Doing our part to stimulate the economy, one donut at a time

My friend Amanda is a passionate lover of Krispy Kreme donuts. I ran into her one day, and she was distraught because she had heard that Krispy Kreme landed on some list of "Companies Most Likely to Fail in 2009." I said what I could to console her; told her that even if they have to close some locations, surely Krispy Kreme as a brand will not disappear -- but words seem hollow at a time like this, they really do. So I decided to shut up and take action. This morning, I loaded the kids in the car -- daylight savings time, so we were all messed up anyway -- and drove straight to Krispy Kreme. We were happy:





And felt good knowing that we were doing our small part to help a donut powerhouse in need.

We're pulling for you, Krispy Kreme. Stay Hot Now, baby!

Denial: It's not just a river in Egypt

The other day, David gently asked me the following question:

"Caroline is starting to sport a little mullet, don't you think? What should we do about that?"

And I replied: "What mullet? I see no mullet."

I will admit, on rare occasions, but only from certain angles, you can sometimes spot the telltale

Business in the front


Party in the back


signs of a mullet. But that's just when the light catches her hair the wrong way. We are nowhere NEAR the point at which we have to consider taking my baby, my LAST BABY, to the hair butcher to get shorn of the locks that were on her head on the day she was born, are we? No, I didn't think so.

"We don't eat paint. Yucky." and other things I never thought I'd say

We had a fun-filled, spring-like weekend around here. Jacob ran in the Mercedes Kids' Marathon on Saturday morning. It is a really fun event. The program is run by the local elementary schools in conjunction with the Mercedes Marathon. The kids train by running a total of 26.2 miles -- they run most of them in gym class over the course of the fall and winter, and then complete the final mile at the Kids' Marathon, which is held the day before the full Mercedes Marathon.

David ran with Jacob (this is the last year he gets to run with a parent -- once he is a big second grader, he will run on his own). Here they are speeding by:



And after the race:




And with their goldfish-eating cheering section:



Saturday was also Valentine's Day, of course. It is really hard to think of Valentine's Day gifts for David -- there are only so many monogrammed locket cuff links that one man can wear. So this year, we decided to be practical and get David what he really needs: one six pack of beer per child who lives in the house. The good stuff, of course -- only the best for my Valentine. Here are Jacob and Elizabeth dancing to the musical greeting card that accompanied the beer:


We also did some art projects. You know, this is definitely one area of parenting that I romanticized before having kids -- "we'll do arts & crafts around the kitchen table, it'll be great!" -- but the reality is that I am just not an arts & crafts mom, and I will look for any excuse to avoid breaking out the paint. It reminds me of a story my law school roommate Jenny (miss you, babe!) used to tell about a friend of hers who remembers complaining to her mother: "Katie's mother does crafts with her. How come you don't do crafts with me?" And this girl's mother replied "Don't worry, Mommy does shopping, which you will appreciate much more someday." That mother and I would be friends. Reason #1,567 why I love preschool -- the kids can spend hours each week creating masterpieces in a variety of media -- puff paint, clay, pipe cleaners, pom pom balls-- and I do not have to clean it up. Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy many of the domestic arts with my children; we bake together regularly, for example, and they unfold the laundry that I fold. But craft projects are just not my thing. I have three kids and I have tried MANY times to become a craft-loving mom. I even subscribe to Family Fun magazine, which gives you more things to do with egg cartons and Floam than MacGyver can do with duct tape and paper clips. It's just not happening. It's me, not the crafts.

But Elizabeth asked me if she could paint on Saturday, and I said, "sure, you can draw!" But she saw right through that and said "no! I want to PAINT." My instinct in this situation is always "hell, no!" but every once in a while I do try to stop that Pavlovian reaction and say yes. So I said yes, got out the paint, filled up the cups of water, and sat Caroline and Elizabeth at the table in the basement:




Caroline's teachers tell me that she LOVES to paint. They have never said anything about her eating paint, so I wasn't really prepared for what was to come.

Innocent beginnings:



She was painting with PLAIN WATER -- it was a craft-hating mom's dream come true! But eventually she found the paint.

Aaaaand ate some paint:



I always figure that kids will take one bite of something like dirt (we ate that yesterday too) or paint, realize it is not particularly tasty, and then stop. But no, Caroline kept going back to that paint the way that I keep going back to that bowl of queso at La Paz. Once I realized that she was not going to stop on her own, I intervened. I did not photograph the scene in which I took the paintbrush away from her and took her upstairs to wash out her mouth -- because really, you all know what a temper tantrum looks like.

I hope that everyone had a Happy Valentine's Day!

One year olds: I could eat 'em up.

Of course I love my children at every age, and there are nice things about all of the various stages. But I've got to admit, I've got it really bad for one year olds. As adorable as infants are, I find toddlers to be particularly edible. They are like little upright babies, but they've got the added personality dimensions that come with full mobility and quasi-talking.

They still sleep with their little bottoms in the air:



They are curious about everything, like "what will happen if I stick my mouth under this running bath water?"




They "talk." You don't know what they are saying, but they do, and they are very earnest about it. Caroline and I had the following conversation the other day:

Me: Oh Caroline! Look! It's a PUPPY!! Can you say puppy? Pup-py. Pup-py.
Caroline: Woof.
Me: Ooooooooh, that's so CLOSE, sweetie!!! You so smart!

