Proud Mama

Just wanted to post some pictures of the birthday! After my last blog, I figured I should show the results. It was definitely a very proud mama day! Not only did I stick to my guns, follow thorough, and create the ultimate birthday cake.  But also, I didn't sweat the small stuff this week.  Any imperfections, were what made everything perfect!  Go figure! So cheers to that, and learning a little something a long the way. I can't wait to see what next year has in store!

The CAKE!

The cake was made out of Orange and Green Fondant. Fondant is amazing to look at, but incredibly hard to work with! This cake took me 12 hours to make. Truly a labor of love! I would do it again in a heart beat though, and look forward to my next creation!


Dinosaur gift bags were pretty fun also. I couldn't find anything in the gift bag isle I liked, so I made these myself. Sticking with our Orange and Green theme, I just cut out some Dinosaurs and glued them on the bags. The gift bags had a plethora of Dinosaur goodies inside. (Thank you Michael's Crafts store)

Goodie Bags!

The Birthday Boy Outfit. Jacksonsaurus

Every kid got a pair of Dinosaur slippers to go home with. These were my favorite. HUGE and probably didn't fit a single kid at the party, but they will have them for quite some time, and they are certainly fun to pretend with.

Dinosaur Slippers as a favor for the kids. 

Dinosaurus Delight! I'm Back!

Forgive me for not having written in a while, I was temporarily taken down by a few forces beyond my control! (Thank you Mother Nature...You bitch!) First there was the man cold, which I talked about in my last blog! Leaving me like a drowning woman clutching for a straw. Followed by the baby cold.  Which lets face it, is just about as bad as a gigantic pimple arriving on the tip of your nose the day of your wedding. You have nightmares about it,  the very thought of it keeps you up all night.  You try and plan ahead for it. You do everything in your power to prevent it!  But ...when it shows up, all red and pussy, like it's proud to be there.  It's a disaster.

The baby cold is the equivalent to this kind of chaos! That first sign of cloudy, thick, sticky and glue like mucus running from your babies nose, immediately throws all new mothers into a state of panic. This clear drippy mucus slowly running out your child's nose like a broken faucet, has the ability to render new moms helpless and confused,  sort of like a really bad date. Useless, is all advice on how to treat this monster that's  thrashing around in your child's system.   Infuriating phrases like, "Let nature take it's course", "It's just a cold, nothing you can do." Seem to take over your brain, and makes you want to punch someone hard. We've practically cured aids, but yet nothing for the damn cold. Had god given me a better sense of science than shoes, I might be coming up with a cure right now. Oh and while I was at it, a cure for ear infections, so that no child shall ever get one again! Now there's a shot I bet parents would be lining up for!

Anyway, my point behind my man/baby cold rant, is that you can keep knocking mother nature, but you can't knock me down. I have bigger battles to fight! Bigger fish to fry! Bigger undertakings to take!  Bigger bitches than you!  Bigger as in...The planning of the 2nd Birthday Party for my favorite boy big! Far more scary than the cold! It's on!

Anyone who knows me, knows I am a big fan of birthdays and an even bigger fan of birthday parties. I love me a good "theme" party, and will settle for nothing less than fireworks and donut trucks! Last year I nearly broke the bank trying to create the most perfect, "Under the Sea", first birthday party, where I literally had the party thrown in a room which was basically a giant shark tank!  Brilliant if you ask me! I had my husband dress up as DJ Lance Rock from Yo Gabba Gabba, and although terrifying to my child, and quite possibly emotionally damaging, it made for a great party memory! Lessons you learn on the first child!

 As my party planner self began to emerge, my husband turned to me and said, "Oh that's just great, lets just go overboard again for a party he will never remember! Why must we put all this time and effort into something he will never even get?"

 I swiftly punched him in the nuts and said, "You play a game that requires you put all your  time and effort,  pretending you are a general manager of a pseudo-football team, that doesn't even exist, and has the word fantasy in it's title! A game in which you stress out frequently, waste numerous amounts of brain cells on,  and for no other reason than to say, "Hey I Won NOTHING! It's not real!"

He looked at me and said ...,"So what's your point?"

I looked at him and said," My point!" "MY POINT is, we are having a very DINOSAURUS second birthday for our son! You will be Stegosaurus Steve and like it. You will not complain. You will  wear any and all costumes I give to you to wear. You will roar like the best dinosaur you have ever heard when asked, (you're an actor after all right?)  You will not look at the credit card statement for at least a month after the party, and you will most definitely never ask  ever again why I am having this party! That is my point."

His answer..."Fair Enough!"

At least he's learning!

So for now my virtual world of blogger friends and family, I will be concentrating on throwing the most excellent Dinosaurus 2nd birthday party ever!

