I won a mixer.

Leslie Nielsen's star on Canada's Walk of Fame

Image via Wikipedia

An actual conversation that occurred in my house this morning:

Me: (reading blogs) Huh…Leslie Nielsen died?

Mille: (doing something “productive” on Facebook in lieu of working): Yeah, I think I saw that last night.

Me: *grumble* Looks at The Pioneer Woman and sees this. Promptly screams, like that King Kong spider we saw last week was back.

Mille: Um…are you ok?

Me: Holy fuck.

Mille: I know CPR!


Mille: Like a real mixer or one on Farmville?


Mille: on the computer?


Mille: It’s not a real mixer.


Mille: Well, that’s good, because you don’t have one.

Me: ………(we totally have a mixer. Chef got it for graduation from culinary school. She’s trying to make sure we don’t move out of the house with anything cool.)

So I totally won a mixer and spread my joy all over Facebook (replete with misspellings and CAPS LOCK SCREAMING) and Twitter and now I’m pretty sure nobody believes me that I won a mixer with my sad sack Thanksgiving story.

Also, I’m pretty sure the Knotty Bride thinks I’m crazy for my comment on this post today.


Odd Conversation

Zenith Royal Hearing Aid

Image by Chemical Heritage Foundation via Flickr

Short Stack called me today with a very disturbing question. (for those of you just joining us, he lives with The Dearests 90 miles away so he can finish 5th grade with his buddies and play the baritone horn in the band.)

SS: Mom, what’s a reptile dysfunction?

Me: *chokes on her soda, thinking he’s asking about penis malfunctions*

SS: Mom?

Me: Say what honey? I can’t hear you. Bad connection.

SS: WHAT. IS. A. REPTILE. DYSFUNCTION? (child knows I am partially deaf in one ear from too much clubbing and dancing on speakers and just assumes he needs to yell at me like he needs to yell at my grandfather who wears those enormous hearing aids and should probably use an ear trumpet too)

Me: Um….*snort*..Reptile Dysfunction?

SS: Mimi [my mom] won’t tell me. She just pretends she can’t hear me. Then she goes in the bathroom and laughs. Is it something funny?

Me: Um….it’s when….um…

SS: (who is smarter than I give him credit for) It has something to do with a penis, doesn’t it.

Me: *stunned*

SS: Oh wait….*muffled conversation* Uncle OD (my brother) says I should ask you about elections. *more muffled talking * I mean ERECTIONS.

Me: *dies*

SS: Oh, I have to go. Ben 10 is on.


A list of the things I’m no longer allowed to do.

An example of street markets accepting credit ...

Image via Wikipedia

This is, by no means, a comprehensive list..

Also, if you’d like someone to blame for this, blame my good twitter friends Superbetch and Eddyizm (who, incidentally, is also not allowed to use power tools.)

