I was thumbing through the June issue of Food Network magazine when I came upon this super cute idea for a Father’s Day dessert. It’s “steak and fries” made from chocolate ice cream and pound cake.

And usually when I try and recreate something I find in a magazine it turns out to be a complete disaster (see any of my previous attempts at crafting). But this time, I think I pretty much nailed it.

For the steaks you’ll need:
1 carton of chocolate ice cream
1 bottle of chocolate syrup

For the fries you’ll need:
1 12-ounce frozen pound cake
1 stick unsalted butter
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup strawberry (or raspberry) jam

Other things you’ll need:
A metal skewer
Parchment paper
Clear plastic wrap
A cutting board
A serrated knife
A cookie sheet

To make the steaks:
Using a serrated knife, slice the carton of ice cream into 1-inch thick rounds. Tightly wrap each ice cream round in plastic wrap, then form into a steak shaped with your hands. Freeze until firm, about 20 minutes.

Unwrap the steak and place on parchment paper. Dip a metal skewer into hot water and press into ice cream to create grill-mark lines. Refreeze the steak until firm, about 20 minutes.

To make the fries:
Using a crinkle cutter trim the sides of the pound cake, then cut crosswise into 1/4-inch thick slices. Cut each cake slice into strips. Melt butter and sugar together. Place fries on cookie sheet and drizzle with melted sugar butter and place in 350 degree oven for 8 minutes.

When you’re ready to serve, place frozen steak on a plate. Fill in grill marks with chocolate syrup. Spoon strawberry jam in a small bowl next to fries. Serve (and eat!) immediately.

I like to think of myself as pretty easy going. I might even go as far as to say that I’m one of the least high maintenance women you will ever meet.

I can be ready for the day (and I mean shower, shave, put on makeup and dry my hair) in thirty minutes. But given the choice I prefer to be in workout clothes and running shoes (whether I’m actually “working out” or not) than wearing real clothes. Or a bra. And fingers crossed dirty hair makes a comeback.

I call myself low maintenance rather than lazy. It’s all in the delivery, people. Did I know I have a giant mustard stain down the middle of my shirt? Why yes I did. I’m just choosing not to sweat the small stuff.

Basically what I’m trying to say is I’m no princess. And I pride myself on that. It’s a widely shared belief that the world could use a few less princesses and more real (Earthy) women. And by Earthy I don’t mean you should stop shaving your armpits. Let’s not get crazy.

But with all this being said, there’s a catch to all my easy going-ness.

Nothing really embarrasses me, much to my downfall. Perhaps if I embarrassed a little easier I would filter myself more. And wear less dirty clothes. And not burp in public places. But as it stands things like this don’t bother me.

Not too long ago it was brought to my attention that I snore. And I don’t why this had such a negative effect on me, but I’m humiliated (over and over again) at the notion that loud, snorting noises leave my mouth as soon as I fall unconscious.

So then yesterday a bunch of people were over hanging out around the pool. And Jeff whipped out his phone and announced that he had something funny to share. And then he pushed the Play button on his memo app and then…

I can’t even believe I’m sharing this with you

Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed. And also, I snore just like my grandfather did when I was a kid.

If you don’t enjoy reading about and looking at pictures of the most adorable little boy on planet Earth, you should probably X out of here pronto. Because I was sitting here this morning scrolling through some photos on my smart phone and every picture of Ethan made my insides feel all gooey.

I know, everyone thinks their kid is the best, but you guys, seriously, I have the sweetest little boy who ever lived.

And so to prove that, I’m going to present you with exhibits A-H.

Ethan is quite the artist. He sits at the kitchen table for hours perfecting his drawings. He made me buy him every How-To-Draw (fill in the blank) book out there.

He sometimes writes his letters backwards, on purpose, in an effort to make a political statement. Future politician? Let’s hope not.

Ethan is a fabulous bed buddy. When I drug him with Benadryl*, he sleeps like this.

When I run out of Benadryl or forget to give it to him, he sleeps like this.

He’s a spiffy and thoughtful dresser. When he got his brand new first ever baseball uniform, he couldn’t wait to wear it. So he wore it to our friend’s mother’s 70th birthday party.

He was even MORE excited when he got to wear his baseball uniform to an actual baseball GAME.

Ethan is also quite popular with the ladies. And good news for us, we’ve already picked out his future wife. Doubly good news is that they share the same birthday, so that’ll be easy for him to remember. I mean, she will most likely be taller than him, but we’re OK with that. Because look how cute their children will be.

But the thing I love most about Ethan is his keen ability to plan ahead. More days than not, I go in his room while he’s at school to find that he’s laid out his “after school” outfit. God I love this kid.

*Disclaimer: I don’t actually give my kids Benadryl so they’ll go to sleep. OK, maybe I do sometimes when they’re really on my nerves.

A few weeks ago I visited friends in Nashville. And the first thing Alecia asked me before I even had a chance to put my overnight bag in the guest room was, “Do you want a cocktail?”

Yes. Please.

Quick as lightning she whipped up the most refreshing, summery cocktail I’d ever tasted. And now I’m sharing it with you. I don’t think it has an official name (because I’m pretty sure Alecia is some sort of genius mixologist and made it up) but I’m calling it Going Coconuts.

What you need:

Coconut flavored vodka (we used Ciroc)
Coconut water
Club soda
Lemon slices
A tall glass

To make a Going Coconuts, fill a glass with ice. Pour in two shots of coconut flavored vodka, followed by a half cup coconut water (or more, depending how tall a glass you use), a splash of club soda (to give it some fizz), a few squeezes of lime.

The only thing missing is a lounge chair and cabana boy. I’ll work on that for you.

Enjoy!

I have a confession.

I eat out of the trashcan.

But only the one in my kitchen. It’s not like I’m some gross person who eats out of other people’s trashcans. Now that would be disgusting. Before you go all Judge Judy on me, I’ll have you know there’s a reasonable explanation why I do this.

My family throws away perfectly good food. For real. And to clarify, I only eat the food that’s laying on top. It’s not like I dig down and scrounge under wrappers and empty containers looking for chicken bones and half eaten sandwiches. Although a half eaten sandwich still in the baggie or left on a paper plate is an acceptable find.

It started a few years ago. Post kids. I can’t remember ever eating out of the garbage can before I became a mother. But one day, I went to throw something away, and found a cheeseburger—right there, on top, with only one bite missing. And, I was hungry. I did hesitate for a second. I mean, we are talking about the trashcan. And you know, trashcans are filled with snot rags, and hairballs and moldy bread. But this cheeseburger was almost perfect and just laying there, wanting to be eaten…practically begging me, calling out “Eat me, Shauna. See how yummy I am?” So I reached in, scooped it out, blew on it (you know, to get the cooties off) and then gobbled it up. The whole thing.

And that was the beginning.

Now, looking for perfectly acceptable half eaten food in the garbage can is part of my daily routine. You can’t imagine the goldmine that rests in the cylindrical stainless steel container in the corner of my kitchen: milkshakes, and quesadillas, Lean Cuisines and curly fries. A girl could eat for days! And a certain girl generally does. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m a disgusting pig, and normally I would agree with you.

But I’m telling you, you’re wrong this time. What I am is a genius. Do you know how much money I’m saving my family by eating the leftovers they so frivolously throw away?

Oh look, a barely chewed piece of gum. Mmm. Minty.