Cake: Version 5.0

For anyone who has been waiting on pins and needles to see pictures of this year's cake, I sincerely apologize. Here is the story, with slightly less drama than last year. After being told by my husband that I care more about impressing friends and family than making my son happy, I tried to reel it in a bit. Fortunately this year we did not hit 85 degrees the day of the party and I was able to comfortably bake the cakes required to make dueling light sabers. And because I actually listened to my mother's advice this year and used waxed paper at the bottom of the pan, the cakes came out beautifully. They were so pretty that I had to take a picture. Sadly the icing was not as pretty. I didn't measure as exactly as I should have (okay, I didn't measure AT ALL) and just went by feel. A strategy that works well when cooking - not so much when baking. The icing was lumpy and runny and did not look as fabulous as last year's batch. I kept having to scrape it off the tray and reapply. And then there was the licorice. Our local grocery store ran out of the skinny black licorice that I used in last year's drum set, and I had to settle for giant Twizlers. The problem with the bigger licorice is that it does not conform as nicely and kept popping out of the sides of the cake. CJ tried to fix the problem by shoving them into the sides but just ended up creating giant holes. Overall though, I think this year's cake was a success. Judge for yourself. The boy was pleased. In the end, that is what truly matters; although I do enjoy the accolades.

The obsession continues

P's birthday is a mere four wakeups away. And somehow I am not completely freaking out about his cake. A little background for any readers new to the blog: When I started documenting my family's life on the world wide web, I began with a photo of my first ever fully realized totally awesome birthday cake. I was told it couldn't be done. Which is not something anyone should ever say to me. When Paul turned two, he was obsessed with Elmo. So he got an Elmo cake. It was pretty darn cool. Fueled by my success, I went completely three dimensional with his three year old cake: the bulldozer (did you catch the pun???) Paul was very excited to eat all of the candy accessories as everything but the driver was edible. Last year was my biggest challenge, especially when we had a freak heat wave the day before and of his party. But the drum set came out beautifully and I was even able to share the many yards of leftover licorice with a friend making a ladybug cake. So what is in store for this year you ask? Anyone who has spent any amount of time with my oldest in the last six months knows it can only be one thing. STAR WARS. I have decided to make dueling light sabers, which should be remarkably more simple than the last two designs. I am not worried, but perhaps I should be. I want them to look authentic. You see, after spending the last six months listening to a four year old relate every minute detail from every Star Wars book he can get his hands on I have learned A LOT. It is hard not to get swept up in the obsession. The whole family sings the theme song on a daily basis, often making up new words to fit a given situation (okay that's just me). My husband administers regular quizzes to see if I can identify all of the Jedi in P's collection. And P can tell you who someone is based solely on their light saber. His cake has got to be good. Stay tuned.

The meal

Whenever we go out to eat my boys are pretty well behaved, but they are definitely not perfect angels. I have had my fair share of public humiliation, moments when I want to crawl under the table with my veggie lo mein or casually walk away explaining that I must have accidentally sat down with the wrong family. I learned several key lessons early on, things like: 1. Never leave home without a stock pile of snacks, coloring books, crayons and various other distractions. 2. Carry bendy straws because the straight ones are just a recipe for flooding. 3. Don't wear anything that I don't want covered in food. Despite my many precautions, we have endured some pretty difficult moments and I developed a keen sense of empathy for other parents experiencing dinner drama. Last night may have been an exception.
We arrived at one of our favorite Thai places with hungry bellies and were happy to see that there would not be a wait. (Everyone was out getting fish as it was the first Friday of Lent) However we were quickly informed that there were no available high chairs as two other families had already laid claim. No biggie, John is much better about sitting in a booster seat than Paul was at his age and we happily wedged him against the table between myself and CJ. I noticed that one of the families was sitting at the next table. Their little boy was a few months younger than John, and he was unhappily perched on his father's lap, leaving the high chair available. Apparently the mom mentioned that they should give us the chair since their child was refusing to sit in it, but the dad grumbled something about not caring if we were pissed off about it. Which we weren't. As they waited for food to arrive, the little boy cried and carried on, and I could feel the tension rising from the table. I felt bad, knowing how difficult it is to get a hungry toddler to sit still and be calm. Thankfully my children were being sweet and patient as I pulled out all the distractions from my bag of tricks and let them occasionally get up and look at a nearby fish tank. Then John did something naughty - I can't remember what it was exactly - and CJ spoke to him about it. A little background: John does not like discipline. What child does, right? But most children can handle the hard stare, the firm angry voice, a 2 minute time-out. Not John. The second your voice hits the discipline range he bursts into hysterics. Which he did at that moment. And the mom across from us whipped her head around so quickly I could feel a breeze. Ah, so they aren't perfect! I could hear her thinking. That is when my attitude shifted. I had been sitting there, feeling bad for these parents who were trying to console an angry toddler and occupy a whiny preschooler, and they had been sitting there, waiting for my kids to screw up. Like it was some sort of endurance competition. Parenting is hard. Why do we need to make it harder by pitting ourselves against others who are trying to succeed at the same thing?

