“I did a bad thing.”


My husband crawled into bed next to me and laid his head on my shoulder. He opened his mouth and instead of sweet words of love pouring from his lips, five scary words came out instead. “I did a bad thing,” he mumbled into my arm with worry.

“What did you do?” I was not too concerned, but my heart fluttered a tiny bit and my stomach did a little flip.

“I ate your all of your reese’s pieces.”

The body spin cycle stopped and I wrung out my emotions by hand.

“Oh. I don’t care. I forgot I bought them.” Then I laughed. I stopped and looked at him.

“It’s not like The Twix Bar.”

“I didn’t eat that Twix bar! Look, I ate your candy and then I told you about it. If I had eaten your Twix bar, I would also have told you about it.”

“Not if you are trying to throw me off your trail.”

“Are you saying I ate your reese’s pieces and then confessed just to convince you that I did not eat your Twix bar sixteen years ago?”

“It is highly suspicious.”

“I didn’t eat your Twix bar!”

“That is exactly what someone who didn’t eat my Twix bar would say.”

The criminal sighed into my arm. His breath smelled of sweet peanut butter… And lies.

The First Theft


We have discussed my husband’s scheming plots here before. His sneaky thefts did not start with the iPod. The looting started long before that. His trickery is a repeating spiral of deception (this is where I feel the need to add for those that do not get my humor, that I am kidding. My husband is the sweetest man alive. The following story is told with tongue in cheek)

When my husband and I first got married, we had a little argument. It has been almost sixteen years. I have never let it go. I think this is not healthy.

You see, I was pregnant and all I wanted besides hamburgers, cake, and ice cream were Twix candy bars. I would buy them by the handful at the grocery store.

One day something tragic happened.

I opened the cupboard before I went to work and there lying on the shelf was the only survivor of my traumatic food binge from the night before. The gold wrapper of the Twix bar sparkled like tears in the fluorescent kitchen light. I thought about sparing the poor soul. But then I remembered he was made of chocolate. I patted his crinkly skin and vowed to end his torment the moment I got home from work. I gently shut the cupboard doors and begrudgingly left for work.

All day I daydreamed of my victim.

The gooey caramel that would spill forth when I bit into its chocolate flesh. The scream of the wrapper as I ripped it apart. The crunch of its cookie foundation as I devoured its essence.

I could not wait.

The moment I got home I ran to the cupboard. I threw open the doors expecting to see my gleaming golden prize.

Instead I saw…


There was nothing there.

I knew only one thing could have happened.

Someone else must have gotten to my source of happiness first.

I spun around and faced my husband who was innocently humming to himself as he fried some onions in a pan for dinner. He did not know he had the worst kind of monster behind him.

The hungry angry wife.

“Did you eat my Twix Bar?” I practically shouted. I really did not need to hear his answer. It was quite obvious that he had. There were two people who had a key to our apartment. The two people in the kitchen. And those two people had an unhealthy obsession with Twix Bars.

My husband spun around surprised. “N-n-n-o.”

“Well then, where is it? I left it right here before I left this morning.”

The candy thief My husband had composed himself while I spoke. Now he was indignant. “Well, I didn’t eat it. Maybe you ate it and forgot.”

Maybe I ate it and forgot?

The devoured Twix Bar probably boiled like lava in his stomach from the fire shooting from my eyes.

Six words had never made me madder.

As if I would not remember the experience of eating my chocolatey treat. As if I was some sort of candy eating creature who searched the cupboards and thoughtlessly devoured anything sweet in sight (let’s forget about the Twix’s brothers that had disappeared, themselves, throughout the week. This was simply about Twix himself and I knew I had not eaten him).

“I didn’t eat the Twix bar! You ate it! I know you ate it!”

“I didn’t eat it! I didn’t even know we had a Twix bar!”

“I know you did it. Just admit it.” (This was the time in our lives when our only VHS tape was a Chris Rock video. I am pretty sure he did not mean a candy bar when he said those lines).

“I didn’t do it!”

This went on and on.

For sixteen years. We go back and forth about the candy bar a few times a year. Isn’t that sweet?

But I know my husband ate my Twix Bar. I sometimes wish I could go back in time and go over the crime scene one more time. Smell his breath. His fingers. Check the trash can for the the wrapper. But I can’t. So now I just need him to admit the truth.

He has maintained his innocence for more than a decade. I don’t believe the facade for a second.

We have gone through years of Twix slogans taunting us on the television.

A few years ago Twix ran with the phrase, “Two for me. None for you.” I would glare at my husband and ask him in response to the commercial, “Did you write that?”

There is now the more recent campaign, “Need a moment. Chew it over with Twix.” I can perfectly picture him reliving the moment when I first asked him if he had eaten my golden candy bar. If only he had had a moment to think of a better answer…

I think my husband has a secret side job.

How else to explain the ads?

My children have been born and raised with the Twix homicide story. I have not asked them to take up the case when they get older. It is not a mystery. It is not an unsolved crime. We do not need a detective.

