LOL

Sabrina and I have an agreement.
She's allowed to have fast food once a week.
It started out as Fast Food Friday, but I have since thrown caution to the wind, and let her pick whatever day of the week she wants, to have fast food.

Last week, we were pulling out of the drive thru at Carl's Jr, when I glanced at the girls in the rear view mirror, and happened to catch a glimpse of Sabrina examining her arm.

"Sabrina," I said "How many times do I have to tell you to put lotion on your arms?"
"You really need to put lotion everywhere," I continued. "I tell you that ev-..."
"I know, I know," she interrupted me, "I have dyslexia!"
"What?" I said, confused.
"Sabrina, do you even know what dyslexia means?"
"Of course I do!" she said exasperatedly "It means I have really dry skin!"
After a couple of seconds of silence, I erupted into a fit of giggles so fierce, I almost had to pull over to avoid getting into a car accident.
"Mama, what is so funny?" she demanded.
After I caught my breath, I said "Sabrina, you don't have dyslexia, you have eczema!
"Oh," she said "That's what I meant, eczema."

When the giggles finally died down, I explained what dyslexia was, and told her that I wasn't laughing at people that have dyslexia, it was the confusion between the two words, that got me going.

LOL indeed. I haven't laughed that hard in years.

A Melange of Sorts

First of all, I have to say this gloomy weather is killing me.
I am usually digging the gloom, but since June is reaching it's middle point, my brain is seriously confused. I mean, it's supposed to be warm, sunny even, umm, you know, summery.
No, luck though.
It's been overcast and rainy going on two weeks now, with no end in sight.
Oh well, another excuse to fire up the 'ole oven, and bake with abandon.

The other night, Sabrina casually mentions that the 4th/5th grade "Hoedown" is coming up, and would I be so kind as to pick up a "few" things at the market, you know, our contribution to the party.

"Coming up?" I ask, "What does that mean exactly? When do you need to bring this stuff to school?"
She looks away from my piercing death stare, and mumbles,
"Um, let me go get the note."
She hands me a crumbled piece of paper, and as I'm reading it, I notice the deadline to bring in hoedown items is today.
"Sabrina," I say "When did you get this note? The deadline was today."
"Oh," she says quickly, "It's okay, Mrs. V. said we could bring stuff in tomorrow too."
"Well, that's a relief," I say sarcastically.
Then she adds, "Mama, do you think you can make me some of those jeans with the patches, and a cowboy shirt?"

Okay, I love my kid, I swear, but this is Wednesday night, and the hoedown is Friday.
I am many things, but I ain't no miracle worker.
Not to mention, I have been working like a dog on a wholesale order I need to deliver soon.

I promptly tell her she's crazy, and there is no way I can produce an outfit with such little notice.

"Okay mama," she says in a sweet and gentle tone, "I understand."

Can you say, "bad mother"?

I of course, buy the hot dogs and lemonade for the hoedown, and proceed to descend into the realm of guilt, where even the best of mamas end up occasionally.

Yesterday afternoon, giving in to my guilty conscience, I attempt to produce a "cowgirl-ish" outfit for the hoedown.
I have to say, the fact that she would even want to wear an outfit made by me (she is almost ten, which says it all), is a victory in itself, and well worth the extra effort on my part, to sew it all at the last minute.
She looked adorable, and was so grateful, that I really felt like a heel for my initial reluctance.

Here's my girl:

Bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Love the jeans.

Ready to get down at the hoedown.

On another topic entirely, I have to give some props to Oscar for his transformation of my fabric cabinet. In a nutshell, I got the cabinet from Monica, who graciously gave it to me gratis.
It originally had glass panels, because I believe it was intended to be used as a china cabinet.
I kept the panels for quite some time, but since I used it to store my fabric, which most of the time, was not a pretty site, I longed for a solution that would keep everything inside, hidden.
I tried papering the glass, which was okay, but I didn't like it as a permanent solution.
Mirrors? Antiqued mirrors? It was brilliant, but I continued to drag my feet.

Recently, I asked Oscar if it would be possible to put beadboard in place of the glass.
"Sure," he said "No problem."
No offense to my lovely husband, but sometimes "projects" take a while to get done around here.
To my delight, a week later, he completed this project for me, and happily, I might add.

Here is the cabinet in its various stages of metamorphosis:

The original glass.

The papered glass.

The new and improved cabinet, with beadboard panels.

Ooh pretty.

Love the birdies.

One more birdie in flight, and check out those boss rose knobs.

