Ten Thousand Meters

Today was the 10k.

But you know me. I can't start there.

I used to really, really stink at running. Two summers ago I wasn't able to run more than about a minute straight without stopping. When we were in Hampton Beach on our summer project, I'd go out to the walkway by the beach every morning at some stupid-early hour and start to run. After about a minute I would slow to a walk, check my watch (a key strategy in communicating to those around me that it was some pre-planned fitness interval, which it absolutely was not), and pray that my lungs would not actually physically explode in my chest. When they stopped threatening to do that in about 5 minutes, I'd run for another minute. This cycle repeated itself for approximately a million years, until I had to go home to make breakfast.

I did that for a summer. Then I went home to the YMCA, gave up on running, and spent a year working my butt off (to some literal degree) on the elliptical machine. The same machine. Every day. The last one on the right.

When I returned to Hampton Beach the next summer (about 70 pounds lighter), I was sad to have to give up my friend, the last elliptical machine on the right, in favor of my old lung-bursting nemesis, running. Preparing myself for pain and failure, I set out my first morning...and found myself totally stunned.

I could run.

It still felt unnatural, but the first time out I ran over a mile without stopping. And I began to ask, if I can run a mile, what else can I do?

Maybe I could run two. Turned out I could. How about three? Not quite, but by the end of my six weeks in NH I was up to nearly three miles, and last July I ran-without-stopping my first 5k in Hoboken, NJ, home of lots of yuppies, the Cake Boss, and a beautiful waterfront.

My friend Kathy, who started running shortly before I did, has been indispensable to me in this process. She's better than I am. She's leaner and stronger, and she has longer legs. She got me through the Hoboken 5k by talking at me the whole time, distracting me from the fact that I wanted to lie down and die right there on the beautiful waterfront. She could have finished much faster, but she stayed with me and coaxed me across the finish line. I love this woman.

A 10k seemed like the next logical step, and I made it official by putting it on my list. Kathy agreed to run with me again, and once we settled on this race in Ridgewood, NJ we started training for it in earnest.

You understand that I mean earnest in my world. Like, go out a couple of times a week and try to run as far as you can. That kind of earnest. Not the kind where you keep a training log and buy expensive sneakers and sunglasses with a strap on them. But still.

Earnest or not, as of this morning I had been completely unsuccessful in my efforts to actually run 10 kilometers (about 6.2 miles) in a row. Kath did it a couple of times, but not me. And our last practice run together, last Thursday, was kind of a disaster. So I went into this morning's race genuinely unsure about whether I could do this at all.

Kath was positive as ever, promising to talk me through it again and declaring that she wouldn't cross the finish line without me. I had my doubts, but we lined up behind the hundreds of other runners in this morning's post-thunderstorm damp coolness (thank you, Lord), looked at each other as we crossed the starting line, and began to run.

The first mile was ok. The second passed fine. I was already soaked from head to toe, partially because I sweat like a maniac (which I think we've covered), and partially because all the residents on whose streets we were running were standing at the curb, cheering us on and spraying their garden hoses into the street to cool us off. As we neared the big red number 3 and the pace clock for the third mile, I was thinking that I might be just fine and feeling a little smug. That's when it turned uphill.

I've come a long way with running, but running uphill is still a special kind of torture. It still sends my lungs into a full-on revolt in which they seriously question my judgment and refuse to do their job with any efficiency, opting instead to instigate a slow burn throughout my chest cavity. I don't like it. In my training runs, the slightest incline caused me to slow to a walk to catch my breath. And while this hill wasn't long, it felt very, very steep. I mentioned to Kath that I might need to pause for just a moment.

"Not today," she said. "You can walk tomorrow."

Fair enough.

I kept going, but it took its toll, and by the time we reached mile 4, I was really hurting. At my request, Kath started with the nonstop talking while I concentrated mostly on moving forward and continuing to inhale and exhale. And we (she) talked about wraparound porches and theology and running styles and Scripture and music and childbirth and Rocky Balboa. And then she reminded me that at the finish line we were going to see my kids. And more importantly, they were going to see me doing something that is hard for me. Pressing on. Even when it hurts. Being healthy and strong and not taking the easy way out.

When she put it like that, I sort of had to keep going.

We finished, you guys. Without stopping. Without walking. I ran ten thousand meters in a row.

