And ’tis the season to stand in front of the Christmas tree and smile.
It’s a Very Veeder Family tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation. That weirdly adorable kid in the checkered suit up there, that’s Pops. He’s known as the Godfather of the awkward Christmas smile.
You will see it carried out on various family members’ faces as we continue through the archives of the most noteworthy Veeder Christmas Tree portraits of all time.
(You’re welcome Aunt K.)
Anyway, don’t we all want to remember what we looked like on Christmas Eve 1993 when we just opened our kick-ass cow pajamas with matching slippers.
Falala-lalala-la-la-la.
These are fashion memories worth re-living and my hope is that they might give you inspiration for this year’s Christmas Tree shot.
Because if you find that you and your little sister are in matching sweatsuits, by all means, snuggle up under a quilt and get a picture of that shit.
Because it’s adorable.
Same goes when you and your cousins are forced to wear matching “Beef, it’s what’s for dinner” sweatshirts on Christmas morning.
Pay attention here. This is a classic.
But not as classic as tablecloth dresses, big red bows, red-eye and eighties hair.
If only I could still pull off white tights, mary-janes…and big-ass fluffy tutus.
Because nothing says “Merry Christmas” like a pouty ballerina and her big sister in even bigger glasses.
And now for Exhibit B, this time with excessive makeup, braces, forced smiles and more bows. Lots and lots of bows.
Because bows are cute as hell.
And so are puppies.
If you want to spice up a boring Christmas tree shot, go out and find yourself a puppy.
Sweet Baby Jesus that’s adorable.
And if you can’t find a puppy, a teddy bear dressed as an elf works too.
You can thank me later for the tip.
And here’s another. If you find that you want a switch from the typical Christmas tree photo, I recommend sitting on a couch and placing a big poinsettia in front of your subjects. And also, at least one of you should be wearing a pirate shirt.
You can never go wrong with a pirate shirt.
Here’s to the holiday my sweet, sweet friends. May everything you’ve ever wanted be waiting for you under that Christmas tree!
Only in North Dakota would a little girl have to bundle up in full snow gear to hunt for Easter eggs. An Easter egg hunt in a snowbank is not something any of us were too thrilled about.
But we’re hearty northerners and six feet of snow has never stopped us from fulfilling our traditions.
But looking back on my childhood now it occurs to me I should have prayed for snow on Easter…
Because a snowsuit would have covered up my embarrassing Easter jumpers.
Easter Flashback
And we all know a snowsuit is timeless.
Turns out, so is a swimsuit.
The verdict’s still out on the OshKosh Hat.
Hope your Easter was less snowsuity and more swimsuity.
Which means I had approximately seven helpings of turkey, five helpings of mashed potatoes, ten spoonfuls of broccoli salad, three turkey shaped sugar cookies, a half of a turkey shaped cheese ball, a slice of pumpkin pie, another slice of pumpkin pie, a pint of cookie salad, four days of leftovers and no hope of fitting into my skinny jeans for the rest of my life.
But this story isn’t about me and my uncontrollable urges.
It’s about the pug and his.
Because besides making a few dozen ridiculous and unnecessary choices involving doughnut cake and thirds of everything, I also made the ridiculous and unnecessary choice to bring Chug the damn pug to Thanksgiving at my in-laws’.
I had good intentions. I mean, my nieces like him. And so does my Mother-in-Law. She thinks he’s hilarious.
Also, I knew if I left the little shit at the ranch for the weekend the dog would hitchhike his ass up to the nearest oil site on the hunt for a lonely oil field worker who would let him in his camper, feed him the other half of his steak before inviting the little weasel to snuggle down on the couch with him for the night.
So I loaded him up in the backseat of the pickup between the wine bottles and my bag full of stretchy pants and off we went to hug and visit and play ping pong and Barbies and board games and drink wine and wait patiently for the meal I could smell wafting from the house before we even pulled into the drive.
