While You Were Out...

You may remember me talking a few years back about a reality show I was going to create. It was the one where husbands got "kidnapped" for a few months and "while they were out", things got "fixed." For example, five-car garages got torn down and beautiful backyards were created in their place or old moldy showers from the 6os were replaced with soaking tubs.

You know. Those kinds of projects.

Today we went to Camano Island where my parents have a house and Clay and I thought of another potential hit reality show. This one is called, "While You Were Out Some Things Got Broken and Smashed and Hauled Away to the Dump."

It's where you hire someone to come into family members' homes and make things disappear that should have disappeared long ago.

I know. It's a tough concept. I'll give you some hypothetical examples to help you visualize.

The following is a vase in the shape of a lady's head. It's never had a plant in it and someone colored her eyes with a ball point pen. Smash!




This is a sea bird wind thingy that, of course, is stored in the guest bathtub. Poof!



This is a ceramic duck. It's squatting on a kitchen shelf amongst the spices and cookbooks. If you flip it over you'll see an address and phone number boldly written with a Mr. Sharpy, which is smart because should it ever go missing, the owner would be able to head to the local precinct and positively ID it. Ka-Pow!



And these are some fabulous fake flowers and ferns from the 80's. They still consider Cindy Lauper a role model. Whack!



How 'bout it? Anyone know someone in Hollywood who can make this show happen?

George's Room is OUR Canvas

Take Two.

George and I are hanging out in the kitchen. He's telling me about his day and I'm making cookies.

Upstairs we hear the lovely sounds of Goldie and Milo playing nicely.

Every few minutes there is a giggle and my heart is happy.

Clay enters the kitchen and asks if I've checked on Milo and Goldie lately.

"No", I reply. "They seem happy. I can hear them upstairs."

Clay, whose motto is trust but verify, goes upstairs and I hear his booming manly voice that he saves for special situations say, "This is NOT okay!"

George and I look at each other and rush upstairs to see what's happening.

Not again...

This time they've emptied my toiletries, the dirty laundry, the clean laundry and almost every drawer in the house onto the floor of George's room.



It's official. I am the worst mom ever.

My Brother's Room is My Canvas

Last night I was upstairs changing sheets and Milo, who wasn't interested in helping me, headed into the bathroom where he decided to unroll the toilet paper. I checked on him a few times and decided I was fine with this project mostly because he was;

A. Letting me get stuff done
B. Staying out of trouble
C. Having such a good time

A few minutes later Clay walked in and put an end to the fun.

When Milo wouldn't stop crying at the loss of his freedom of expression I decided to let him continue. How bad could it get? It's just a roll of toilet paper.

Soon the "project" began to expand:



To George's room:



And in another 10 minutes I found this:



And then this:



And then Milo proclaimed his installation piece finished.

Only later, while downloading photos, did we realize he had also found the camera and documented his achievements.






The good news is that I was able to get the bed made. And to think, Clay wanted to take the toilet paper away. Silly Clay...

Goldie's Report Card

Goldie's school sends out anecdotal reports every few months. It's like a report card, but not as formal.

In her latest report, two comments struck me as entertaining:

"Goldie can often be heard on the 'phone' with a classmate saying, 'First I need to go to the grocery store then I'll be home. Okay honey?'"

And "Goldie is willing to try new activities, but she prefers to do so in a princess dress."

I guess she takes after me, I'm also willing to try new activities, but only in a princess dress.

Good Morning, Sunshine!

And you think you're having a bad hair day?

Happy Birthday, Goldie

Dear Sweet Goldie,

Today you are 5! You've been waiting for this day for months.

Tonight at dinner you asked us if we remembered when you were four. Not only do we remember when you were four, we remember the day you were born. When you came out no one told me if you were a boy or a girl, I had to ask what kind of baby we had.

And Daddy said, "We have a Goldie."

Happy Birthday to our favorite 5 year old.

Love,
Mama and Daddy

P.S.- Did you know your hand smells if you wipe off your feet? (Which is what you asked me the other day. And, yes, I did know this.)

It's For The Children

Many years ago I attended a baby shower for a co-worker. My boss at the time asked me to bring a cake and I excitedly baked a chocolate cake with caramel frosting.

Another co-worker brought a cake from Larry's Market and when she walked in all the ladies swooned. (By the way, Larry's Market WAS a fancy grocery store in Washington that went out of business. I believe it went out of business because their cakes weren't any good and they contained wax and hydrogenated oil.)

Nonetheless, my boss, who lived on Mercer Island (and we all know how I feel about Mercer Island), didn't even cut my cake! Instead she went on and on about the beautiful Larry's Market cake and "forgot" to cut mine resulting in me bringing it home. Whole. From Mercer Island back again to Capitol Hill.

I wasn't mad or hurt or even bothered by it. I was, however, confused.

Fast forward to last night.

Clay and I attended a fundraising auction for a school in Africa and the organizer of the event asked me to bake something for the dessert dash. (A dessert dash is when you and your table companions pledge a donation and the table with the highest total bid has the first chance to choose a dessert; then second highest, and so on.)

I baked a chocolate layer cake with a peppermint butter cream frosting and crushed peppermint candies on top. My dear friend Leora helped me with the frosting and the decorating. She used to own a bakery! (A bakery that was French and a whole lot better than Larry's Market. Her bakery also went out of business, but that's a whole different story that involves three babies and an ice cream maker.)

When the dessert dash started I was very interested in seeing who was going to select my cake and how much they were going to pay for it, so I watched carefully.

I happily spied a cute lady in high-top Converse make a furious "dash" for my cake. And then I noticed it was my old co-worker, Emily! Her table paid a whopping $550 for my cake. $550 that goes to The Children, but still... Sometimes it isn't about The Children, it's about Me and My Cake!

She was at the aforementioned baby shower years ago. She opted out of my cake back then but paid for it last night.

If I didn't like that lady so much I'd claim a sweet victory.