When I was away last weekend my husband took the opportunity to step up his pancaking skills and debut the next animal in his series. Behold, the bull:
Honestly I worry he might be peaking too soon. Where do you go from here? Surely a pig or cat would just feel like child’s play at this point. If you are going to showboat like this then you need to be prepared for the consequences. The children now have very high cake expectations, and I think I speak for the entire internet when I say, Show Me The Manatee.
Also, clearly weekend breakfasts are in good hands around here so I see no reason why I should not be able to sleep in. Wake me when there is an edible marine mammal or forest creature on my plate. Extra syrup, please.
I’ve done it. I crossed that sacred line in a friendship with a childless friend and I asked her to babysit.
This friend adores my children – probably in part because I’ve never left her alone with them – but tomorrow that may all change. She has graciously agreed to help me out in a pinch and watch my kids for a few hours while I go to a meeting because my husband is out of town and every other sitter was booked.
After fielding questions from her like, “Do I need to feed them?” I assured her I would give her an exact play-by-play. I don’t want to insult her with my directions, but I also don’t want to leave her guessing. She is that super fun pseudo-auntie who never ceases to give my kids candy right before dinner, accidentally drop an F-bomb in front of them, get them riled up right before bedtime, and leave them begging to see her again.
Here’s what I’ve got so far:
- Don’t give them any candy.
- Don’t hang them upside down by their ankles after 8 pm.
- Don’t let them run around outside alone at night.
- Don’t give them cigarettes.
- Don’t listen to them when they say their bedtime is 10 pm.
- Don’t let them watch The Walking Dead.
- Don’t let the toddler poop on the floor.
- Don’t feel bad if the toddler poops on the floor.
- Don’t bother trying to brush the toddler’s teeth. Save yourself.
- Don’t feel bad if you can’t get them to go to sleep.
- Don’t feel bad if you can’t get them to do anything.
- Don’t feel bad.
I’m going to save a copy for myself as well.
I took a hiatus from NaBloPoMo. I am doing NaBloPoMo Light,* which allows you one break midway through the month so you can take a quick trip and not have to worry about posting while you travel, or worse yet, writing posts in advance like some sort of super organized and efficient person. That sounds hard.
I spent the weekend in Minnesota, where I attended a 40th birthday party for one of my best friends from high school. She didn’t know I was coming, and she hates surprises. So of course I nearly gave her a heart attack and jumped out of a hotel bathroom right into her face. Because I am a good friend. She screamed. She cried. Good times were had and it was a great night reminiscing and celebrating with some of my oldest friends who knew me when I had big, terrible hair.
As luck would have it, I was also able to get together with a gaggle of college friends on Friday night. I don’t know the technical definition of a ‘gaggle’ but in this case there were seven of us. I love those girls something fierce and it was so fun to spend time together. They knew me when I had short, mushroomy hair and they still befriended me, so I’ll never let them go.
Yes, my life story is punctuated by a series of horrendous hair choices.
I am still high on friendship fumes, which I’m hoping will sustain me through the winter. Quality time with lifelong friends is invigorating and soul-filling. I need to do it more often. One year ago I wrote about the challenge of finding new grown-up friends in this weird world of parenthood. Not surprisingly, that post also had a photo with an atrocious haircut.
Such a warm and friendly smile. I still think I should put this photo on a business card to hand out to potential friends, or drug dealers, at the playground.
* I made this up but I do think it’s a solid idea to offer tiered NaBloPoMo plans to remove some of the guilt and failure for we flaky people.
I found this on the kitchen table this morning amid a sea of holiday-related junk mail, catalogs and Christmas charity requests that my 6-year-old had opened.
That last part is kind of intense, but who am I to argue with it?
I don’t usually write posts about cooking or baking because I’m an oaf in the kitchen. But today I had a breakthrough so I’m going to try on my Martha pants and see if maybe this is something I’d like to write about on a regular basis.
This morning my children enjoyed a fun and delicious breakfast of panda pancakes. They squealed in delight at the sight of the precious panda face and talked about it for hours afterward. Even my husband could NOT STOP raving about the craftsmanship of those cakes!
Here is a step-by-step tutorial for how to make panda pancakes based on my personal experience:
Step 1: Marry someone who knows how to make panda pancakes.*
Step 2: Let that person make panda pancakes.
Step 3: Sit down and eat the aforementioned panda pancakes with your kids.
I hope this tutorial is straightforward and easy to follow. Feel free to pin it on Pinterest. I’d provide a link but I’m a social media oaf as well. Bon appetit!
*The marriage part is optional.
I eat their candy.
The candy needs to be gone now.
Halloween is over.
I feel bad throwing candy in the garbage so instead I eat it.
Heath bars are my favorite.
In this day and age, when everything has been reinvented and improved and then reinvented again, it’s a wonder when you find something that looks and feels exactly like it did 30+ years ago. Today my daughter went to a birthday party at a roller skating rink that seemingly had the same carpet, lights and nacho cheese that it had in 1980. I was immediately transported back to my youth. But this time I had bad knees, a sore back and mom jeans.
I survived without any major injuries, so I’m calling it a success.