Mama In Stilettos

Bake Off!

So now everyone thinks that I can't cook.  I guess I carry that stigma ever since I set the kitchen on fire a while back. 

Well....I'm baaaaack.  I have to be because of this friggin' celiac sentence that I have been given.  What the heck?  Now I can't pull into Boston Market, order a chicken and side and say I cooked a home meal! Well, I actually could, but then I would spend the next several days in severe agony that I wouldn't wish upon my dog-catcher-calling neighbor ..Well, maybe he could handle that.  Wait a minute.  He deserves a little agony. Anyhoo,  I now have to cook in oder to maintain life inside my body.  Because I have now learned that we all need food to survive.  I tried eating rice noodles for several weeks...Then graduated to chicken and brown rice.  What became of this? SEVERE DEPRESSION where I wanted to shove cake in my mouth (but couldn't) and then wanted to inflict pain upon those who told me "Oh! Don't worry! This is the BEST time to be diagnosed with this! Like, there are SO many gluten free things right now!"  Yeah.  Did ya ever think about drive thru?  Did ya ever think about burgers and fries?  Did ya ever think about pizza? (although? just recently, I HAVE found the alma mater)..But still...Just picking up the phone and ordering something "take out".  Never gonna happen in my world except for like 1 restaurant 20 minutes away, thanks.

Anyways, so I have NO CHOICE but to cook dinners, treats, cakes and breads for myself.  Or risk hurting someone waiting in the drive thru line of the closest Wendys because of my bitterness.  Lucky for me my brother and sis-in-law bought me the ultimate cookbook  for non-cookers, such as myself.  Don't get me wrong, I used to enjoy cooking, but it took so darn LOOOONG.  I'm looking for instant gratification here...Not waiting 1.5 hours for a casserole to cook after it took me 45 minutes to put it together. All I got was a backache and a bad attitude from all that preparation and how it took 10 minutes for everyone to gorge themselves.  

So I just went waaay of subject.  Like if the subject was Massachusetts?  I'm in California..Well, maybe not that far. North Dakota or something.

So I made these FABULOUS cupcakes for my son's preschool Valentine's Day celebration:

Behold the artistry

 

Yes.  They were taken with my phone, so not so great pics...Hey, I was in the car!

I am pretty darn proud of these little delectable treats.  And, no, they are NOT gluten free.  Wanna know why?    Because I made a DELICIOUS chocolate cake (gluten free) with velvet frosting this past weekend that was probably the equivalent of eating a stick of butter when you ate a piece. And guess what?!?! There were LEFTOVERS.  Guess who was up in the middle of the night stuffing her face?  

For my other reason, my dad's birthday is this next weekend and I am making him his birthday cake (gluten free), so I am going to have to eat some (such a cross to bear, I know).  So my thought process behind the cupcakes and the remaining batter that I made into a cake?  Simple: I CAN'T EAT IT.  No getting up in the middle of the night to partake in soft billowy cakeness and buttery cream cheese frosting.  I'm CUT OFF.  I cut myself OFF. 

I'm genius.  

Only, I have to stare as my family eats the cake one piece at a time.  OH THE PAIN!

Un-Drunk Text

This is a text I read at 9am when I woke up this morning...I know, I know. I am usually up and at 'em quite a bit earlier, but I have been little Miss Sicky Sickerson with pneumonia.  Hence, the sleeping in until I hear the rustling in the kid's beds.

This text was sent to me at 7:30am by my husband (why he thinks I would be up in this condition? I will never know.): 

"Actress britney murphy died. what the........?" (I quote exactly)

Of course I already knew this because I checked the internet before I went to bed last night and it was ALL OVER the media.

This is the text he received back: "ithey are saing caediab seesric...whixh is perbablt overdose" (I quote exactly)

Yep.  When people say "Don't drunk text" it doesn't apply to me...The saying "Don't text before caffeine" makes SO much more sense.

My husband text me back to say that he was "LOL LOL"..So I looked back at my text..