  1. I am no longer allowed to fry things of any kind in my parents’ kitchen.
  2. I am not allowed to drive the streets of Bellingham, WA past 11pm on any night of the week.
  3. I’m not allowed to hold the credit card (or look at it in any manner, or even acknowledge its presence) while we are at Costco. Or the mall.
  4. I am no longer allowed to drive Mille & Fille’s Audi. (this one is related to #2.)
  5. I am not allowed to operate the radio in Mille & Fille’s Audi. (Totally related to #2 and #4.)
  6. I am not welcome in the Babies R Us in Bellevue, WA. (this one may or may not be legally viable, and may or may not have to do with my mother and I trying to see if Short Stack would fit in one of the strollers to justify purchasing a dual stroller before Chuck was born.)
  7. I am not allowed to sing karaoke at one particular dive bar in Las Vegas.
  8. I am not allowed to use my dad’s power tools.
  9. I am not allowed to try and see how many people that my dad’s engine-lifter-outer tool will hold before collapsing.
  10. I am not allowed, under any uncertain circumstances (and possibly under punishment of death) to drink 151 rum in any quantity.
  11. I am not allowed to use the public computers at a particular library in my hometown.
  12. I am not allowed to dance on the tables at Pure Las Vegas. (although, I think that’s an actual rule there. I discovered this the hard way. Also, broke my tailbone.)
  13. I am not allowed to wear high heels in establishments where alcohol is involved.
  14. If alcohol is involved in any outing, I must have a previously designated chaperone, who will prevent me from injuring other people. (it’s inevitable that I’m going to injure myself when I drink. Noone, except maybe Bubble Boy, can prevent that.)
  15. I am not allowed to run any fundraisers at Short Stack’s school. (This is actually a serious rule. I’m not allowed to run them because the one I DID run raised almost 11 times as much money as the year prior. And Bellevue moms do NOT like being outshined by the mom with tattoos piercings and vintage clothes, who drives a car with a bumper sticker that says “I ❤ PIRATES. And they can all eat me.)
  16. I am not allowed to leave notes on the windowsill at the Space Needle restaurant. (The restaurant rotates, and you can leave notes on the windowsill so as people’s tables move by, they can read them. I was 11 when this rule was enacted by my mother.)
  17. I am not allowed to feed my children. (Mille has enacted this one because she’s pretty sure I’m trying to murder them with the things I feed them. Like green beans made with BUTTER. Or non-low-fat Triscuits.)
  18. I am not allowed to mention certain litigious family members on the internets. (Since I have a family full of lawyers, this is a fun rule to sneak around. Also, being threatened with a lawsuit at Christmas is the worst present ever. And? One of my uncles is an assmonkey.)
  19. I am not allowed to play football with my cousins, or the boys at my high school. (I hit too hard.)
  20. I have to ask permission if something funny happens to someone else in my house and I want to blog/tweet/facebook it.
  21. I am not allowed to grocery shop by myself.
  22. I am not allowed to use Chef’s fancypants culinary awesomesauce knives. (This one, I’m OK with. I chopped my finger yesterday, roasting pumpkins for pie.)
  23. I am not allowed to experiment in the kitchen without constant supervision and prior approval from a board of directors. (Which consists of Chef. And just him. Maybe Mille.)
  24. I am not allowed to give Fille any more regular coffee. Or sugar. Or candy.

OK, I need to put Chuck to bed immediately, before she morphs into a banshee.

If y’all want reasons behind these, leave a comment with which one you’d like 🙂

I suck.


Image by kk+ via Flickr

I apologize for not updating. Again. I do believe this is the 4th time I’ve apologized for not blogging and given a list of reasons why.

I don’t think I have a good excuse this time…just more cakes and Chuck is now mobile and it snowed and I still can’t stand my in-laws.

Also, I’m working on re-vamping the whole blog and having Chef do regular cooking posts and talk more about how we raise the kids.

Right now though, I have to go grievously injure some of Chuck’s singing toys that someone nicely gave her for her birthday before I lose what’s left of my mind.



Just checking out the new Twitter feature on WordPress….nothing to see here. Move along.



An Open Letter to my Daughter

Randy Johnson

Image via Wikipedia

Dearest darling Chuck,

It’s been one year, one week and 6 days since I pushed you forth into this world. You’ve been a pretty awesome kid, all things considered.

You slept through the night on December 24th, at 2 months old. (I remember this because we were all staying at the Hotel Max and it was Christmas Eve and I thought that was the greatest Christmas present of all time, except maybe your brother.)

You’ve been fairly portable so far in your short existence…falling asleep in the car on the 90 minute drive to and from your grandparents, and generally being content to play with whatever while I go to the bank or the store or what have you.

Lately though, my tiny bubble of “I am an awesome parent” has been popped by shrieking at 4am.

And 5:15am.

And 7:00am, 8:19am and 9:22am.

This is after you made the decision that 12midnight – 1am is now your new bedtime.

