About the Weather

Conversations with a 17 month old:

Mom: The weather here stinks. Let's play bathing suit dress up to cheer ourselves up.

Olivia: It's snowing. It's April. It's 65 degrees in the house. And you want to puppet me up in my sister's old bathing suits for your own entertainment?

Mom: Yes, dear I do.

Olivia: (See photo for "You are an idiot." face)




Olivia: Now I'm thinking that we should put this suit to good use. Take me somewhere warm.

Mom: Like where?

Olivia: I'm 1. I haven't completed my geography lessons yet. Let me think. How about the remote area of Captiva Island, Florida? I could use a white sandy beach.

Mom: Done. It's yours.


Olivia: Really, all I had to do was ask?

Mom: Oh, yes dear it is my life's wish to spoil you and your darling sister so much that no adult can possibly stand you by the time you are 10 years old.

Olivia: I can live with that.














Olivia: Seriously, when do we leave?

Mom: May 12th.

Olivia: Will that be enough time for me to find sunglasses to match this suit?

Mom: If not let me know. I aim to please.

Spring Break and Breech Babies

We decided to buck the system and head the decidedly unpopular route NORTH for spring break. Everyone and I do mean almost everyone else in my town hopped a plane to Florida. Mindless drones following the trend I tell you. I was snickering watching the news as they lined up enmasse at the airport...Starbucks in hand...waiting out the delays in flipflops.

NORTH held the sweet promised land of Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Greggor, (as Ava calls him.) They did not disappoint. The girls were in heaven, even though the weather was so freaking cold the Muffin Man's forehead was cracking open in 25 degree snowy weather after spending the last week on business in Panama City, ironically enough Florida. The cad. Apparently the weather change of 60 plus degrees did not agree with his skin, imagine that.

Grandparents sugared them up, let them virtually destroy a very nice 1920's tudor style home, and walked about 600 flights of stairs with Liv. She simply wanted to "do" the stairs ad nauseum, nice pool with swim up daquari bar? Not needed, thank you very much. Because their names are Grandma and Grandpa and not Mommy, Da...they let them have their way. Isn't that what is right with the world? I cannot wait to get back at Ava and let her kids eat a peppermint candy every 20 minutes for 144 solid hours. Then disappear when it is time to visit the pediatric dentist. I actively dream for the day.

And what were we doing while they were coloring the walls with washable marker and sticking bubble gum on the sofa? Two dates with the Muffin Man. Yes, real dates. This involved two restaurants and not one chicken nugget. Heaven I tell you. Then I shopped....alone. Not for groceries. For girlie sandals. On sale at the Gap. It took me a serious 30 minutes to find my mojo while on the first trip to the mall alone. It was sort of an out of body experience. I found myself only looking at mother's walking with strollers. Then smacking my over processed mom-do saying snap out of it....head to Sephora! Go to Victoria's Secret and see what Ipex means. And so I did. I now know that Ipex means virtually the same thing as Body by Victoria but it costs $9.00 more. No purchase. But I enjoyed the pink dressing room with no giving a 6 minute dissertation on why little girls wear undershirts and big girls wear bras. Again, heaven.

So, good time was had by all. And, we are back from the big woods...rolling into reality.

As I was explaining to Ava that the Easter Bunny might visit after she fell asleep last night she told me that Uncle Greggor was born feet first. "Huh", I said. Yes, most babies are born to their birthmothers with the head coming out first, she informed me. But Uncle Greg was going to be born with his feet coming out of Grandma first. "Uhhuh, did Grandma tell you this?" I asked. "Yes, of course" she replied "And he got to be born and stay with his birthmother." "Yes, that was nice", I added. "Ok, now can you please turn my music on so I can sleep all through the night and NOT hear the Easter Bunny" she said. With that it was lights out.

A very typical end to a very atypical week for us.














Oh yes, the bunny came. Here's the bunny loot.


A row of peeps and coffee for breakfast. I can think of no better way to end the week on a high note.

Meat Schmeat

The wee Olivia must be secretly up at 3am reading A Green Pharmacy and perusing this web site. She is a card carrying convert. I expect to be shopping for mini birkenstock's, batik tee shirts and finding ways to manage bohemian Asian dread locks. (Assuming her hair ever reaches even the tips of her ears.)

She simply will not touch one little iota of meat. Which in itself does not cause me huge psychological issues with but gees, at 16 1/2 months? She can sniff out chicken at about 6 paces. She rolls her eyes at any tiny piece of beef, ground or otherwise. Pork, uh no no way no how. She can dissect any casserole with a meat product faster than Ava can snarf down a fudgsicle. She holds a delicate pinky up and makes careful mini piles of meat that will be tossed onto the floor if not removed in a satisfactory amount of time, by me. (How nice of her to give me the courtesy 3 minutes to move it over to the high chair and remove offensive carne before the flinging starts.) I've even resorted to offering a chicken nugget, she flung it at the window quickly. Her sister has sweet dreams which include salami, which is only offered here in low doses for obvious reasons. Liv thinks salami should only be used to deep condition her hair. Aside from offensive the smell she might have a million dollar idea as it does provide a nice shine.

A friend offered that nuts could be used to supplement the diet when protein might be an issue. Yes, I answered but you usually have to have more than 8 teeth to safely consume nuts. She conceded that I might in fact have a point there.

Since carbo girl is showing no signs of scurvy or rickets and is standing in her corner at a whopping 32 1/2" and 23 lbs. and is burning through baby clothes as she sizes up about every six weeks I suppose I should not worry. Let her eat the peas with a side of wheat bread and cheerios, at every meal right?

But if she starts picking sticks and berries out of the backyard I'm calling Dr. Atkins.

Gone To The Park

We played at the park for hours. Then Mommy got tired and brought us home.

Then we put our jammies on and played some more.


Then everyone finally pooped out and went to bed. Including Mommy.

A day in the life.....

Is 5 too young for menopause?

I'm living with Stormin' Norman here on the cul-de-sac. Over the last few weeks I've been wondering why no one has remembered to tell me that children at age 5 are the epitome of 2 all over again. Cute and funny one minute and temper tantrum's evil spawn the very next.
If I didn't know better I'd swear someone is slipping her hormone replacement tablets. But there are no signs of hot flashes so I guess that's out.

I've explored the idea that perhaps this strange and sometimes sub-human behavior might in fact be delayed sibling issues. Heck it could be delayed, "I couldn't stay out with my friends until 10:00pm trolling the neighborhood like I wanted" issues too so who knows for sure. Has the newness of baby who is now clearly toddler Olivia worn off now that she she showing signs of having thoughts of her own? As in, "Sissy, get the hell off my ear that hurts?" And this just isn't as endearing as "Oh, steal my ice cream, yeah that's funny too." Therefore I will scream my head off 1 hour before bed time to get your attention you idiot adult.

