This is one of those old recipes that I’ve been making since forever – and has been evolving that long too.
It was born out of necessity when Oldest Son and Darling Daughter were very young, and we were on a very tight budget. I almost always had the cheap, store brand jello in the house, along with graham crackers, butter and sugar and if I got the store brand frozen whipped topping, I could have a very economical and tasty dessert in very short order. Darling Daughter has dubbed this “Cloud Pie” – I always just called it “Jello Pie.”
Basically I made a graham cracker crust, using crushed graham crackers, sugar and melted butter. Then I made the jello, let it get soft set, blended the whipped topping into it, poured it into the crust and refrigerated it until it was firm.
And the kids ate it up.
Over the years, the recipe has evolved – at one point, I found the old Weight Watcher’s recipe that was very similar and took their method of using less water and incorporating a like-flavored yogurt into the filling; it gives it more body and a better taste for sure.
This is a perfect, light summer dessert, super-simple and quick to make, and to this day is a favorite of Oldest Son and Miss Jacki. You can, of course, use a ready-made graham cracker crust, but a homemade one is just soooooo good. And if you really want, you can use fat-free yogurt, light Cool Whip, sugar free Jello and a reduced fat crust; if I remember correctly, the lowfat version is 3 Weight Watchers points, which makes it about 150 calories per slice (8 pieces out of a 9-inch pie).
You can use just about any flavor of Jello and yogurt you want – lime is always a favorite, and strawberry and orange are good too. I’ve gotten pretty creative with it on occasion; lemon Jello with piña colada flavored yogurt is quite tasty. But because the lime version of the pie seems to be so popular with the offspring, that’s what I’m giving you here.
Cloud Pie
serves 6 to 8
1 small box (4 servings) lime-flavored gelatin
1/2 cup boiling water
2 – 6 oz. containers lime-flavored yogurt
8 oz. container frozen whipped topping, thawed
9″ prepared graham cracker crust (recipe below)
In a medium sized mixing bowl, dissolve the gelatin in the boiling water. Whisk in the yogurt, then the whipped topping until well blended. Spread in graham cracker crust; refrigerate until set.
Graham Cracker Crust
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs – about 12 whole crackers, crushed
3 tablespoons sugar
6 tablespoons melted unsalted butter
9″ pie plate
Combine the sugar and graham cracker crumbs in a medium sized mixing bowl. Work the butter into the crumbs with your fingertips until the crumbs look like wet sand. Using your fingertips, press the crust into a 9-inch pie plate to make an even layer over the bottom and sides of the pan – covering the crumb/butter mixture with a piece of plastic wrap will help keep the crumbs from sticking to your fingers.
Bake at 350 ° F for 10 – 12 minutes, or until golden. Let cool before filling.
Well, I was going to post a recipe today – my insomnia has been bad again this week, I’m very tired and the recipe I was going to post is very easy (it’s coming tomorrow). But I’ve had the thoughts for this post rolling around in my head ever since this post last week and I need to get it off my chest.
Being a step-parent is not easy; there are ALL sorts of challenges and obstacles and frustrations that come with the job. I can certainly understand the desire to not want to do it – trust me, I really, really can – but if you’ve married a man with children from a former marriage or relationship, you’ve got to put on your big girl panties and face facts. The ex-wife or girlfriend and the kids are a part of his life, and always will be (or always should be) and it’s something that you’ve got to not only learn to live with, but deal with in a mature, responsible manner.
After my little rant last week about Ex-husband and Current Wife and the little games that are apparently being played, I started thinking about how very fortunate I am in another respect. I’m not talking about Beloved; I believe I’ve made it more than clear that he is not only a marvelous father to his own daughters, but a great step-father to my kids. No, I’m talking about The Young One’s step-mother.
Good Ex, as he’ll be referred to henceforth, met and married a lovely woman from Trinidad a few years ago, and they have a son who is almost 3. Now Good Ex and I have had our problems and moments of frustration over the years, but we’ve always done our best to be the best parents we can be to The Young One. In our efforts to continue to co-parent despite our separation, we’ve discovered that it’s not all that difficult to be civil to each other – we’ve even managed to remain fairly good friends.
Good Step-Mom has been just that – a good step-mom. In fact, I thinks it’s safe to say she’s been an exemplary step-parent. Oh, she’s made a mistake or two, but what step-parent hasn’t? I can say, though, that when I’ve felt that there has been an issue I have had no problems talking to Good Ex about it, and any problems there have been were resolved quickly and with as little angst and drama as possible.
Mostly because she seems to understand what her role in The Young One’s life is, and she makes an effort to fill that role without any undue resentment or emotional baggage. She seems to understand that Good Ex and I are the parents, and she lets us parent. She is there for The Young One when he needs her without being interfering or badmouthing me. She welcomes my son into her home and is kind and loving towards him while he’s there, but never tries to assume my role.