It took us one hour and eleven minutes. That's one hour and ten minutes more than I could run two years ago. Standing on this side of this accomplishment, I'm a little floored at how far I've come. And again, I can't really attribute it to anything other than God's grace. I haven't become a more disciplined person in any pervasive sense...one look at the mess in my bedroom will tell you that. He's just pushed me somehow to stick with this thing. Through Kathy, through working in my heart, and through His own amazing grace, my Savior brought me to this place.

And I'm left asking again, if I can do this, what else can I do? What other intimidating thing, what task that seems completely impossible, might lie waiting for me just around the corner, ready to be defeated? If I trust God to lead me to places that are scary and unfamiliar, what memories might I make? What barriers might I break down? I'm such a fearful, timid person by nature, but seeing Him do these things in my life makes me want to step forward in faith and courage.

Who knows what might happen. :)

Skinny-atliss, part 3

Formatting is screwy on this thing tonight. Forgive the font weirdness.


I'm a sweaty girl. I sweat easily and often. I was sort of hoping that losing 90ish pounds would have some effect on my perspirative prowess, but...still sweaty. As such, I've never felt a need to use a sauna. Ever. Until this trip. I think I was perhaps seduced by all the spa-ishness, or maybe there was something in the cucumber water, but for whatever reason I decided to try it.

So as Mark walked off to the uncharted territory of massages, I worked up my courage to figure out the sauna. This led to a series of awkward passes through the locker room while I tried to make sense of the sauna protocol without looking like a clueless idiot. What do I wear? What do I do with what I'm not wearing? Are the lights on in there? Is it on, or do I have to turn it on? Do I sit or lie down? How long do I stay? Each question required one nonchalant pass by the sauna door. I suspect I fooled no one.

Eventually I managed to get in there. I was alone, thank God, because as I walked into the thing I blurted out, "Hey, it's like a sauna in here!" Dur. It took me a few minutes to adjust all my towelage, start the 15-minute egg timer, and (out of a sense of obligation) pour hot water on hot rocks (the point of which I do not get). And then I sat there and dripped for the duration of my stay, thinking about how weird it is to breathe in crazy hot air, willing the grains of sand to fall faster through the timer. Mostly, though, I stared at the thermometer, which was registering 170 degrees. Let me say that again. A hundred and seventy degrees. And as I stared at it, I kept thinking, 170 degrees is when a chicken breast is done.

But here's the thing. When the last grain of sand fell, I peeled myself off the bench and stepped out of the sauna, and I felt GREAT. Cool and energized and oddly clean. Maybe it was because my brain was medium-rare, but it really felt wonderful.

I went looking for Mark, who by this time was done with his massage. I found him back in the relaxation room, sitting in a chair and looking around with an air of slight confusion, like someone who just woke up and doesn't know where he is.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

He looked at me with a vaguely distant expression. "Yeah."

"Was it good?"

"Yeah."

"Good, like, it was nice, or like you didn't want it to end?"

"Heck no I didn't want it to end!" Pause, then, perplexed..."I've never felt like this before. I don't know what to do."

"I was in the sauna."

"Why?"

"It's supposed to get out impurities or something, I think."

"What kind of impurities?"

"I don't know. Dirt? Dead skin cells?"

Another pause. "I bet I have all kinds of impurities. I'm getting in the sauna."

And he did. That's sort of what this trip was like, in a nutshell. A blur of hot, sweaty spa experiences, spicy incensey smells, and this vague sense of tremendous indulgence and pampering. I get why people love this. But I also think too much of it might knock me right out of reality, and I might end up on one of those A&E shows where they play sad music and show your baby pictures and talk about how your life fell apart. ("She started wearing her bathrobe all day, and before long she wouldn't even talk to us...she just keeps singing Enya songs and steaming up the bathroom...")

OK. This is getting ridiculously long. Just one more quick note: after we reluctantly tore ourselves away from the world of the spa and headed home, we stopped just outside of Binghamton, in Johnson City, NY, where my grandmother lives. I haven't seen her in a long time, and she's lost a lot of her mental acuity since we were last together. She hadn't a clue who we were. That was ok...I had been prepared for that fact. But we had a really pleasant, friendly visit! She showed us all around the place where she lives, never really knowing where she was ("I think my room's probably here somewhere..."), and introducing us to passersby as "some friends of mine." She was smiley and agreeable and eager to point out the amenities at hand...at one point she pointed to an old couple sitting by a window (who clearly knew her well) and said, "Well, there's a couple of people who are probably nice to look at."

We took a pic before we left. I promised her I'll send her a copy of it with Peter (my dad) the next time he comes up. She thought that sounded like a lovely idea.

