"As Seen on TV" - NOT!

The Big Top Cupcake! 

Our first (and possibly last) attempt at making a ginormous cupcake. 

It was a rainy Monday evening and Cameron says to me  "Mommy, I want a giant pink cake that looks like ice cream. I want an icing tower with blinkles and a cherry on top." 

I agreed. 

I told you that I don't play kitchen very well. Here's the finished product ...

It looks like the picture on the box, right? Baha.

Thank you, Cherry. You make this look sorta edible.

Cameron liked it ... and he bakes shirtless. Duh.

Dear Kids, Eat around the oooooze. Love, Mom

To Have and To Hold

Eight years ago today, I married my best friend. It sounds a little cliche ... but, it's true.

On a day like today, my mind is gushing with memories of that special day. I'd like to share a few highlights that I hold very near and dear to my heart.

You see, we're spur of the moment people. We decided to get married approximately one week before our actual wedding day. It has taken me longer to plan a trip to Wal-Mart than it took me to plan one of the most important days of my life. But, that's how we roll. We knew for a long time that marriage was in our future ... but we had never actually planned anything.

Our pre-wedding conversation went kind of like this ...

Alison - "Wanna get married next week?"
Tom - "Sure."
Alison - "You busy Sunday?"
Tom - "Nope."
Alison - "Cool."
Tom - "Yep."

Sunday, September 22nd 2002 - Our Wedding Day.

I woke up that morning in a bit of a Malibu Rum induced fog. But, I had a busy day ahead of me. I was getting married. I took a couple of aspirin and decided that it was time for me to get my booty in gear. I had a to-do list that was a mile and a half long. My list included things like decorate the church, press and deliver our daughter's dress, take a shower, get my hair done, slap on a coat of make-up and re-do my homemade pedicure from the night before (painting my toenails after cocktails wasn't the best idea that I've ever had. Not only did I have painted toenails ... I also had painted heels and ankles. I'm not really sure what happened there). Luckily, I had a huge posse of helpers working with me or I probably would not have been able to pull it all off.

6:52 pm -
8 minutes to go.

My Maid of Honor (Jennifer), Tom's Best Man (Danny), my Dad and I stood in our holding room waiting for my Grandma to come get us for our center aisle debut. A couple minutes later, she entered as planned. Most weddings are a little behind schedule. But, not mine and my Grandma made sure of it. She quickly hustled Jen and Danny out of the room and to the doorway of the sanctuary.

It was almost my cue. I stood in front of the full length mirror and gave myself a quick pep talk. I'm not good at public speaking. I get tongue tied and turn a pretty shade of pink. As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Jennifer's bouquet. Oh nooooo! She forgot her flowers. I grabbed the front half of my dress and galloped (I was young ... my high heel wearing days had just begun. It was a pretty unique display of uncoordination on my part) towards the aisle with the fresh cut calla lilies dripping in my wind. I was yelling (in a whisper) for Jen to come back.  Jen was already half way down the aisle with Danny on her arm. She heard me yelling (in a whisper) and ditched Danny to come and retrieve her sopping wet flowers. The water surely would've ruined her burgundy gown. So, I gave the room a swift once over and noticed that a diaper bag was sitting nearby. What's more absorbent than a diaper? Nothing. Duh. I swabbed the long dripping stems with a powder fresh pamper and sent Jen back on her way. She rejoined an obviously uncomfortable Danny and they continued down the aisle to their designated spots at the front of the church.

I took a deep breath and caught my Grandma's eye. She gave me a nod and took her seat next to my Grandad. My Dad and I took our places in the doorway. Everyone stood and "Here Comes the Bride" began playing on the organ. Gulp. This was it. My last few minutes of being a single gal were about to come to an end. And off we went.

We got to the alter and the minister said a few words. It was then time for my Dad to give me away. (For the record, I don't really like that phrase. I kind of hurts my feelings a little bit. I don't want my parents to "give me away" ... just let Tom marry me.) My Dad kissed me on the cheek and started to walk behind me to take his seat beside my Mom. Instead he tripped over my train and used my veil to catch his balance. This flipped my neck into an awkward backwards position causing me to have a teeny bit of whiplash.  The crowd gasped. I know that my Dad felt horrible about it (not to worry Dad ... you gave me good blogging material.) I assured our guests that I was okay with a painful smile. I then gave my veil a toss into the congregation and the ceremony continued. Aside from a weepy Maid of Honor and a few mispronounced vows, the rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch (well, except for the actual hitching of the bride and groom). After the "I do's" we floated back down the aisle as husband and wife.