Or perhaps this could be captured in the fact that she only goes to preschool 12 hours a week and honestly needs to be in preschool about 72 hours a week to burn off all the mental and physical energy she has. How many more days until Kindergarten? Really, I want to know.
If this doesn't get any better I might have to strap her little legs to the treadmill and have her put in a few miles before lunch.

Clearly, 2 1/2 plus 2 1/2 = 5. And that my friends must be the mathematical definitive answer as to why Dr. Jekyl and Lil' Miss Hyde has moved into the purple bedroom.

Just as I was beginning to contemplate priestly intervention I witnessed an awesome tantrum thrown by not my little darling, nope the proud owner of this whopper was tossed out into the crowd by our 5 year old neighbor. Ava had to come home since it was so bad at his house. I certainly felt their pain as his mother had to walk the path of shame ending a playdate early. Oh, my dear, if you only knew how many times I traveled that road. But I was secretly resting easy in that space called misery loves company. Maybe someone has put him on HRT too.

I will love you no matter what. You can't do anything that will make me stop loving you. I love you unconditionally. Lather, rinse repeat three times.

Then have a nice glass of chardonnay.

Get Your Craft On

This little bag is my recycle project for this month's Get Your Craft On. All the the material and trim were originally used in making playroom curtains. The little button was originally purchased many years ago when I thought that I would make myself a sundress. Ha. That sundress got the better of me, I cried UNCLE and it ended up in the trash about 7 years ago.
Let's just say it kicked my ass.

Ahhh, but for the sweet smell of revenge. A recycled button on playroom curtain material made into a little handbag.

Now what will I ever do with it?

I suppose I might wait until one of my girls grows up and graduates from Princess material purses.

The Girls Who Went Away

Have you ever read a book that you thought "Wow, this may haunt me for the rest of my life?"

It is an eery feeling. I heard this author on NPR several months ago. I was driving around in traffic on my way to meet another adoptive mother who was going to be a travel mate on our trip to China this past August/September. I was stunned at hearing these stories of birthmothers who had relinquished their children between the post WWII years and before Roe v. Wade. She was truly captivating as she talked about her experience as an adoptee and all of the interviews she had conducted with birthmothers here in the US.

I thought, "Oh yeah, I must read this someday. Huh, isn't it weird that I am in the car getting ready to meet A who is also an adoptive mother and we leave to adopt our girls in a matter of days?" (A and her husband traveled to China with us every step of the way to adopt their twins.)

Well, of course life happens and I got a wee bit busy this fall and completely forgot about the book. Then, I was perusing other blogs this week and stumbled on a recommendation for the the book.

I haven't even finished it and it is painful what these women went through. Some were hardly women they were girls. Society put so much pressure on them to be certain way, and many had absolutely no choice at all, they gave up children under complete distress. Over and over they tell the story of one baby, one choice, and they could never forget what happened no matter how many people told them to move one, just forget about it.

I suppose we all know someone who "got into trouble" as a teenager. Or our sisters or mothers knew someone. This book focuses on women in the 1950's and 1960's. But I started high school in 1983 and I knew a girl who went away.

She was kind and cute. She was smart too. She was popular but not in a "slutty" way. She was 15. She was dating a senior football player. Her parents were Catholic. Her name was Dee.

Dee disappeared in November of our freshman year. She told me one day her parents would not let her stay at school and she was going to a school a 1/2 hour away. I naively asked her why. She replied that she just had to go away but she would be back next year. Sure enough she appeared back in school 5 months later. Rumors ran rampant...home for illegitimate babies was where Dee went and the nuns took her baby. I just couldn't believe that could happen to Dee. The football player went on to become "most popular". He took a very pretty blond girl to the prom while Dee was "away".

Without even knowing that Dee was truly "in trouble", since I just heard the rumors, I had a dream she had a baby boy a week or so before she appeared in school again. I wanted to ask her about it but no one said a word to her about it. Ever. In 4 years of high school. I traveled with Dee our senior year to Scranton, PA to check out Scranton University. It was the first time Dee was allowed away from home since her freshman year. On the car ride listening to the Police she said, "I had a baby." I said, "I know."
That was it, I didn't know what else to say. She did not go into the full story but she told me that she was thankful for our friendship because lots of people would not talk to her when she came back. It thought this was weird since we weren't even that close.

So, here I am all these years later. On the other side of the fence profiting from some woman's shame or poverty or government ruling, parental pressure or perhaps her choice. I don't know.
But I do know this book is a must read if you are an adoptive parent, no matter how much it makes you feel like crawling out of your skin.

Bunny Buffet

Far be it form me to complain or be high maintenance in any way when it comes to life around here but I simply cannot let this issue go. The more I think about it legal representation might be warranted. I've been slighted and someone is taking advantage of the fact that at my deepest core I am an embarassingly non-confrontational type of gal.

It's Bunny Buffet time around here at Twoladybugs again. Remember what happened last year?
(Arrow down to the 3rd or 4th paragraph past Ava staring out the back yard.) Yeah, I somehow drew the short stick and got assigned making the 2 dozen deviled eggs for 4 year olds. Yes, I said deviled eggs for 4 year olds. Deviled eggs, you know the kind that require real cooking? You boil eggs, which in itself I could probably handle. Then, and here comes the hard part, you have to delicately cut each egg in half and scoop out the middle. You then mix the middles otherwise known as yolks in some parts of the country with some mayo and pickles and whatever else you have laying around that you feel might impress and then you have to scoop the mixed stuff back into the cut eggs. Add a smattering of paprika for wow factor. This is so time consuming and quite frankly idiotic that you can even buy special plates to display your creation. (We have no such fancy plate.)


At the end of last year when I turned in my 2 dozen deviled eggs I called dibs on bringing peeps for Bunny Buffet 2007. Really, I did... read it.

However, look at this year's bunny buffet assignment.


FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I'M SUPPOSED TO MAKE THEM AGAIN.

Are they kidding me? I assure you they don't really joke around that much it is strict business at the preschool bunny buffet. I'm screwed.

So, you might think me whiny and petty and lazy. I am ok with this, I've been called worse. However, please take a quick gander at the other assignments. Number 1. on the list....1lb. bag of baby carrots. Number 2. on the list...4 ribs of celery washed and cut into sticks.
Who's zoomin' who here folks? Some other preschool parent get to dig 4 lousy celery sticks out of the dirty recesses of their crisper box while I in turn must spend 2 hours making deviled eggs for 5 year olds?

