Oh cake, how I love thee.

I've always been a lover of the sweeter things in life, specifically cake.

I'm not a baker ... or a cook, Stephen is the cook in our home.

My mother tells me at a young age she tried to teach me to cook and I told her I would pay someone to do it, and I do pay for it ... in sexual favors.

So, back to cake.

There are two pretty awesome cake places around here that I would frequent daily if I didn't have to deal with the battle of the bulge on my body and my wallet.

Let's start with Nothing Bundt Cakes.

This is by far my favourite.

They have a variety of sizes for your consumption or occasion (the will even decorate your cake with a plastic flower).

The bundtini, is a little cupcake sized bundt cake, the bundlet is a single serving of deliciousness, then they have the 8" and 10" cakes.

My favourite size is the bundlet and my favourite flavour is the white chocolate raspberry and the cream cheese frosting is the business!

If you sign up online, at random times in the year you can get a free bundlet, and you can receive updates on their tantalizing flavour of the month.

Mmmmh, my mouth is watering just thinking about the cream cheesy goodness.

My next favourite cake place to visit is The Sweet Tooth Fairy, or The Tooth Fairy as Mana likes to call it.

LOVE the cupcakes from this place, though you have to eat them that day, otherwise they get hard and crusty.

The frosting is buttery goodness, and the aroma when you walk in?

Vanilla Buttery goodness .... foodgasm.

There sugar cookies are ok, but I buy them so I can eat the frosting without wasting cake.

The Mr. prefers their cake bites over cupcakes, as do my children, but not me, I'm all about the funfetti cupcakes.

They have some pretty sweet flavours of the month, with one of the best being a smore's cupcake.

Man, I could talk about cake all day, infact, I dream about cake sometimes and will often begin a conversation with "Speaking of cake", whether you were or not.

So, if you want to bribe me, cake is the way!

The Sewing Machine Debacle

Ok, so as Christmas approaches I think it necessary to admit that I’m selfish.

It’s not something I’m proud of, but something I’m aware of and will freely admit.

I want not to be self absorbed at Christmas, but I’m not there yet.

I’m a list writer.
The feeling of checking off a task on my daily to-do’s ?
Completely satisfying.
 So, to ensure I get what I want for Christmas, I send my beloved a list.

Let’s rewind back a few years to the Christmas of 2007.

At the top of my list was a sewing machine.

It had been a while since I’d done any sewing, so I decided before thanksgiving that I wanted a sewing machine.

I scoured the Black Friday deals on Thanksgiving Day and discovered a $15 Walmart special that would fulfill my needs. 

SCORE!

I let Stephen know this was what I wanted, it’s on sale, good deal, and could he get it for me.

He nodded and smiled, leading me to believe I would be getting the much coveted sewing machine.

Fast forward a few weeks to Christmas.

Christmas morning I awake excited to open all my presents. Like a freakin 8 year old, I bound down the stairs and Stephen and I start opening our presents.

As I look at the boxes, I’m slightly concerned that I don’t see anything resembling the size of my sewing machine, so I continue opening my presents.

Now, it’s important to note, I’m spoilt. 
Completely. 
I attribute this to the fact that Stephen has always gotten me what I want, so I expect it.
 Not proud of that fact, but hey, at least I’m honest.

So, I get down to my last present, and open the neatly wrapped gift to expose, none other than a small beautiful pair of diamond earrings.

Here is where I turn into a dick.

I look at the earrings, look at Stephen’s smiling face and he says “Are you happy with your Christmas ?”.

My lip starts quivering (for shame you say, I know it, I can hear it) and I reply “No. I’m not.”

Being the idiot I am I say “I wanted a sewing machine”.

No thank you for everything you got me, I love everything, no gratitude, just the attitude of a petulant child.

Stephen starts laughing at me, like full blown cracking up, which just infuriates me even more.

He grabs my hand and drags me upstairs into our bedroom (don’t let dirty thoughts drift into your mind, I don’t need it to be Christmas to get some ass) and we walk into our closet. He picks up a box and reveals what?

MY SEWING MACHINE.

Still laughing, he tells me “I knew you would do that”.

I’m a predictable idiot.

