My poor brother. He got a puppy. He named it Daisy. Don't worry; the dog doesn't die at the end of this story. Anyway, he was so excited. It took thirty years of life before he became a proud dog owner. Unfortunately, he called to brag about his new family member to me (his normally loving, sane big sister) on Friday, or as I will fondly remember it "the day my lack of sleep finally caught up with me and made me a demonic being." Last week was so busy, that while trying to balance family, house, kids, school and the show, I sort of forgot to sleep… a lot. Last I counted; I slept 17 hours between Sunday and Saturday, and not at all between Tuesday and Wednesday. That was my fun, up over 24 hour marathon. By Friday, I was grumpy and opinionated. Boy, did I have a great deal to say about that dog. Topher's joy was squashed and I felt terrible about it. The thing is, I knew I was being extremely ugly, I tried to stop and be friendly and happy, but every word still came out wrong. It was quite similar to watching someone drunk try to act sober. You still know they are drunk, but you play along just to see where it is going.

I had to teach a Saturday class, so I really didn't have a chance to make up for the lost rest until Sunday. Eighteen hours later, I was a new woman. I don't care what the doctors say with their sleep studies. I believe that one can catch up on rest. The AMA strongly disagrees. After my comatose state, I got a ton of stuff done. Heck, it is only 5:08 p.m. and I am typing this, so I must be doing something right! Jack and I did a "clutter smack down for charity" and bagged up five contractor bags of stuff that we don't want, need, have outgrown, or have duplicates of. Decluttering is soul cleansing for me. Sleep and neatness went a long way for me today. I even called Topher and apologized for the insomnia demon that he spoke with on Friday, and his only reply was, "I was wondering when it was all going to catch up with you." We traded puppy tales, and I got a positive report on my new little canine niece, Daisy.

Also done for the night is the wonderful cake, Hawaiian Dream Cake, which I am sharing with you in the morning (or this morning, depending on when you read this). It is an adaptation of a cake recipe called "Elvis Cake"… yeah, I refuse to call it that. One, I respect the King, and hat's off to you Tupelo folks for being able to claim his birthplace (I'm from Kosciusko, we will see your Elvis and raise you an Oprah), but I absolutely refuse to call anything I make Elvis _________. Be it pie, cake, grits, or banana bread that fills in that blank, his moniker shall not be the descriptive term. Why? Two words… Fat Elvis. No one wants to remember the not so lean years of the King. We proved that when we had to choose between "young, sexy Elvis" or "old, 'fry me up somethin' with peanut butter in it' Elvis" to don a US postage stamp. Sweet, young thing won by a landslide. Think about it; there is a reason.

One hint about this cake: I originally wanted to use a pineapple cake mix. However, one pineapple upside down cake mixes only fills one, 8 inch pan, and they are expensive. If you have two sitting around, use them, and save the included pineapple and strudel mixture for another time. If not, use a butter or yellow cake mix. Everything else is self explanatory, and you should have no issues. I am now off to plan a lecture and get in bed at a decent hour! See you again Thursday.

Happy Cooking,

Shannon