Final thought on snow... now it can all melt. Please.

Oh, how my boys are different. I love looking back at pictures of Paul when he was John's age, not only because I enjoy seeing how cute he was before he learned to negotiate and correct (more on that later) but also to compare personalities through photographs. Take their first winter for example. Technically Paul's first winter was when he was not quite one, but he didn't appreciate being dumped into a large pile of snow when he could barely walk. For this example, I am referring to winter as a one year old. The first time a child realizes the joy of snow. Paul loved it. He wanted to help shovel and would gladly tromp around until he froze. Sadly the boots he had that year were a bit big and I can remember him constantly losing them in the snow drifts. But he was certainly never afraid. John, on the other hand, enjoys the idea of snow but hasn't quite got the enthusiasm of his older brother. He seems to prefer to catch it on his tongue and touch it with his fingers rather than jumping feet first into a giant drift. As with all things, it appears I have a full speed ahead go-getter and a sensitive tactile learner. Which is good. Because as much as I love my oldest, two of him would wear me out.

Valentine greetings

John recently learned to say, "I love you." It is so darn heartwarming. And I love how he repeats Paul in the second video. Sorry, just have to brag. My boys are the best.

The Strangers

I have always been pretty open to talking with people about my sons' adoptions, as long as the person making the inquiry at least attempts to be sensitive (and does not say things like, "I can't believe someone would give their baby away"). I tend to assume that people are simply curious about something they do not fully understand, and it makes me feel good to spread the word about a wonderful experience. But lately I have been wondering about how this affects my oldest son. He is starting to talk a little bit more about adoption and is often around when people start asking questions. Yesterday we went to a new yoga studio to try out their kid's class, and one of the teachers at the studio approached me after class and asked if my son was adopted. When I said yes, she looked at him and said, "I was adopted too" and we talked briefly about where they were each born in Korea. Then she said to me, "My husband and I have one of our own. We want to adopt too, but the first baby was such a good experience that we plan to have two of our own and then adopt." I'll admit that I had to pick my chin up off the floor after that. When I told my husband the story he chuckled. We have been well versed in adoption rhetoric and he knows that particular phrase gets under my skin. My students often ask if I plan to have "kids of my own" and I generally reply, "I already have two, see?" while showing off their pics. I worry that this woman heard the phrase once too often during her childhood and is now using it to describe her biological children in some sort of twisted hierarchy. My son heard her use it and witnessed his mother saying nothing to correct her. Witnessed his mother making no effort to protect his story or identity in the family. At what point does casual conversation with strangers become something potentially hurtful to my children? He has already started having to answer questions that really aren't anyone else's business. Perhaps I need to teach him how to say things like, "That is a personal question that I am not comfortable answering." Somehow I don't see that coming out of his mouth. He generally shares oodles of personal information with strangers and seems to have no qualms about airing our family story. I did notice yesterday that when he was asked if he was adopted, he immediately began talking about his brother. Witnessing the process with John seems to have helped him understand what it means to be adopted (although for a while he believed that every baby arrived on a plane from South Korea), and instead of speaking about his own experiences he relates everything to his brother. Perhaps his own story is too abstract, the details too fuzzy. I wish I could crawl into his head and figure out what he thought of all of this.

Same old resolution

I am just going to come right out and say it: I desperately need to get more organized. There seems to be this tremendous dichotomy between my work life and home life. At work I have no trouble multi-tasking, meeting deadlines and keeping everything in its place. My desk is always clean and my email box gets a regular purging. If someone needs a piece of information, I can put my finger on it in minutes. At home, well, it's a different story. I regularly find myself searching for something for hours on end, tearing apart the house and cursing under my breath. The horizontal surfaces (namely the kitchen counter and shelves in the den) are never neat for more than 24 hours, and when company comes over I often just shove everything into the nearest drawer. Now it isn't the entire house. My clothes closet is in perfect order and the playroom has bins for every category. I have the skills to be an organized person. What is my problem?
I had this theory on the drive home today. My desk at school wasn't always spotless. It wasn't until I started subbing for other people that I began to develop a system of organization. I was motivated to keep their area as neat as they had left it (the Girl Scout in me), but also saw it as a perfect opportunity to borrow ideas for myself. Each new job brought new ideas, and I am now able to keep up the appearance of a well organized person while on the job. My thought then is this: do I need to start living in other people's homes for a few weeks at a time to learn how they stay organized? Why is it that I can't transfer what I have learned at work to my humble abode? I certainly can't use the children as an excuse. The times when CJ was out to sea and I had no one to blame but myself (and often only a part time job), the house was still a disorganized mess. It's truly embarrassing. And I am desperate to not pass this onto my sons. Perhaps that is why I force them to keep their playroom and bedrooms organized. Don't look in the kitchen, children. Please ignore mommy when she is running around the house screaming about a lost book or important piece of paper that should have been dealt with weeks ago. Someday she will figure out how to get everything where it needs to be. Someday.