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My five things
I have been tagged. Normally I duck from these types of things but it is a noble quest involving 80 clicks around the world, and the person who tagged me asked me politely first. It’s so nice to be asked first.
I’ve got a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. I’m hoping it jump-starts my brain into writing something brilliant and fresh. The topic is nothing new but I want to answer it as honestly and openly as I can.
The question is: What five things do you love about being a mom?
At first I feel a bit scared to answer a question like that. Aren’t you sick of hearing about how great motherhood is? Hasn’t everyone already heard enough? What do I have to say that could possibly be new and interesting?
I actually don’t think I’m that great of a mom. I know. You are all going to moan and groan about all the fun and creative things I do with Bug and I know you are right. But personally I think I’m a really great aunt. I love doing fun things with kids but then I like it when those kids go away and I have peace and quiet to think up my next really fun thing.
Being a mom is not as fun as being an aunt. It’s a lot of work. It’s a huge challenge for me to think of all the fun things but then keep my cool during the lag times between fun things. So many times Bug and I sit on the couch and I just stare into space while I pile heaps of guilt on myself for not at least thinking up a story to tell her. But I can’t be “on” all the time. Sometimes I’m not creative. Sometimes I’m tired and lazy. And sometimes I need to give her a chance to be bored so she can grow up to be as creative as I am. I was bored a LOT as a kid.
But that’s not answering the question. I’m sorry.
1. I love the companionship. Sometimes when we’re walking down the alley to the library and she’s skipping along holding my hand and NOT lagging behind, I find her little voice so captivating. She chatters on about this and that and I’m completely happy that I can go anywhere with her and never mind who is watching me.
I remember in the olden days when I was an insecure singleton, I used to frequent coffee shops a lot and write novellas into my journal about how lonely I was. I would wish and pray that someone, anyone, would just sit down across from me and strike up a conversation. I used to pretend to be interested in writing or reading or sketching but really I just wanted someone to talk to. Now I have someone to talk to all the time. And sometimes I even wish she would stop talking.
2. I love being the one who gets to comfort her. I love it that I usually understand what is wrong. Her brain is wired like my brain and I usually have a better idea than anyone else what will make her happy again. Sometimes that makes me feel like a superhero.
3. I love dressing her. Kids’ clothes are cute and she can get away with combinations that I can’t. I know this is a fleeting pleasure but I’m savoring it as long as she’ll let me.
4. I love the challenge of motherhood. It’s always changing and it always feels overwhelming yet I never give up. Well, sometimes I think I give up and I cry and scream into pillows, but I don’t really give up. I just take a breather and have another go at it. I’ve never had this many chances to do a good job before.
5. I love that I have a mom’s body. I love that that excuses me from competing with all the teenagers at the beach. I know I’ll never be like those Hollywood moms who can bounce quarters off their stomachs but I don’t really care. I know someday I’ll get back into shape. But for now I can blend in with all the other moms and nobody really cares because they are too busy looking at my cute kid.
Well…that’s not the best list but that’s the best I can come up with right now.
Now it’s your turn.
I tag:
DeliaJude
Spritzer Leyba
Queen of Rambles
Jen’s Space
and
Mandajuice(I’m sorry I didn’t ask you guys politely by email first. I won’t hold it against you if you pass.)
If you’re not tagged, feel free to tag yourself.
p.s. She dressed herself in these photos. It was 70 degrees in the shade and for some reason she wanted to wear a hat and mittens.
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I fought the cake and I won…sort of
You know that list you have in your head of things you want to do before you die? I have one of those lists. It has silly things on it like “work at Starbucks and learn all their evil secrets” and “make a patchwork quilt by hand” and big ones like “have an art gallery opening with wine and cheese” and “illustrate a children’s book from start to finish.” Things like that. I’m working on my list. I’ve crossed off a few. There was the time I made a pie crust from scratch and I did have an art gallery opening that one summer that went to the dogs.
Yesterday, I decided to finally cross off the “make a cake from scratch” item. I’ve had enough of the taunting from my foodie friends who say cake mixes are for weenies. I don’t love baking but I do cook dinner every night. It’s not like I’m a stranger in the kitchen. Sheesh! It’s the only room I can call my own anymore! Which does not please me, believe me. I HATE cooking.
But how hard can a cake be, right? How dumb can I be?
Apparently very dumb. I cracked open a few cookbooks and was immediately stumbled by things like this:
Cake flour.
What is cake flour? I have wheat flour and regular flour but where am I supposed to get cake flour? And then after I’m done making this cake, what am I supposed to do with the leftover cake flour? It’s probably just going to take up valuable space in my pantry and get bugs. Phooey!
Double-acting Baking Powder.
What?!!! There is more than one kind of baking powder? The half empty can in my cupboard that has been there for the last five years won’t work?