We took a few pictures and then headed to our short (but sweet) reception. As we danced to "our song" (not really, we danced to whichever slow song was playing when my Mom ordered us to dance), Tom felt a tug on his ankle. It was baby Aubree. She wanted to dance with us (or so we thought). He picked her up and we danced together as a happy little family. This lasted for a grand total of 2.6 seconds. That's when our beautiful daughter turned into Chucky (you know, the evil little red headed baby doll in the horror movies) and started slapping and punching both of us in the face. We put her down to cease the beatings. She then began rolling around on the floor and kicking us in the shins. The abuse continued until my Mom came to our rescue. She scooped an angry little Aubree up off of the floor and let us finish our dance.  Throbbing shins and a near bloody nose made it quite difficult to finish busting a move. But, we smiled and we danced anyway.

We did the rest of the normal wedding reception things. A few toasts were made and we cut the cake. Our friends were outside "decorating" our car in the pouring down rain. Did I mention that part? There was a hurricane going on outside (not Hurricane Katrina or anything ... just a super heavy, ground soaking, flash flood creating down pour). I didn't realize that I still had my garter and my bouquet until several guests had already left the party. So, I decided to toss my husband the garter (I'm pretty sure that he still has it and keeps it in his tool box) and I tossed my brother's girlfriend (now his wife, their 5th wedding anniversary is in 3 days) my bouquet. I grabbed my new husband and we skipped away together ... hand in hand ... into the rain.

And that is what memories are made of. It was an amazing night and I wouldn't change any of it. Happy Anniversary, Honey! I love you and the beautiful family that we've created together. Here's to you and to many more years of wedded bliss.

Holy Exploding Water Heater! Almost.

I was under the impression that when the water heater breaks ... you just lose your hot water.

Wrong.

When the thermostat in your water heater breaks you get a fire-breathing shower head, humidity that can only be compared to a muggy day in a tropical rain forest, condensation that leaves more than just a ring on the coffee table, a menagerie of multi-colored mold in your basement and in undetected cases ... an explosion.

With a stretch and a yawn, I hit the snooze button and rolled over to try and snatch an extra five minutes of unconsciousness. Midway through my roll, I noticed that my husband was stooped in the hallway inspecting the floor boards. They were wet. Actually, they were soaked. What in tarnation is going on here?

The plumber had recently been over to "repair" the faucet in our bathtub. (We see our plumber pretty regularly. Let's call him "Jim" ... he's a main character in this story. Plus that's really his name.) We presumed Jim had tinkered around in the wall and created a slow leak somewhere. So we scheduled for him to come over the following morning for repairs. (Which happened to be Cameron's first day back to preschool. For future reference ... please note that the front door of Cameron's preschool is only a stones throw away from our front door.)

Later that night, we decided to brave the basement to see if there was any signs of a leak there. Perhaps we would even find the leak and be able to impress Jim with our boundless knowledge of plumbing. Instead, we noticed 12 inches of water on the floor and water gushing out of the water heater. Our Christmas decorations were elegantly floating in a glittery pond that once resembled our basement. (Not really ... but, it makes the story more spicy. There was only about a half an inch of water on the floor and nothing was actually floating). We also noticed an abundance of green mold that somehow looked pretty when paired with all of the red ornaments. Tom waded through the tinsel and soggy nutcrackers to turn off the water. My initial thought was ... "Whatever do you mean there's no water until tomorrow morning! What if someone has to go number 2?" I'm a pro-flush kinda gal. You could even crown me Honorary Courtesy Flusher. Luckily, I was just borrowing bowel trouble. No potty breaks were needed that night.

It was time to get up and get Cameron ready for school. I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard a knock at the door. Jim and his little worker bee had arrived. I quickly finished getting Cameron ready and grabbed my camera (It wouldn't be the first day of school without official mommy photos. My children know this and dread it. But, they oblige). I had just plopped Cameron onto the sofa to watch a new episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when we heard screams coming from a seemingly distraught plumber.

"Oh My Gaaaawd!! Hit the breaker!