We arrived home a few hours later and were greeted with enthusiasm by our children. The enthusiasm may have been engendered by the baked goods we brought them as gifts, but I'm going to choose to believe they were genuinely glad to have us home.

Good grief. It's a good thing we don't do this too often...apparently it sends me into blogging overdrive. It was a great, great trip, though, and I'm absolutely sure we would never have done it if not for the "40 Before 40" list. So hooray for banished impurities, a bolstered marriage, baked goods, and spa-ness! I'm off to fold laundry, but maybe I'll burn a little incense while I do it. :)

Skinny-atliss, part 2

Here is a picture of my husband Mark.
If you know Mark (and even if you don't), you may have trouble picturing him in one of those overpriced terry spa robes. Don't get too excited...I won't be posting any photos of that here, because I value my marriage. But the fact is that we spent the better part of 24 hours lounging around in those robes, sipping cucumber water (ok, that was mostly me) and seriously doing the spa thing. I know...weirdness. And also really, really fun.

Before we got over there we checked out the town of Skaneateles a little bit more, unencumbered by our boisterous children. I wandered fearlessly around a little gift shop full of breakable things. We got breakfast from an awesome little bakery called simply "Patisserie," which was fun to say with an exaggerated (and ghastly, I'm sure) French accent.
We lingered in a little chocolate shop and bought fudge as a thank-you gift for my babysitting in-laws. The timing of this purchase turned out to be a miscalculation, as caring for the fudge became the pervasive theme of the rest of the trip. ("We can't leave the fudge in the car...it's too hot... Don't forget the fudge when we go...Does fudge need to be refrigerated?... Who knew a pound of fudge was so heavy?") It did eventually make it home unscathed, though, so...score.

Oh, and one other thing happened that morning that may turn out to be pretty significant. It has to do with the house pictured here, which we walked by while exploring the town.
This huge home with its front walk clearly prepared for surfacing but overgrown with weeds ended up inspiring me. Mark wondered at its condition, and I told him I knew what its story was...and ended up spinning a tale about its owners that grew progressively more complex. Over the course of the next couple of days I started incorporating people and places we encountered all over town, and now I find myself with something unexpected: a possible starting place for a novel.

I'd just about given up on my goal of having a full chapter of some novel written by my birthday. This is hard to explain, but the idea I've been playing with for the last couple of years has become so important to me that actually writing it has become too daunting. It needs to be good. But this fun little story I've got brewing now doesn't have to be good...it would be enough for it to be done. I'm not making any promises, but there it is.

Before heading to the spa we ate lunch at a little place in town with great, great burgers. The pic of Mark at the top of this post is from that lunch. I also snapped a photo of their incredibly creepy...mascot, maybe?
Is "Meat" a bad pun for "Meet" (duh), or is it his name (ew)? Either way it's a little disturbing. His image was all over the restaurant, but I chose this wall because you could see both his publicity photo (or Facebook profile pic?) and his effigy above, also labeled with his name. Kind of like Joe Camel meets the golden calf.

OK. And then....finally....the spa. We would never have been able to afford this place without the great deal we got, so it was an enormous treat. Mirbeau Inn and Spa is styled sort of like a gigantic French chateau. The rooms are in villas that surround a courtyard designed to evoke Monet's "Water Lilies."

The room itself was gorgeous, with a fireplace and a ridiculously beautiful bath. Our beat-up Adidas duffel bags seemed very out of place. I felt much the same way for a good portion of the visit, but I didn't mind.
You'll note the fluffy, pricey robes hanging next to the shower. These people take their spa very seriously, and the robes are considered appropriate daytime attire on the entire property. Spa, lobby, grounds, restaurant...

I know it betrays how un-spa I am, but the idea of a bunch of rich people hanging around in their bathrobes all day long still seems really weird to me.

When I booked this trip I assumed we'd just ignore the spa, which is our usual practice, but our package deal included a spa credit that basically covered a 50-minute massage. I have zero interest in this...far, far too many body issues. Thank you for your willingness, but keep your masseusey hands to yourself, please. My husband, however, doesn't share my baggage, so he scheduled his first-ever massage for the afternoon. And thus began our spa adventure.

We hit the 15-person hot tub first. It featured a waterfall. A hot waterfall is an odd but strangely wonderful thing. Then we hung out for a while in the relaxation room. This is a place where they dim the lights, burn incense, and play didgeridoo music and Gregorian chants. You are supposed to lie in here and sip various fruity waters while you wait for your massage. I wonder how often people miss their name being called because they've fallen asleep and are snoring, drooling, or both. I managed to avoid this pitfall.