And all was going well. It was. The pug was behaving himself, sniffing the butts of the other family dogs, making friends, cleaning up crumbs from the kitchen floor, sneaking up on laps, licking faces…
and winking on command.
And then, four minutes before the meal was set to be served, that lovable, crowd-working dog lifted his leg and pissed on the floor smack dab in the middle of the living room and right before my eyes, sending me screaming and chasing the one-eyed monster out of the room and barreling through the kitchen before sliding to a stop in the dining room where I scooped him up and snapped out of my blind rage only to find we had landed ourselves in the midst of a crowd of relatives who had just received news of my cousin’s engagement.
I’m pretty sure my swearing, screaming and all the fur flying was just the atmosphere they were looking for in that moment.
The Merriest Christmas to all of you. I hope you’re reading this and looking forward to a weekend filled with friends and family and laughter and delicious food. To honor your friendship and support I am giving you a gift that has been enjoyed by many families around the countryside here Christmas after Christmas, courtesy of my Momma. You remember her? My Momma, the woman who has Santa Clause’s cell phone number on speed dial and continues to make Christmas the most magical time of the year. Every year.
There she is, buried under presents and squished between a couple other holly, jolly family members...
And one of the ways she does this is by whipping up this recipe and distributing it in fancy little green and red containers adorned with bows to every person who has touched her family’s life or made her laugh or brought her a bottle of wine at the perfect moment a bottle of wine was necessary throughout the year.
Men drool over this. Women hide it in places their families won’t find it. Kids sneak pieces of this heartfelt delicacy while their parent’s have their backs turned. It’s a little bit of heaven in your mouth.
It’s my momma’s fudge..and I’m going to give you the recipe. A recipe that is sure to put you on the top of the “Nice” list year after year.
Make this and even the family members who’ve disowned you will be knocking at your door, apologizing for their wrong doing with a bottle of champaign begging you to forgive them…and please, can I have a piece of that fudge.
It’s that easy.
Really.
I can even make it…all by myself!
Here’s what you need:
1 12 oz package semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 12 oz package milk chocolate chips
3 teaspoons vanilla
4 1/2 cups of sugar
1 pound of butter (No worries, I’ll post my Momma’s instructional aerobic video after Christmas)
1 can evaporated milk
Got it?
Ok, onward.
Butter an 8×12 baking dish
Bring sugar and evaporated milk to a boil, stirring constantly. Continue to stir and boil for 7 minutes.
Remove pot from heat and stir chocolate chips, vanilla and butter.
Stir until smooth and pour into the buttered baking dish
Refrigerate until set
Ask your hubby or the woman in your life with incredible strength to help you cut the fudge into squares
Serve up on a cute platter and stand back and smile as you experience that warm fuzzy feeling that comes with spreading holiday cheer.
If you’re looking for me and this fudge, we are more than likely shamefully hiding out somewhere.
Merry Christmas friends. Much love from our house to yours!
Well, it looks a little like a Charlie Brown Christmas around here, but husband and I did it. We got a tree…or something that looks like it might have come off of a tree somewhere.
Not the Rockefeller Center Tree, but at least we'll save on our electrical bill...
And it finally smells a little less like the small brown stinky present the pug left on my carpet last night and a little more like the holidays in this house.
Yes, the pug continues to hold a spot at the top of the naughty list, but we’ve gone ahead and decked the halls anyway…
Don’t worry, he’s been adequately punished…
hey, at least I sent him out in the cold with the proper gear...
And that’s all I was asking for. A little holiday cheer, a pug in a santa hat, and a tree, any tree, to put all of those presents under.
Yes, when husband came home before dark for the first time in weeks last night we decided to head out before the sun sunk down below the horizon. Despite the beautiful weather we have been experiencing this December, husband and I haven’t been out and about on the place together for a while. So we loaded up the lab and the pug in his humiliation hat and headed out to check on things.