Look at Number 10. 3 ripened bananas and 3 ripened kiwis. Here is where my sense of humor must kick back in so no one looses a limb. Who is going to send a green banana and who knows what color kiwi to the bunny buffet? Wouldn't it be implied that fruit should probably be ready for human consumption? By the way I'm going to do a little investigation to see who drew the kiwi card and ask them if they even know how to tell a kiwi is in fact ripened. Because if they know this off the top of their head perhaps they would be better suited for making 2 DOZEN DEVILED EGGS.


There is probably a special place in heaven for ex-professionals who now change diapers, volunteer at preschool, and make deviled eggs? Yes?

I scream the proverbial UNCLE....go ahead send me your best recipe ideas for deviled eggs for 5 year olds. May 2008 bring me the ripened kiwi card.

Yangxi; A Former Life

Anyone who has adopted a child knows that child had a former life. They don't hatch out of eggs. They've had real experiences, real losses and hopefully meaningful positive moments as well. But for some it is gone in a flash, too young to cognitively remember the former life. Family members struggle to grasp the almost intangible...life before time with a forever family.

So, it is an inexplicable gift when the elusive become tangible represented by a photo and or a story.

There were lots of little kids in the baby room at Yangxi, Guangdong SWI on July 30, 2006. It looks like a full house. A family from America was permitted a visit a few days after adopting their daughter from the same institution. The families visiting that day toured the countryside and county region of Yangxi. When they were admitted to the orphanage they snapped as many photos as the director would allow. They probably hoped they could see where their child slept, which crib was theirs? They were probably fascinated with the ayis working there. How do they feed 47 babies and then change them all? How do they keep this place so clean? Will I ever truly ever understand how these gorgeous children got into this room in the first place? I wasn't there that day but I know it must have been emotionally draining to see the sites with Western eyes.

And then... it occurred to one mother, what about the babies not in our group's arms formally adopted a few days ago? There are so many still left in these cribs. What will become of them? I wonder if I will ever get to know what will happen to any of these children?

And this is where the internet comes in.

Through the miracle of bloggyland I received a cd containing this picture this week from a family who traveled to Yangxi SWI exactly 30 days before we traveled to the Civil Affairs Bureau in Guangzhou to meet Olivia Xi GeGe. Their kindness humbles me. They copied their orphanage pictures and low and behold Olivia is one of the children photographed. I'd know those huge soft brown eyes anywhere. She still tucks her blanket under her chin and pops her beloved thumb in her mouth the exact same way. Not only do we have the close up photo but we were also given photos of the room and orphanage. We were given photos of the town. Some were more detailed and tell more of the story than we previously had access to. Pictures of people in the town seem to give that lush green landscape of far Southern China life.

So, the family who traveled to Yangxi in July and found the Twoladybugs blog would not accept money for their trouble or even postage to send us the cd. That's the way most folks are in the Chinese adoption community. So, what's a gal to do?

That is when I looked over and saw these sitting in the corner. I didn't know it at the time but obviously they were made several weeks ago for Mrs. S and her wee ones. The perfect matched set as a heartfelt thanks for a kind deed done.

I'm glad I got the pictures to put in Liv's memory box. But I'm also glad Mrs. S got some information about where the little girl with the huge inquisitive eyes wrapped in the peach blanket went after she left the metal crib and large white room.

Mr. Wilson

Those of you who have been known to frequent the cul-de-sac and the twoladybugs know that we sort of had to "help our dear pooch find her way to doggie heaven" two weeks ago. It was tragic, in an everyday and almost everyone has to do it sort of way. I am shall we say...completely recovered. I am remiss to admit this in public but one less little being in the world who needs my attention right NOW has been fairly refreshing. There I said it. I'm ok with being evil. I find it interesting. I'm not the most patient human and doggie mama in the world. Six months after bringing home the cutiest of almost all cutiest kids in the world has put me in the position of fantisizing about a part time job at the book store up the street. I attended a funeral calling last Friday night and can I honestly tell you, it was ok since I got to go alone? I think all mother's sort of get to this space I'm in eventually so I'm not freaking out or anything....but I could use a about 24 hours all to myself since my head might spin off if I have empty the dishwasher again today while managing a 5 year old melt down and tackle blowout poop which includes full changes of clothes for her AND me. Do I sound like a woman who needs a puppy to take care of while her man is off on weekly business trips? Can I add that we have no family in town for all intents and purposes when he is off selling widgets and eating at McCormicks and Schmidts I am a single parent...eating chicken nuggets.

Spring will be good for me, that goes without saying.

Back to Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson is ironically the new dog who lives behind us. He barks incessantly and wakes me up almost every morning. It has helped the adjustment here at the twoladybug house, "well at least we don't have that barking here in OUR house, I tell myelf as I listen to Ava melt down over her perception of lack of Noggin time on the tv."

Last night the Muffin Man met Mr. Wilson. Apparently Mr. Wilson is a 10 month old designer mixed breed Golden Doodle. Mr. Wilson's owner, Mr. W brought him over to meet and greet. The Muffin Man is smitten, that's all I will say. With Mr. Wilson, not Mr. W. The Muffin Man wants a Mr. Wilson in a big way. "His coat was like silk, He sits on command, He shakes your hand....it is the cutest thing you've ever seen. You have to meet Mr. Wilson tomorrow."

"Ugh, huh?" I say pessimistically. "But what about that barking?" He says, "They are working on that." "Ugh, huh." I say. I casually work into the conversation that vet bills are astronomical these days. And muddy paws make both the Muffin Man and I skiddish. I tell him I listened to the Diane Ream show two weeks ago where the Westminster people totally dis' the designer puppy trade. Granted, the AKC people always seemed a bit like Thurston Howell The Third to me but whatever. He's not buying it, he has puppyitis. I offered a consolation prize, a fish. "A goldfish? You've got to be kidding." he says.

During the whole converstion I start to hear quiet chanting in the background. Of course it is Ava making up some chimy rhyme about how she likes Daddy's ideas and Mommy is a total scrooge or poopy head or something. I remind her that I hate the word poopy head. She stops in her tracks and yells that "We don't use the word hate in this house." This is a result of the over use of the word hate on her part earlier this week. "Fine", I say. "Please don't say poopy head, it is not endearing me to Mr. Wilson or the likelyhood of a canine neighborhood playmate that lives at our house." She scowls at me.

The Muffin Man at this point suggests that we just go look at some dogs. Not to buy or anything, just to look. Yeah, right I ride to the grocery store on a turnip truck buddy. Let's take our 5 year old out to "just look" at puppies. This is the man who also wants to "visit" the Harley Davidson dealership on a monthly basis as a family as well. Ava knows the difference between a Fat Boy and a Soft Tail at 30 paces. She also knows the unridden dirt bike sitting in our garage is no pimp'd ride.

Anyone want to give me the number of a $16,000 dollar puppy? That is the only one we are "considering".