 It's about to explode!!"

There was steam billowing out of the basement door. The worker bee sprinted towards the breaker box and I immediately gathered Cameron and his Lightning McQueen backpack and scooted them out the door. I thought that this was the perfect opportunity for Cameron's "first day of school" photo shoot. This was my attempt to save Cameron from harm and possibly capture the explosion on film. I was multi-tasking. I snapped a few prize winning photos (minus an explosion) and then we got the "all clear" to return inside. There was no explosion. But, I couldn't refrain from singing the SNL's "Cool Guys Don't Look at Explosions" song for the next few hours.

I'm glad that no one was hurt ... but, I will admit that it sounded pretty exciting for a moment. AND it definitely would have solved the mold dilemma.

If that wasn't enough entertainment for one morning ... it gets more interesting.

We then heard extreme horn honking coming from outside. We went to investigate. We found our 97 year old neighbor laying on the horn of his shiny golden Buick. He was using this tactic to get Jim the plumber to move his van out of the middle of the road. Jim reluctantly agreed and moved his van about 4 feet. He was still blocking the road so, the neighbor continued to honk. Jim told him that he wasn't going to move and he'd have to call the police. The annoying beeping continued for about 15 minutes. There was some cursing and then the old guy pulled out a can of mace and allegedly "threatened Jim's life" with it. Jim was pretty shaken up and decided to call the police himself. (In my opinion ... Jimmy was in the wrong. He should have just moved his van and let the man through. But, I stayed quiet. Except for a few giggles that I let slip. Seriously? A death threat? It's just mace, man.)

As I watched this all unfold ... complete with lights and sirens ... I realized that it was time to take Cameron across the street and drop him off at preschool (also a United Methodist Church). Cameron was pleased with the light show. However, I was mortified. Talk about your first impressions! Every teacher, mom and dad had watched the drama that had occurred at our place. I'm pretty sure that they prayed extra hard for our blued eyed boy and his family during Chapel that day.

In conclusion ...

The plumber and his worker bee fixed the thermostat on our water heater.

Service Master removed all of the mold and dried everything.

Our holiday decor is no longer swimming.

Jim moved his plumber van. (I'm pretty sure the police officer made him feel like an idiot.)

The old man wasn't charged with any crimes that day. (Evidently, you're allowed to carry mace and use it if you feel threatened.)

My house did not explode. (But, I had my camera ready just in case.)

Yogurt. A Brief - but valid - Complaint.

Yogurt makes me gag.

I like yogurt. I don't really have a problem with the way it tastes. There's just one teeny tiny little detail that gets me every time. 

"Live and Active Cultures" 

Have you ever seen these words displayed on your yogurt container? They advertise them like they are a good and healthy thing. For me, it is guaranteed queasiness. In my mind, it's like discovering a fly in your pizza and then eating him because someone says that he's "good for you". (Which has actually happened to me ... sorta. I found an unlucky fly baked right into my cheese pizza from Ci Ci's. FYI, I didn't eat that either. Who would?)

I have a very vivid imagination. In my imagination, I imagine that "live and active cultures" look like those charming little animated characters on the Nerds candy box. I also envision them doing Tae-Bo on my tongue until I swallow the busy little fellas. That's the part of the vision where the heaving begins and my appetite is surrendered.

My children love yogurt (and admire the Trix rabbit on the label). Cameron alone can devour 4 individual containers in one sitting. I suppose he can have a free pass ... after all, he can't read. Unfortunately for me, sometimes he likes to share. It's not uncommon for him to come charging at my face with a gunky spoonful of (hiccup) yogurt. The worst part is that he actually expects me to eat it. And I do because that's what momma's do. We eat random food that our preschoolers (force) feed us. Sure, he won't share his Thomas the Tank Engine with anyone ... but yogurt ... he'll share. Go figure.

In a perfect world "live and active cultures" would be secluded to Krispie Kreme doughnuts, ice cream sundaes, double fudge brownies and other foods in the "Yep, that's going straight to my rear end" category.

Thank you for listening to my yogurt rant.

Please note that this blog (admittedly, not my best work) was only published to tide you over until I finish the other blog in my draft folder ...

"OMG! It's Gonna Explode!"

Stay tuned. But don't hold your breath ... you've seen how often I post new reading material. ;o)