream together the shortening and butter, then add the cocoa powder and vanilla extract. Then, about a half cup at a time, slowly add the powdered sugar. Keep blending until all lumps are gone. You want peaks to form, but you also want the consistency to match your own individual expectations.
I found it way too clumpy and weird without adding flax milk, but it literally was just itty bitty bits of splashes and it was gold. To my mind that stuff was as good or better as anything I could have bought, and this is said by someone who has a hell of a time with frosting.
My next goal is to figure out how to make this thing gluten free. I’ve been nervous to bake GF and vegan at the same time, but I may try a flour mix from the store when it’s not a Big Day and the cake really needs to come out right.
***ETA: I used flax milk because that’s what I had on hand. I can’t do almond milk and obviously not regular milk, so flax it was. I suspect any alternate milk would do. Coconut milk could be fun if it were a kind that kept enough cream in to give it the coconut flavor, especially with the sugar along to make it extra fun. The coconut sugar is dark, so it turned the cake darker than it would normally have been, but it still tasted great.
My daughter has been on horses since she was three and some friends of ours put her on the back of a Percheron (bareback). She was scared of flies, but she’d wander around these huge horses’ legs like she was in the safest place in the world, and she let Chip lead her around with nothing to hold onto but the horse’s mane. When we stopped going up to Minnesota every few months in 2007, she burst out crying about how much she missed riding horses, and it was the kind of cry that came from her soul. It got my attention, and I looked up “horse riding lessons in Ames.” I found her a barn, she started taking lessons, and she’s been at it ever since.
At first all we had to buy was boots, but then came johdpurs, then chaps, then a helmet of her own because she didn’t have one at a show, then a shirt and jacket so she could look sharp. We caught a break there for awhile when all we had to do was buy new pants and boots and recently a sweat-wicking shirt. We started leasing lesson horses last fall, and in January we started leasing a teacher’s former racehorse, and this month we did our first “free lease,” which isn’t free at all because we pay all board and vet fees for him now.
This week we found out the barn is foreclosed by the bank, and we have two weeks to get out. What I’ve learned about horse people is that they’re family to each other, and it’s been a hard, hard week at Canterbrooke. We’re going to a temporary home at a rather rudimentary barn (no viewing area. I have no idea what allergy-riddled me will do while Anna rides) until a new barn is finished that’s more our speed in November. Yesterday I dropped over $650 in tack, because we’ll need our own now (though I got a great deal on a Passier saddle she’ll use forever), and starting in November I have to come up with full board at a rather posh stable that’s a bit of a drive away. I’m thinking of printing new business cards: please buy my books so I can support my child’s horse habit.
A lot of people wonder why I do it, because it truly is right at the edge of what we can afford. They figure Anna could just go do something else. It’s true, she could. What they don’t know is how much working with a horse heals my anxiety-riddled daughter. She who can barely stay overnight at a friend’s house is out at the barn right now cleaning and organizing her tack with almost nobody there (though that probably changed since I dropped her off). She’s been bucked off horses and gotten back on, but you can’t get her on a roller coaster. I can’t get her to bring her dirty dishes to the kitchen without melting down in frustration, or hang up her towel, or empty her lunchbox, but she cleans up not just her horse’s messes and the stable’s tack but cleans up after other people who thought their mother was coming by later. With horses, my baby thrives.
Hopefully with the next few royalty checks I can buy my baby’s baby outright so that he will be hers alone. I gave up my cleaning service and Starbucks and some of my book budget for board, and that horse tack is what was going to be extra swag for GayRomLit. I sit in that barn for hours and hours even though it makes me sick because of all the allergens.
Look at this picture below and tell me it’s not worth it.
Originally my plans for this week were to finish up Family Man and get it turned in, work on revisions of Second Hand if they came in, and otherwise continue finishing Dirty Laundry. I was well set to meet all my goals too and maybe even have some spare time.
Tuesday afternoon I went to the allergist, and I’ve had a very different week since then.
While my no-sugar, no-flour routine has done very well, allowing me to eat a bit of meat and even a bit of dairy again, I still have too much chronic pain plus in the past few months I’ve developed a recurring swollen upper lip. A month ago it was so bad my husband made me go to the doctor, who made me go to an allergist. As a part of that process I had to stop my antihistamine I’ve taken daily for several years now to control my intense and unexplained itching, which meant by the time I got to the appointment I was a hot, hot mess. The allergist was amazing, and he made the appointment almost a good time. They poked and scratched me and made me breathe into things to see what was going on. It turns out quite, quite a lot.