Eventually they called Mark into the regions beyond the relaxation room. I watched him walk off with his massage therapist guy ("I asked for a dude. I don't know if that's better or worse."), then determined that despite my fear of the unknown, I would try the sauna.

The story of the sauna and the massage tomorrow...

Skinny-atliss, part 1

You know how you're supposed to have a date night when you're married? How you're supposed to deliberately nurture your relationship with your spouse by protecting a regularly scheduled night just for the two of you? How you're supposed to have a standing babysitter so that you can go off to all of your hometown's little romantic spots and revel in the blessing that is your love?

Yeah, we don't do that.

We do sometimes get to go out together sans children. More often than not, though, we end up at Lowes or Target or someplace equally utilitarian, and not to browse paint samples and dream about the future, but usually to buy toilet paper or figure out how to repair the hole that someone put in the wall where there shouldn't have been a hole.

So if we're not careful, we'll sometimes discover that it's been a long time since we've done anything fun together. LONG time. That's what motivated me to aspire to "Go away with Mark to someplace we've never been." (#26 on the list, I think.) I honestly can't remember the last time we did an overnight getaway without our children that was just for fun. But once I put it on the list, I started looking for getaway deals online.

I've been playing around lately with sites like Groupon and Living Social, which harness collective buying power (power to the people!!) to produce terrific local deals. Living Social also lists heavily discounted getaways, and it was there that I found a package deal to Mirbeau Inn and Spa in the Finger Lakes region of New York state. We'd never been there, and it looked like fun, so we grabbed it and booked it for this past Wed-Fri.

We enlisted the aid of Mark's very, very, very helpful parents, who agreed to come and stay with our kids while we were gone, and after a bit of oh-my-gosh-your-parents-are-going-to-be-living-here cleaning frenzy, we actually managed to get away together.

On the way up to New York state, we stopped for lunch in Scranton, PA. We are fans of The Office, so we searched en route for an Office-related restaurant and landed at Alfredo's Pizza Cafe. For those of you who care, it's the pizzeria mentioned in "Launch Party" (it's the one with the good pizza, not the one whose delivery guy they kidnapped). It turned out to be an unremarkable, friendly little spot in a strip mall. The food was really quite good--Mark had the fettucine alfredo (in honor of the Fun Run episode) and I had some crazy-thin pizza that was way better than I expected. A couple of exterior shots for you.

The GPS took us to Alfredo's by way of the back roads of Scranton, which left me totally depressed and thinking that I'm really, really glad I don't work for Dunder Mifflin. Ugh. On the way out, however, we went through a much nicer section of the city (past the Steamtown Mall, which I'm pretty sure I've heard about on the show...anyone?), and I am less horrified. Still, I'm glad we didn't book our whole adventure for Scranton.

After that we powered straight through to our destination: the little village of Skaneateles, NY. Go ahead and try pronouncing it. My best guess was way off, but once I started looking for the answer it was not hard to find. It's pronounced "Skinny-atliss." (Did you think the post title was a weight loss reference? My atliss hasn't gotten any skinnier of late.)

The geek portion of my brain (and a large portion it is) bucks at "Skinny-atliss" and protests that "Skanny-atliss" wouldn't be any harder to say, but there you have it. This information was plastered all over the web, and while we were there I heard at least three of my fellow tourists being instructed by locals in the nuances of pronounciation.

It's a little absurd, but I'll admit it's fun to say.

Anyhow, it's a pretty little town on the shores of...can you guess? Skaneateles Lake. We had only been able to get a one-night deal at the Inn and Spa place, so we found a good deal at a cheaper place in town for the night before: the Skaneateles Boutique Hotel.
They post last-minute deals on their website, and so I was able to get a room with a Jacuzzi in it for half price. This makes me feel like I've won something, somehow, which is probably a deliberate move on their part.

We made our way there and checked in just in time for the rain to begin...first a downpour and then a series of never-quite-breaking-off showers that lasted the whole first night. But we didn't let the rain deter us from walking around and exploring the town a little. Lots of cute little shops and quaint, pretty vistas.
Come to think of it, I have no idea how the chalkboard in the first pic escaped the rain. Such is the magic of Skaneateles, I guess. That last pic is of someone's house, right next to the public library, I think? Right on the main street. It looks so much like one of the other touristy spots that they needed to have a quaint little sign that identifies it as a "private residence." I suppose that would be the downside of living in a house that looks like it belongs near the entrance of Disney World.

