>There are many potential reasons for the spectacular failure of the William Sonoma Vintage Car Cakes that I made for Luke’s birthday. The most likely is that I followed the recipe that came with the cake tin without adjusting for altitude. Other reasons include the fact that I was waiting to hear how my Dad’s quintuple bypass surgery was going, and combining that stress with a big bowl of butter, eggs, and sugar wad just asking karma to teach me a lesson. (Back in those days I couldn’t eat any animal fat without imagining what it was doing to my arteries and it made me feel very nauseous. That doesn’t happen any more.)
This is not what the cakes looked like:
They looked like this:
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| From Blog pix |
Those are the ones that turned out well.
The reason I bring this up now, is that I have been thinking about attempting to make them for Jack’s birthday. So the main question is… do I make a practice set this weekend to see if I can do it right this time? Or do I just attempt to make them next weekend and plan to buy a cake if I have another car cake disaster? Keep in mind that greasing the pan takes about half a day.
I guess we’ll see how this weekend goes!
>I was in a(nother) panic this evening when I got into my PJs and sat down in front of the Broncos/Browns game after putting the kids to bed and got ready for day 6 of my posting streak.
Dun dun dun! No internet!
Should I drive around the neighborhood in my pjs trying to borrow wireless? Go to the coffee shop? Give up on posting once a day? So tragic. I called comcast and they had me reboot everything, then stand on one foot, chant an incantation, reboot again, and then he said, “Oh, there’s an outage in your area.” Dave mentioned that he thought I would be more concernd about working tomorrow than blogging. But I figured I would solve that problem by just going in at 5am and working there until the comcast office opened and then exchanging my modem. Sure, sounds totally doable.
I made Dave hand over his fancy new phone and I started trying to write a post from there, but while I was getting a cramp in my finger from the tiny stylus, the internet came back up. Hoorah!
Now I can share this photo of a hotel that was recently trashed by a rockstar you all know and love. And by hotel, I mean crib/bedroom. And by rockstar, I mean baby.
Mobile: Ripped out of mobile holder
Picture One: Nearly knocked off wall
Picture Two: Knocked off wall, slipped out of mat, and stomped on
Pacifiers: Tossed randomly about
Needless to say, Jack’s room has now been undecorated. The pictures are in the closet and the mobile is on the changing table.
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Welcome to my new monthly feature, in which I mock Parents magazine and the ways it increases (my) parental anxiety. I know it means well. But does it go too far? You be the judge. Well, actually I’ll be the judge, and I already know that the magazine makes me crazy. Guilty! Last month I learned what to do if I drive off a road and my car becomes submerged under water, and I’ve already forgotten what I learned, not that I will ever need it. (I’m talking to you, Mom.)
This month in The OMG! Guide to Parenting Disasters: What to do when when your baby gets his/her head stuck in the lions cage at the zoo. Seriously. Sadly, with each day that passes, I realize that I do in fact have a child who will get their head stuck in the lions cage. In fact, days after reading this article, Jack get his arm stuck in the grate over the window well.
I thought, “AHH! OMG! Parenting Disaster! What do I do? Panic, panic, panic. No, don’t panic. I read that article. And I think it said not to panic.”
And Dave said, “You need to calm down.”
And I said, “Actually I know what to do, because I read that article. I am not panicking.”
And Dave said, “Pull his arm out.”
And I did. So I think the article was, in fact, not helpful because all I could do was picture the approaching lion and realize I didn’t remember anything from the article. (Confession – I may have just looked at the pictures.)
So, I was relating this story at work, and going on and on about Parents Magazine and how weird it is that I suddenly have a subscription, and my good friend and fellow lactator, Carolyn, said, “Yeah. Best five bucks I have ever spent.” Thanks a lot Carolyn!
(Now if we could just figure out who subscribed Dave to Men’s Health and Prevention…)
Photo Credit: Parents.com
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And now: Joy!
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In addition to soccer mom, making school lunches, and babies playing with tupperware, we can now add one more thing to the list of things that make me feel like a mom: Sitting at a concert. I mean, I guess I’ve put on a sundress, and unrolled a blanket in the sun at Blossom, or that place in Athens that has the Bob Marley festival. But I think when the music started I got up and danced. I have now experienced the awkward sensation of hearing and seeing one of my favorite bands and just sort of dancing in my seat. It wasn’t pretty.
Last week I was instant messaging my brother and I told him I was thinking of seeing G. Love that night because my friend had an excessive amount of free tickets. He said, “Oh! He’s still around. Cool.” I have to say that took a little bit of the fun out of it. On the other hand, if the free tickets hadn’t clued me in that this G. Love experience would be different from all the others, then that comment should have.