I am allergic, it turns out, to above all else, dust mites. Like, a lot. It’s weird because I don’t sneeze or cough, though I did always have stuffiness and sinus that I’d assumed was just part of being human. Turns out, no! Who knew? Allergists, apparently. The damn things are everywhere, and in my house they’re crazy bad because when you can’t bend over and do too much physical activity like lifting and reaching and scrubbing, your house it turns out gets pretty rancid bad in the deep depths of itself. Dan, Anna and I spent many hours on the bedroom, me in a mask. It was hella gross in there, I have to say. De-stuffed, de-grimed, washed (in hot water) and zippered up everything remaining in allergen-proof covers, except the box springs which we will get to later. This business is expensive.
The dust mite thing is the most royal pain in the ass I have encountered yet. The cleaning is intense and needs to be regular. I get points for having almost all hardwood floors, though I don’t know how much it helps your cause when you clean them only before guests come. I favor a lot of curtains and blankets too, which are apparently nice mite factories. I don’t even want to know about my air ducts, though I have a call in to a guy to get an estimate. We had to buy those crazy expensive filters for our furnace and air-conditioners. I bought an air purifier which I haul between my office and bedroom, though I’m not sure it’s anything more than a $99 security blanket. Oh, and I have to wear masks when I clean. And flush my eyes and nose out. And wash my hands a lot. And basically this is really fucking annoying for me and for all those whom I love and live with.
But wait, there’s more!
I am also allergic to milk. I’d already cut way down, but now it has to be gone, period, nada dairy. So no more goat cheese or cream in my coffee unless they give me soy milk. No cheese ever, period. No whey or “milk products” which let me tell you they stick in everything. (Salt and vinegar potato chips sometimes have milk. And sugar. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.)
It’s funny, because I’m kind of mourning milk now, even though I’ve been very blasé about its loss to me already. Maybe it’s the finality, maybe it’s that it’s going to be such a pain in my ass to get coffee at a lot of restaurants. I don’t know, but it’s sad all the same.
But wait there is still more!!! Because I cannot have eggs either, ever. This, Virginia, is very, very sad.
It’s not so much that I adore the taste of eggs (ironically I’ve only eaten them as a stand-alone dish for the past decade) but that they’re in a lot of things and they make for easy breakfasts in restaurants. Look at my list of things I can’t eat now: sugar, white flour, milk, eggs. Tell me what I order at Perkins. Or more to the point, at the hotels I will eat at during these cons I keep going to. Holy fucking crap, this stinks.
I mourn eggs as a dish too. Marie took me to her favorite Fort Collins restaurant, The Egg And I, and there were so many yummy egg things, and now I can’t order them anymore. I hardly got to try them, and now it’s over. Oh, sure, I could just pretend I wasn’t allergic, but that always goes over so well with me once I remove something from my diet. I’m mourning them and calling it done.
So now I am a vegan who occasionally eats a little meat, probably now when I can’t figure out what else to put in my gullet while I’m traveling. Having cut out meat for six months, I’ve found that having it more than four times a week makes me feel very gross and uncomfortable, so it’s mostly vegan for me. Vegan with complications, that’s me.
What’s weird is how minor my reaction has been to the food. I think I’m just numb to it all, like whatever, it’s another food limitation, tell me something I haven’t heard before. I keep dropping weight, five pounds a month (at my height you’ll have to get a microscope to see it), and I swear most of it is because figuring out what to eat is such a PITA I just don’t or I eat hummus and chips or strawberries or a salad. I joined Sam’s Club mostly because they sell Sabra hummus in monster truck tubs for $5, and it’s worth the membership for that alone. If they sold blue corn chips too I’d likely camp out in the parking lot.
Maybe my reaction has been muted on the food because the dust crap is so incredibly consuming. Oh, I forgot my other environmentals: dog and feathers and mold. So I had to call the Marriott in Anaheim and make sure I have a feather-free room, and I’m shopping for travel dust mite covers and trying to suss out how I tell the maid to leave me my weird extra sheet and pillowcases. I have to make my bedroom and office as allergen-pristine as possible, which has meant removing a lot of my favorite things because they’ve become part of what makes me sick. The cool hand painted glass I won from Jeff at a recent Tina’s Christmas has raw old wood on the edges, so it has to go until I polyurethane the frame. My beloved Japanese handmade wallhanging made by a college roommate’s mother has to be dry-cleaned and put behind glass before I can hang it again. 90% of my books had to go because they collect dust and mold. Any and all clutter that could be culled was, and the cats can’t have their litterbox in my closet any longer. Well, I don’t miss that last one. But everything else, yes.
To make things more exciting, I’m not supposed to be the one who cleans, and I’m the one who is home and has the time to do so. Even when I clean with a mask on I can tell this is what’s making me sick, because it makes my whole body go nuts and my lip swells to new heights to the point that I had to start Prednisone today. It seems to be helping so far.