They attack their food with gusto:



And view with suspicion anybody who seems to be getting too close to their cookie:



I know many people mourn the end of the baby months, but what can I say -- the baby months don't tend to go so hot for us. But somebody better remember to bring mama a few boxes of Kleenex on Caroline's second birthday.

David Beckham has a lucky ass. Discuss.

I was in the middle of an excrutiatingly boring afternoon at work last week when my great and ever-alert friend Maureen sent around this news bit. Thank you for the pick-me-up, MSB!! Apparently Goldenbuns is the new good luck charm for AC Milan. Isn't it interesting that in the entire universe of the things that could be touched for good luck, the team chose Becks' ass? I'm just sayin'.

Don't worry: just because I'm neglecting my family blog doesn't mean that I'm neglecting my family, too.

Everyone is still getting fed, bathed and clothed. It's just that it seems like every time I turn around I have to blog about something that I cooked or baked. Honestly, there are only so many blogging hours in a day. And the fam does make it into my food blog for the vast majority of my posts, since I am usually tripping over them while I am cooking (but in a good way!)

The big non-food news this month is that Elizabeth turned 4!!! She wanted her birthday party to be at Pump It Up, and even though I and the rest of the parents of preschoolers in this town are way past sick of Pump It Up, we obliged to make our birthday girl happy.

Here she is getting ready for her party:



Jacob on a ginormous inflatable bouncer:



Caroline and Aunt Kimberly coming down the slide:



Elizabeth checking out her groovy princess cake:


Note the plastic "princess" frame on the top with Elizabeth's picture in it. Oh yes, that's the kind of attention to detail we've come to expect from the partnership between the Walt Disney Corporation and Publix . Elizabeth coveted this little beauty for months. Ordering it was a bit of an ordeal because she didn't quite understand the concept of "we'll paper the transaction now and close it later." She wanted to know why we weren't leaving with the cake. Oh well, no trip to Publix would be complete without a threatened meltdown over something!

Here is the birthday princess on her inflatable Pump It Up throne surrounded by her legions of adoring partygoers:



The present-opening part of a Pump It Up party most closely resembles a mosh pit. I don't think I've actually been in a mosh pit since that Ned's Atomic Dustbin concert in 1992, but whenever I go to a Pump It Up party the long-suppressed memories all come flooding back.

Better view of the zone of danger:



Anyway, Elizabeth had a ball at Pump It Up, and I think her little friends all did too. But the Pump It Up party by its nature does not give me the opportunity to summon my inner, much less talented Martha Stewart; choose a party theme; and then militantly maintain the theme by adorning the house with theme-appropriate paper products, balloons, clothing, accessories, and desserts, and banishing from the house anyone or anything that does not match my theme. Thankfully, I got to get my psycho Martha on the day of Elizabeth's actual birthday, which was a couple of days after the party.

There was never any doubt that we'd go with a princess theme, given that Elizabeth is enamored with all things regal. It is a good thing that being fancy comes naturally for Elizabeth, because she certainly does not get it from me.

I made her a castle cake.



Her present was the Disney Cinderella Castle playset, which conveniently doubled as theme-appropriate decor in the party room. It really bugged Jacob that the present wasn't wrapped. My explanation that it was both the present AND the decoration did not sway him -- in his view, the whole thing was just plain wrong.



I bought a couple of packages of M&Ms, picked out the colors that matched my theme, and scattered them on the table. Because I'm crazy that way. Here's Caroline stealing an M&M.



See? The M&Ms match.



I think Elizabeth had fun at both of her parties, which is all that matters to me. I can't believe that my baby girl is 4! Time flies by WAY too fast. Elizabeth has been playful, fun-loving, silly, friendly, impish, and affectionate from the beginning. There are no really words for how much joy that she brings to our lives every day. Happy Birthday, my sweetie pie!

I Always Knew That Fluffy Was Trouble, or "Why We Will Never Own a Rodent," or "Why I Love First Grade"

We received the following class memo yesterday from Jacob's teacher (you can click on the picture if you need a larger view):


There is so much that I love about this letter that it is hard to know where to begin. First, you've got to wonder how long Fluffy has been planning his escape. Was it the very moment that he realized that he'd be living in a room with sixteen first graders? Then there's the dogged optimism in the face of adversity, as Mrs. D quickly points out that the ants are doing GREAT!! And the creative problem solving -- how do we get the children's minds off their missing-and-presumed-dead hamster? Well, we get a new gel-based ant habitat, of course! And there's also the fact that she turned the whole sordid mess into -- what else? -- a writing exercise to help the children work through their feelings. I LOVE LOVE LOVE Mrs. D!!!

While I am sad about Fluffy, I will definitely use this episode to fend off any further requests for a hamster. Jacob, and Elizabeth, to a lesser degree, have been begging for a pet for the past several months. Jacob wants a hamster, Elizabeth wants a kitty. Needless to say, we have enough precious, adorable, needy, non-compliant, completely dependent little beings in our house for the moment and will not be getting a pet any time soon. And when we do, it will most definitely not be the kind that can escape from a cage.

RIP, Fluffy.