 I plan on attempting my very first fondant cake! (No doubt I will blog about that later) Making thousands of cookies shaped liked Dinosaurs. Purchasing everything that has a dinosaur on it, in it, or near it! Catering a delicious menu of dinorific treats. Oh and if anyone out there knows Dino Dan, that would be really helpful. Trying to rent that kid is a bitch!  I usually demand the help of my BFF Kim, (she'll dress up as anything), plus she's tiny like a kid, and fits into everything, last year I made her be a fish, and flap around, but the girl is buried under  the 42 feet of snow NY graced us with, and apparently has better things to do than give  out dinosaur rides. What's up with that?

So even with all the craziness and chaos surrounding our everyday lives, I wouldn't change a thing, and look forward to the stress an agony this birthday party will  surly cause me!

Thanks for reading! Don't be shy...REPLY!

Love,

T-REX TRACY...ROAR!

Warning, the "Man Cold" is going around!

As if having a toddler to keep healthy during cold and flu season isn't hard enough.  I now have to worry about helping my grown up child, (other wise known as my husband), stay alive through this growing epidemic of a disease called the "man cold." You've heard of this deadly disease right?

After all it is the most debilitating disease a man can get.  Almost all men will die of this "man cold" if they do not have large, and I'm talking LARGE amounts of attention paid to them.  They must be told at least every half an hour just how hard it must be to struggle through such an awful disease.  They must feel how brave, we as women think they are. You as the care taker must be available at a moments notice to refresh glasses of orange juice, ice tea, and diet Ginger Ale. Failure to do so will lead to an absolute death sentence.  Women of course could never catch the  "man cold", therefore we will never know the agony they are put through when they contract this near fatal disease.

Many many boxes of tissues are required. The soft kind with aloe.  You must get the right tissues or their sensitive man nose could be compromised of smelling forever.  You mine as well just take stock in DayQuil now, because you're going to need endless amounts of those little red gel caps.

Note to my readers: If you run out of DAYQuil, DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT give your husband a NyQuil pill instead... Innocently thinking it's probably all the same thing. It's not! That will only end with you having to drag what feels like a 4,000lb bull across the living room floor, into the bedroom, to stop the snoring beast you have created, you are sure the neighbors can here, and is scaring your son! Take my word on this one.

Also, several runs to fast food joints and bakeries will be required at this time. It seems the only real remedy to this "man cold" is McDonald's or a box of  Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies, followed by a marathon of the Housewives of Beverly Hills.

There is a good chance your man will not be able to lift a single finger around the house for many many days, but will be required to play in his basketball leagues Tuesday night game.  He might have to drag himself out the door like soldier going to war, but...what kind of man would he be, if he let his team down.


This "man cold" is going around ladies, and if yours happens to catch it,  I wish you a speedy recovery, with no major fatalities.  I say that because this "man cold" is just as likely to kill the person taking care of the man with the cold, then he himself.  May god grant you the patience of a saint in these tough times, and the heart of a warrior.  You will need it to survive.

HOORAH!

Sucker or Saint?

Today I was faced with a conundrum.

I had to interpret a situation based solely on the physical in front me.  No facts. No other opinions. No back up (AKA, The Husband). Just me.  Just one mother, staring at another mother, sitting on the ground in front of our local grocery store, with her very young daughter in her lap, dirty and thin, with a sign that said, "I can't feed my children.  Please help."  I was alone with my son, and I had nothing to rely on, except my moral compass.

So I began to dig.  And dig I did for a while.  To be honest, I think I shoved that moral compass so far down in my purse, I had forgotten about it entirely.

In a large city, such as Los Angeles, where I'm pretty sure they demand you leave your morals at the bus stop before entering Hollywood,  it's not that unusual for one to maybe become jaded or blind to someone else's misfortunes.  It's also not that unusual to see someone asking for money.

The homeless have become as common as the palm tree's here in LA.  And lets be honest, even being homeless in Los Angeles has become competitive.  You'd better have a creative sign with you, or you can forget any donations.   Entrance's to the freeways are like a good read of the National Enquirer.   Hollywood Blvd, is filled with your homeless comedians.  Just yesterday I saw a man with a sign that read," I slept with Lindsay Lohan, Please Help!" Not but a half a mile from there, another man with a sign that read, "Time Traveler, need a $$$  for a new flux capacitor."  Creative right?  Then of course we have the very mecca of homeless peddlers, Venice Beach!  Where some of the most interesting con artists/homeless people you will ever meet reside.   Not only can you get a toe ring, but for a buck ,you can take a picture with a homeless person and bring it home as a souvenir . People asking you for money, is sometimes like people asking you for the time.