I, your dearest darling mother who spent the first 3 months vomiting and the following 3 months in bed while carrying you in her womb, would really like to inform you that it is not a crime to sleep for more than 2 hours in a row.

Whatever agency (FBI, CIA, Army, Navy, etc) has already noticed your potential and is training you to be a terrorist interrogator needs to piss off. Using sleep deprivation as a weapon is a horrible idea and I would like to opt out of this exercise and defer your further training until you’re a teenager and I have ample time to obtain large doses of Valium so I can be tired, but really not give a shit.

(The Opinionated Grandma Squad has suggested I let you “cry it out”, but I’m pretty sure after 90 minutes of you screaming at 3am, I should probably let the terrorists win and just pick you up.)

I would also like to address your behaviour over the past few days.

Yesterday, while we were shopping at Target, you chose to pretend to be Randy Johnson and remove your boot and bean some poor lady in the face. She thought it was fairly funny, but I would like to emphasize that it is INAPPROPRIATE to hit people (AND ANIMALS) with anything, including (but not limited to) your shoes, my shoes, the remote control, and any/all of the tupperware in the kitchen.

I would also like to bring up the toilet paper issue.

Toilet paper is a tool you will get to learn about at a later date. For now, it is not a restraint for cats, a decoration for parties (or for the bathroom/hallway), or something to hide underneath when your mother (that would be me) is trying to figure out where you’ve gone, since she only had her eyes off of you for THIRTY SECONDS.

And last but certainly not least, PLEASE stop torturing the dog. Yesterday you managed somehow to obtain a hanger, locate Devil Dog and hook the inside of the dog’s nose all while I ran to the bathroom breaking land-speed records. The dog, to put it mildly, was not amused. So much so, that she’s been hiding in the basement ever since. I’m not sure she’s even eaten.

Later when you’re older and try to ride the dog like a horse (which we definitely frown upon in this establishment), we will have to have this conversation again, but for now, let’s not give the dog any more anxiety attacks. I’m fairly sure doggie Prozac is expensive.

I love you very much, because of all of your quirks, but I swear if you don’t let me sleep, I’m going to lose my mind.

And most of it’s already gone.



A note to the reader: if this doesn’t make sense, I apologize. I have averaged 5 hours of sleep a night for 3 weeks, but only at 90 minute stretches at a time…her interrogator training is going swimmingly.

Wedding Headache.

A photograph promoting the film Jailhouse Rock...

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I think I have reached Wedding Overload.

I subscribe to way too many wedding blogs. I have a stack of Martha Weddings, a stack of brochures from local wedding venues/vendors, and a giant Evernote account smashed full with wedding ideas, DIY how-tos and photos for inspiration.

All of which seem to be conspiring to make me feel like my wedding is never going to be as huge and as awesome and as awe-inspiring as anything you’d find in any of these places.

I don’t have childhood friends to be my MOH or bridesmaids, I don’t have family traditions to carry on in weddings. My parents don’t own a huge vineyard where they’ve been making wine for my wedding. I don’t have a huge clutch of friends who are massively creative and are doing everything for my wedding while I sit back and get pedicures for my boudoir shoot (because I don’t have a super hot body.) We don’t have a lot of cash to blow on some ginormous wedding and honeymoon.

I think the most detrimental thing for a bride on a budget to do is to overwhelm herself with the onslaught of wedding advice and information out there. It can make one feel insignificant and below-par…not unlike a fashion magazine can make a girl feel like she needs to lose a few pounds and get a nose job.

I don’t know how I’m going to reconcile the 12 year old in me who wants the big froofy dress and the army of bridesmaids and the huge party with lots of food with the practical (age unspecified) me who knows that all that costs a shitload of cash and running away to Vegas would be much cheaper.

