You Can Call Me Betty

... as in Betty FreakinCrocker because I am one kick-ASS birthday baker!

Behold today's creation(s) for Cinderella's 10th Birthday...

Woof!

Coffee Cake

The Great July Bake-Off continues with today's creation for Hubby's Birthday.



Devil's Food cake made with Dunkin' Donuts French Vanilla (the only coffee served in our castle) and baked into the shape of a coffee cup!

(Get it?!?!? It's a COFFEE Cake.)

Note also how the candles look like steam rising from the ginormous cuppa joe.
And... AND!... see how I tinted the top frosting to resemble an "extra light with cream" coffee... just the way Hubby likes it.

Aren't I so clever?

Two birthday cakes down. Two more to go.
Cinderella's is tomorrow.

The Irish Alphabet. My Goodness!

"Mommy, Guinness starts with 'G'!"

Saints preserve!
The Boy is learning his letters and how to spell.
Himself must have developed an early love of the Black Stuff from when he was just a wee one.

Self-Portrait Challenge: as the Shape of a Mother

Mothers come in all shapes and sizes.
Thanks to this blog I have learned to appreciate my own post-baby shape more and decided I was brave enough to participate in the Self-Portrait Challenge this month.
My shape used to resemble that of a pre-pubescent boy. I had no curves to speak of.
I once fit into a size 0 (yes, that would be a ZERO).
I had The Boy in 2002. I was 32.
I gained 40 lbs. He weighed 9lbs. 9oz.
I had The Mouse in 2005. I was 35.
Again I gained 40 lbs. She weighed 8lbs. 15 oz.
Both of my babies were brought into this world via c-sections.
Taken from the body that housed and protected them (and GREW THEM BIG) for 9 months.
My shape now is much softer. I have womanly curves where I once was nothing more than skin and bones. And boobs, I have BOOBS! (Well, kinda.)
I now wear a size 8.
This was my belly at 7 months pregnant with The Mouse.

This is my belly today. 8 months post-partum.

I like how my saggy skin, when smooshed together, looks like a baby's butt. :)
I now have the Shape of a Mother... and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

I Have No Idea

You're going to have to ask her.

Getting Along: Handling Misunderstandings

Hi, it's Me.
"Hi. Thanks for calling. I'll keep it quick since I know you are on your way to get Cinderella and I have the Kids here with me."
She called me as she promised she would. The phone call was a week overdue but better late than never.
I had spent the last seven days being angry. Too angry to try to get things resolved myself. I was secretly hoping to avoid having to speak with Her altogether. Hoping that Hubby would be able to clear things up.
I realized that I needed to stop being an Ostrich so I seized the opportunity when she called the House that night. This had been festering long enough.
We needed to clear up the misunderstanding from last week.
A misunderstanding that started due to the poor communication skills of a borderline ADD 9 year old.
A misunderstanding that let to ASSumptions, an Accusatory voicemail and an Argument over speakerphone between she and Hubby while Cinderella and I sat dumbfounded over how something so simple could have escalated so easily.
"I think you have the wrong impression of me and I wanted to clarify since Cinderella left out some important details."
I told her that things were not as Cinderella had described. And that for whatever reason she hadn't communicated ALL of the facts to Her Mom.
She Appreciated the fact that I made the effort to clear the air. She Acknowledged that she had made a mistake. She Agreed to call me directly if something like this should ever happen again.
"In the future, all I ask is that you give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm really not that bad of a person once you get to know me."
She chuckles.
I know you're not. Believe me.
I'm trying to Believe her.

4 is a Magic Number

I am 4. I can chew gum now.
(Well, for 30 seconds anyway before I swallow it by accident!)
I am 4. I can stand up in the pool by myself.
(Well, until I slip and almost drown in front of you!)
I am 4. I want to use the big potty.
(And now pee all over the floor!)
I am 4. I am a big boy now.
I am 4. Give me a hug!
The last 4 days with The Boy have been magical.
Maybe it was the green frosting on his cake.

Let The Insanity Begin

It's July.
The month that I Love to Hate.
The month of never-ending Birthdays.
The month where I turn into Martha-fuckin-Stewart and get lost in a mess of batter, frosting and food coloring and proclaim NEVER AGAIN! WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!?! HAVE I GONE COMPLETELY MAD!!??!!?? over-and-over for three weeks straight.
Tomorrow is The Boy's 4th birthday and he requested this for his cake.
The 25th is the Hubby's birthday. I have no idea what to do for him.
(He tells me that he does not like sweets, especially chocolate and yet will twirl the frosting from Entenmann's Fudge Iced Golden Cake around his fork into a GIANT spiral to savor the fudgy goodness all by itself.)
(I don't know either but if you figure it out clue me in, k?)
Cinderella's 10th birthday is the day after Hubby's and she is helping me make these.
The end of the month is when we will have our Combo Birthday BBQ in which I will wow our guests with this creation.
Yes, I am certifiable.

Fill In The Blanks

Tuesday. 10:30pm.
The Husband: "So, are you picking up Cinderella tomorrow from camp?"
Me: [blink, blink] "_____________________."

Enjoying It While I Can

Sure, she thinks he's funny now.

SAHM, I am

If it was for The Boy you would do it.
The conversation that started it all.
The conversation that I began after months of knowing that Cinderella was going to a 1/2 day summer camp.
The conversation that I began knowing that it was being ASSumed by all [myself included] that I would be the elected driver.
I am SAHM. SAHM, I am.
The conversation in which I stuck up for my rights as a person who is worthy of more consideration than what was being given.
The camp drop off/pick up times fall right in the middle of The Mouse's morning and afternoon naps. Noone seems to have given that any thought. I would like You to have BioMom or someone else take care of transporting Cinderella since I can't do it.
If we were talking about The Boy you would do it. There wouldn't be a problem.
He was right.
Because... IF it were The Boy we were talking about we would would have decided on his summer plans together.
Because... IF it were The Boy we were talking about we would have considered the other two children and how/if they would be affected.
Because... IF it were The Boy we were talking about We would have shared the responsibility of transportation.
(As we did with His preschool but which somehow fell by the wayside and became my sole responsibility. But that's another story.)
Because... IF it were The Boy we were talking about there would have been no ASSumptions.
Because it's NOT The Boy we are talking about that this dilemma has surfaced.
Because noone thought to ask me and instead made assumptions.
I am SAHM. SAHM, I am.
The answer, dears, is NO you see.
I will not do it. You should have asked me.
I will not drive her here, nor there.
I will not drive her anywhere.
You were Wrong to think because I am SAHM.
That I can't say no. Because... Yes. I. Can.

I Prefer the Term "Technophile"

Why is it necessary to get up and walk to the bathroom to check one's nasal cavities for crusted mucousal secretions when there is a digital camera with a perfectly adequate preview screen sitting right next to you?
Lazy? I don't think so.
I prefer to think of it as taking full advantage of modern technology.