Whaddya Mean You Don't Want Mommy to Make Your Cake?!

I was reading my friend Jules' blog (A Little Bite of Life) and she was talking about the fact that her gourmet cooking has really spoiled her family and now she can't make normal food without complaints. Well I don't have that problem as I am often greeted with "I don't like that" when my 4 yo and sometimes 7 yo catch first sight of their dinner. Ironically half the time it is something they actually do like. Anyway, my point is that in general I make decent but not gourmet food.

That said, I spoil the heck out of them when it comes to their birthday cakes. This is a handed down tradition from my Mom who always custom made my birthday cakes. We aren't talking about your average cake either. She made a Barbie cake that stood up, a pair of Levi's cake, a guitar cake and even a Corvette cake!  For her it wasn't just for birthdays either.  She spent hours one Easter on a lamb cake.  As fate would have it, the lambs head was not interested in staying on the rest of the cake.  She tried endlessly to use icing and toothpicks to keep it on.  I will never forget that day when she said "Elizabeth?  Go out to the garage with your father!"  I questioned it and was told to Go.  I looked in the window on my way outside and watched my mother smash the living shit out of that cake.  That sure silenced the lamb!  I do not believe she ever made a lamb or Easter cake again.

I may have taken those for granted back then, but as a Mom, I can now appreciate the love behind each and every perfectly made frosting flower.  And I decided to make it a tradition for my kids as well.  I am not as interested in doing it the "right way" with all the special techniques and the icing that works best.  I like my shortcuts when it comes to using frosting from the can even if it doesn't quite work as well for decorating.  But I've done okay.  Over the years I have made a real looking stand up fish bowl with fish and everything, two ginormous castles that took 5 boxes of mix, Super Mario World-my first experience with fondant, Spongebob, Megamind, Cookie Monster and the Super Hero Squad Helicarrier. My kids either loved them or lied very well.

This is not to say that these cakes all came about smoothly.  The first castle cake I did was for my nearly 8 year old when he was turning 3.  I was pregnant with his baby brother and it took me something like 5 hours of on my feet time to complete.  It was by far the best one I ever did though.  2 or 3 years later he asked for that same cake again.  By now his little bro was diagnosed with an allergy to eggs.  So the castle was made with applesauce and mashed bananas as a substitute for eggs.  And let me tell you, they do not have the holding together power that cakes with eggs have.  I had to travel 30 minutes with that cake on my lap just hoping it wouldn't collapse before we got to his party.  It was held together in spots by icing.  But I beamed when other Mom's hosting parties at the bowling alley came over to check out this monstrosity.  And then there was Super Mario.  I have to say, I kicked some butt on that cake and had figures out of fondant that really looked like Mario and Yoshi and the mushroom bad guys.  I was elated.  I put it in the cardboard box to protect it and went to bed.  The next day I heard my Husband yelling at the little one.  I was like "WHAT would make him yell so much?"  pause...pause..."OH MY GOD THE CAKE!!!!"  I ran downstairs only to see the 3 year old's claw mark down the front of the cake which ripped off Mario's legs and eye.  I ran back upstairs to cry by myself.  My oldest came up to me that morning as I was weeping and said "Mom, LOOK at me.  We love it even if its ruined because you made it!"  That pretty much cemented the value of making them cakes, and it made me cry different tears.  Good thing too because later that day we drove 5 hours to a campsite where we were meeting up with our family for the birthday.  In that 5 hours, the back 1/4 of the cake pretty much dropped off the end like an avalanche.

So this year I asked my 7 yo what he wanted. And he told me he wanted his picture on the cake like his cousin had. He made it VERY clear that I was not supposed to try to do this myself with icing. I could pretend I'm not devastated, but I am. I mean he doesn't get the fact that I can't make that.  I could let it be the death of my tradition, but I won't. This year the kid will get two cakes because I'm stubborn and belligerent and I take great satisfaction out of spending hours on end swearing at inanimate baked goods that are not respecting my culinary authority by looking like what is in my head.  One cake will serve the immediate family on his actual birthday and the one he wants will be served to a couple of friends that are coming over that weekend. At least its my artwork he is asking for.  He wants the picture from the invitation I made to be on the cake...the one where I superimposed his head onto some other kid in a labcoat's body.  Hey, its something.

