The Art of Eating a Cake

Step 1:
Assess maximum wind trajectory...



...from all angles. (*It is important to note that the assessment should not take so long that Cinderella's face begins to resemble the ghoulish and troubled sibling of a Willowtree figurine)



Step 2:
Blow. (*Another important note: This seemingly simple task must be done so that a. all the candles are blown out in one gust thereby saving yourself the shame of a still lit candle while simultaneously arousing doubts of your lung capacity and b. while ensuring total candle blowouts, there is no excess spitting created thereby rendering the cake inedible to the party goers)



Step 3:
Anticipate the delights of the sugary confection while simultaneously avoiding thoughts of the subsequent sugar coma.



Step 4:
Shove as much cake into your mouth as quickly as possible. Hey, it's like survivor over here at our house when the baked goods get whipped out. Shelby comes from a long and glorious line of sugar gluttons. (Just ask Mommy's suite mates who always puzzled over the rapidly diminishing York Peppermint Patties supply).




And that my friends is how a cake is properly eaten.

Ode to Target

by Shelley Landry

Target, my Target, with aisles so bright and wide
When I enter your shining doors, a smile I cannot hide.
Ipods, CDs, and movies for nine ninety-nine
I wonder where oh where could I find
Such a slew of objects to meet my every need
Like a screwdriver, crackers, and a life-sized steed?

“Stick to my list” becomes my mantra-
OOOO a new compilation of Frank Sinatra.
No, you don’t need a new chargeable flashlight
But what shall I do if day becomes night?
On that thought I should perhaps get a board game
Because staring at each other gets pretty lame.

OOOO a scrapbook…I’ve been meaning to start.
Just one more thing to slip in my cart.
Maybe a Starbucks Mocha since it’s in the store
What genius realized we all could use more.
Four dollars a pop- “Peanuts!” I say
Only one more item, and I’m on my way.

Oh wait, what’s this I see?
Storage bins on sale for one eighty three.
So dusty but, hark, Shout wipes ahead
While I’m here I need to clean the sheets on my bed
So…Ajax, Windex, gloves made of rubber
Clorox, Comet and a new pot scrubber
Wait, why am I on aisle seven…
Oh yes, the sheets, and Tide is only nine eleven.

My cart’s wheels squeak, and my mocha is gone,
And now, both the kids are starting to yawn.
Morning naps loom over my morning escape
And under my shoe is a smooshed grape.

Race walking to the newly opened checker
Beating the two cart lady, “Ha Sucker!”
Poor lady, it’s sad, can’t stick with her list
Man I bet her husband sure will be * (mad)
I pity her, really. It’s a pitiful sight
To observe this woman caught in her plight.
“She’s lost all control,” I silently judge
as her kids pigout on samples of fudge.

I sign my receipt and walk out the door
And feel the gentle bree- TWO SIXTY FOUR!!!
This cannot be right I steadfastly insist
And at this point I look at my list

Sadly, yes, the bill is true
And I didn’t get what I came for…

Diapers

Size two.

Cookie Competition

Recently, I went to my very first cookie exchange and was quite deeeeelighted. I left in something of a sugar coma with white powder trailing down my front. Good Times!

My babysitters dried up so my choices were A) bring my angels B) sit at home and stare at each other all morning.

While there, Shelby found a set of nativity rubber duckies. Yes, you read that correctly. Somewhere out there is a rubber ducky with a blue hoodie and a baby Jesus ducky strapped to her side. Hilarious!

I digress.

Meanwhile, while Shelby recreates the Nativity in bright yellow, Wyatt and Dexter (hostess with the mostess Whitney's baby) began that sweet baby ritual of discovering one another followed by the next sweet baby ritual of "Poke the other's eyes."




Our potential conversation:
Ha Ha! Look how cute!
Precious!
Oh, they are making friends!



Adorable!
They are wrestling
Boys will be boys



TAKE HIM OUT SON!



He he...I mean...uh...be gentle...

*Sigh*

In case, if any were wondering about the fate of the faithful feathered friends of Shelby, fear not! Our story ends with a beacon of light on my wickedly awesome mothering skills.

"Shelby, go put the ducks back where you got them."

Shelby instantly and silently obeys.

However, (I believe I mentioned my sugar coma) I failed to check on the state of Jesus and his gander gang and warned the hostess on my way out that they could potentially be found floating in the toilet .

Here is how she found them:




Hmmm. All her ducks in a row (can't help myself).

Must the the cookie I promised her.

Oh.

I mean.

My wickedly awesome mothering skills.

Dang.

I can only blame the sugar coma.

He He He

The Washington Post holds a yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meaning for common words. They made me laugh anyway.
Enjoy!

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight
you have gained.

3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a
flat stomach.

4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while
drunk.

5. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which
you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.

6. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.

7. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.

8. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up
after you are run over by a steamroller.

9. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.

10. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.

11. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing
adopted by proctologists.

12. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.

15. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his
conversation with Yiddishisms.

16. Frisbeetarianism (n.), (back by popular demand):
The belief that, when you die, your Soul flies up onto
the roof and gets stuck there.

Life's Greatest Mystery....Solved!

Random, I know, but did anyone else ever wonder what was up with Tiny Tim's gimpy leg? Apparently, modern day scientists have their own theory on Dicken's beloved handicapped hero.

http://www.livescience.com/health/071221-tiny-tim.html

Just goes to show that random googleing can lead down any road.

Christmas Thoughts

I was listening to my list of Christmas songs during the kiddos' naps.

Things were still.

I was still.

And a thought occured to me.

My favorite secular Christmas tunes have a hint of melancholy about them. Maybe melancholy is too strong- longing then. "I'll be Home for Christmas," "White Christmas," so on. As I thought further (a rare occurence during this stage of my life), I began to really think about Christmas itself. A night of God's awesome display of his love. But the often overlooked part, a baby born to die.

For me.

For you.

"Jingle Bells" and "Rudolph" have their place, I suppose, but this season I find them jarring and something akin to attempting to make a shallow smile substitute for the majesty and bittersweet arrival of Jesus. The world tells us Christmas is a "happy time" yet happy seems so trivial. I love Christmas not because it makes me happy but because of the humbling joy as I ponder God's greatest show of love.

To sacrifice His son.

The older I get, the more I accept genuine emotion over the "I'm fine" attitude. I'm not airing out my dirty laundry for all the neighbors to see or bawling in the line at Target, instead, I realize that a life lived on the surface is just that-surface. Life is layered. Just like the arrival of Baby Jesus. Mary held her sweet baby in her arms only to watch him suffer acutely to the point of death in the apathetic, calloused hands of the Romans.

My layers are many this Christmas season. Joy at His arrival, weeping at his excruciating sacrifice, hope that He has given me. All wrapped up in swaddling cloth laid in a manger.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born

Belated Halloween

Why do we love to dress up our children?
Let me present exhibit A:



As I walked through a crowded room my hair would catch the breeze of all the older mother's collective sighs.

I just felt yours too.




Okay, okay.. only one more shameless promotion of my own childrens' cuteness. (Ignore Bo Peep's tired expression)



Oops- I lied. And you like it!