Are you expecting this little tale to end with a darling picture of us, the family of 4 on the cul-de-sac snuggled up with our new puppy? Sorry, ain't happen'in.

In the end I told my family to zip it up about any further pooch talk. I said it in the nicest way possible, really I did. I offered to call Mr. Wilson for a playdate. How's that for sunshine and roses, snips and snails and puppy dog tails?

Fun Pics of the Liv'ster

First, let me say a quick thank you for the well wishes of the dearly departed pooch. She would have absolutely loved that I spent a few hours crying my little eyes out while cleaning up buried dog bones from the recesses of expensive leather chairs and pee stained carpeting and reading a few comments from her unknown but well intentioned dog posse out there in internet land.

Danka and Xie Xie.

Now, onto cutie pie pics that I took this morning after Liv found a pile of Ava's old hair paraphanelia in a corner that we were supposed to be cleaning. Remember? Dog bones and pee stained carpeting?

I wish someone would have told me back in early 2002 that little girls come with a silent contract saying that when you feed them yoghurt and hotdogs thousands of hair barettes , pony tail thingies, and clippies in every pastel color known to the rainbow will also mysteriously appear in your house. Then after 4 years they start to multiply on their own, sort of like hamsters and find their way to the corners of your house. It can be a problem if the family does not bond together and do a shamanistic cleansing at least annually.

Well, it's been 4 years of little girl hair. No one has done any cleansing. And here is the result.

Oh yeah, that thing is lavender. I think I bought it when Ava was 2 to match an Easter ensemble to visit the in-laws. Perhaps I bought all this crap because I was sleep deprived during Ava's baby and toddler-hood.














"Hmmm...Mommy, you told me you would always love me and never do anything to make me look like a chicken when you met me. Are you keeping your promise?"


Ok, fine. I like lavender just as much as the next gal.








That's it. I'm done, be gone with you. Turn on my music and let me take my nap. And take that 2 bit piece of lavender slip material with you.

Bye -Bye Bailey

It's been a bit like living in the twighlight zone here this week. Everything is real and tangible here in the house but I keep looking around for her.

This is a picture of Bailey. She was the present that the Muffin Man and I gave each other for our very 1st wedding anniversary almost 16 years ago. I wanted a dog in a big way and pretty much badgered him into driving down South about 45 miles to a kennel that was a bit like visiting Deliverance. A man with no teeth in a double wide trailer brought 6 of the cutest puppies you've ever seen into his living room. We sat on the floor and played with them all for a few minutes. I had my heart set on a black and white puppy that was Bailey's sister. But the Muffin Man would not hear of it and he had to have the brown and white Bailey. We brought her home at 5 weeks old and she fit neatly in the palm of my hand.

She was the most rambunctious in the litter, she was forever HIS dog. And we paid dearly for many years to come trying to tame that most willful and rambunctious pup. She failed out of puppy obedience school, she obtained a "note" in her file saying she wouldn't be invited back to stay at a local boarding kennel here in town. She ruined countless yards of carpeting. She peed on my mother's antique persian rugs. She barked obnoxiously for 12 years straight. She bit me when I brought Ava home from China. She pooped on my pillow once. She and I had an interesting relationship as she loved and doted on the Muffin Man and turned her nose at me. But like any semi-disfunctional family relationship I still loved the little gal. She had spunk. She lived life her own way and took a cat's philosophy of "I'm the queen...I'll let you know when I need you." I am canine...hear me roar. She had a little Gloria Steinem in her.

Ironically as she became quite old and arthritic and sometimes sick she also became more lovable. She softened a bit. She would come sit next me at night when I would read or watch television. She had this inate routine of circling several times before she sat down all curled up in a ball. The other night after I put the kids to bed I wholly expected to see her rumble into the playroom and watch Law and Order re-runs with me.

But she was already gone for two days when I absentmindedly looked for her tail wagging in the air. I had to help her pass if you can believe that. It wasn't exactly said out loud but I don't think the Muffin Man could do it. It took him several weeks to come to believe she needed a little help moving on. After kidney failure was uttered by the vet the decision was a tiny bit easier.

The weirdest of all weirdest things is that I'm the one having the hardest time moving on. I'm the one who casually and callously told friends I had new frisee' carpeting picked out for the MINUTE she went to doggie heaven, or wherever she was going. But I don't want new carpet, not yet. Ava was totally fine with the situation. She is already asking for a new pet, of course her father wants a new puppy right away. I can't even think of it. (Not to mention we have no business taking a puppy now with him traveling for business and me holding down the fort with the two kidlets.) At the grocery store we looked at Beta fish.

Can you get emotionally attached to a Beta fish? If so, I don't think I want one.

Blankies

I was struck with open jaw when I first saw pictures of my daughter's orphanage in China. There were 45 metal cribs all lined up with wooden boards that formed the bottoms. Each child was given a white was cloth as their "lovey" or "woobie" as we call it in our house to use as a comfort object. But not one crib had a blanket or mattress to lay on.

This orphanage is situated in the far south of China and it is brutally hot in the summer months. So, yes, I do understand why heavy blankets would not be appropriate. I also know that many Chinese believe that it is best for everyone's health to sleep on a hard surface. If you have ever had the privilege of sleeping in a hotel in China you know what I am talking about. In addition, the nannies have so much to do. Can you even imagine the thought of changing 45 children's diapers, feeding them 4 bottles a day each, lifting them in and out of the cribs to play for a short while on the floor? Overwhelming. How could they add soft comfort objects to the laundry if not absolutely necessary?

But my Western values still crept up a bit when I saw my daughter in a crib with metal and wood only. I bristled at the thought for 7 weeks before I could travel to China and give her a soft pink blanket with satin edging and a pastel flower embroidered in the corner.

My babe loves that pink blanket. She drags it around the house slung over her shoulder with a thumb popped in her mouth. She is Linus. I call the blanket Pink. I usually just call her Pink.

So, when the opportunity landed in my lap to think globally but act locally, I jumped. A woman at Ava's preschool asked me if I would sew a few blankets for Project Linus. They give me the material and all I have to do is sew up some soft warm blankies for children here in my town who might not have their own blanket to love and use for comfort. I think they focus on children who are sick or have found themselves in a circumstance where their parents or guardians cannot afford to give them a blanket of their own to keep forever.

If you like to sew or have a little free time look up your local chapter of Project Linus. I bet they would love a little help. Its a great way to act in a small way but have an impact on a child's life.

Study Hard Kids

My children will simply have to study hard and get scholarships...end of story. We are about to experience a cash cow windfall. (I am in complete denial that this is of course not new money we will be receiving this week, it is only tax credit money for less than 1/2 of what we spent on ye ole' most recent adoption. See photo of ye ole' most recent adoption below, melt your heart cute, yes?