I'd forgotten that traveling four and a half hours north will have a significant effect on the growing season, but we noticed that all the lilacs were just coming into seriously-gorgeous. Ours at home are already done and shriveled up, but these were everywhere and fragrant and lush and all dewy with the light rain...beautiful.
Now, if you've been following this list-related journey since November, you may have already caught something that it took me hours to realize. I was already thoroughly damp, my hair having long since gleefully abandoned any pretense of cooperation, before I realized that we were walking in the rain!! That's on the list. And now it's crossed off.

All giggly with the headiness of being away from home and getting rained on and crossing something off the list, I sought to document this event for YOU, gentle reader, with a photo. I stood like a dork in the middle of the sidewalk and posed with a stupid (but authentic) grin on my face, looking up at the rain and waiting for the camera to warm up. Here's what we ended up with.
Yeah, I'm an idiot. But that's ok. I'll take it.

We eventually squished our way (I was unwisely wearing flip flops...ew) back to the hotel and just RELAXED. No one whined. There was no agenda. Mark watched the Bulls in the Eastern Conference finals (which was a huge throwback to our dating years in the early 1990s), and I gave myself a pedicure. We availed ourselves of the complimentary snacks (Oreos, peanuts, orange juice, oatmeal) that this quirky little hotel offers. The Bulls lost, and my toenails turned out pretty terrible, but neither of us cared. It was quiet and relaxed and fun and a perfectly lovely evening.

Stay tuned for part two, in which we get in way over our heads at the spa. :)

Half full

Went for my run this morning. It was drizzling, which was fine, but 13 minutes in I got weird stomach cramps, so my push-myself-faster 5 miles became a full-of-pauses 5K. Blergh. It's possible that I may be too much of a whiner to run a 10K. ("But my tummy hurts!")

Also discovered this morning: groundhogs are both easily startled and stupid, and apparently most of the people who walk to the Edison train station in the morning use cologne. I'm not complaining.

So after I posted just after midnight last night I realized that today is May 16th. Do you realize what that means? Today I am thirty-nine and a half. I'm halfway there. I decided that calls for a look at the list...let's see how I'm doing. The official spreadsheet where I'm keeping track of this stuff (I'm such a dork) is on another computer, but in general terms...

Things that I've finished:
Sing at the Tea Bar in Fort Lee. (Twice, and I'm doing it again on Saturday!)
Go into NYC on the train with my family
Climb a tree (pics coming soon)
Learn some tech thing (blogging and posting photos)
Play kickball with my kids (pics coming soon)
Change a tire
Host a "Just Dance" night

That's it? Hmm. I would have guessed more than 7. Ok...

Things that are in progress:
Finish losing 100 pounds (frustrating, but closer than I was)
Run a 10K (scheduled for Memorial Day. We shall see.)
Read 8 books (I think I'm up to 5 now? Will post about progress.)
Memorize Galatians 5 (Joy and I are up to verse 13)
Try 40 new recipes (I don't remember exactly how many, but it's more than 20. I have it written down somewhere.)
Throw out 100 pounds of clutter (About 25 or 30 gone, I think?)
Try 5 new varieties of ethnic food (I don't remember. At least one.)
Read 12 chapters of Systematic Theology (2 down)
Go away with Mark somewhere new (we have a getaway to the Finger Lakes in NY planned in a little bit)
20 crafts with my kids (I'm in trouble on this one- we've done maybe 5?)
Grow something (Joy and I are working on a cabbage plant)
Sunrise and sunset (sunset is done. Sunrise still to come.)
5 charity projects with kids (only one down! Yikes.)
Clean out closets (both coat closets, linen closet, and kids' closets done. Ours and Jack's to go.)

Things I haven't touched yet:
Buy something from a vintage clothing store in NYC
Write a complete chapter of a novel (gulp)
Thow a dinner party (waiting to celebrate the finish line with this one)
Donate blood
Sing in a recording studio (supposed to be a 100-lb reward)
Get a passport
Ride a horse (we'll be in Colorado in just over a month)
Try geocaching (Melissa, are you reading this? We need to schedule!!)
Paint Galatians 5:22-23 on my living room wall
Give my abs three solid months of attention (have started and abandoned this 3 times)
Character development plan for each kid
Spend an afternoon with each of my sisters
Create a complete Flylady control journal
Try sushi (Monica, we need to get on this one, I think. I'm scared.)
Learn about Chicago Bears players (will address as football season approaches)
1-week media fast
Finger paint
Walk in the rain

I have a way to go. But I'm an optimist, and this glass is definitely half full. Onward!

