Baseball Cake

Samuel wanted a baseball cake. So I decided I could do that, no problem. I purchased the necessary items and got started. Now many years ago, pre-children, pre-marriage, well, pre-everything adult about life, I took a cake decorating class--I was ten years old. A little Betty Crocker I was. Now, I can find my way around a kitchen, and I can do a little in the cake department, but I a professional, I am not. So I am going to post a pic of my cake. No laughing allowed. Please be kind in the comments. I am ashamed to say this is the first cake I have done any decorating to in about eight years. Rusty doesn't adequately describe my cake decorating skills.




This is what my boy was doing prior to his party. No cranky birthday boy around here.



I'll be back later with a post of pics and presents. Daniel is demanding breakfast, loudly.

Smells Like Play-Doh

Tonight while playing with a huge tub of various blocks my children lugged downstairs, Makiah and Sam presented me with trophies for being the "Bestest (such excellent grammar and good use of language, don't ya think?) Mommy in all the World and ever."

~~~Head inflating, hope I can get through the doorway~~~

They each had built one, and before I could take pictures, Sam knocked them over (pure joy to him to knock anything over) to build a "builin" (Sam speak for building). I was surprised and it felt good to have such a high compliment. It's always nice when one of your offspring just says something like that because they mean it, not because a holiday said they had too.

And shortly after this wonderful presentation, this occurred. . . . . .

Now, I am not a gourmet chef, but I do think I can cook up some grub when called upon and most of the time it turns out highly finely. Well this evening, after a very full day I began making dinner. Makiah enters the kitchen and says, "OOhhh whatcha makin?" I said I am making chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes.

Little did she know that I was making Mediterranean Chicken, Green Beans simmered in chicken broth and sugar (new recipe) and mashed potatoes.

After a little time passed she came back in the kitchen, the chicken has only been cooking for a few minutes, but there was a delicious smell coming from the pot.

She leaned over and sniffed. Thinking to myself that it was smelling quite good she promptly says, "What kind of chicken is that?", I told her she would like it and it was what I had dubbed as "Mediterranean Chicken", she sniffed again and says, "Oh, well, it smells like Play-doh."

Let me remove the chef hat now and pick my deflated head up off the floor.

Thank you Makiah. Good thing you gave me that compliment just forty minutes before, otherwise things could turn ugly.

I just knew that meant she wasn't going to eat any, I have a hard enough time getting her to eat meat when it doesn't smell like Play-doh. I fixed everyone a plate and Makiah slurped up every bit and told me how good it was. Actually I believe she said "Mama, that was delicious."

~~Head re-inflating, to normal size this time, I learned my lesson~~

Smelled like Play-doh, to her is apparently did, but it was also yummy. Then again, for children who love Play-doh, maybe it was a compliment. . . . . . no, somehow I don't think it was.

Moral of the story is: Take those compliments to heart, for you might need to call to upon it to defend a dinner or pick up that deflated head.

Wooly "Mom"eth

Okay so I made the huge mistake of saying out loud that I need to shave because my legs are beginning to look a wooly mammoth's legs. Makiah (yes, I said it in front of a child that repeats all she hears) happened to be in the room and says Oh Mom you're not a wooly "mom"eth. After correcting her and explaining what a mammoth was, I looked at my legs and thought-ya know she was right, I am a wooly "mom"eth!!

I just knew all three of you that read about my life would not survive without hearing that story.

Well, I have tons to say and pics to post, but that will have to wait until later. I am off to unpack some more and cook some grub. Hubs is studying for church tonight and Daniel is licking the boppy--I think he might be hungry, so I need to quit blogging around and get busy.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . . . . (I just know ya'll are on pins and needles, try not to blow a gasket waiting on my next post). . . .