The muffin man and I in our infinite wisdom have decided that instead of responsibly feeding two little kids' 529 plans we would instead throw caution to the wind, bet the trifecta and hope the little geniuses don't academically burn out by 3rd grade and obtain some money from Harvard. Seems like a great gamble since no one is even riding the bus to Kindergarten yet. With Ava, I 'm still hedging my bets the kid can squeeze some cash from the State U at the very least. She is a certifiable future MENSA member. Unfortunately she most often chooses to use her powers for evil and cutting the hair off barbie dolls. It is simply a channeling of energy issue...I have years to tame the beast and I am not worried.

Now the little one? Hmmm...the votes still out. We are furiously working on the fact that American Sign Language does indeed include more than one sign and all the the world's problems can't be solved with the more sign. But she is so damn cute she will be able to use her feminine wiles to charm the heck out of some admissions clerk, I am sure of it.

It is crass to speak of monetary indulgences in the same breath as your loving children but as luck would have it when you adopt...the big pink elephant in the room is often greenbacks.

Like it or not.

So, with the smell of previously spent money in the air I present shiny glory and her sidekick princess fingerprint.
















Aren't they shiny? Aren't they pretty? Isn't Momma a complete fool for purchasing stainless steel with 2 small children running amok?

Don't answer that. Secretly, you know you'd be caught up in the show room with all that shiny"ness" too. The back corner of Best Buy is big kid toy heaven, and we had our $.50 worth of candy money in our pockets. For the record they show every last finger print. I have already conditioned and cleaned the fronts of these two appliances 4 times in the last 24 hours. Magnets do not stick, and therefore my kitchen will be preschool artless. It is probably therapy in the making.

So, enough about kitchen appliances want to see another reason why my children better start practicing calculus?

Draperies. Now before you get all "My God woman why don't you just fly off to Vegas and leave the kids with Brittney" on me they are semi-homemade. Yes, that is my defense statement, "They are semi-homemade." Double lined panels from Bed Bath and Beyond and then I sewed the accent material on top with matching fun fringe. It was 8 hours of pure stress as I sewed each panel and held my breath as I hoped the hem line would gracefully skim the floor and window seat. The Muffin Man toiled away for hours with a beer in one hand and a drill in the other hanging drapery rods, now that is good family fun. I was hoping for that Architectural Digest look. But then I ran out of trim on the last panel and of course Joann's has no more. Can you say special order with no 60% discount? I'm sure the man at the cutting table shorted me 1 yard of trim. I'm sure my 8th grade mathematical abilities have had no impact whatsoever on this project.

(Sorry about the bad lighting, I'm in an official snit over the fact that my over priced Minolta will not auto adjust for natural lighting. )

The rest of the tax credit, where art thou going? Oh, yeah precious playroom home equity loan. Sometimes being a grownup stinks and sometimes is doesn't. Like when you are happily caressing 6 feet of studly stainless steel.

I leave you with a picture of the hairdresser to Barbie and the Stars. May she never be a beauty school dropout. May her 529 carry her all the way to the book store at the State U, and beyond.















Editing Note: In proofreading it was discovered that this child had a piggy bank on her pjs. God, I love irony.

Gong Xi Fa Cai

Oooh, I couldn't resist this material. I had sort of put myself on a no more visits to the fabric store already until inventory was sold but as luck would have it I am not the best at will power. (The ladies at my favorite fabric store are starting to shout Norm! when I roll in with my two little helpers.) Embarassing, I tell you.

It is good luck for Chinese New Year. Since I refuse to clean anything for spring, I think I will settle on something new. Mommy and Me matching. I know, I know....Mommy and Me is goofy but I simply could not resist this lovely bright red silk with the good luck symbols.

I made two sets and maybe someone will want the other set at the Chinese New Year marketplace event we are attending this weekend or over there at Pink Evita.

15 Months

Here is Ava at 15 months old walking. Olivia is 15 months old popping her beloved thumb in her mouth giving me the coy stare. This is the I just walked on the sofa look.

Fifteen months was a historical milestone in our house. It is still the fodder for backyard bar-b-que stories over Mikearitas and bratwurst for any unsuspecting poor neighbor who gets pulled into the wrong side of the fence with visions of potato salad and deviled eggs. They might have to sit through an excruciating 20 minute tale of "my child walked at 15 months." And here are the 20,000 snapshots to prove it, want to see the video?
Don't you just love the Frankenstein walk? The Muffin Man and I were giddily whooping it up screeching like scared little hamsters as she stumbled through those adorable first steps. We are lucky the fire dept. wasn't called.

This week Olivia turned 15 months old. And since she has been walking since 10 1/2 months old there was no fanfare. No major milestone. Just a day where we started to get snowed in. Incidentally it is two days later now and we are still buried under about a foot of snow.

Although, in Olivia's defense she has started using her American Sign Language signs more this week. She signs for more. She signs for food. If we are lucky and use our imagination she even signs for a drink of milk. Usually she signs more frantically until "I tell her 8 times no, Liv that is more...more of what? What do you need baby? " Then we might get something that looks a bit less like more and a little more like eat. Note to self: Watch baby sign video with both children again this week. All of this may not sound like the stuff that warrants an ABC News Special report but for us it is pretty darn big stuff. The signing is allowing her a voice. A sort of quiet voice but a voice nonetheless. I am betting every proverbial last dollar on this sign language stuff since Liv seems not to be all that interested in mimicking our words.


In other 15 month news what she lacks in verbal Olympics she is making up for in real Olympics. The kid will soon be signed up for 2008 Beijing. She is swinging from kitchen chandeliers and upping and downing stairs like her 5 year old sister. She laughs at my panic voice as I chastise her for climbing in the dishwasher and dryer. She stands on every sofa arm and ottomans are now merely vehicles to be moved around the house to allow her access to higher and more dangerous places to bungee jump. Her favorite toy is the bathroom stool, which she carries around to try to open doors..that are locked.

I will leave you with a lesson in ottoman surfing 101.
1. Move bathroom stool into playroom
2. Climb bathroom stool to get onto ottoman.
3. Hop on and start giggling, do a little dance on top of ottoman.
4. Wait for Mom to scream "Sit Down, Olivia Xi." 5. Look at sister for giggle partner.
6. Sit down since Mom's blood vessel above right eye is starting to turn blue and bulge.
7. Refuse to get off ottoman and start the less dangerous surfing session.
Que up Hawaii Five-0 music.

No, they are real dinosaurs

What is up with everyone and their mother needing to know if my little ladies are REAL freaking sisters? Yes, I know this has been thought and over thought and published and over published by adoptive parents and psychologists alike. But I am officially over it. Maybe I am hormonal but seriously everywhere we go someone needs to comment about their biological makeup. I don't see anyone making comments when a red headed child strolls up to the counter while is brunette sister rips down the bubble gum display.