I think it turned out well. You?
The knobs are from here, and the birdies, from here.

It's Friday, yay!
Enjoy.

Please forget the lyrics.

(pic borrowed from LadyGaga.com)

A couple of weeks ago, Sabrina, Chloe and I were watching Dancing with the Stars, the finale.
Sabrina is crazy for that show, and by default, I guess I am too, a little.

My favorite part though, is the results show, mostly because of the guest appearances by some pretty cool singers/artists, whatever they call themselves these days.

Anyway, the DWTS (as it will hereafter be known) finale was no different.
Lady Gaga was on.
Okay, I have seen her perform here and there, even live (although at the time I hadn't heard of her, and since she was one of the opening acts for New Kids on the Block, her performance was lost on me anyway).
I'm not sure whether to love her or hate her...until the DWTS performance.

She sang two songs, I'm not sure if the first one was "Puh-puh-puh-puh-poker Face", or "Let's Dance" but no matter, since it was the second song that won me over.

"Let's have some fun, this beat is sick
I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

I thought nothing of it, only that it was a mighty catchy tune, and the girls agreed with me.
Well, not Chloe so much, but she's only five, and still worships Barney, so what does that tell you?
Sabrina thought Lady Gaga, and the "Disco Stick" song were awesome.

The next day, as Sabrina re-watched the DWTS finale, for like the fifteenth time, Oscar happened to be in the room, right as the delightful Lady G was doing her thing.

"Let's have some fun, this beat is sick
I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

Sabrina was also getting her groove on, belting out the lyrics, at the top of her lungs.
"I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

Oscar looked at me, his eyebrow raised, and whispered under his breath,
"We can't let her keep singing that."
I quietly whispered back,
"Oh?"
"Well. you know," he said, "It sounds dirty."
"What do you mean?" I said, still oblivious to the reason for Oscar's mortification.

Boy, am I slow.

"Oh crap, " I said, "Disco stick, that does sound bad."
I'm sure our minds didn't mean to take a naughty turn into the gutter, it just happened.
Don't judge me.

Our worries were in vain however, since the next day, Lada Gaga and her now notorious song were quickly forgotten, as Sabrina's main concern shifted to what the school cafeteria was going to serve for lunch.

Until today.

Chloe and I picked Sabrina up from school, and as I was fiddling around with the radio stations, I heard the song, that apparently we all had been longing to hear...

"Let's have some fun, that beat is sick,
I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

"Let's play a love game, play a love game,
Do you want love or you want fame?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game."

"Mama, I love this song!" Sabrina exclaimed
"Uh yeah, me too," I said "It's called Love Game."
"Really?" Sabrina said, "I just call it Disco Stick."

Sweaty Summer

I love this picture.
When I see it, I definitely think of Summer, not sweat.

It's almost June, which means that in twenty-two short days it will "officially" be summer, though most people mark summer's beginning as right after Memorial Day.
Either way, summer.

Don't get me wrong, I love summer.
Longer days, warm weather, the sun.
It's all good.

The problem is, that along with the heat, comes the sweat.
I have the very unfortunate problem of being a "sweat-er"
No, not a sweater, like the kind you wear, but a "sweat-er," as in one who sweats...a lot.

I don't know why, but I have always had this, um you know, issue.
It's pretty embarrassing, and it gets worse if I am particularly stressed out.

Example:
I am getting ready for a _________(fill in the blank with an important event here).
Wedding, birthday party, confession, you name it.
It never fails. As soon as the adrenaline starts flowing, so does the sweat.
Once those initial drops start to make their way down my face/back/whatever, I try to relax, deep breathe, think of something or someone, like my fantasy boyfriend Michael Buble.

Nothing works, and I'm doomed to ride out the sweaty wave, until it subsides on its own.

So, what to do?
After lots of analyzing and research, I've come up with a brilliant solution.

Crank up the A/C full blast, and strip down to the bare minimum, while employing deep breathing techniques, and a Michael Buble fantasy.

Relaxation will ensue, and the "sweats" will be no more.
Standing in front of the open freezer door, with a spoon, and a giant pint of ice cream work too.

Ahh summer, can't wait.

I Feel Pretty

Me and Monica on my birthday, at the very end of our Disney day.

Smart.
Pretty.
Hot.
Cute.
Beautiful.
Sassy.
Sweet.
Kind.
Generous.
Sexy.

There are many words we can use to describe ourselves.
The way we see ourselves.
The way we think others see us.

As girls...women, we are always climbing the slippery slope of self-confidence and self-doubt whether we admit it or not. It's true.