Down the pink road and into the quickly setting sun we drove, dressed in jeans and boots and nothing but a hat, coat and gloves. As we took a turn onto a prairie trail we both marveled at the weather we’ve been having. We couldn’t believe we don’t have to wear seventeen layers beginning with underwear and ending with a wool cap over the top of a wool cap. Last year at this time we were on a snowmobile zooming over the top of ten foot snow drifts in our search for an oversized Christmas tree that would spend the rest of the month in the house poking the back of my neck as I sat at my computer desk.
Yes, last year we had a bit more ambition, a little more time, the pug had two eyeballs and we had a very white Christmas.
Last Christmas
This year? Well, Cliff the weatherman says it’s supposed to be 40 degrees.
Do you know what I am going to do on Christmas if it is 40 degrees?
Go find my horses and ride off into the tropical North Dakota December sunset, because riding horses on a warm, snow-less December day on the northern plains might be a once in a lifetime experience.
I think the horses were feeling the same thing as they came to greet us on our hunt for holiday cheer. Our pickup rolled slowly across the grassy pasture and the paints and the sorrels and the buckskin and bay, fat and happy and furry came trotting down from the horizon to sniff our pockets for treats.
I buried my nose in their fluffy coats to smell the little pieces of summer they hold in their skin. I scratched their noses and took some photos as they posed for me, black silhouettes against a darkening sky. And standing out there on the open prairie with the winter chill on my skin as those horses breathed and snorted and leaned into our hands on the cusp of Christmas, just like a shot from a gun I was flooded with a memory that set me right with the season…right in the place I needed to be…
…to Christmas morning when Pops gets up before the sun. Hours before our bare feet hit the floor to find our warm slippers, he is pulling on his wool cap, his overshoes and coveralls in preparation for the chill of the morning winter air.
If we get up early enough we might catch the tail lights of his ranch pickup as he heads out over the hill, the empty grain buckets he is intending to fill rolling around in the box as he bounces along the gravel road.
And as we walk past the sparkling tree with presents piled high, our stockings filled for the brim waiting for us, as we put our caramel rolls in the oven, brew our coffee and pull our robe tight around us to go wake the children, our little sisters or our husbands, Pops has just parked his pickup next to the grain bin and pulled out those buckets from the back. He is un-latching the creaky door to shovel the sweet smelling feed into the containers, piling it high to the top as the dust from the previous season pools in the crisp air around him.
Carefully he is loading the buckets, two at a time into the back of the pickup… and then he grabs one more and fills that one too before pulling down his cap against the cold and reaching for his handkerchief to wipe his chilly nose.
As we are pulling on our sweaters and sipping our first cup of coffee, pops is heading toward where he last saw the horses, out in the field above his house or down in the coulee between the two places.
And while we’re turning on the holiday music and buttering our caramel roll, Pops is taking a moment to scratch his buckskin between the ears, pull a few burs from the bay’s mane and give them that extra bucket of grain before heading out to check the water and then on into the yard as the sun rises slowly over the house.
When I was younger he would take me with him if I was up in time. And in those quiet moments on Christmas morning when the frost was sparkling on the trees, or the snow drifts were lurking in the shadows of the rising light. in the moments my toes might have been a little chilly and my nose a little runny I don’t remember thinking that we needed to hurry to get back. I don’t remember feeling anxious about opening my presents or checking out my stocking to see what Santa might have brought us. I don’t remember thinking about hot cocoa or Christmas cookies or the new sled I hoped I would be getting…I knew we would get there in time
The only thing I remember on those Christmas mornings when I sat next to Pops on the bench seat of the feed pickup is the lesson he may have mentioned out loud…or maybe not…
No matter the day, no matter the season or the weather, the blizzard or the warmth, no matter how many presents are waiting for you under the tree, our first responsibility is to care for the things that depend on us…
And on Christmas we always throw them a little extra.
If only some of those things that depend on us didn’t poop on our floors…
Christmas is right around the corner. Like, right there. I can see its sparkly ribbons and the ball on its Santa hat from here and I am finding myself a little anxious about the whole thing. I’m saying things like, I’m not ready! I have to bake something! I have to wrap the presents and find a Christmas tree and put up lights! It has to snoooowwwww! It hasn’t even really snowed yet!!!
