1 stick unsalted butter cut into bits and softened 1 c sugar 2 large eggs 2 c flour 1 tsp soda 1 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt 1 c buttermilk 1 tsp vanilla
Topping 1/3 c firmly packed brown sugar 1/4 c sugar 1 tsp cinnamon 1/2 c chopped pecans or walnuts
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 9X13 pan
Cake batter: In large bowl beat all batter ingredients until smooth.
Topping: In bow mix all toping ingredents til crumbly
Assembly:
Pour 1/2 batter in prepared pan. Sprinkle 1/2 topping over the top. Repeat.
Bake cake about 30 minutes or until a toothpick or knife inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. Cool on cooling rack.
1 T shortening 2 beaten eggs 1 c mil 1 T oil 1 c flour 1/4 t cinnamon
Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees. Grease 66 custard cups well using about 1/2 tsp of the shortening
Beat eggs slightly with whisk, stir in milk, add flour, cinnamon and salt. Divide mixture into cups.
Place in hot oven for 20 minutes. Immediately after removed from oven prick each one light with for to release steam. This prevents them from becoming "soggy".
Why God Made Mums - Ask the Kids Enjoy the answers given by primary school age children to the following questions:
Why did God make mothers? 1.she's the only one who knows where the sticky tape is. 2.Mostly to clean the house. 3.To help us out of them when we were getting born.
How did God make mothers? 1.He used dirt, just like for the rest of us. 2.Magic plus super powers and a lot of string 3. God made my mum just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
What ingredients are mothers made of? 1.God makes mothers out of clouds and angel-hair and everything nice in the world, and one dab of mean. 2.They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string. I think.
Why did God give you your mother and not some other mum? 1.We're related. 2.God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's mums like me.
What kind of little girl was your mum? 1.My mum has always been my mum and none of that other stuff. 2.I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy. 3.They say she used to be nice.
What did mum need to know about dad before she married him? 1.His last name. 2.She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer? 3.Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Why did your mum marry your dad? 1.My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mum eats a lot. 2.She got too old to do anything else with him. 3.My grandma says that mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
Who's the boss at your house? 1 Mum doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a sad-sack 2 Mum. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed. 3 I guess Mum is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
What's the difference between mums and dads? 1.Mums work at work and work at home, and dads just got to work at work. 2. Mums know how to talk to teachers without scaring them. 3.Dads are taller and stronger, but mums have all the real power cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
What does your mum do in her spare time? 1.Mothers don't do spare time. 2.To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
What would it take to make your mum perfect? 1.On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery. 2.Diet. You know her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.
If you could change one thing about your mum, what would it be? 1.She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that. 2.I'd make my mum smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer's research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.
Mary received a parrot as a gift. The parrot was fully grown with a very bad attitude and worse vocabulary. Every other word was a curse: those that weren't curses were to say the least, rude.
Mary tried to change the bird's attitude by constantly saying polite things. Words and playing soft music...anything she could think of. Nothing worked.
She yelled at the bird and the bird got worse. She shook the bird and the bird got madder and more rude. Finally in a moment of desperation, Mary put the parrot in the freezer to get a minute of peace.
For a few moments she heard the bird swearing, squawking kicking and screaming and then, suddenly there was absolute quiet. Mary was frightened that she might have actually hurt the bird and quickly opened the freezer door. The parrot calmly stepped out onto Mary's extended arm and said:
"I'm very sorry that I offended you with my language and my actions and I ask your forgiveness. I will endeavor to correct my behavior and I am sure it will never happen again."
Mary was astounded at the changes in the bird's attitude and was about to ask what had changed him, when the parrot continued, "May I ask what the chicken did?"
With supper finished it was mom's time for a break from her children. It was our time to be with dad. Cindy, my eight-year old sister, got the book while Tom, my six-year old brother, and I (four-years old) climbed on our gray couch. Book in hand, Cindy joined us on the couch and we all waited for mom to start the old reel-to-reel tape player. Dad was piloting airplanes in for the Air Force. His one-year isolated tour would be over soon and he would be coming home.
Throughout the year of his physical absence, our family received at least one tape a week from dad. Mom played a section to us every day. Dad began each day's session by asking each of us how our day had gone and what we had done. Speaking to the tape machine as if he could hear every word, each of us told him about our adventures. Unbeknownst to us, mom wrote down our responses so dad was kept up-to-date. In the subsequent tape, he praised our good deeds and gently corrected our errors. After everyone told dad their tales, he read to us from the book mom had sent. Cindy turned the pages while Tom and I followed along to his voice. Sometimes dad recorded himself teaching English to Vietnamese children in his neighborhood. It was always fun to hear the children talk in the strange language. Today, I don't remember the stories dad read, but I do remember the feelings I felt. I knew my father loved me because he talked to us nearly everyday, albeit by tape.
Near the end of dad's year away, mom told us we were going to meet dad in California. We would be staying with Aunt Jenna Vee and Uncle Jack until dad arrived. The house was big, and it had a swimming pool! Mom loaded us all up and we made the few days journey from Texas to California. I was anxious to hear dad's voice again but had no recollection of what he looked like.
The day before dad was scheduled to arrive, all of us were lounging around the swimming pool. Cindy was diving off the diving board, and Tom and I were holding onto the edge of the pool because our feet could not touch bottom. Tom and I were working our way back to the steps to get out of the pool when the gate in the fence opened. A tall man dressed in a uniform walked through the gate. My sister jumped off the diving board, ran squealing at the top of her lungs towards the man, and threw herself into his arms. Mom walked in behind the man, yelling at Cindy to get off him because she was getting him all wet. While hugging my sister and laughing at mom, the man embraced mom then kissed her.
Puzzled by all the commotion, Tom and I looked at each other and silently wondered who our sister and mother were hugging. Soon, the tall, uniformed, and wet man disentangled himself and walked toward my brother and I who were still hanging on the side of the pool. He arrived at the pool's edge and smiled down upon us. He looked so tall. With the innocence of a four-year old, I looked up at the man and asked, "Are you my father?"
He burst into tears, knelt down, pulled us both out of the pool and into his arms, and said, "Yes. I am your father." The moment I heard his voice I recognized it as my dad's because it was the same voice I heard so frequently reading me stories on tape. This was the voice that asked us questions and listened so intently to our answers. He seemed not to care that we were getting his uniform even wetter. Tom and I both threw our arms around his neck as my father's embrace tightened around us.
This is the first time I recall seeing my father. The man with the loving voice.
bouncy
amused