My new response will not be polite and with a sweet smile. No more large bulging eyes silently begging the cashier not to say anything else when I simply say, "Yes, they are real sisters." for the third time while she ever so slowly rings my diaper wipes.

Today it wasn't just are they REAL sisters it had to be expounded upon to include how lucky I was to actually get children with the same biological parents since she had heard that was not possible in Korea. Huh? (She thought they were REAL sisters when I quietly told her Yes, they were real sisters.) Obviously she wins the award today for being the most brightly colored jelly bean in the jar. Paste a blue ribbon on her forehead.

Ava just rolls her eyes now. It's becoming classic.

Here is our new story. They are not real sisters, they are in fact real dinosaurs though, resurrected from a most holy and freezing cold tomb in the North of China. They were thawed in a superior cryogenic process and given cute little matching Asian looking faces. But underneath their DNA matches and they are truly little triceratops. Alert the media. Call Oprah. And let's be done with it.

Thinking Non-White

I am a white woman. Very white. I grew up mostly in the suburbs of middle class America, mostly on the east coast, and had mostly white friends. My parents taught me to be aware of judging others, they taught me not to hate. For that I am grateful. I would never presume to tell anyone I am completely without racial and socio-economic prejudices because I believe it is truly the extraordinary human being who does not have some prejudices no matter how small.

Now I am a white woman still in the suburbs...and I have children of color. I am trying my best to raise them around people of color and it isn't always easy. I believe racism is nurtured not nature. I hope that by exposing my children to people of different beliefs and cultures somehow when they experience "different" they will embrace it and not run scared.

This morning I saw Joe Biden, a senator from Delaware apologize to Barak Obama for comments he made about Barak Obama being the first man of color in the presidential run to be good looking, clean, and articulate.

I know this comment. I know it because my daughters sometimes hear comments like this. They are compliments, but they are steeped in racial prejudice and ignorance. Obviously Barak Obama is not the first African American politician who is or was extremely articulate. Regardless of what your opinions are about people like Jesse Jackson and Carol Mosely Brown, I don't know how you could argue that they aren't or weren't charismatic and articulate.

My daughter sometimes hear from educators that she is "so smart". (Which of course she is.) Then she might hear a small off handed comment about Chinese adoption and that's the way to go if a parent is interested in a smart child. It makes my stomach flip every time.

When we watched the Indianapolis Colts win the AFC Championship almost two weeks ago we watched the coach Tony Dungy field numerous questions and comments about he and Lovey Smith would be the first two African American coaches for face off during a Super Bowl. I was appalled. Both men had just successfully taken their teams to the Super Bowl and all the media could capture was that they were both black.

As I watched the Joe Biden story this morning I decided he would not be getting my vote. I know his comment was probably not spoken in malicious intent. But he showed me he is lazy in his chosen word. He is not in tune with with non-white America.

I don't like to think of myself as the type of parent that is overly sensitive about each and every comment I hear from well intentioned but perhaps not well educated people on the topic of my children. And yet, in some sense maybe it is good not to let every phrase or question slide by while defending the masses justifying with well intentioned ignorance.

Poncho Proud

I knitted a poncho! Five years ago I would have bet about $1000 those words in that order would never have come from my mouth. No, you did not take a quick time travel trip back to 1975. I really I did knit a poncho. I'm sort of poncho proud, so bear with. My dear sweet grandmother tried to teach me to knit about 65 times during my ill fated youth. May she rest in peace knowing a granddaughter has picked up the sticks.

This is a Bernat pattern. Holy cow did you know that there are TONS of free knitting patterns out there in the world? www.lionbrand.com and www.bernat.com yikes. As a sewing gal I have been used to scouring the stores for pattern bargains. Free patterns people, that is a reason to take up knitting in the first place.

The only problem with knitting good stuff with the patterns is that they are written in some from of cryptic archaic sanskrit. Apparently you must be willing to whore yourself out at secret underground knitting circles and beg for free translation into English from darling blue haired ladies.

So, Liv loves her little poncho and was dancing around the house in true catwalk form earlier today. Ava was slightly bent and has decided that the next knitting project will be a big girl poncho. She has decided to mix pink fluffy mohair with burgundy yarn. Quite an improvement from her outfit selection yesterday which included a peach sweater and burgundy sparkly pants with uncombed hair and orange socks to "match". (It is a battle I am officially no longer willing to fight. She's five, she wears whatever the heck she wants. But I reserve the right to document in pictures for showing boyfriends later in life.)

I'm starting the pink and burgundy fluffy big girl poncho tonight. Big party, left side of the couch. You are invited if you read knitting sanskrit.

The Dance Party Where Only I Got A Workout

This past weekend marked a huge milestone for us. Yeah yeah, my first baby turned 5 and all that and I cried feeling melancholy on the 18th but really the milestone was, a home party. Yes, the adult dreaded home party. Two hours of screaming banshees while momma dreams of a glass of wine and saying over and over, "At least it wasn't $300 spent at the mall".

Twelve of your child's best friends in drop off mode running like little chickens with their heads cut off through your family room bar area pulling bottles of vodka off the shelves and climbing the fire place in one fell swoop. I decided that we would shun the Build A Bears and Gymborees of America and opt out. Of course my vote was to opt out completely and sit on the couch while eating a little paper box of shrimp lo mein while watching Power Rangers. (My kind of serious partying.) But we all know who was going to win this one.

So after all the themes (and there were many) were planned, after the cake was made and the invitations sent...I thought for sure we'd have one heck of a dance party. My little Ginger Rogers can cut quite the rug. So, I assumed that every 5 year old this side of the Mississippi would be dying to swing a hip and toss an elbow in my cleared out playroom. (I cleaned the room people!) I'm glad I don't know how many times exactly I guess WRONG when it comes to the little kids who cross paths with me in life.

I made a mixed tape. Twelve mixed tapes (in cd format) to be exact. Each child would get to take home a fabulous memory of Ava's Favorite Dance Tunes, it would serve as a life long memory of all the fun they had dancing up a storm at Ava's 5th Birthday party. Look, closely at the picture. Ava is dancing, Mommy is dancing. Please email me and tell me how brave I am to show pictorial representation of myself dancing on the internet. A smattering of other children are dancing. But guess what? The cool kids were sitting on the couch shaking their little heads at me. They could not be cajoled to dance. What's up?? They are 5! Shouldn't this be the time in their little lives when they throw caution to the wind and have a devil may care attitude about their white man's overbite? Apparently not. I've been officially dissed by not one but 3 five year olds. The kids danced for exactly 10 minutes (the kid's who would dance at all, because they are the ones who's other's played that goofy I Hope You Dance song for them in their cribs as babies as they cried crocodile tears hoping their children would participate gaily in life while feeling small when they looked at the ocean) and then it was a free for all.