So, what was the point of me telling this story?

Christmas hilarity.

Nah, I tell this story so people will know what kind of a saint my husband is to be married to me and it’s my blog, I can write what I want.

Cleanliness, why do you abandon me?

Don't you think it's hard to really truly relax when you have a dirty house?

The majority of the time my house is untidy, not truly "dirty" but I find it hard to reach that calm, satisfied, complete euphoria that comes with a clean house.

With two young children?

Forget about it!

Children have the inane ability, nay, seventh sense to know exactly where they shouldn't be and got there or making a mess in an area that was previously (as in immediately prior) cleaned.

Clean folded clothes that are in piles on the ground?

Forget it.

That pile of pants you just folded up aren't clothes, but a tower in need of being bowled over, and your 3 year old knows it is his duty to knock that sucker down!

I have two opposite children.

One who will clean up after himself, his brother and his cousins, and one who will come up with all different reasons why he can't clean up, and I've come up with some sweet answers for the little bugger as well.

"I'm too little!"

"If you're too little to clean up, you're too little for chocolate"

"I'm too tired!"

"Go to bed, I don't care if you just got up from your nap"

"I don't want to"

"I don't want to clean up your toys either, how about we throw them in the rubbish?"

"Mana isn't doing it"

"Who cares what anyone else is doing, worry about yourself"

I guess really these are Koa's 3 year old excuse's for everything, but I tell you what, this little nut case keeps me entertained.

I wonder though, is it worth my mental stability to clean only for things to be unclean 5 minutes later?

Who am I kidding?

The only time I really clean my house is when people are coming over.

Growing up we used to have to clean the house Saturday morning.

We could go wherever after we were done, but we HAD to have our jobs done before we went anywhere.

Some of my best memories come from cleaning the house.

Dishes on Sunday?

HOLY MOLY! 

We had to do them, by hand, in shifts.

I HATED washing the dishes, and would do a crappy job in the hopes that I wouldn't have to do them anymore. 

Not a chance.

I remember washing the dishes (barely) and when my brothers were like there is food still on this plate my response ?

"Wipe it faster"

Ah, the memories, something I look forward to giving my kids.


What was my point?
Something about cleaning, but I clearly got caught in my head.


So, if anyone's feeling generous, I could do with a maid for Christmas.

30 is dirty

There's a stigma associated with turning 30.

Why you ask?

I don't know the answer for other people, but for me, it's an age I hope to reach and reflect upon my life and feel like I've done something with myself, you know achieved something.

For me right now, I'm fine with turning 30 in six months.
Stoked with my family, job, home etc, click here for a refresher.

Well, fine in some ways, not so fine in other ways.

I've always had a pretty good memory.

As a child I could remember entire books word for word, conversations etc. to the point where I was an annoyance.

Even up until I had kids, arguing with me was a waste of time.

Since I had a mega memory, I could remember and recite verbatim what was discussed and bring it up at the most inopportune times for my foes.

Since I've had kids?

I have the memory of a fish, which I imagine is tiny.

I recall the most ridiculous things which, are the biggest waste of space in my mind, and I can't for the life of me recall basic words sometimes.

For example, my sister and I were talking about post partum depression, which I called post natal depression, FAIL.

Then we were talking about Burger Rings, which I called Burger Kings (this was on the same day).

Is this a simple brain lapse, or is this the inevitable beginning of the memory loss I will experience?

My grandfather on my dad's side had alzheimers, and my great grandmother on my dad's side had alzheimers, so it's inevitable my dad will get it.

I'm wondering if I might already be exhibiting signs of early onset alzheimer's.

Or is my mind just getting lazy like my body?

My body has been going south ("Literally" said my boobs) since I had kids, so it was only a matter of time before the mind went. 

Since my dad's side is rather diseased, as I get older I have diabetes, gout, arthritis, deafness, tinea toes and jacked up fingers to look forward too.

I'm already blind.

Man, I'm sorry Stephen, but I'll be falling apart in about 10 years, might be time for an upgrade!

Monday, Baking Day

And Monday = Life Style Change (Diet) day!

Let's get real for a minute people (myself).
 I'm a chub. Nice and chubby.