While Good Step-Mom and I will probably never be the best of friends, she does not seem to be threatened by my friendship with Good Ex and I appreciate that a great deal. I wonder how many second wives understand how very, very important it is for the parents of their step-children to remain on as good of terms as possible, and how important it is that they do what they can to facilitate that relationship - or at the very least, not to hinder it. Good Step-Mom is mature enough to understand I am no threat to her marriage – we’re no longer together for a reason.
At any rate, I am grateful to Good Step-Mom and am glad she is part of my son’s life. She is doing a great job of being exactly the kind of step-parent I myself try to be. I can only hope that I’m as successful at it.
Not to brag or anything, but I have GREAT kids. Absolutely wonderful, marvelous, intelligent, witty, entertaining kids, and I adore each and every one of them.
Okay, so I’m bragging. Shoot me.
I never really cared much for children until I had my own. In fact, I still don’t care much for children except my own. All right, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but my kids are definitely better than your kids; don’t even bother trying to argue with me about it, because, gee – you’ll lose. I know everyone thinks their own children are exceptional, but in my case it just happens to be true.
Seriously, though, before Oldest Son was born, I never thought I could love another human being as much as I did him. It took me totally by surprise – it still does. Sometimes I look at him and wonder how the poor guy ever survived being a first child and all the mistakes I made, but he did. A quiet and serious child, and the epitome of the angst-ridden teenager (he was emo before they had a word for it), he grew up into a serious, responsible, level-headed adult who takes an avid interest in politics and culture and has a wicked sense of humor. We are about as close at it is possible for a mother and son to be.
When I found out I was expecting Darling Daughter, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to love a second child as much as I love Oldest Son, so, again, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t so – I could, and do, love her every bit as much. My Rebellious One, she often seems devoid of the common sense that characterizes her older brother (and her younger one, for that matter), and I often wondered if I was going to survive her adolescence. Beloved calls her “Teflon Girl” because she has an uncanny knack for getting herself into situations that you just know are going to turn out badly, then coming out of them completely unscathed – and often smelling like a rose. The fact that she is beautiful (I don’t have a picture that does her justice) as well as one of the most charming people alive probably helps a great deal. I kid you not – the girl could sell air conditioners to Eskimos.
I talk a lot about The Young One here, mostly because he’s the only chick left in the nest, but also because not a day goes by that he doesn’t just amaze me. Three months premature and weighing only 2 pounds 4 1/2 ounces, we were told it was quite possible he would’t make it. Needless to say, he not only survived but thrived – at least physically. In fact, he was quite precocious physically; he sat up, crawled and walked way before the norm for a preemie. But by the time he was two, it became clear there was something wrong. Perhaps very wrong.
He didn’t talk, for one. At all. In fact, he didn’t talk until he was nearly five years old (now you can’t get him to shut up). He didn’t seem to take much interest in the world around him, although he could focus on one specific activity for periods of time that was frankly amazing for a toddler. He threw terrible, horrible temper tantrums that no one could do anything to stop until he just wore himself out. He had (and still does) issues with food – it practically took an act of congress to get him to try a new food, and he would often gag when eating.
I had his hearing tested, I took him to a speech therapist and begged the doctor to have him tested for Pervasive Developmental Disorder. He refused, saying The Young One simply wasn’t on the autism spectrum, which I felt was bullshit – I still do. And as The Young One got older, his problems slowly but surely got better – or we just learned to deal with them more effectively. The temper tantrums gradually stopped, he began to take more of an interest in his surroundings, although it’s just been in the last few years that he’s really begun socializing with kids his own age, and he began to talk (quite a bit, actually…sometimes to excess). Even today, though, he will begin a sentence then start over, sometimes several times, before he finishes it, but even this is becoming more and more infrequent.
It wasn’t until fairly recently that it occurred to anyone that he probably suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome. I haven’t had him formally diagnosed, and probably won’t since the older he gets the milder his symptoms become; he is, in fact, at 14, practically asymptomatic and I see no need to needlessly stigmatize him.
I simply enjoy that I can have instant message conversations on Yahoo like this with him and his brother:
Me: So, what are you up to this afternoon?
The Young One: Nothing, really. Watching Glenn Beck.
Me: Why on earth are you watching Glenn Beck?!?!
TYO: There’s nothing else on.
Me, to Oldest Son: Your brother is watching Glenn Beck.
OS: Well, tell him to stop before his brain rots.
Me, to TYO: Oldest Son says to stop watching Glenn Beck before your brain rots.
TYO: He’d rather I watch Bill O’Reilly?
OS, after I relayed that message: Well, he has a point there.
I’ve been slathering both of my elbows with lotion on a daily basis for the last week, and they still have dandruff. What’s with that?