I lost control, in 15 minutes.

I decided to let them knock themselves out in the playroom telling myself it was Free Play for another 2 hours. Then I retreated to the kitchen for more than my share of cake.


It was pineapple ice cream cake. And it was yummy.

Want to know what the "cool non-dancers" said about my cake?

It was something to the tune of yuck, and can we have the popcorn that is on your counter instead?

I casually asked if they'd even tried my cake. They said yes. I spooned popcorn onto their plates secretly hoping they would choke on it.

Evil, I know. But this is why I will never be a preschool teacher. Not even close.

In the end I think everyone had an ok time, no one went the the emergency room. Ava cashed in on a boat load of kid clutter. I was left to pick up folding chairs and pineapple bits from the carpet. Nothing like that to tire a girl out.

What will we do next year? Perhaps we'll opt back in and she can take her 12 best friends to the day spa up the street and I can take out a 2nd mortgage while eating my shrimp lo mein out of small paper boxes on my sofa.

Party on.

In The Throws Of Birthdaymania

Yesterday Ava turned 5. I've known her for 4 years and 4 months. She is an amazing person. She is smart and confident and beautiful on the inside and out. She tells me that she loves me more than snakes or some other insignificant thing in our lives, I in turn tell her that love her more than polar bears or toys or oranges. It is a game we play to keep in touch emotionally. She started it.

Individual birthdays are not important in China, where she was born. Everyone turns another year as Chinese New Year approaches. Big deal birthdays are something she was adopted into, and she's not complaining. The party is tomorrow. Miss Extrovert 2007 is relishing every moment of the planning and preparations.

Every year on January 18th I look at her a little bit differently. I can't help it. She seems foreign to me. Forgive the pun, it is not meant to be flip. Most other days I just see her as my kid. I forget where she was born, I forget her silky black hair and quick mind came from people I don't know. I forget January 18th was given to her by someone working in an orphanage as her day several weeks after her birth. But on January 18th I remember all those things. Sometimes it makes me want to cry. I know it shouldn't matter. I know it's not even my story, but it is someone's I love and I can't help it. I know most of all it is a gift that I have the time and means to spend precious time pondering this phenomenon.

I know Chinese children who are adopted sometimes get estimated birthdays due to the circumstances their birth parents have upon relinquishment. I knew this when I signed up. But I knew it in my head, no one told me it might feel different in my heart. No one told me it still might still sting 4 years and 4 months later.

It is at this general time of year I think of a woman I don't know, in China. She gave me Ava. Sort of. I'd like to think she gave me Ava. But really, she didn't. It is something I sometimes pretend to make myself think that everyone wins in adoption. I hope she is ok. I have nothing witty or intelligent to make it seem like everyone got the outcome they wanted. I just don't have that information.

But she is 5. And she is amazing. And I love her. I hope that is enough for today.

Book Meme

Atomic Mama has tossed out a book meme. Since I can't pass up a book themed post...to give everyone a "mommyotony" (that should be a new word in wikipedia don't ya think?) break from my sewing escapades and a less needed break from the cutest kids in the world I present the rules:

1. Find the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123
3. Type lines 6-8
4. Tag 3 others to do the same.

"You all know their father. Before I begin I will read some announcements."
Reverend Sykes shfffled some papers, chose one and held it at arm's length. "The Missionary Society meets in the home of Sister Annette Reeves next Tuesday. Bring your sewing."

Can you guess the book? It is one of my favorite books of all time and I could never have guessed.

To Kill A Mocking Bird by Harper Lee

You know that it is urban legend that Truman Capote is rumored to have truly authored this book right? Truman and Harper were good friends. I for one find anything having anything to do with Truman Capote facinating. Have you read To Kill A Mockingbird? It is make your heart ache good. Racism, the American South, lawyers who are good people, people with special needs, kids without mothers...now that's a good read.

Hey did you catch the line "bring your sewing". I am laughing out loud. There truly are no coincidences in life.

Tag three others: Elsie's mom, Maisie's mom, LT's mom

Aunt Betty and Funky Deb

This is Funky Deb. She is the product of 1 glass of wine and a couple of gals in design mode tossing ribbons around the room like the Great Gatsby. In a flurry of gal pal creative energy she was designed. Oh and she is funky-licious.

The original Funky Deb is going to a good home, funky Deb's. Don't tell her but I have one more that I am dying to keep, but if someone will give her a good funky home....I will send her on her way.




Aunt Betty was out at a red hat convention when her formal living room with plastic covered sofa's met their match as a crazy lady weilding pinking shears tore into the place. Fluffy, the brown Siamese cat did nothing but sneer and wait for the litter box to be changed.

The end result...Aunt Betty's scalloped velvet carpet bag.

Wear her in good health. Her designer is just a touch less formal than Aunt Betty herself and she added blue beading and pink polka dotted ribbon to give Aunt Betty a touch of edgyness, which honestly she's always needed.

Email me if Pink Evita can send Aunt Betty to your formal living room.

January Crafty Challenge

Here is my submission for the Get Your Craft On challenge. As you can see my strategy is quantity, not quality. Did I really make silly girlie bagggies for Get Your Craft On? I confess, I did not. But hey, you know what they say about killing 2 birds with one stone.

The purple ones are all princessy and the blue ones are tinkerbelle"ish". They are the swag bags for my girl's 5th brithday party that will be taking place next weekend.

This birthday party is a party unintentionally all about theme's. We have so many of them we don't know what to do and Martha would not exactly be proud. We have about 5 theme's going on so far, that I know of. First, it is a dance party. Ava and her 11 (so far) best buds will be twisting and shouting and then I plan to sugar them up after they have Limbo'd until their hearts content. So, where does the princess tinkerbelle bag giveaway come in? It technically doesn't, but I saw the fabric for $1.99 a yard at the fabric store and could not resist the deal. Each little party go'er will receive the music (personally spun onto cd's by moi) in a mini swag bag.
I thought I would try to bring the princessy little girl theme into the cake and party decorations.
Ava thought different. Those of you who know Ava personally or have been reading about her probably are not surprised that she outright refused princess dance party theme'd stuff that was all adorable and matchy. S-h-e w-o-u-l-d h-a-v-e n-o-n-e o-f i-t. Absolutely none if of. In the party decorating aisle she insisted on you guessed it...Power Rangers. What would the cutest little 5 year old girl in the world want with power rangers? Apparently, everything. They are the bomb. Power Rangers=cool Princesses=boring.

