Train Wreck

Betty Crocker lied to me.

I planned to make a train cake for Owen's 2nd birthday yesterday. So like a good mommy of a train-obsessed boy, I searched for "easy train cake" on the internet. Up popped Ms. Betty Crocker with a train cake that looked manageable. I knew not to get in over my head because I recalled Avery's second birthday in which Alan stepped in and saved the day with her butterfly cake. Hence googling "easy train cake" and not "super difficult train cake."

So here's Betty to the rescue, complete with a video detailing how to make this "easy" train cake. I watched the video twice. Felt confident. I got this train cake, I think. Owen is going to love it.

The video starts off saying, "You really can do this!" to boost your confidence. This is where the lies begin. They should not tell people they can do this when they have no idea of the LACK OF CAKE ABILITY of viewers.

I've got a cake mix and two tubs of icing. I bake the cake. I get out my food coloring and color the frosting. I finally give up on getting my icing to turn red when I've used half of the red food coloring and have only gotten it to a pinkish hue. Dark pink is good enough, I think.

I follow the steps in the video. Mostly. I mean, I didn't refrigerate the cakes quite as long as recommended by Betty C., so, okay,  maybe that's where the trouble started. I also took some liberties with the design of the engine train because I wasn't a fan of how Betty did hers, but more on that later.

I start to frost my little train cars with the first "crumb coat," named because you cover the cake and crumbs before you do the "real deal" smooth ice job on top. And whoa. I realize my "crumb coat" is so-named because my cake is crumbling like ancient ruins. What's going on here? I keep going, determined to get this worked out, and the cake just keeps falling apart. More icing goes on...but no matter how much icing I load up onto my knife (because I'm using a knife, who has a fancy spatula like they said to in the video? Only the pros!), my cake just keeps crumbling, the frosting refusing to stick.

I get a rough coat on the trains. And by rough, we're talking rough. Like, "Hmm. May have to chuck this in the trash and run to the grocery store later" rough.

Like, well, just here:

Two of my boxcars.

My "engine." Which looks like a cruise ship. Cannot look at this picture without cry-laughing.

So, I throw this disaster in the fridge, and throw a prayer up that after some refrigeration and some added frosting, this will be salvageable.

After a decent amount of refrigeration, I pull my trains out to try this again. Luckily, the room temperature icing goes on more smoothly-ish than the first time. But my engine-boat is so big that I don't have quite enough to really get that puppy smoothed out. Because let's be honest: it would have taken an entire THIRD tub of icing and I just wasn't going to go to those lengths. I do buy some emergency cake-decorating supplies like sprinkles and letters to hopefully disguise a little bit of the disaster I've got going on. So my train ends up looking as such:

And another angle:

And from a distance, its best angle really:

And Owen's all, what?

But then he's like, "Choo-choo!"

He totally knew it was a train, which was the most important thing. And Alan said it wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be, although he totally raised an eyebrow at my boatish engine (I'd told him once he saw the progress picture he was going to think I was Martha for having pulled out this birthday miracle.). And wouldn't you know? The part I didn't like about Betty's engine design? The front angled part that totally make it look more like a boat than it would have? Once I started slicing the cake up and chopped that part off, it looked much more train engine than boat, thank you very much.

I'm thinking I should start practicing now if I want to make a princess cake for Avery's birthday. Heck, I should start practicing for Owen's next birthday --- even if I attempt an exact repeat of "easy train cake."

P.S. It was delicious.

Playing Defense

I play defense all day long. If the kids are awake, I'm on high alert. I have to protect them from doing anything to harm themselves and each other. You know what is referred to as "common sense"? There is no such thing. Because you are born with very little sense and parents teach kids everything they know. Seriously, they're like feral animals you're trying to tame and talk some sense into.

If I could only use 10 words in a day, I'd need these:

No.
Stop.
Don't eat that.
For the love of God.

It's not easy because they totally gang up on me. One distracts me while the other is getting into something completely dangerous. Like Avery will be getting out the front door and at the opposite side of the house Owen is splashing in the dog dish. Or Owen's doing flips off the couch while Avery is stripping down to her birthday suit. Or Avery is grabbing a bag of chips off the counter while Owen is pouring my coffee all over the house.

Because this seems like an excellent idea.

The other day, Avery let me know Owen was waving his giraffe lovey around. I thought it was an odd report, but I was trying to get dressed like a normal human being that day, a day I put on a belt for the first time in like, two years (seriously, it had a tag on it, and I don't remember purchasing it). Next thing I know, Avery is telling me, "But the giraffe is wet," and I find Owen dunking the giraffe in the toilet and flinging water all over kingdom come. That's what I get for putting on a belt, people.