"Leave me alone. I just woke up". (I quote exactly)

Bunnies Bunnies Everywhere

So the saying goes something like this "They are multiplying like rabbits." Well, it seems in my house the saying is true (not counting the many stuffed animals collecting dust mites in my basement.)  These are "boo-boo babies.  Made to use when kids fall and get hurt, making the experience oh-so enjoyable. (If this were AT ALL possible..And who wants to get blood on this suckers anyways? I'm ready to use them as centerpieces!) Behold:

And yet again, behold (although I bought these on my own volition, possibly under the peer pressure of the "boo-boo bunnies")

  Maybe I'm on a "bunny kick"....And we ALL KNOW there are not little bunnies on the way.

Feeling Grinchy

Things that have happened to me today: 1. Went to to a Ri-DONK-u-lous "breakfast with Father Christmas" where he entered the room playing bagpipes, scaring my children bat crazy. And they charged me for a full $12.99 breakfast where I ate nothing because of my celiac disease. And they charged full price for my 2 year old. How much do they think that she can put away? I think it's discrimination. I would have caused a scene, but since I have no voice.... 2. Broke 2 glass Christmas ornaments in my children's presence. My oh my, the self control it took to not use four letter words ( at least whisper them). 3. Fell down my cellar stairs (5 of them and landing on the bottom which is pure concrete), and landed on my knee and ankle. Oh the PAIN. And I could not scream, so my 3 year old saw me and went running to my husband "MOMMY JUST FALLED DADDY!" great, I thought, as I rocked myself in the fetal position. 4. 2 year old (Cam BAM) smashed to smithereens a snow globe. Do you even know how hard it is to get glitter up from a kitchen floor? I dare you to try. And the day is only half over.

Can't wait for what is to come.

Wide Awake

I really need to get to bed earlier.  Although I'm not sure if that would work anyways because I am always reading past my bedtime and then kicking myself as I look at the clock as I turn out the light, knowing what is going to happen in the morning.  

I know that in the morning I will feel as though I need to sleep at least until noon, have a minimum of 5 cups of coffee and complete silence for a hour after I drag out of bed.  Unfortunately this will never happen in my life. Instead, my alarm goes off and my eyes feel like they are made of sandpaper and my body is made of lead.  If I can only get the motivation to put my feet on the floor and make it to the coffee maker, it's a good day.  If it's a bad day, I am falling asleep on the toilet as I pee and catching myself on the side of the sink before I fall to the floor.  

It was a bad morning this morning. Probably one of the worst.  I chugged two cups of coffee while staring into space. I couldn't even get the motivation to check my email or stare at the upcoming sales for Christmas on the flyers on my kitchen table. I was a robot making the kids breakfast, but managed to get my gym clothes on and teeth brushed as I convinced myself that I would "wake up" at the gym.  

I went through the routine of schlepping the kids downstairs to the car in the garage and opened the garage door.  Here's the thing. Our garage is completely broken and everything has to be done by hand except for when it initially opens up the first time in the morning..But after that? I have to back the car out of the garage, disengage the garage motor and close it by hand before jumping BACK INTO the car and on my merry way.  

But man oh man this morning. I opened the garage with the motor, backed the car out of the garage and went to get out of the car to close the garage by hand.  Too bad I left the car in DRIVE as I got out. OH MY GOSH the car was taking off into the garage WITHOUT ME IN IT.  I had to run along side of it for about 6 paces and jump back INTO the car, slam on the brake before it went THROUGH the garage WALL and managed to throw it in park. 

Initiate panic attack.

Now I was definitely awake.

Pacifying

Awhile ago I met a friend at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant.  If you didn't know already, I am OBSESSED with Vietnamese food.  At one point, not so long ago, I was driving 40 minutes round trip 3 times a week to indulge myself.  I get like that.