I know my husband did it.

Now I just need him to admit it.

Any ideas on how to catch a criminal? Do you ever have ridiculous fights with your partner? Did the Twix Bar get up and walk away from its captors? Most importantly, do you think he ate it?

In the words of the candy bar in question, “Try both and pick a side. Chew it over with Twix.”

Top Ramen


It seems as though Top Ramen has always been a part of my life. Or at least since I was twelve years old. When I was that age I was friends with the most popular girl in school. This did not make me the second most popular girl. Or the third. Or even the fourth. Let’s just cut to the chase. It did not mean that I was also a popular girl. It simply made me a lucky girl. Because everyone loved Nikki. She always had a smile. For everyone. And she had a mom who let her have an infinite amount of friends over to spend the night. So many of us from different social levels all gathered together to have this common ground.


I truly believe Nikki was the reason our school had no social structure. Everybody accepted everybody. In a class of over seven hundred, this was no small feat. But there was not a social class system in our school like I have viewed in movies and through the experience of my own children. With Nikki, you could be a fellow cheerleader or a nerd and you would have the same smile granted to you and the same feeling of specialness in the inevitable following hug.


One night when we were sleeping over, her mother made all of us girls dinner. It was chicken flavored top ramen. I had been spending the night at Nikki’s house since I was eight years old, but this was the first time I had been served this meal. It was. The. Best. Thing. I. Ever. Had. I remember having seconds. And thirds. Never had I tasted such flavors. I told my mother about this intriguing new dish the next day and she just smiled. Top Ramen was never something we carried in our home.

But at Nikki’ house, we could have it whenever we wanted.

And we did. It was special. I did not view it then nor do I view it now as the cheap dish it is portrayed to be.

To this day I still love Top Ramen.

I still love Nikki.

We stayed friends throughout high school.

On May 6th. Of our junior year. Two days before her seventeenth birthday. Her boyfriend shot and killed her.

She was head cheerleader. Class Treasurer. The girl who had a smile for everyone.

It was devastating.

Is devastating.

I think of Nikki often. There will be a time when I will write more of her. But today is not that day. Her memory deserves more than a Top Ramen post. Writing about her breaks my heart. However, I could not help but share her today as I sit and eat such a simple meal. A treat associated with cheapness. With sacrifice. And simplicity.

I feel sorry for people who think of Top Ramen that way.

For every time.

Every single time I eat it, I am transported back to a kitchen. Of a surprise meal. A sweet smile. An angelic friend. Black hair. Brown eyes. Laughter. Tears.

Top Ramen might be simple to most.

But to me, it will always be rich in memories.

A Better Crockpot Salsa Chicken


Most of us have done it. Thrown chicken breasts into a crockpot and tossed in a jar of salsa with it. It is easy. It tastes good. And there are so many fantastic ways to use the chicken once it is cooked.

Chicken Tacos. Chicken enchiladas. Chicken salad. Chicken tostadas. Chicken quesadillas. Chicken empanadas. Chicken burritos. Chicken casseroles. Chicken and rice. Chicken…

“That-that’s about it.”

For the last few months, I have been adding a few items to my crockpot salsa chicken to give it a greater depth of flavor. It is still easy. It makes your mouth water. And the best part about it is, it just does not taste like crockpot chicken. And that is…

“All I have to say about that.”


3-4 pounds of boneless skinless chicken breasts or tenders (Tip: do not ever crockpot chicken breasts with salt water added to them. Those are fine for grilling, but if you put them in a crockpot, the salt water will seep out and create a very salty, watery product)
1 1/2 cups of medium salsa (I used Pace)
1 four oz. can of diced green chiles
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. ground mexican oregano
1 tsp. garlic powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. Knorr’s chicken seasoning
1/8 tsp. ground black pepper


Put chicken breasts in crockpot. Place all other ingredients on top of chicken. Cover and cook on high for four hours or low for six. I was preparing for company coming over that morning so I forgot to take a picture of the chicken in the crockpot. Trust me, it was there. Unlike my brain in my head that day.


Remove bay leaf and throw it away. Take chicken out of the crockpot.


Shred the chicken. Ladle some of the liquid from the crockpot over the shredded chicken until it is moist. This is usually three-four ladlefuls for me. Taste. Add salt as needed.


Serve however you would like.


I make such a big batch because for my family I can eke out three meals from this one batch. With this batch: The first day I always make chicken tacos (fry white corn tortillas in vegetable oil, allow to cool in layers on paper towels. Add shredded chicken, taco veggies, shredded monterey jack cheese, cilantro. Serve with sour cream and taco sauce on the side). The second day we had tacos again and the third day I made my chicken enchilada casserole (post to come next week).


This chicken is so good. It is great to feed a crowd. It goes with everything.

Or as Forrest Gump would say, Me and Jenny crockpots and chicken goes together like peas and carrots.”