I know I’ve always been a little flaky, but this is just too much.
~~~~~~
Saturday, Beloved and I went to the locally nursery to pick up a couple of houseplants. The man is so optimistic – we have all of one houseplant I haven’t managed to kill yet. But, we picked out a pink polka dot plant, a chocolate drop plant, a lovely ivy and some huge purple thing that we can’t decide where to put it.
Sunday he left for Louisiana for a week, leaving me to care for it all.
“Well,” he said, “that’s what you get for not killing the dog.”
Well, he has a point there.
~~~~~~
Beloved came home from Home Depot recently with a bag of male goodies and a bemused look on his face. Rifling through the bag, I saw that he’d purchased a new nozzle for the garden hose out front. Which, frankly, thrilled me because the old one leaked like a sieve and every time I had to water the plants out front I ended up looking like a reject from a wet t-shirt contest.
I commented on the new nozzle, which is just like the one on the garden hose out back, and his bemused expression became more pronounced.
“Yeah,” he said. “I settled on that one; does anyone really need seven therapeutic massage settings on their garden hose?”
~~~~~~
We were getting ready for work the other morning, when Beloved asked me, “What’s shakin’, bacon?”
Hmmm…probably not the best choice of words when speaking to your wife.
“Did you just call me bacon?”
“Uh….yeah. But I LIKE bacon, bacon is GOOOOOOD.”
Uh-huh. Nice save, even if it did have a slight edge of desperation.
~~~~~~
I was going through some old papers and such the other day, when I ran across an old homework assignment of The Young One’s from 5th or 6th grade. He was given several words that could be used as both a noun and verb, and he was to use each in a sentence. Here are a couple of examples:
Duck
Duck! There’s a flying robotic duck on the loose!
Hand
Hand over me hand, you scallywag!!
Okay, I’m ready for him to come home now…
~~~~~~
For more Random (albeit Belovedless) Tuesday Thoughts, visit Keely over at The Un-Mom.
I did an amazingly stupid thing yesterday and fell off of the bottom step of our back porch trying to untangle my poor retarded dog who can’t figure out that we won’t have to leash him if he’ll just stay in the damn back yard. In the process of falling off the bottom step of the back porch, I twisted my left ankle and sprained the bejebus out of it, mostly because I was genetically cursed with weak ankles – this is approximately the 3,469th time I’ve sprained this particular ankle since I was 5 years old.
But still.
Ouch.
But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I guess what I’m getting at is that I’m glad I didn’t sprain my stupid ankle on Friday when I made what is probably the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted – coffee ice cream with crushed Heath bars in it. This particular batch of ice cream was made at the behest of Beloved, who’s favorite ice cream flavor is Ben and Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch.
3 standard size Heath (or other chocolate-covered toffee) bars, broken into small pieces
Heat the milk, salt, and sugar in a saucepan until nearly, but not quite, boiling. Whisk in the instant coffee, stirring until it has completely dissolved.
To make the ice cream, set up an ice bath by placing a 2-quart bowl in a larger bowl partially filled with ice and water. Set a strainer over the top of the smaller bowl and pour the cream into the bowl.
In a separate bowl, stir together the egg yolks. Gradually pour some of the hot milk/coffee mixture into the yolks, whisking constantly as you pour. This will temper the eggs and help keep them from cooking into “scrambled” eggs as you make the custard. Scrape the warmed yolks and milk/coffee mixture back into the saucepan.
Cook over low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom with a heat-resistant spatula, until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula. Strain the custard into the heavy cream; discard the solids. Stir over the ice until cool, add the vanilla extract, then refrigerate to chill thoroughly.
Place the Heath bars into a heavy zip-lock bag; break into small pieces with a rolling pin or heavy-bottomed glass. Refrigerate until ready to use.
Freeze the custard in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the toffee pieces during the last 5 minutes of freezing.
This is one of those old recipes that I’ve been making since forever – and has been evolving that long too.
Well, I was going to post a recipe today – my insomnia has been bad again this week, I’m very tired and the recipe I was going to post is very easy (it’s coming tomorrow). But I’ve had the thoughts for this post rolling around in my head ever since 
Not to brag or anything, but I have GREAT kids. Absolutely wonderful, marvelous, intelligent, witty, entertaining kids, and I adore each and every one of them.
I did an amazingly stupid thing yesterday and fell off of the bottom step of our back porch trying to untangle my poor retarded dog who can’t figure out that we won’t have to leash him if he’ll just stay in the damn back yard. In the process of falling off the bottom step of the back porch, I twisted my left ankle and sprained the bejebus out of it, mostly because I was genetically cursed with weak ankles – this is approximately the 3,469th time I’ve sprained this particular ankle since I was 5 years old.