As a native New Yorker, I am no stranger to the homeless begging for money.  I am also no stranger to being called a sucker, and falling for every sob story out there. When I was younger, I found it incredibly difficult to walk away from anyone asking for money.  My heart bled for each person I passed, and there were days where I think I handed out more than I made.

However... I am no saint.  My overwhelming sense of compassion for terrible situations sometimes get the best of me, and I act before I think. I once got sucked into watching one of those Sally Field feed the children specials in college, and immediately called up to sponsor a child.  A child myself, I had no business offering money I didn't have, and felt so bad when the picture of the child was sent to me I couldn't look at it.   My now husband, then boyfriend, put the picture in the freezer until we could muster up enough money to send a check back.   The picture lay in the freezer for 4 months. Awful I know.

Luckily, as I got older, I got wiser. Realized the situations for what they were, and now dish out my dollars a little more selectively.  

This brings me to today.

Where a woman, who couldn't have been any older than me.  Sat on the ground, in front of the grocery store, dirty and hot, her young daughter in her lap. With a sign that read, "I can't feed my children, please help."   All while I plopped my $400 bag down in my grocery cart.  Pulled out my kids seat protector that lays over the grocery wagon, so my son doesn't dare touch anything he's not suppose to,or get dirty,  and pulled out my list of 100 things I needed to buy, to feed MY child.

As I whipped the cart around, noticed the child sitting in this woman's lap, and read her sign. I stood there for a moment. Silent.  My initial reaction..."Is this for real?" I felt awful.  I felt awful though for one huge reason. I didn't know if I believed her. In fact I was pretty sure I didn't.  It's a scam, it has to be, I thought. To quiet the Jimini Cricket in my head, I dug through my purse found a $5 bill and gave it to her. She thanked me kindly, and into the grocery store I went.

BUT...I couldn't stop thinking about it. I just couldn't. Even ripping through a bag of double stuffed Oreo cookies "to keep my son occupied" (I ate 6) didn't help.    So I pondered the situation.   Even if this was a scam, this poor kid didn't deserve to be involved, right?  And oh god what if it wasn't a scam, and this mother is desperate to do anything to feed her children? Was I an awful person for thinking she was lying? I was an awful person. No, I am just a sucker. This was a scam, right? Why was no one else helping her?   At this point my brain was on overdrive, my heart strings pulled, and if this were a movie Elton Jon's,  "Sorry seems to be the hardest word," would be playing.

Just when I was about to ignore the situation completely, and just keep on moving, wouldn't ya know, I found my moral compass.



I have no idea if what I did was Sucker or Saint, but I'd like to believe if nothing else, maybe that kid had a little something extra tonight.

I would love to hear all your thoughts on this one. I know it's not really funny, and there's no humorous outcome, except for it you think I am a sucker, and that kid is really like 24 and just looks like a kid and they are drinking beer with my $20 and eating Peanut Butter and Banana sandwich's.

What would you have done?

The Thunder From Down Under

When it comes to bachelorette parties... Let's face it, there's the stereo typical drunk bride, with her flashing "warning" lights, covering what very little dress she is wearing, clad in a hot pink boa, huge laminated button that says "last night of freedom".  And if that's not enough, it's all accompanied by a lovely veil with dicks coming out of the top.  When you utter the words, " There is a bachelorette party coming in tonight." Generally the response is uhhhhhhh!

However the bachelor party,well that's something entirely different. The bachelor party is a long standing tradition.   A rite of passage as much as a right to party. Where men are marking the transition from a single independent lifestyle, into the the commitments of married life.

Right, Right.  I wonder what kind of symbolic meaning, strippers and cigars hold in this beautiful rite of passage?

Lets just say what it really is. One last night to see one more pair of tits and ass, or in the ladies case, one last laugh at a pair of balls, before you enter into a contract that says, you are not aloud to sleep with anyone else, for the rest of your life.   Us girls just got around to it a little later, with a few more accessories.

It wasn't until the sexual revolution of the 60's, that women decided they wanted a piece as well. They traded in the stuffy night before sleep over,  for naked men, booze, and a lot of laughs!  It was their turn   to have the rite of passage night, the men had been celebrating for so many years before.  So thank you my fine feminist friends. Not only did you burn your bra's, and give us The Pill.  But you gave us the right to objectify men.  (All hail the male stripper)

In the past year I have received the honor, of becoming a Maid of Honor, and I am taking my job very seriously.  This past weekend, we celebrated the one last night of freedom,  Vegas Style.  We attended one of Vegas's finest contributions to it's female tourists,  "THE THUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER!"