I'd like to think that I am not defined by the too dark shade of lipstick I choose to wear, or the "cutting off my circulation" jeans I'm too lazy to change out of.

Don't judge me if I pick up my kids from school today, wearing sweats and an
"I Love Bear Hugs" tee shirt.

Don't make assumptions about me, if I have my hair in a ponytail or happen to have a zit (or two) on my chin.

Those things do not define who I am.
They are just incidental things, things that happen on a sometimes daily basis.
Things, I am okay with.

Sometimes I have a great hair day.
Sometimes my skin is almost totally clear.
Sometimes my "skinny" jeans are my "these fit me without having to hold my breath" jeans.
Sometimes I eat salad and feel good about it.
Sometimes I don't.

There are so many cool and uncool things about being female.
Today, I choose to embrace the cool parts.

Like, Omigod, I'm so sure!"

I am a big fan of words.

I like writing them, speaking them, reading them.

I especially love the generational slang that I've spoken and witnessed over the years.

I was born in 1975, and grew up mostly in the eighties, so there was a lot of this...

"Um, like yeah, that's totally awesome!"

"Oh grotey, gag me!"

"Like, Omigod, that is so totally rad."

The words "like" and "totally" were such a constant part of my vocabulary, my parents probably thought it was all I was capable of saying.

Though "like" is now an infrequent visitor in my speech, I can't seem to ditch "totally."

Of course, the eighties were almost thirty years ago, and seem like the dark ages to the youth of today...like my Sabrina, who is partial to words like "chillax."

Me? I'm partial to words like "shenanigans."

As in..."Omigod, you guys need to totally stop your shenaningans, and just chillax."

Wedded Bliss

The new Mr. and Mrs.

It's Tuesday.
It's Cinco de Mayo.
It's also two days after my cousin, Araceli's wedding (she's on her way to Hawaii as I write this).

I arrive at the topic of this post.
CUPCAKES.
If you have had it up to here, with cupcakes, and all they represent, I heartily apologize.
I am just about nearing the point of needing a cupcake hiatus myself...

Where was I? Oh, Cupcakes.
Glorious cupcakes.

I am quite a fan, but have found that a really good cupcake, can be elusive.
I have spent countless hours in my kitchen, perfecting recipes, while slaving over a hot oven.
So, when Araceli asked me (or maybe it was my suggestion, my memory is fuzzy) if I could make her a cupcake wedding "cake" it sounded like a good idea....at the time.

I thought it would be a piece of cake.
Easy as pie.
No problemo.

As her wedding date approached, I baked cupcakes.
I baked some more.
We even had a cupcake dress rehearsal.
I was prepared, ready.

The problem is, that I have never executed such a task, and there is a big difference between thinking you are capable of doing something, and actually doing it.

The week of the wedding, I began to panic.
What was I thinking suggesting a cupcake wedding cake?
For the love of all things good and pure....her wedding day.
Kind of important.

Okay, okay, I know, it's just the cake, it's not like I was in charge of making her wedding dress or anything, but still.

The day before the wedding, I dragged my good friend Peggy, (who is married to my cousin Andy) downtown, to the flower mart. She was so gracious, as we wandered through what seemed like thousands of flowers, finally finding some that were deemed worthy of Araceli's wedding cupcakes.

On Sunday, the day of the wedding, I woke up bright and early (okay, it was like 10 o'clock, but the wedding wasn't until six...), and began baking.

I would love to say that everything went off without a hitch, but sadly, that was not the case.
I was nervous. I had stage fright. I forgot things, and almost really botched the job, over and over again.

About half way through, I finally snapped out of my my nervous, fumbling haze, and became a cupcake wielding machine.

Peggy called to see how I was faring, and politely asked if I needed any help...setting up the cupcakes. Normally, I am all about politely refusing help, because I'm just weird and stubborn, that way, but not this time.
There were alot of shenanigans involved in transporting the cupcakes to the wedding site, and in the whole "cake" set up, so I wasted no time in accepting her offer.

We arrived at the restaurant on time...which was a welcome surprise, and got to work.
It took about forty-five minutes total, and I have to say, was relieved when we were done.

I finally breathed...after awhile.
And the cupcakes...well they weren't too shabby.
See for yourself.

A view of the cake table, in the last bits of the afternoon sun.

The center stand. The cupcakes were Red Velvet with Cream Cheese frosting.

One of the cake pedestals.

Oh, and the cupcake consensus at the wedding was favorable, yay.