I’ve been so wrapped up in other things this December, like planning the arrival and set-up of our new house, that Christmas and I haven’t been able to spend time together.
So this week I have “Christmas” on my agenda. I’m not going to lie, I don’t like having to pencil it in. I much prefer when the season infiltrates into my life naturally. I like when the ground has just the right amount of sparkly snow and husband and I are able to go out and cut the tree together. I like when I have a weekend to put up the lights and replace my usual brown candles and wooden frames with red and green decorations and boughs of cedar.
I love it when the house smells like cedar. It’s one of my favorite things about Christmas at the ranch.
Last night when husband and I got in late from dinner at my big sister’s new house I walked through our entryway full of tools and living room piled to the ceiling with unwrapped presents and realized that, with Christmas just a few days away and husband working so hard on the new house, it isn’t likely we will have a tree this year. And it’s the last Christmas we’ll spend in this little house.
It made me a little sad as I crawled into bed, thinking about our first Christmas spent as a married couple in this house. I pulled the covers up and closed my eyes to remember the first tree we cut together from the place. Our first tree as husband and wife….
We’d been married about four months and there was snow on the ground. We headed out the door in early December to drive the trail to the east pasture, the pasture on the edge of the badlands that grows the most Christmas type trees on the place, our new puppy riding in the back of the pickup. We bumped and bounced along the rough and frozen path until we got to the top of the hill looking over one of our favorite spots. Deciding he had pushed his luck and the limits of his 4-wheel drive, we got out of the pickup to scope out the hills on foot, our little brown lab trailing in our footprints behind us.
It is one of my favorite memories, watching my new husband dressed in his wool cap and neckerchief, jeans and big boots, milling over the size and proportion of a cedar tree that we had spotted on the top of a hill together. I remember it being just before dark as the sun made its way down over the buttes as our new puppy and I watched eagerly as husband carefully sawed off the top of our chosen tree and drug it up the hill to the pickup.
We followed in his snowy footprints and walked together talking and laughing at how our puppy was jumping through the drifts, watching our breath puff in and out with our words. We reached our pickup as the sun was setting, loaded our puppy and the tree in the back and I plopped my snow-suited body down next to husband in the cab. He started the engine, put the vehicle in reverse, stepped on the gas and, well…we didn’t move..
Husband put in drive, stepped on the gas…and…ummm…we were not going that way either.
Reverse.
Drive.
Reverse.
Drive.
Stuck.
Husband got the shovel and I stepped out and sunk knee deep into the snow bank we decided to park in. I trudged around to the back of the pickup to check on the puppy who, in all of that back and forth, had lost his cookies all over in the box of the pickup…and if memory serves me right, it seemed he had indulged in a lot of cookies.
So there we were, my new husband and I, out on the prairie in the middle of winter at sunset, a good five hilly miles away from our little house with a Christmas tree and a sick puppy in the back of the pickup…two supplies we found are pretty worthless in times like these.
But you know, I don’t remember feeling panicked or frustrated or upset in any way. I do remember being grossed out by the dog puke, but not enough to not laugh about it. I knew somewhere in that youthful and hopeful heart of mine that I married a man who was perfectly capable of getting us out of a jam like this and on down through the hills to help me drag that tree into the house and make it a Christmas to remember.
So I got behind the wheel as husband shoveled and instructed me on the technique of successfully rocking a pickup out of a snowbank that had us high-centered. He shoveled the snow, wet and sticky from the warmth of the now disappearing sun and I leaned my head out the window to hear his instructions to drive forward, then backward, then forward again.
And then, as the stars started showing their shiny faces one by one over the snowy hills, husband scootched me out of the driver’s seat to get behind the wheel, I grabbed the puppy and with one mighty rev my man drove us and our giant Christmas tree out of the snow bank and to the front door of our home in the barnyard.