While I was waiting for my friend and relishing the complimentary tea, I looked over to see a family at a table nearby.  And I almost upchucked my tea.  Why would I want to upchuck the best tea in the world? Because there sitting at the table, appeared to be a child of at least 5 or 6 years of age with a full blown PACIFIER in his mouth.  It looked like the family was finished eating and there the kid was sucking away on a fire engine red pacifier.  How wrong it that?  It's just a step up from nursing! Not that I am against nursing at all in any way.  I think it's great, but not with a five or 6 year old who will REMEMBER nursing.  It freaks me out.  I couldn't help staring (and I certainly not the staring type.  Believe me, as a social worker, I have seen it all, but never a pacifier sucking 6 year old.)  Just think of the dental work ahead for this little boy! His teeth are going to stick out like Bugs Bunny!  But again, it's probably none of my business. Although it MAY be partly my business if I have to look at it when my glorious food arrives all I will be able to think of is this kid and his nipple sucking mouth.

Thank goodness they left before my food arrived. Or I may have insisted on take-out. 

Pirate Eye

OK. I am a pirate today.  Somehow I either have something in my eye or it's scratched.  Either way it's all puffy, red and watery.  So my answer?? I still have patches from my three year old's last "pirate themed" birthday party. 

I think I should sport one.  Hey. If can't wear my eye makeup..then I need to wear the patch.  Hey. I ALWAYS rock eye makeup. Why? Because I look like an 11 year old without it.  Even if I'm sick and coughing my lungs up and living in sweats (cute sweats..mind you) best believe that I will still be wearing my cream eyeshadow and eyeliner..And quite normally, mascara. 

So now that I can only wear eye makeup on one eye and look lopsided. I choose to play pirate for the day.

Wonder how they will respond at the restaurant I will be going to tonight with a friend.  Should I throw in the "pirate accent"?  And order rum at a Vietnamese restaurant? Yes? Done.

Pumpkin Head

So my youngest turned 2 years old this past weekend, and no, I didn't write an entry dedicated to her...But I will. I promise. When I get my NEW COMPUTER. Yes, this is HUGE news because I haven't had one in so effing long since my mini-me spilled my entire Snapple on my "motherboard".  Don't even get me started on the word "motherboard".  It tells so much about life in general.  Women hold the key to the universe. We are the "motherboards". That's all I'm sayin'. Why would tekkies choose to call the brains of a computer the "motherboard?"

So.....Last week I decided that I wanted to save myself a little money and dye my hair at home instead of dropping over a hundred dollars at the salon.  Why not? How hard can it be? My mother encouraged me to take a trip with her to the beauty supply store and I was so excited to dye my own hair! At my house! In half the time and a quarter of the money! 

Something screwed up. Or I screwed up or the DYE screwed up (I swear..It totally was the DYE) and I ended up with hair the color of a pumpkin.  Bright orange.  You know what I did? No. I didn't have the energy or will to dance it out.  So I cried.  And then I got so frickin' mad.  Shouldn't I know by now that I just shouldn't touch my hair?? Didn't I learn this in HIGH SCHOOL?? Word to the wise: NEVER try to DYE blond HAIR on your own. Just NEVER do it. EVER. The next day?  I had to work out looking like a leprechaun.  I felt like I should be handing out Lucky Charms at the door to the Y.  Or at least pouring bowls for my friends after a long and hard workout.

So while I was in the throws of what we'll call "pumpkin head" I went to my favorite hip hop class (which I OWN) and my friend goes "It not that bad, Mama". I was thinking "Are you kidding me?? I look like I have flames coming out from my head and you're telling me that I look ok? You LIE!" And then I looked at her hair.  Apparently she had tried to darken it and picked a color from the "color wheel".  RED LIGHT. NEVER pick from the COLOR WHEEL.  That means that the "colorist" has no effing clue what they are doing and are going to slop some junk on your head in hopes that it comes out the color that you pick from the "color wheel".  NEVER WORKS.  And my friend? Has a tinge of green to her hair. Nuff said. 

I got mine fixed...BUt I don't think she has any idea that her hair looks a bit like early spring grass.