I'm not the self deprecating woe-is-me-I'm-so-fat sort of a person, looking for some sympathy.
I'm simply stating a fact.

I don't think I'm fat, I'm not overly obese, i'm just unnecessarily chunky.

Or pleasantly plump, which I like to say, coz it sounds far more cheerful doesn't it ?

My sister and I walked in to our mirrored elevator at work the other day and she was standing in front of me.

Now, she is a good 4 inches taller than me, so when I looked up and saw her in the mirror I had to do a double take, thinking it was me.

When she stepped to the side and I saw myself I started laughing, like cracked up loud obnoxious laughter. 

My reflection ?

It was like someone squashed my sister and her taller mass quickly became my shorter wider mass.

She's Luigi, I'm Mario.

Do I wonder, how did I get here ?

No. 
I know how I got here, I eat cake and crap daily, and I'm quite honestly surprised I'm not bigger than I  am with the amount I eat.

This isn't going to turn into a weight loss blog, or something like that, but I feel like writing about that fact that I'm sick of feeling like crap.

How do I get in gym time, and work, and devote what little time I can to my kids ?

Is it selfish of me to want to go to the gym ?

Portion Control for me ?

Non-existent. 

Why is it that my eyes are bigger than my stomach so I load my plate, then when I realize I can't eat it all, the need to not waste food kicks in and I consume it all ?

It's a vicious cycle, one I fully intend to break.

I don't want to be skinny, coz then I'd be the full package (HAHAHA) but I do want to be healthy and fit all my clothes and give myself a Merry Christmas, and since 1 month won't cut it, maybe a Happy New Year or at least be on the way to a Happy 2012.

Gobble Bubble

Ah Thanksgiving.

A day off work, a day with family and friends, and a repast to consume (unnecessary) copious amounts of food.

Round One.

Salad, or salads as it were yesterday.

Round Two.

Turkey and cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, roast sweet potatoes with brown sugar caramelized on top, stuffing, green bean casserole, gravy, cauliflower and cheese.

Round Three

(same as round two)

Round Four

Pie.

Pumpkin pie, apple pie, banoffee.

So good and yet so bad!

I often wonder why we (I) insist on eating more than is necessary.  

At a certain point, your body no longer enjoys what you are eating and starts to repel what you are doing .Your waist line starts running away from you thus expanding. 

At least, that’s what happens to me. 

Sometimes I think I can feel my skin tightening.

My clothes begin to anger and I believe they tighten in an effort to try to constrain me from the harm I am inflicting on myself, as if to say “No, stop it, we can’t take it.”

Even the clothes on the picture of myself I doodled today, look menacing “Why can’t you fit me? You did when you put me on this morning. Three hours later, and we need to be replaced?”

Oh willpower, why do you abandon me when I need you so?

That fluffy, delicious cream all whipped and poised, enticing me, calling me “put me on your pie, you know you won’t be satisfied without my creamy peaks atop that sweet layer of pumpkin”. Naughty, naughty pie.

And that is why I am sick today.

Emotional Range of a Child

This is my emotional range.

Well, more like this.

 

Presents make me super happy.

I'm materialistic, what can I say ?

I'll make lists of things I want for any occassion, with links to sites to be sure the hubs knows EXACTLY what I want.

My everyday joy ?

Driving home with the kids.

They sing to me, tell me about their day, fight.

Joy.

What can make me cry?

Fighting with Stephen.

Though, sometimes I can get so angry I can cry.

Or so happy I can cry.

Cry baby.

When I wake up, I'm not usually in a neutral state.

I'm always somewhat teetering on the edge of aggression.

Probably, because most of time time, I haven't had enough sleep.

This is why I believe I suffer from chronic aggression. (TRUE STORY)

I'm a planner. I love task lists, grocery lists, present lists.

Knowing things in advance so I can co-ordinate my nap time is necessary.

When things don't go according to plan ?

Nostrils flare, eyes get big, face tightens and morphs into a shark.

Brothers and sisters of mine, sound familiar?

Mother.

My sister is the same when it comes to the anger issue.

I think we have a high level of testosterone running through our bodies.

She's pregnant right now, which intensifies the aggression, so I tell people she got herself pregnant, with all that testosterone.