I remember us laughing the entire way home with relief, thanking those stars above that we weren’t walking.
Thankful that we were there together in our own adventure…
Thankful for a Christmas together.
I fell asleep last night with this memory floating in the air above my bed, playing itself out for me. I woke up this morning while my husband of nearly five Christmases still lay sleeping beside me.
I wrapped my arms around him and lay there in that memory for another moment. And in the quiet of the farmhouse, in the still of the early morning before the sun appeared, I listened to my husband breathe.
I listened to him breathe, kissed his shoulder and rolled out of bed to find the list of things I have to do to prepare for Christmas this weekend.
And at the top, in front of wrapping presents, making fudge, cleaning the house, and writing cards I wrote in big, bold letters…
Hello, hello…happy Sunday everyone. I come to you from under my favorite blanket on my favorite recliner in my favorite sweatpants and fleece shirt while the snow blows and drifts outside the windows of this little house. The heat is on, the music is playing, the laundry is rolling in the dryer downstairs. All should be well shouldn’t it? I mean, this is the best place to be on a cold and dreary December day.
.Except one thing.
I just realized it is December.
Like December 9th or something right?
Sweet mercy, it’s almost Christmas!!!!
I’m in crisis.
I have been so consumed with photo taking, eating, working, writing, snuggling, and planning for the arrival of our new house (yeah, that’s happening in like a week or so, but we’ll talk more about that later) that I have completely neglected the whole process of making it look a lot like Christmas around here.
I have no tree. I have no baked goods. I have no lights or tinsel or twelve-foot inflatable Santa riding a motorcycle on my front porch. My gift ideas are still ideas (the inflatable Santa and is one of them…but don’t tell my momma) and I haven’t even dug out Chug’s santa suit yet! I know he’s pretty damn disappointed.
I am very upset with myself. I am. But wasn’t it just yesterday that I was jumping in the lake in my swimming suit? Now I am digging in our chest full of winter gear to find my favorite mittens and scarf. Wow, time flies when you’re working, crafting, photographing, riding horses, chasing cattle, drinking margaritas with friends, swimming in big lakes, walking around aimlessly in the hills, yelling at the pug to get off the couch and planning the house you are going to live in for the rest of your life.
Anyway, today I woke up with every intention of making a dent in this holiday season. And the first item on the list was this:
1) Make and order our Christmas Cards
Pretty simple. Pretty straightforward.
That should be checked off in a good 20 minutes…
All I need to do is find a relatively decent photograph of husband and I. No problem. We’re together all the time. I have a camera I take with me wherever I go. I am sure during the course of the 360 days since we ordered our last Christmas card someone has taken a semi-decent photograph of the two of us in a khaki pants and holiday sweaters by a crackling fire with perfectly placed stockings with our names on them behind us as we smile with the warmth and love of the season.
I am sure someone has captured us clinking wine glasses together in a nearby vineyard as we gaze lovingly and knowingly into each other’s eyes.
Or maybe they caught us on top of a mountain in our Eddie Bauer ski clothes, with cheeks perfectly flushed from the crisp mountain air, arms around one another as we took a moment to sip a hot chocolate and pose as the clouds rolled by in the bright blue sky before we “swished, swished, swished” down the face of the powdery mountain.
I think I have that photo around here somewhere….
Or what about the one where we were caught together in a delightful fall day, raking leaves in our matching fleece shirts and mittens, finding it so refreshing and romantic to be outdoors together that we just couldn’t contain our joy so we began playfully throwing leaves at one another. I could use that one with a card that says something like: “Joy to the world, the yard work’s done…”
Hmmm…
Or what about the one with us in that hot-air balloon sailing over the Grand Canyon? Didn’t we do that this year? Didn’t someone document it?