This is the eggless Super Mario disaster with caved in back side, claw marks, and one candle placed very intentionally in Mario's missing eye socket.

Epilogue...please tell me that the 4 year old did not just see the castle cake on this blog post and tell me he wants it for his birthday...eh, what the heck.  3rd time's a charm.

Potty Mouths Who Raise Babies, an Autobiography

Young readers, specifically those related to me, please stop here, turn around, and go find a nice blog about how to get into prestigious colleges on a full scholarship, learn how to make high grossing movies and take your Aunt/Mother (ME) to the Hollywood award shows.  Thank you.

I've tried to shelter all of you from it, but I have a potty mouth.  I swear like a sailor and I like it.  I don't like offending people with language, I just like the added boost of expression and emphasis that it provides.  For example:  "Move your car!"  does not nearly have nearly the impact that "Move your f'ing car you douchebag!" has.  Swearing is abundantly prevalent in society today.  I mean just consider the term MILF!  Let's face it, these are not Mom's I'd Like to Make Sweet Love Too.  Because if they were?  They'd be MILMSLTs, and that just doesn't make any sense.

I recall a great example of well used profanity when I was receiving a review from a manager about 17 years ago (that hurt to say).  My boss, who is like a second Father to me now, said "Liz, at times, needs to tailor her thoughts before expressing them."  I looked at him and smiled.  I responded..."So, what you saying, is that   PERHAPS (insert pompous uptight co-worker's name here) doesn't need to get F***ED so much as she needs to get LAID???"  He smiled and nodded his head at me.  Since this was the only negative thing he had to say and because he was right, I accepted that feedback happily.  At the same time I know my language was one of the things that endeared me to him and the rest of the guys in my department.  This was evident from the first meeting that I had with that group of gentlemen.  Something that was said in innocence CLEARLY set any one of them up for a dirty joke, but they all looked at me and then down at the table with smirks, their words unspoken.  I looked at all of them with a laugh and told them not to worry because they did not have to watch their f'ing mouths around me.  The relief in the room was palpable and I was one of the boys.

Fast forward several years and here I am, a MOM.  And my Mom never swore.  NEVER!  Until I was an adult and I learned that she actually had a somewhat filthy little mouth herself.  I tried very hard to keep the F word out of my vocabulary around the baby.  But somehow, repressing that word seemed to make others come out more frequently.  Dammit worked its way heavily into my vocabulary for some reason - but it wasn't as easy to use dammit as an adjective, so I developed an affinity for friggin' too.  Because no one can bitch if I say friggin'.

One day my beautiful 3 year old was playing and all of a sudden I hear him say DAMMIT.  What?  "WHAT did you just say???"  Little voice "Dammit, Mommy!"  "Why did you say that??"  "'Cause I hurt my hand."  Well, SHIT.  Now I was in a pickle.  I would have been okay if he had just said it out of the blue.  But he hadn't.  He used it appropriately in a sentence.  In hopes that my Husband would never hear of this, I tried bargaining with my 3 year old.  "Look, I won't say that anymore if you don't say that anymore, okay?"  "OK Mommy."  Later that day my Husband walks in looking at me in disgust.  "What?!"  "Do you know what our son just said?"  Friggin' of course I did, so I said "no, what?"  "He just said dammit!"  "Did he use it properly in a sentence?" "YES, he DID!"  "Oh, well then you better start watching your language around him!" I said with a grin.  He wasn't fooled.  We both knew it was me, all me.  I thought we were out of the woods until I was in the car later that year with my son and his baby brother.  We were second in line at a stoplight and the light changed to green.  A nanosecond after the light change I hear "MOVE YOUR F????ING CAR" emanating from the cute little boy in the cow patterned car seat behind me.  He is not yelling at me, but the guy in front of me.  Lucky for him because I would have kicked his a$$.  (Not really, but it sounded good).  I inquired pretty vehemently, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"  He had said move your friggin' car.  Now some of you may have been appalled by this too, but I was relieved and pretty much okay with it.