Here’s what I do have for this wedding:

  • 3 very awesome friends who are willing to stand with me when I get married (and wear what I tell them to, knowing I would never make them wear something I couldn’t stand to look at)
  • a very loving and understanding fiance who gets that I’m having a moral dilemma about this whole wedding thing and is being VERY patient while I try to muddle through
  • a massive collective of information for if I decide to go with “wedding in front of people” vs. “wedding in front of Elvis and our kids”

And frankly, that’s all a girl can ask for. (And it’s a very good start.)


ps – used the Elvis picture because it’s my favorite. The one that had the least to do with the post was a photo of a grocery store aisle…didn’t feel right 😉

Why I Pretend I’m Canadian Sometimes.

Individual silicone earplug worn at ear with E...

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Other than the fact that the Yarn Harlot is Canadian and awesome, and the radio stations I listen to are all Canadian, and they watch HOCKEY and are SO EXCITED ABOUT IT, and movies like Strange Brew and the fact that most of the natives actually say “eh” and “aboot” and they have some seriously awesome Chinese food in Vancouver and have MOUNTIES and Tim Horton’s and Anne of Green Gables and OMG POUTINE** and did I say I love Canada?


Rumor has it that Frito Lay US is pulling their compostable Sun Chips bag (for all but the original flavor) because people are bitching it’s too loud.


I’m completely flabbergasted that people take the time to do this, but I guess it’s just a lesson to never underestimate the bond between people and their junk food.

However, it appears as though Frito Lay Canada has a good sense of humor and is sticking to their guns,  offering free earplugs to those who want to be environmental, but still have some aural issues with the bag 🙂


**Does anyone know of a GOOD vegan poutine alternative?

More Random! (Are you surprised?)

Auberge Nicolas Flamel, oldest restaurant in Paris

Image by Chris Devers via Flickr

Hi! I have been busting my face so hard on cake stuff this weekend that I can’t put two thoughts together to write an actual blog post. SO! Here are a few things on my mind this morning:

1. The lovely lady behind getthewordsout posted some pictures of Alison Sudol of a fine frenzy this morning, and now I am completely obsessed with having redder hair.

2. I outdid myself this weekend with my cakes…one was a Ouija board wedding cake, and I knocked out a Sorting Hat cake in about 90 minutes this morning (construction & frosting, not baking/cooling). I’m pretty convinced this is my thing.

3. I recently discovered Bakerella and her Cake Pop Revolution, and I am FLOORED that I have not known about this whole idea before. I have massive amounts of leftover cake from all of the carving I did this weekend, so I will be making epic amounts of cake pops this afternoon.

4. A few of you mentioned a few things you’d like to see Chef teach you. In his teaching queue is how to slice a pomegranate and how to make a hollandaise (Without breaking it). Anyone else? Otherwise, we’ll just start doing a bunch of kitchen basics. Maybe we should do a “how to put out a fire” segment.

5. For those of you who don’t know, I have a Facebook fan page for my cake/cupcake business. Running a contest over there right now, with some pretty awesome prizes!

6. I still need to post about Chuck’s birthday because I have a related giveaway and I’d like you guys to have the prize before it gets lost in my kitchen or used up. I need to find my camera cord or my card reader.

7. OMGWTFLOLBBQLMNOP. When the hell is my doctor going to call with the results from my damned “are my girl parts trying to kill me or not” test??? Seriously, it’s been 2 weeks and I’m afraid my inner workings are rebelling and trying to murder me quicker than scheduled. And I’m not cool with that.

ANYWAY! Hope you are all having a fantabulous Monday, and I will try to gather brain cells to write an actual blog post and maybe post a recipe and a review like I’ve been promising to do FOREVER. xo!

ps – for those of you just joining the party, that restaurant has nothing to do with anything specific. It’s some random picture that WordPress thought I would enjoy with my post, and I usually pick the one that has the least to do with the post 🙂 You’re welcome.

All images, ideas and text here is property of Mia Cupcake/Bruises in the Frosting, unless otherwise noted. Please do not copy without express permission from blog author.