The first song was “The Things That We Used To Do” and I settled back into my seat to remember the things that I used to do. I used to always be within eye contact of G, and he was always checking me out and ignoring Krista and Amy. And after the show, we once ran into him and invited him to stop by our house, but he politely declined. So instead of pushing my way through the crowd to get to the front, I was sneaking into the close seats with my balcony ticket. And then getting thrown out. It seems like once you get to officially be a mom, that you just take your balcony ticket and you sit up there by yourself because you are with two other people and the three of you have three sets of two tickets.
I am not making this sound like as much fun as it was, don’t get me wrong, it was really fun. And once we traded our good seats for balcony seats adjacent to one of our other sets of tickets, it very comfortable. A little loud though…
Photo Credit: soboclassifieds
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| From halloween |
We were running a little behind this year, just barely managing to get the pumpkins carved yesterday, but that is good because that means I have a backlog of blog (backblog?) material, which I will need if I am planning to partake in NaBloPoMo this month. (By making sure I have at least one post per day.) My original plan was to do NaNoWriMo but there is just no way. Maybe next year.
Quotes from Luke this morning:
After I asked my son who doesn’t like to finger paint, refuses hand stamps, and never wants a temporary tattoo, if he would help me sort through the pumpkin guts to get the seeds out, “Eww! NO! I don’t want to get pumpkin innards on my hands, that’s gross.”
Me: “I need to look up a recipe for baked pumpkin seeds.”
Luke: “Just put the pumpkin seeds in a pan with some salt and olive oil!”
Me: “I know, but I don’t know what temperature or for how long.”
Luke: “Oh, well I can’t tell you that.”
>Riding your bike on a nice spring day is one of life’s simple pleasures. Hot, windy, summer days are not the best, but it’s summer. Bike riding is normal in the summer. Fall of course, is really the best because it isn’t hot anymore and by now, you are sort of in shape. Late fall, into winter… that’s when I usually hang it up. And by “hang it up” I mean ask Dave to hang my bike up in the garage so we can park the car in there to keep the snow off of it.
This year, however, I sort of mentioned that I might want to try to keep riding to work. In the cold. And dark. And based on the fenders Dave put on my bike, and the boots I just bought I must have said that I would ride in the rain.
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| From misc |
Well, I won’t have to deal with the dark until Monday, but I did ride to work this week when it was only 34 degrees. (Pats self on back.) It was fine. No problem. I never really got my temperature regulated for the rest of the day, so there are details to be worked out.
Other details:
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| From misc |
I can pick Jack up from daycare, and I can go to the grocery store, but I can’t pick Jack up and then go to the grocery store.
>If you read yesterday’s post this may sound a tiny bit familiar.
Long story short, I am trying to get Jack to hold off and eat later in the morning. Later than 4 or 5 am that is. So instead of feeding him and quickly getting back to bed, I run in there at every peep and give him the paci or cover him with a blanket to stretch out the time before he is fully awake. And I have also been putting a spare paci on the dresser next to his crib so he can get it himself if his other one falls on the floor. Brilliant, I know.
Also on his dresser: three glass ornaments and a ceramic Pat the Bunny bank.
So after a quick trip in there yesterday morning I thought for sure I had another 10 minutes and I crawled back into bed.
Wah wah. Silence. Ting, Ting.
Ting, ting? Hmm, Jack’s about the 7th baby to use that crib, maybe it is falling apart? Nah, it’s nothing.
Ting, ting, ting.
AAAH! I better investigate.
Ting, ting, ting, oh hi Mommy!
And Jack was in his crib, shaking his Pat the Bunny bank. He had the bunny by the ears, and he was shaking that bank as hard as he could, but he gave it to me when I asked for it. And he waved at the bank as I put it on his dresser. He waved and waved. And then he started to nurse but immediately had to sit up quickly, turn around, and wave at the bank. Over and over. Hi bank! You sound so pretty when I shake you!
So how did he get the bank? Does he have arms that are twice as long as I thought? Or did he climb up on the dresser, grab the bank and then get back in his crib? These were the only two options that I could come up with.
I told the story to Luke over breakfast and he thought it was really funny until I said that I had NO IDEA how Jack could have gotten the bank, and then Luke became contemplative. “Hmm. I wonder… if… maybe… Maisey… and I… didn’tputitbackwhereitgoes?”
It may be time to rearrange Jack’s room. And maybe I’ll just put 7 or 8 pacifiers in his crib and call it a night.
MetaMegan 