I'm so busy lately; I took on another writing job, so I'm writing an additional three articles a week with I don't know what time. I'm getting things figured out, but it's been a lot of juggling and stress. Around our neighborhood we do this "Boo" chain thing at Halloween where you'll get treats from someone and have to put together goodies to pass it along. Well, for the past two years I've gotten Booed, but hadn't passed the torch on. In fact, last year I got Booed twice, the second time before I had the chance to put up the "We've been Boo-ed!" sign. So I've felt super guilty. So this year? I Booed myself. That's right: I printed off a Boo ghost from the internet and stuck it up preemptively, so as to not get a bag of treats and to save myself the guilt of not having the time to do a Boo basket for someone else. Some may think it's slightly Grinchy of me; I think it's genius.

We've been going to the gym a lot, and now that Owen is great at the child care center, it's actually hard to tear them both away from all of the toys. I use the gym for both working out and for a quiet moment to work in the café, so it's been nice. We always hit the potty when I drop them off, and for whatever reason, Avery was terrified of the toilet the other day. So she kept getting off, I kept putting her back on and explaining that these aren't automatic toilets, while Owen ran amok in the bathroom. Guess where you don't want a 20-month-old running amok? A bathroom. So I'm chasing Owen, putting Avery on the pot, back and forth, back and forth. Then we have to switch stalls because, 3-year-old. Then Owen's crawling out of the stall, and into another stall. By the time I get out of there I a) don't feel guilty at all about leaving them for an hour and b) am already warmed up for my workout.

Look closely and you'll see this is the first day of the season they wore pants.

Owen is now at a stage where he thinks it is hilarious to run from me. One of the few times I remember getting in trouble as a kid was when I was running away from my mom. We were fishing or outside, and I'm pretty sure I got a swat on the butt. Now I see why: Because it is the most annoying thing when your kid is running away from you because they're likely running directly into danger or an otherwise inappropriate situation. The kids conspire against me so that I look like a totally crazy person on the way out of the gym sometimes. Avery will be running off or heading into an open office door, while Owen is heading into the men's locker room. Twice I've had to retrieve Owen from the men's locker room, and twice I've felt like I should have shielded my eyes just in case. He gets a little faster and turns a corner, and I'm going to have to yell for everyone to take cover while I go grab him.

The only place he plays it safe: the slide.

The mission right now for both kids is to touch everything, climb everything, and destroy everything. If I'm being driven batty by the amount of laundry needing to be put away, I know I have to sacrifice something to get it done. If I block them from our bedroom, it's a guarantee that every book will be on the floor in Avery's room, every blanket will be off Avery's bed, and they'll be in Owen's closet, unfolding every piece of clothing that is out of season.

He'll either sit in it or throw folded clothes. Either way, I lose.

If I make it sound like they're heathens, it's because they are. But not all the time. They do have their delightful moments. The moments that have me doubled over because they say something funny or melt my heart because they do something totally cute. Those moments make up for toilet splashing and throwing rocks at bunnies.

 

Adorably checking out bunnies. And then Avery threw rocks. You thought I was kidding about throwing rocks at bunnies.

Can I also just say that the Terrible Twos are a joke? I scoff at the Terrible Twos. Parents keep three a secret because they don't want to scare the pee out of you as you're dealing with the "Terrible Twos." They don't want to say, "Oh, boy, you think 2 is bad? You are IN FOR IT, SISTER." Because three is a whole other ballgame. Three is opinions and language and love and hugs. But three is opinions and language and attitude and make-you-wanna-do-drugs. You'll get "I love you soooo much" followed by "You're a stupid Mommy."

She'll put a hex on you if you're not careful.

Three brings so much goofiness.

Goofball.

...but also EMOTIONS.


Post-nap, feeling all the feelings.

Another mom recently said that at this age it's like they walk around as one big raw nerve, and it's so true. You just don't know what will trigger the crazy.

Luckily for both of them, they're pretty cute. And we love them to bits. And well, there's just no sending them back.

Happy Halloween!

It has been decided that there is nothing cuter than a preschool Halloween program. Look for the Dalmatian.

Hold the Sauce

Whenever Alan and I go "back home" to visit, we overdose on Mexican food. In New Jersey, or at least our immediate vicinity, you just cannot get good Mexican food. And just fuggedabout getting a margarita to go along with it; many restaurants are BYOB, which is cool for Italian restaurants and wine, but not so cool when you want a 'rita, on the rocks, with salt.