Thankfully Dan’s parents (God bless you Tom and Nina) are going to come help us on Saturday while my mother distracts the child. Technically Anna helps a great deal, but I don’t think we’ll miss a ten-year-old during the projects. It’s also not good for her anxiety, because she flips out and needs to wear a mask too. And truth be told between her father and I, she’s got to be allergic to something.
I’m also not supposed to wear makeup (so breaking that for RWA) or but anything at all on my lips, though I’m cheating and using Vitamin E oil so my lips don’t peel off my face. I’m also supposed to try avoiding almonds, since I had a questionable reaction to that and they want to get me to as clean a slate as possible first. (I drink a lot of almond milk and yogurt and eat almonds and its flour in almost everything.) I have a slight, it turns out, allergy to cats, but it’s very low, and honestly, they’ll take my babies out of my cold dead hands. Sadly that has been done way too much lately, though the cold and the dead have not been on my part.
So this is my update. Totally not writing, though I did finish editing Family Man with Marie and got it turned in to Sasha Knight at Samhain today. There haven’t been any edits yet for this round of Second Hand, so I win there too. Two out of three isn’t bad, I guess.
I love the feeling of reading something my husband has written or seeing something has done or in general watching him be awesome, because I always stand back and think, “Damn, I married that. Go me.”
Happy birthday, baby. I know already I’m going to be too busy to blog tomorrow, and I’ve been too busy writing like a fiend (as per your instructions) so I hope you forgive me a big dramatic happy fortieth post. I plan to be around all day tomorrow and love you up live and in person instead. Hope that’s a good trade. Love you always and forever.
My daughter is ten, and it’s summer vacation. Mom works at home, so motto for the next few months is self-entertainment. Since Mom is an author, creative entertainment is encouraged. Anna has discovered a love for making and creating videos, and she’d like to share these with her friends. We live in a university town too, which means friends she wants to share her creative projects with have moved or gone for the summer and now live in Malaysia and Korea and Colorado and Alberta. Not a problem! We live in an information age, and we trip over technology in this house, there’s so much of it. She already has a gmail account where she chats with said far-flung friends. So we’ll just hook that up to YouTube, with Mom supervising and as usual knowing all the passwords and giving instructions as to how to safeguard oneself from internet nut jobs, starting with making video links private. Good to go, right?
Wrong. So very, very wrong. Because within two clicks of trying to sign up my child, Google not only aborts the process but says it’s freezing her whole account and deleting it within 30 days. Why? Because she’s not 13.
Imagine, please, the joy of my child who only wanted to share her videos now finding out she can’t talk to her friend in Malaysia or access any of her contacts or do anything related to her account, anything at all, all because she had the gall to want to share a YouTube video. I’m not sure how much she realized had happened; I tried to shield her while I frantically tried to figure out how to lie to the goddamned system to get it to let her back in. The account, by the way, is now mine. It’s my damn birthday entered now, and my credit card I had to load to get it back, and I almost hope you charge something stupid, Google, so I can sue your idiot ass.
I can understand a company needing to protect itself. I don’t know who decided 13 was some magic age when children can be on the internet unsupervised, but I didn’t vote for that bar, and I don’t subscribe to it. Frankly, I’d like to teach my child how to navigate the cyberworld now while her brain isn’t reeking of hormones and adolescent angst. Since she’s under 18 none of it matters anyway, does it? Since she’s my kid, so long as I’m not breaking some law, what the hell do you care, Google? She needs my permission to use your account? She has it. What more do you need? My credit card, I guess, and a pack of lies and subterfuge. May you enjoy them all.
We went though this on Facebook years ago, where Anna wanted to play along with everyone else until Facebook in their usual idiocy decided she couldn’t have an account, even though we’d lied on her age there too. That really hurt her, and she isn’t planning on having an account when she is old enough, which I hope she sticks with. It’s already uncool. I’m sure there’s somewhere better for teens to hang out or will be by then.
I don’t need to be protected from myself, and my kid is fine. I’m her parent, not some technology company. Until there’s a law saying no child under 13 can touch the internet, get out of my kid’s way, Google. And your little Facebook too.
Also, thanks a lot for the lesson that we should always lie about our age, lie in general, and work hard to undermine security systems. Always remember, Google. The children you stymie today will be the hackers who overthrow you tomorrow. Personally, I can’t wait to watch.