Or on the beach with our perfectly sculpted abs from all of that P90X we’ve been doing. Yeah, I think I was wearing a bikini with one of those sarong things and my hair was blowing in the sea air while husband scooped me up in his arms as the waves crashed against our legs. I KNOW someone captured that moment. That would be a perfect Christmas card photo…
Funny, I can’t find that one anywhere…
And now it has been a good two hours and all I have is more snow, less coffee and thirty-seven thousands photos scrounged up of the two of us either double-fisting drinks at a concert, holding an awkward pose with forced smiles in a scenic place or captured moments of annoyance…
But I have lots of photos of hubby. Gorgeous photos of him riding through the prairies so stoically handsome or standing on a horizon somewhere looking masculine…
Maybe I could just scrounge up a semi decent photo of myself and, well, you know, smoosh them together. People do that don’t they?
Yeah, this ain’t gonna happen is it?
Seriously, if anyone was on that hot air balloon ride with us, can you please send me the photos?!!
Maybe I’ll just call it good with this one this year. I mean, it has holiday cheer written all over it.
Happy Holiday preparation everyone. I’ll be in the bathroom practicing my classy, warm, inviting, Eddie Bauer model smile if you need me…
I know this because someone dressed me in suspenders, a bow tie and patent leather shoes and stuck me by this Christmas tree.
Now let me take a guess at what you’re doing in any of the spare time you may be lucky to possess.
You are making lists. Lists in your head about gifts to give. Lists on napkins about food to bake. Grocery lists stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you forget to grab on your way out into the blizzard to get to the store. Lists on the back of your hand reminding you to add crazy uncle Bob to your Christmas card list.
I’m right aren’t I? But hopefully you’re not feeling the pressure just yet, as we have a good 24 days until Christmas. Oh, and by the way, thanks for taking the time to stop in, you know, between all of that baking and list making.
So while I have you here with me, I want to give you a little gift.
Close your eyes.
Put your head on your desk, or in your hands, or on the shoulder of your sweetie sitting next to you…
…and think about the season. Go ahead. I give you permission. Think about it the way you want to think about it. Love it. Loathe it. Tolerate it.
Now picture yourself when you were 5 or 6 or 7.
Shut up, neon was in. And so were earmuffs.
In the middle of December.
Picture your snowsuit. Think about the thrill of Santa’s impending visit, the pride you felt wrapping up that macaroni pencil holder for your gramma, the excitement of the first snow fall, the taste of your momma’s fresh cookies and your pops’ caramel corn. The quiet thankfulness you had for Jesus as you decorated the Christmas tree in preparation for his birthday.
Think of yourself, adorable I’m sure with hair wildly flinging out from your favorite beanie, breath heavy as you drug your neon sled, or wood sled, or cardboard box up to the top of the nearest hill and flung yourself down for the first time.
Remember how you couldn’t even feel your frozen cheeks as you closed your eyes tight against the wind whizzing by. You didn’t care about the weather or the windchill or the travel warnings or the buns you left in the oven. Because you didn’t leave buns in the oven. Because you were five or six or seven and no one let you use the oven.
Maybe your little sister was sitting behind you in the sled. Maybe your big brother was giving you a huge push. Remember the sound you used to make when you were thrilled? Remember how hard you laughed as you came to a crashing halt at the bottom–snow in your boots, snow in your hair, snow down your pants.
Yup, earmuffs, so fashionable, versatile anyone can pull off the look.
But you jumped up, brushed yourself off and just as soon as you yelled, “let’s do it again!’ your mom and dad came out from the house to call you for dinner and to your surprise, instead of making you come inside, they decided to take a run at the hill themselves.
So they climbed to the top with you, huffing and puffing into thier wool scarves, your dad holding your mother’s hand partly out of affection, but mostly to tug her along.
And just like that they were no longer adults. Just like that they were no longer parents who made you eat your vegetables, stop hitting your sister and clean your room. They were kings and queens of the mountain just like you. Their cheeks were rosy, their eyelashes coated in frost, their hearts pounding in anticipation as your mom wrapped her arms around your father’s waist and squealed– a sound so familiar somehow, although you swore you never heard it from her lips–as he launched the both of them, scarves trailing behind, like white lightning down the mountain.