I ordered a margarita when we were in Top City. A margarita that I'd been pining for, for like, ever. I didn't get my drink because I was without a driver's license and I totally look 20, but I did get a lecture about government spying, 1984, Snowden and "Are you watching TV....or is it watching you?" It would have been a better conversation had I been tipsy, but it was interesting nonetheless.

So seeing as how we never eat Mexican food around here ---

Time out: Seriously, one of the passable restaurants has an hour-long wait any time we ever go near it, even at 4 in the afternoon. Let me use my Spanish: Two kids + hour wait = no bueno. Another serviceable option is in an area so questionable Alan said I was never allowed to go there by myself. And our worst experience was when we went to a "Mexican" restaurant attached to a hotel. And they served MARINARA SAUCE passing as salsa. For shame.

--- Owen hadn't really been exposed to a whole lot of salsa. He knew exactly what to do with it, however, and proceeded to dip chips in it until he decided it would be more fun to splash in it with his whole hand. That left me no choice but to take away his salsa and ensure a tantrum, which got him a ticket right outside the restaurant and me a shirt with salsa handprints all over it.

Thinking he'd mature in a day, we went to another Mexican restaurant for lunch the next day. We made the mistake of letting the salsa get in his line of sight. He was like Cookie Monster: ME WANT SALSA. Then he'd eat it, want to splash in it because SO GOOD, and then he'd freak out when he wasn't allowed to act like a heathen. Even Owen knows that the marinara and Jersey salsas just aren't cutting it in comparison.

So we get home and all of a sudden Owen is a sauce guy. He always pitches a fit when he sees my dinner. It can be (and usually is) the exact same thing he's eating, only bigger portions and bigger pieces. But if he sees I have a sauce he doesn't have? You better get him his sauce. I had A1 tonight with my steak, so he had to have some too. As did Avery.

Avery has been watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and in it, they sing a song that goes "Grown-ups come back." That's basically it but here's the song online. You don't have to worry about it getting stuck in your head because Avery's version is way better.



Love how Owen is also musical in the background. Daily, I crack up at these two.

Blowing Kisses, Eating Peas

Owen is gaining skills like a champ.

He can blow a kiss.



Or he can "blow a kiss," which is a slobbery, open-mouthed version.




And he can get a pea from plate to mouth in a couple of different ways.



And he can also walk as of a few weeks ago. It is life-changing for all of us, and my arms thank him.

School's Out for Summer

Things are pretty awesome right now, and not just because I'm eating an inappropriately sized slice of lemon meringue pie. The first edited draft of our 108,000-word book has been sent off.* I yanked the kids out of daycare. So, not only have the many, many plagues** left the building, finally, but I've got my kids back with me full time. I seriously just could not deal with this any more:

And as crazy as they can make me (just yesterday, as they were both screaming simultaneously for no apparent reason, I found myself yelling, "CAN WE PLEASE STOP YELLING!?"), I'm so, so glad I can be home with their crazy selves. Besides, Owen has dropped down to one nap and I don't think anything has improved our quality of life this much since we got a mini van. IT IS LIFE-CHANGING. And deserving of all caps. Because now instead of book-ending Avery's nap with his naps and being a prisoner to the nap schedule, the two kids nap at the same time. It is at least an hour of quiet awesomness, usually an hour and a half, and sometimes more than two hours. I don't get to enjoy mindless TV or anything, but at least I get some work done.

Now that I'm not watching the neighbor twins any more either, it's like summer. We've got free time in the mornings and the afternoons. We can go places because we aren't foaming at the mouth and don't look like sickly beasts. We can go on walks around the block and to the park.

Owen veers into the grass a lot.

Also life-changing? The car cart.

Grocery shopping is now an EVENT.

Thank you to the corporate grocery geniuses who thought, "Hey....if we make kids happy, moms can spend money." Because Avery gets giddy-excited for the car cart, Owen loves it, they're content for at least half an hour, Owen can try to steal candy bars in the checkout lane, and I can actually concentrate on my grocery list rather than speeding around like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep. And though it's a bit unwieldy, I don't think I will ever shop without it again.

Owen, bless his little heart, is getting hilarious with his walking. Or rather, with his refusal. He'll stand on his own a bit, but isn't really interested in showing off his balance. He's taken three or four steps several times, but just isn't that into testing the walking waters. He'll go limp if he's not in the mood to try, so he'll just crumple to his crawl position. He instead scurries like the fastest bug to get everywhere. So when we're at the park, it means a lot of this:

Planking. All the cool kids do it.

It means seriously grubby hands and knees now that we're outside a lot in shorts.