Extra-fine sugar.
Huh? I have sugar in the raw, powdered sugar, brown sugar, sugar cubes and regular old white sugar but I don’t have anything called extra-fine. Am I going to have to mill my sugar with my make-shift mortar and pestle (which is really just a bowl and a glass cup)?!!!
These are the kinds of things that intimidate me and send me off to my laptop with my tail between my legs. I know all you bakers are shaking your heads because you know this stuff by heart but to me it’s as crippling as learning another language! Good thing I have cake-baking friends standing by on instant messenger.
To be honest it wasn’t all the foreign ingredients that were crippling me. I was having a bad day to start with. It was a day that can only be summed up by saying that I have a three-year-old underfoot who rambles on at the mouth incessantly. I couldn’t even read a recipe from start to finish without an interruption every five seconds. I was on edge to say the least.
But I’m stubborn. I really wanted to cross that cake off my list and I’ve also determined that the only way my three-year-old is ever going to learn to play by herself and leave me alone is if I ignore her. This is a battle I must fight for both our sakes.
I tried to involve Bug in the cake-making process as much as I could and I’m sure she was having fun “helping” but it was an uphill battle. I’m not even sure I won the battle. I snapped at her. I got frustrated. I slunk into the other room to have a mini-cry fest. Baking a cake should not be this hard! Yet I wasn’t about to use up her precious 1.25-hour naptime on baking. That time is for ME AND MY LAPTOP!!!
Things got a lot better after I melted some butter and added the cocoa powder. I was beginning to think that maybe I can do this after all. It smelled divine. Chooooocklate…….buuuuutttter…….mmmmmmm… The batter went together smoothly enough and everything looked great as I poured it into my cake pans.
Isn’t it cool that I actually have cake pans? I decided to skip the jelly roll pan that the recipe called for and use my fancy-dancy cake pans instead. I’m living dangerously! I didn’t grease the pans because the recipe didn’t say to. I figured there must be enough butter in the mix. Truthfully, I didn’t really even think about it. Greasing pans isn’t top of mind for me.
It wasn’t until I tried to flip the cakes out of their pans and they didn’t budge that I suddenly remembered that there is some rule about this. Maybe I should have consulted with someone before I switched up the pans. Lesson LEARNED. Cakes in pan 1: Brenda 0. Stupid baking.
Thankfully by some miracle (and perhaps the heart-attack inducing amounts of butter in the recipe), I was able to knife around the edges of the pan and wiggle the cakes out with only tiny little mini-cracks around the edges. The cakes stayed intact. Hallelujah!
The only thing left to do was ice the cakes and stack them! I didn’t care about making homemade icing because that is not one of the items on my list. I’ve made homemade icing before and it was nothing to write home about. I had some tub icing in my pantry fromfouryearsagobutit’stotallyokay and that was fine with me. I slopped it on, put the cakes together and just as I was spreading around the top layer of icing suddenly…
The cake cracked open and swallowed me up!!!! Seriously! LOOK AT THAT CRACK! It’s like the Grand Canyon! If you look closely you can see tiny little people in rubber rafts floating down the Colorado. I hope they’re enjoying themselves because I’M NOT! SchmickenSchmackenStupidCake!
So I twittered it and took comfort in the fact that at least a few people might have some fun laughing at me. Ugh. I also remembered that even real bakers have cracks like this and they just cover them up with icing.
So I did and it looked fine. Pretty, in fact, if I do say so myself. Never mind that the cake is trying to creep off the plate and hide behind the microwave. I have WON the cake battle. Take that you stupid cake. You better taste good.
And it did. I think. I don’t know. I guess I was expecting Toby to fall all over himself telling me how delicious it was. I daydreamed that it would be so good that he would rush out and buy me a complete new set of pans and a red KitchenAid mixer because I deserve them. Or something.
But Toby didn’t really care. He’s just not that into cakes. I think he tried to go through the motions of spending time with us and appreciating that we did all this for his birthday (that was SEVEN days ago) but truthfully he hates birthdays. I for some reason cannot get it through my head that it would all just be fine if we did nothing for his birthday. We could do laundry on his birthday and he’d be just as happy.
Poor guy. I don’t mean to make him out to be the bad guy. This is just a lesson to me (and maybe every other wife out there who has high hopes) that husbands do not change. You can’t force them to be excited about things that they aren’t. He tried, he really did. But I have truth goggles and I went to bed sad that I had put out so much effort and snapped so many times at Bug. Was it worth it? Did it taste better than a $1.98 cake mix? I don’t know.
I have some satisfaction that I did it and I can cross it off my list. I think if everyone raved about it, I could see myself baking this recipe over and over until I knew it by heart. Maybe it would be one of those things that I would pass on to Bug and she would remember fondly of us cooking together…maybe.
Or maybe I’m just over it.