So now we have a dance party with 12 princessy bags to hold the give away dance party music cds and power ranger masks, power ranger plates, power ranger napkins, and sparklers for the cake. I am drawing the line in the sand...no power ranger cake. I just can't do it.

So, someday she will probably come to me and say, "Mom, you were just the best for letting me have my way on my 5th birthday even though I had no sense of style and had absolutely no idea how to dress to impress a table. But I am so well adjusted as a happy and confident adult now."

She going to say this to me one day right? In the mean time I'm serving Harvey Wallbanger cake to the adults so they will be too drunk to notice tango'ing power rangers with tinkerbelle purses on their arms.

4 Months

Liv has been home 4 months. It is hard to remember a time when she wasn't part of us.
She has issues with compulsively climbing everything. She is smart enough to move small objects around the house to help her climb her next object but remains a women of few words.
She is an easy 31'' tall and has opened more door knobs than she has teeth. (Only 8 for the record.) She wants to ditch the high chair to sit at the kitchen table like her big sister but easily still needs 2 naps a day. She initiates peek-a-boo and laughs coyly when you play with her but still wants a bottle every night before bed.

She is a little kid who isn't sure whether she is ready to be a big toddler yet. Sometimes she is all baby, sometimes she appears to look more like a 2 1/2 year old. Liv often snuggles into our chests when she sits on our hip. She loves all three of us with abandon and trusts us completely. She has done a good job growing out her lawnmower incident haircut compliments of orphanage staff. Pig tails are in her imminent future.

I sometimes wish she would say more so I could gain insight into what she is thinking. And then her sister starts chattering away...I am reminded all baby talking in good due time.

She's one of us now, 4 months under her belt. She will turn 14 months old this Friday.

My heart continues to swell for this dear sweet soul. Glad to know you, baby Pink.

What I did on my winter vacation...

Today marks the end of a long winter's "vacation" for our family. Tomorrow Ava jumps back into preschool schedule complete with Chinese school next week, and of course since it is January and she has no new bruises, ice skating lessons also begin this week.

Because the Muffin Man will go back to work in full force tomorrow and Ava will dig out from the Power Ranger DVD tunnel she has built in the play room I am forced to come to grips with the fact hibernation must indeed end as well. In celebration of this event I feel the need to go over, for posterity's sake exactly what I did on my winter vacation.

1. Ate entire box of Trader Joes mini coffee mug chocolates that SIL sent all the way from CA.
2. Avoided slipping into skinny 501's like the plague, opting instead to see how many days in a row one housefrau could wear soy stained track pants. (I'm contacting the Guinness Book people tomorrow.)
3. Cooked a cake. Screwed up a cake. I touched base with party hostess who politely stated it was "good". Yeah right.
4. I changed exactly 4,000 dirty diapers. The little one has the cleanest damn colon ever!
5. Tended to no less than 62 very sick little stuffed animals. I don' know who thought the Vet Hospital toy would be a good idea for Christmas. I will get them next year.
6. Started fretting about 5th birthday party that is coming around the corner in 13 days. We are having the party here on the cul-de-sac this year and 15 5 year olds are invited. So far we have 8 yes responses and no NOs. I might go over the deep end. I will personally be in charge of teaching the hustle, the polka chicken dance and the Macarena to all 15 snot nosed munchkins at the same time. The house could cave if we reach 86,000 decibels of noise. Send xanax...with wine.
7. Sewed anything that wasn't nailed down, glued over, or oatmeal pasted. See new stuff over at Pink Evita.
8. Longed for real full time job that involves pay, preferably located in some dark little cubicle with a Dilbert like boss. Dreamt fondly of anything to escape the reality of my life and children who are off schedule and don't have enough to do! When does preschool start again?
9. Thanked my lucky stars that I don't have real paying job since we all know getting out of my red flannel jammies is JUST NOT GOING TO HAPPEN before noon on any given day.

Nine things...I did nine things in two whole weeks. It is surprisingly more than I anticipated before the official documentation began. Oh, I did massive quantities of laundry, 10, I did 10 things.

The Cake; An Update

Julie emailed me this picture. Thank heaven, because I seriously thought Harvey Wallbanger had one too many himself suggesting that Crisco comes in liquid form.

My new year's resolution: To peruse the baking aisle more slowly paying a little more attention in 2007.

Now about the party....I did not go. I know I know you all really wanted to see a picture of me in heels (I don't think I still own any) and a dress with a crinoline (I know I still don't own one of those, although I was pretty darn cute in 1987 at the senior ball flouncing through downtown Wilmington, Delaware at the Hotel Dupont in a peach strapless number with a circa Madonna the early years crinoline.) Maybe I will look for that photo in my spare time today. Yes, it was peach and it did have a crinoline and it was strapless, you think I could make this stuff up?




Why did I not go to the New Year's Eve bash of midwestern cul-de-sac fame?

Yes, party girl pooped out early.

Despite her "I'm ready to hang with my sould sister Paris Hilton face", she truly is not. She might be cutting a tooth and pooped out on me at 7pm last night.

Since I had been up with her at the un-godly hour of 6 am with miss lindsey lohan for the last few days and was feeling like I needed sweat pants and a hair clip, I sent the Muffin Man to formally escort the real party chandelier swinger. Miss Ava Jing rocked the house with her 5 year old peeps sipping non-alchy peach champagne until 10:30pm.

Now before you get all "You poor thing, you baked a cake and everything." Don't you feel sorry for me. I sat in my delightfully quiet house watching big screen HBO, The Producers if you must know, eating a large plate of jalapeno nachos. Again, homemade by moi. Now who is the real party girl? It was a small and fleeting slice of heaven. I had the quiet house ALL TO MYSELF. Pour me a glass of champagne.

Back to the cake. As of last report, this morning at 8:30am by the Muffin Man: At 10:30 pm last night when the cake was last seen no one had broken into the lovely glass topped cake dish cover. I repeat, no one tried the damn thing. I asked if he took the lid off and cut one slice out so the less formal and uber nice mid-western folks would not have to bear the brunt of the dreaded and must be avoided at all turns task of cutting the first slice of a cake? "Uhhh, no" he replied.

And so there you have it. The update. It is probably still sitting on my neighbors kitchen table in it's glass shell. Pristine. Party goers waking this morning might even think it was store bought, since it was so pretty and all. No one gets to share in the fact that the real story behind that party was in a little alcohol laced bundt cake.

I've moved on. I am no longer emotionally attached to finding out whether it matters if you have Galliano or Grand Marnier or if it make a difference whether you accidently substitute shortening for vegetable oil.

Today Ava and I are making frozen Pineapple Ice Cream cake. It was a favorite Canadian dish from my mother's youth, and I've made it before so I know that no oil is needed. I smell guaranteed success.