Cupcake Overboard

Hey! Remember me? I'm still here. So much has happened in the last month--I keep waiting for a big enough chunk of time that I can catch you up on my progress all at once.

Yeah...that's not going to happen. So I figure I'll take it a little at a time. Bite-sized chunks. Starting.............now. :)

For the last week I've been unable to stay away from food. Like, all food. At all times. This does not help the 100-pounds-down goal and is continually frustrating. I've kept my weight pretty steady b/c I'm still training for that 10K, but that doesn't address my inability to keep from putting everything in my mouth.

So what do I do? I make cupcakes filled with chocolate chip cookie dough.

Lord God, deliver me from these, the works of my hands.

You guys, these cupcakes were amazing. I had to make something for our staff team's end-of-the-semester picnic, which seemed like a good excuse to knock off another new recipe. Puttering around the interweb, I found that people are stuffing cupcakes with cookie dough now. The secret, see, is to freeze the cookie dough so that while the cupcake bakes, the dough just thaws and stays all doughy and gooey.

I know.

I combined ideas from a few different sources, and here's what I ended up with.

First I made cookie dough...almost the Toll House recipe. No eggs, though, because I have deeply rooted food safety issues.

1 cup softened butter
3/4 c brown sugar
3/4 c granulated white sugar
1 Tbsp vanilla
4 Tbsp milk (in place of the eggs)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1 to 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips

Cream the butter and sugar, add the vanilla, work in the flour and salt, and stir in the chips. Bada bing. Then you shape it into little balls (easier if you put it in the fridge for a bit first) and put them on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper or nonstick foil, and freeze them. For a long time. I left mine overnight.
Mine are little logs because one recipe suggested this would stand upright in the cupcake and give you more of an even cookie dough center.

The next morning, the cupcakes themselves. I almost made them from scratch, which I never ever ever do. My from-scratch cakes are always heavy and flat and lame and leave me thinking, "Why exactly didn't I spend a dollar on a perfectly good cake mix?" In a moment of weakness I almost braved the recipe, but I didn't have enough flour. This may have been God's hand of protection on my staff team.

Anyway, you could use whatever vanilla cupcake recipe you want. I used a good old Betty Crocker "Butter Recipe Golden" mix. Yum. Then, once the batter's in the cups, you put the cookie dough in the center of each cupcake right before they go in the oven. If you made little balls, they can just sit on top of the batter. My clever little logs, however, looked like this.
???? Yeah. I couldn't do it. I ended up breaking them in half and tucking them in.
Better. In the buttery batter. Heh.

So then they bake at 350 for 16-18 minutes. They come out completely unassuming and normal-looking, which I love.
See? No indication of their secret cargo. But oh my gosh, did they smell like heaven.

There are few things that could convince me to abandon my beloved wedding buttercream frosting, but I couldn't resist trying a cookie dough flavored buttercream for these. After researching and tweaking, here's what I ended up with.

3 sticks of butter, softened
3/4 cup light brown sugar
3 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp heavy cream (though milk will work)
1 tsp vanilla

Cream the butter and brown sugar, mix in the confectioner's sugar, add the rest, and mix on medium-high for about 3 minutes.

The texture of this was a little different due to the brown sugar. It stays a tiny bit crunchy, which I guess is what evokes the cookie dough thing. If you're not into cookie dough, this might not be for you. But then, if you're not into cookie dough, I'm not sure I understand you on many levels.

I piped it onto the cupcakes (new for me) and garnished with chocolate chips. Here's the result.
Isn't it cute? Now, for the sake of the blogosphere or journalistic integrity or something, I figured I was pretty much obliged to cut one open so I could get a picture of the secret goodness inside.
Can you handle that? Oh my goodness. And of course, once it was open, all fragrant and...yeah, I ate it. There wasn't really any way around it. And it was incredible.

Now, I have to say that it's really rich and really sweet. If you don't swing that way, this may not be your thing. But I figure if I'm going to eat a cupcake, it might as well be a cupcake that goes totally overboard on the decadence. Mission accomplished.

Here they are ready to go to the picnic. So cute.
They were well-received. :)

I have to go to bed. It's midnight, and I'm supposed to run tomorrow morning if it's not stupid raining out again. I'll be back sooner next time, I promise. There's much to tell.