You love me even when I'm grubby.

It means my arms are getting wiped out daily. But even though walking is still in the future, he's gaining in other areas. For instance, he recently learned to identify his nose.

He's also added "car" to his vocab, he'll wave and say hi, bye and night-night. He understands every word I say, I swear. He knows when he's not supposed to do something; he'll look at you as he's doing it with a little grin. And he's so sweet that he usually stops doing it instead of going through with it. This will change. But it's nice at the moment.

Also noteable? Holy freaking cicadas. The 17-year cicadas are coming out right now, and they are thick. They litter the ground under certain trees, and it makes for a lot of side-stepping on the sidewalks. They're not making noise yet, but seeing the numbers already, I'm sure it's going to be deafening as they get going. And as creeped out as I am about bugs, I'm weirdly fascinated with this phenomenon. I mean, I actually saw one as it was molting. Check out this nod from Mother Nature to Alien:

I mean, excuse me? This happens? (Enlarge at your own risk.)

I'm just praying that neither of my kids puts one in their mouth.

So yes. I'm trying to enjoy a moment of relief. Relief from book, from illnesses, from endless winter. And even if a plague of cicadas has replaced the plague of viruses, it's a small price to pay for all of this:

I think Cabbage Patch needs a safety harness. And maybe clothes.

Happy face.

*Pre-order it! And if you haven't gotten this one by now, what are you waiting for?

**If it hadn't happened to us, I wouldn't believe it was possible for a family to be sick as much as we were. Since January, I've had pink eye twice, three sinus infections, one ear infection, the achy/fever terrible flu, the 24/7 awfulness of stomach flu for three days, bronchitis (undiagnosed but I've had it before and the telltale cough-until-you-practically-puke-all-night-long pretty much had me convinced) and numerous colds in between all of this wonder and delight. How I wrote half a book in this time? I do not know. 

14 Months a Cutie

While I'm busy adding to the list of "Hilarious Things Avery Says," I thought Owen needed an update. His baby book is sadly emptier than Avery's, so I've got to document a few of his milestones somewhere so he knows I at least tried to keep track.

The little guy is great. With rampant sickness in the house (seriously, even now I'm pretty sure I have bronchitis), he actually had to go back in for an ear and weight check a few weeks ago. Ha! A kid with trouble gaining weight? Funny. But he improved so all is well. It's understandably tough to gain weight when you don't eat normal amounts of solids for several weeks. Or when you do, you're barfing it all up, sometimes down the front of your mom's shirt. I get it. I didn't eat much for a month either, so we're both working on putting the lbs back on. It's easier for some of us than others.

Holy sweet face.

Owen's pretty laid back still, and that's the approach he's taking to walking, thus disproving the "the second child does everything faster because he is chasing the older one." He is 14 months today, which is the day Avery started walking. Owen is not even standing on his own. He's perfectly content to speed crawl, cruise around and have me pick him up if he wants up higher.

He spied the camera, a new target.

He does however want to climb...it makes him a little nervous though and he wants supervision. If I mistakenly leave the baby gate to the stairs open, he'll head that direction and go up one or two steps. Then he'll look for me and get all mischievous when he sees me coming and high tail it up the stairs.

I don't need to pay attention when I climb! I'm a Dinosaur Train-watching music table-climbing pro!

He's of course a pro at Mama and Dada, dog, uh-oh and is working on an "A-e" version of Avery. He's babbling a lot, I'm just not able to make much sense of it. He can sign "milk" (which pretty much means "gimme gimme gimme any sort of food"), dog and fan. He does a cute little point and likes to reach out and touch his pointer finger to mine. He does a smash-face kiss, which is pretty much like it sounds: He smashes his face into mine. It makes him very happy.

He absolutely loves Marti. He hugs her and cuddles her. They take over Avery's bed.

Forced snuggles.

 
He was pretty proud of himself when he discovered he could get into Avery's bed.

Beds are for fun, not for sleeping!

I took both kids in for a haircut the other day, Owen's first. Owen was looking a bit like a disheveled old man that had let his hair go too long. Avery loved her experience and was smiling and telling boob jokes from the moment she sat down. (I can't make these things up.) Owen was slightly more apprehensive, but he was still a champ.

I'm a little nervous, I'm not gonna lie.

And now just look at him. With a few snips, he morphed into a big boy.

I'm a distinguished gentleman now. Without a shirt. And with peanut butter on my face.

I keep reminding myself to enjoy this time before he starts walking. Because once they walk, they manage to get into even more trouble. But seriously Owen, mama's arms need a break!