Rotten Apples

Ya know? I don't have time for this huge looong post.

But I wanted to share about an experience I had this past weekend.

We took a family trip to a local apple orchard. Me, being the woman that I am, wore long pants (ok), long sleeved cardigan (preppy indulged) and boots.  The problem lies with the boots.  See? I normally don't go anywhere with my heels or stilettos.  So I think that that shouldn't exclude the apple orchard.

So my boots were oh-so-adorable and they were high heeled.

Ok. So it wasn't the greatest idea I ever had. 

Did you know that apple orchards aren't paved?  Did you know that they are full of rotting apples that smell like vinegar?  Did you know that they are full of rocks, holes and tree stumps?  The ground was so uneven I was having problems with my vertigo.

So the boots.  Not only were my ankles turning over every 5 seconds, but rotting apples were getting inside my boots and I was slipping on their remains every 3 feet.   

And my 22 month old daughter wanted to be held and carried while we were there. Impossible in 3 1/2 inch heels in the middle of a land mined orchard.  So I had a crying 1 year old..I was NOT in my element.  Is it wrong that I wanted this "family experience" to be over as soon as the tractor dropped us off at the orchard and as soon as I realized the ramifications of this whole "pick your own apples" thing. 

Normally I don't mind the whole "orchard experience" but this time I realized that usually I fake it.  I normally put up with it just so I can gorge myself on cider donuts and apple cider after the whole tractor blowing dirt in my face and slipping on rotten apples experience.  But this year? NO donuts for me? Why? Because now I am cursed with the whole gluten-free diet.  Again, I repeat. NO CIDER DONUTS.

No cider donuts means that it is no longer my responsibility to bring my family to "pick your own apples".  This will now fall under the husband's responsibilities while I read a book in an adirondack chair by the pond.  I'll take my apples from the grocery store or from the general store up at the orchard.  No more tractor rides for me.  I think I can live without a mask of dirt on my face or rotten apples in my boots. Thanks.

Park Etiquette

What is it with me and kids throwing things at me?

Do I look like a big target or something??

Do I scream that I want thing hurled in my direction, because it certainly seems as though the children oblige with no problems.  And with incredible arms.

I was at the park this week with my kids and decided to take a minute to scope out the other mothers at the park while on the bench. Yes, one was actually wearing a green and white polka dotted skirt (which I loved with my preppy little heart) and a white three quarter length CASHMERE sweater.  How do I know it was cashmere? Because I KNOW my cashmere people.  She decided to wear pearls in her ears and around her neck and pink flip flops (which I wanted to steal off her manicured feet).  She also had perfected blown out hair and looked well rested.  So...I'm either thinking this woman has a full time nanny or she's on some heavy meds because she also was strolling a newborn around.  When I had kids that small I probably could have been found at the top of the jungle gym contemplating which bones would break if I jumped and if it would give me some "bed rest" time...And how much pain medication I would be given to drown out the circus haze of my house.

ANYWAYS.

I'm sitting on a bench not participating in any, what i would call, "park cliques"...Where I would have to talk to other mothers and be all doting on my kids.  No.  Momma needed to sit down and guzzle some Snapple while the children ran around like carnival monkeys.

So I'm sipping some Snapple..Checking some texts.

WHAM.

Oh my lord. Shock and pain.

I look to my right where the pain had just come from.  A pail on the ground and a BIG 6 or 7 year old girl running away.  She then turns around to glare at me. I look over my shoulder (that is throbbing). Surely this child is not glaring at me. Yup. Sure was.

I glare back. See? I learn things.  I will not me intimidated.  These children who throw things need to be glared at and not given excuses.  Ps.  What would her excuse be anyways?? "Oh! Her ponytail was too tight." BAH.

She then tilts her head towards me to give me a "mean face".  What do I do??

I look around quickly to see if her mother is watching, pull off my Chanel sunglasses and give her my meanest face EVER.

Don't think she'll be throwing pails at me too soon.