Maybe when she pushes out the baby, she'll push out the agro.

Nah.

Something to work on for me maybe?

Maybe.

SCHLEEP!

I LOVE sleep.

LOVE it.

On a good weekend, my wonderful husband will keep the kids occupied while I have a nice 5 hour nap, which, for me, is heavenly!

On a normal week/work day, I’ll get the mighty 7hrs worth of slumber, which is just not enough for me.

I’ll often plan my weekend around my naps.

Dinner and a movie at 6 ?

Nap at 12. Up around 4. Shower and be ready to go by 5:30 to arrive on time (I’ll blog about my obsession with being on time later)

Sleeping somewhere other than my bed ?

If I’m within driving distance (less than two hours) I’m driving home.

We’ve had a tempurpedic bed for over 5 years, and my body rejects sleep when it isn’t cushioned by memory foam. 

It’s like cuddling a cloud.

Interrupt my sleep ?

You ever tried to wake a hibernating bear ?

If you want your face scratched, try it.

I feel as passionate about sleep, as I do about cake.

It's delicious.

Siesta ? 

Sounds like a bit of a good time to me!

Inemuri ?

Nah.

I want to dream.

If we get into my dreams ?

Apparently, in my dream mind, I'm a professional fighter (clearly, reading this blog enlightens you to my aggressive nature) a model (HAHAHAHA) AND I'm pretty sure I can fly.

Man, I have the best flying dreams.

Sometimes I have to get a running start, but most times I can just push of the wall, like a tumble turn when you swim, and I'll take off.

Is there a job, where you sleep all day ?

A professional bed tester ?

Sounds like a bit of me. 

Delivering the News ...

I was watching the VMAs Sunday night and I'm just going to say it, Beyonce is awesome.
The way she threw the microphone down after her performance, popped open her jacket and announced to the world " I'm with Child " and seeing Jay Zs genuine reaction to the entire spectacle, well, it got me thinking.
Normally, MTV isn’t thought provoking (unless it's Jersey Shore), but in this particular instance, it definitely sucked me in and had be thinking the following.

·         What's the best way to tell someone they're about to be a father ?

·         What's the best way to deliver the news you went and got yourself knocked up, to your parents ?

I'll start by analyzing the first time I had to tell the hubs I was pregnant. I made him come with me to pick up a pregnancy test. I insisted it be a CLEAR BLUE $15 test (found out later a DOLLAR TREE TEST works just as well).

After going to pee on the stick, and waiting the allotted time, I walked out and threw the positive urine covered test at my inseminator. CLASSY RIGHT?

Delivering the news to the parentals that you went and got yourself knocked up, is an entirely different story all together.

My parents, well, my mum, was all "You're old enough to deal with the consequences" cool about it.

But is it better to be all in your face creative about it ?

Definitely more entertaining that way, especially when it  comes to announcing the sex of the fetus.

Did you post something like "Saw my baby today!!!!!!! Unless that is a third leg, we're having a a BOY!!!!!!!" on your facebook status?

When we went to have our 20 week scan to find out the gender of our child, my husband played it cool.

Throughout my pregnancy we discussed our hopes and dreams for our oldest child.

I was hopeful it was a girl, you know, dress her up and all that jazz, while the hubs insisted it wasn’t important the gender, only that our baby was healthy.

As I lay there on the table, all gooey from the gel they scan technician smeared all over my convex belly, I was overcome with emotion, tears rolling down my face (I dont cry ugly)

It was amazing, watching the little hands move, his little mouth drinking/eating and seeing it's little crossed legs.

Lab Technician lady, tapped my belly under its little legs, and they slowly spread revealing the anxiously awaited news. I knew the minute those little legs widened, "It's a BOY" she announced.

My husband, ever perceptive to my emotional state, jumped up and pointed in my face "It's a BOY! I wanted a boy, in your face!"

I can't help but think fondly on that moment, and laugh..

I went off on a random tangent, I can, it's my blog.

BUT, next time I get pregnant, I am confirming there may or may not be a next time, I'm going to announce it with a sculpture, shooting forks from a bow and arrow, at a pink or blue target ....