And you held your breath and hoped your eyes did not deceive you. You clasped your hands together and bent your knees as they approached the little jump you and your brother had constructed. You closed your eyes as they caught air and seperated from the ground…and then from the sled…
You remained silent as they landed, with a puff, in a pile of legs and down and snot and wool and mittens, at the bottom.
You remained silent knowing surely that this accident, this launch, would transform them back into the people you knew only moments before. That a trip home right this instant was inevitable. Oh, the fun was surely over now.
And just as you were about to release your knees, slowly from their bent position, you launched into that jump after all as you heard, echoing off of the buttes and through the trees, laughter.
Laughter like you’ve never heard come out of these people you called parents before.
And you laughed too as you watched them lay there in a pile, their bellies rising and falling underneath the layers of coats and sweaters as they took in the next big breath only to release it again and again as huge chuckles, squeals, gasps. Pure joy.
So as soon as gravity returned you to earth your boots carried you, arms flailing, down the hill and to a sliding halt right into the middle of these new found friends. Then your brother or sister plopped right on the top and another wave of hilarity ensued.
And you were all there. You were all a part of it. A great big pile of happy and love and family.
A great big pile of friends.
Are you smiling?
Good.
Now the only thing I ask in return is this: if you forget anything this season–the cookie salad, your third cousin’s new last name, what your youngest daughter wants for Christmas, or uncle Bob at the airport–please, please do not forget yourself…
This is what comes out of my kitchen during the holidays.
Yup, when the kitchen is mine I create character shaped cheese…
I do something similar for Christmas.
Oh don’t worry, Cowboy’s cooking up a storm and has created a great little post-holiday meal for you all. I’ll be sure to post it as soon as I recover from the production. It’s a goodie.
But on this special day I felt compelled to share with you my sophisticated and famous (in at least two counties) holiday dish.
Because I don’t want you and your relatives to miss out on the best way to kick off the binge eating that is sure to ensue right after you all consume about thirty crackers dipped in this…
A delightfully festive and perfectly adorable turkey shaped cheese ball
2 8 oz. packages of cream cheese, room temperature
1 jar dried (chipped) beef, chopped
3 green onions, chopped
2 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 package (1 ounce) ranch dressing mix
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1 cup slivered almonds
And to give the bird clothes for warmth and eyes to see the light:
3 candy corns
4 or 5 chocolate chips, depending on how many buttons you think he needs
1 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup
1 mini Butterfinger
5 or 6 mini pretzels…or those pretzel crisp things, those work great too…
1. Mix cream cheese, dried beef, green onions, Worcestershire, ranch dressing mix and cheddar cheese in a bowl. Form into two balls–a large ball for the turkey body and a smaller ball for the head…how much smaller depends on how big you think his brain is.
2. Roll both balls in the slivered almonds to coat.
3. Now place the turkey’s head on the body before you scare the kids.
Ok, let’s breathe some life into this hunk of cheese. We have the power:
4. Give the bird eyes with two chocolate chips.
5. Make him a nice shirt with two or three chocolate chip buttons.
6. The candy corns make two feet for dancing and one beak for singing a song of thanks.
7. Use the pretzels to make the tail feathers (and then shake yours if you wanna).
8. And top it off with a top hat, Pilgrim style! Place the Reese’s cup on the turkey head and then cut the mini Butterfinger in half. Stick the pieces of the Butterfinger back to back with a bit of the cheese mixture left in the bowl. And then do the same thing to make the Butterfinger sandwich stay on the peanut butter cup….
…and then…
“Ta Da” another Turkey is brought into this world…
This year's model. I used carrots for the feet and beak, cause momma ate all the candy corns. Oh, and I couldn't find my almonds, but hey, in my kitchen we are nothing if we aren't flexible.
…and your guests are mystified. Jaws drop. Grandmothers faint. Applause.
Take a bow, you’ve just become the favorite relative.
Take that Martha!
Oh, he's so darn cute, I could just eat him up....
Because bows are cute as hell.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... 