His little brother is 4 now and went through a mini Dammit stage, but I think this was more for getting a rise out of us.  Other than that, he has kept his mouth pretty clean.  Because "Whores" isn't technically swearing, and he only says it after he says the word "Star."  I'm usually laughing too hard and too busy posting it as my status to actually correct him.  I mean if he said it after he said "Crack" or "I'm going to see some" or "Mom, you and your friends are" then maybe I would be a little disturbed.

I'm trying to be a better person around them.  Sometimes its hard, like when they stand on my hand in their sneakers or headbutt me by accident in the cheek or jump off the chair onto my back when I'm not paying attention.  Actually, its those times that make me think they are going to grow up thinking that "MOTHERffffffff" is a curse word (the f in this case makes the sound of a deflating tire, and my face resembles a giant tomato monster shaking its head).  But hey, progress is progress.

So have I taught you anything today?  I did not think so.  So what the hell are you still here for?  Go update your f'n Face Book account or something.

Sensible Shoes - and Other Horrors

Sparkles and Jammies

I have never been someone that you would call "practical."  But I do go through my phases.  If I look back about 12 or 13 years, I would tell you that I probably had 10 pairs of shoes.  I don't know if its true or not, but it wasn't an extensive collection.  I remember a friend from work making fun of my "Witchy Poo" shoes.  I thought they were cool.  Black with a silver buckle.  Loafers with a couple inches of heel.  A little pilgrimy, but they were comfortable, matched a lot of my outfits and I wore them at least 4 times a week.

At this point nearly anyone who knows me now is laughing and saying "No Way!"  In fact my Husband would actually choke on those words and call me a liar.  Because you see, at this point in my life, I couldn't count my shoes if I tried.  If I did, then I'd have to admit I have a problem.  But deep down inside, I know that I am, in fact, a shoe 'ho.  I love them.  I can't pass a shoe rack without kicking off whatever I'm wearing and sliding my foot into the glass slipper.  And they are not practical shoes.  Not the leopard print or the neon pink or the red Christmas plaid or the purple with a silk bow or the royal blue spikes.  In fact, not even my sneakers are practical, because I was blessed to find a pair of Twinkle Toes for adults at the outlets.  Sparkly, Oooooh!

Most of my shoes are platforms with between 4 and 6" of heel on them.  Those are my work shoes, and no peanut gallery, I DO NOT work on the streets.  My intention was not to buy a lot of FMPs.  My intention was to have something in my wardrobe to attract attention away from my stomach, hips and a$$.  Because even when it is not fun to buy clothes?  It is STILL fun to buy SHOES.  Add that to the fact that 5 extra inches of height subtracts around 30 pounds (my own calculation), and its a win win.  And I liked win winning!

Really high and sometimes crazy heels have become a sort of trademark for me.  There are a couple of others who share that title with me, but some of the shoes I covet make even those friends turn up their nose.  Of course I still buy them, because who doesn't need a pair of toe-less fuchsia boots?  Duh, I do (thank you very much Kim Kardashian and ShoeDazzle)!!  A friend rates most of my shoes on the schwing scale.  Apparently my blister causing black patent leather 5 inch loafers rate highly on the schwing scale - though not quite as highly as do their identical red counterparts.  And I wear my hot shoes everywhere.  I once spent 6-1/2 hours in 4-1/2 inch heels at the mall.  I had saved my favorite store for last and by the time I got there, I couldn't have run out of there if it was on fire.

Now that you possess this knowledge, I will share a secret with you.  It is upsetting, and scary, and when I think of it too much, I almost tear up.  Yesterday I bought a pair of sensible shoes.  They are more sensible than my Pilgrim Witchy Poos.  They don't have a SINGLE sequin on them.  THEY WERE ON DISPLAY NEXT TO NURSE SHOES FOR PETE'S SAKE!!!  And?  They are...comfortable.  I KNOW, it makes me SICK.  I don't think I can wear them to work or to any social events or to the mall. I just can't.  But I'm pretty sure that I can use them to grocery shop.  Maybe.  If I go a few towns over...where no one recognizes me.  If you see me?  Please just look away.