Every year for four years now Dan and Anna get dolled up and head over to the elementary school gym for the Daddy-Daughter Dance. Every year I make sure she has a dress and hair things that she’ll like and shoes and frilly accessories, but only the kind she’ll enjoy. She’s a girly girl but like Mama wants to be a comfy girl. So I started early this year when I saw a beautiful green Jessica McClintock dress for dirt cheap on eBay in her size at Christmas, and even better it turns out I anticipated the theme, which is Fairyland. So earlier this week I got her wings and some hair things, and today I picked up some body glitter and some ten-year-old-friendly makeup. I also made her an appointment at the salon to have her hair fixed up the way she liked it so she didn’t have to yell that I was pulling her hair or taking too long. As I prepped her to get ready, she had a huge smile on her face and alternated between saying, “I’m going to be the belle of the ball!” and “This is going to be the best Daddy-Daughter Dance ever!” She never thanked me for any of the things I did, which almost made it better. Because she just knows that’s what I do. Make things the best ever for my fairy princess as much as I can.
They’re off to dinner (Subway, her choice) and the Fairyland Ball now. I have three hours or so to myself (they’re doing Dairy Queen after) and the satisfaction of knowing my two very favorite people on the planet are off having a magical, wonderful time.
I have seen the light. I have been redeemed. I actually arrived here before I knew where I was, but it took three different videos to help me figure it out, and the beauty is, you can watch them all too. What they will tell you?
The Western diet is seriously fucked, and it’s sugar’s fault.
Sugar is not only making you fat, it’s giving you heart disease and diabetes and cancer and all sorts of crap you had no idea it was doing.
Your brain sees sugar and cocaine pretty much in the same way, and sends you after sugar the same way an addict goes after a hit.
You need to stop consuming fructose outside of eating whole fruit NOW or as soon as possible.
I’m not going to rehash everything in all these videos. I recommend you start with the original 60 Minutes story, move to the Overtime, and if you’re ready for a deep cut, book an hour and a half to watch Sugar: The Bitter Truth and have your mind blown so badly you’ll need a bucket to catch it. Basically between these three shows you can learn about how incredibly awful sugar is. Don’t even ask why the government isn’t telling you. You’re not stupid. You can figure that out easily enough.
What you can take home right now without watching the videos is that every scientist who’s worked on this sugar thing has drastically reduced their own intake of sugar and that of their children because the data and science is that hard and that moving. I’ve seen it shake my husband the pharmacist to his core, and he’s walking around reading labels and cursing and starting the food-mourning process. Basically doing what I’ve been doing the last month.
It’s weird to basically have shown up for this party before I knew it was a party. All of a sudden in our house I’ve become the lighthouse instead of the lone reed. When Dan looks at me in despair asking, “How am I supposed to do this?” I just shrug and say, “Really, it’s not bad at all once you get your bearings.” In fact, it’s even fun. But it’s weird, very weird, to watch these shows and go, “Oh, hey. I’m already there.”
Now, the weird thing is I’ll tell you that I do drink fruit juice, which is part of the problem they’re saying. But I”ll also tell you my consumption has gone way, way down as time has gone on to the point where one eight ounce glass a day is more than enough, and I cannot stomach orange juice. Way too sweet. I prefer Naked juice which makes me full and feels like a meal. Mostly I drink juice in the morning first thing with my fish oil. (I know. Try not to think about it.) My coffee has gone down too, because I feel more like tea. I have coffee but not nearly as often, and it’s more for pleasure than because it is the substance which allows me to participate in life.
I’ll tell you what I’ve told my family. If you choose to cut down/out fructose, you want to do this gradually. Given that it really is about the same as quitting crack and that you’ll be seeing it EVERYWHERE all the time while you do, this is not easy or fun. Be kind to yourself. Also, during the detox? Fruit juice is your friend. Try to do mostly fruit, but if you’re needing that dopamine hit, grab juice. Thick juice with good stuff in it. It will give you the hit but not be as bad as a can of pop, and you can keep working toward cutting down. For me it has taken its own journey. If I want sweet I have pomegranate green tea or my fruit-juice sweetened bread or cereal. In both cases I’m getting a little fiber and some glucose, which is what you actually need.
Anyway. You seriously do want to watch those videos. And you really, really, REALLY want to look into drastically reducing your sugar too. I’ve got the people I need covered. Dan is already working on it, and Anna announced that she wants SOME easter candy, but if the bunny put pistachios in her hunt-and-find eggs, she’d be pretty damn happy. “We’re going to be the heathliest family on the block!” she announced at dinner.
In the meantime, I have a small addiction to copycat peanut butter eggs. These are vegan and can be made sugar-free. I’ve been eating them quite a bit so might try getting some xylitol, but probably I’ll just use powdered sugar and not think about inflammation. I’ve made them twice already, once with the cocoa recipie, and once I melted Enjoy Life chips. I still have some of the melted chocolate in the fridge, and I still have powdered sugar. I feel it’s my duty to make at least one more batch, don’t you?