Ladies, if you haven't had the great pleasure of attending this fine theatrical masterpiece, I highly recommend you do!   All that sexual evolving, and demanding of  equal rights, and we get one  night with greased up juice heads, pumping their packages to Salt N Peppa's "Push It".  What else could be better.

Straight from the beaches of Western Australia, come some of the most beefy, glistening guys you have ever seen.  They are part fire man, boy band, and leather clad rock star, gyrating on stage while women off all ages squeal with delight!

I can honestly say it is one of the funniest  things I have ever seen in my life.  Not only do they have perfectly pretty packages to shake around on stage, but there pirouettes are on point, as well as the latest dance moves from the clubs!

We all enjoyed ourselves immensely with only a few minor altercations.  One, when a man that looked like Fabio, whipped his hair around and we were all soaked with an obscene amount of baby oil, and two, when one very large Asian lady came over to me and tried to throw me out for taking pictures.

In her defense, they tell you a million times you are not aloud flash photography, and video taping is prohibited!

In my defense I didn't use a flash, and the nearly naked Australian MC told us at the beginning of the show, "Tonight ladies, there are NO RULES."  He was very convincing and I believed him! Besides how could I not share with the world a little slice of this show! It would  be unfair and untrue to all the feminists before me. It is my duty to put it out there.  Come and find me Asian lady!

Blue Balls

I once read a theory that men prefer strident noises and firm hand shakes. That they are better at solving technical problems than women, and like the color red.

I would like to take a moment to prove this theory wrong! My basis for proving it's falsehood.  Just a simple day in the life of a wife and mommy.

Here goes:

 If men were better at solving "technical" problems. Why oh why can't they figure out how to put the damn roll of toilet paper on the holder?  Do you think if I left a "technical" manual, of how to do it , it would help?  Also, and forgive me for going here ladies, but I feel I must.  Why is it impossible to get everything that is suppose to be in the toilet...In the toilet?  This is technical.  A technical act.  In fact not getting it in is a "TECHNICAL FOUL" if you ask me.

My husband, will not leave a pick up game of basketball, against 8th graders at the park, until every basket has been made, and every shot has been hit.  Getting the same, point, aim and shoot determination into our toilet...Never.  Not once.    He has yet to make his business land in the toilet with no extra parting gifts left around the rim for yours truly, in 10 plus years.

You'd think I would be use to it, or at least know it's coming when I lift that porcelain SOB to clean.  Nope! Shocks me every time!   I still have the same "UHHHH" body jerking backwards reaction, like I just saw an alien pop out of the toilet,  followed by gagging sounds, then curse words, then sheer wonderment of how the hell "It" got "There" and how it's all even physically possible.

Today while cleaning the bitch, I had a vision of all wives, moms of boys, and anyone else who has the great pleasure of cleaning the bowl.  Clad in there ginormous yellow rubber gloves, (I mean whose hands are that big Rubbermaid?) Toilet bowl cleaner wands in hand,  marching up the steps of the White House, protesting poops and penis's!   News papers would read, today in history women decided they deal with enough shit already!

After my day dream, and a long shower,  I drifted back into my proving this men theory wrong, and thought about the strident noise part.

If men like strident noises so much, how it is that no matter how hard or loud the baby cries in the middle of the night, they don't seem to hear it?  They can sleep right though it. Not even a one eyed peek.

If they like loud noises so much, how come when I yell out real loud for help with the groceries, I still get nothing? No movement, no response. As a matter of fact, I usually have to follow it up with another, louder request, and then maybe I get  a "Oh, sorry I didn't hear you."

So far this theory is for shit.

Lastly, I would like to touch upon the color theory. Truly the real reason I started to write this blog today.

While having a seemingly innocent conversation with my son, at a place called, "The Playhouse". Which is exactly that, a giant play house for kids.  My son was frolicking through the ball pit, delighted to be throwing his body across the balls instead of watching mommy clean the toilet.   I decided it was a perfect opportunity to continue with our practicing of colors lesson.  The ball pit was filled with red and blue balls. You see where I am going?

There I was, ever so sweet, enjoying my doting mom moment. Thinking how brilliant I was to turn fun time into learning time. When I started to explain, slow and loud  "This is a BLUE BALL...Blue balls, these are BUUU-HUU-LUUE BALLS." "Can you say, BLUE BALLS?"   "Try it with mommy." "Buuu-luuue Baaaa-hhaaallllll-sssss."

My son repeated, "Bew Bawls!" "Bew Bawls" over and over and over again! YAAAAAYYYYY" In my high pitch ecstatic mommy voice, I started to cheer and reply, "Very Good Jack." "Blue Balls!" Clapping and jumping the entire time.

It never even dawned on me, that besides the fact it truly was a BLUE BALL, this conversation had any other meaning.  That was until the man, who was sitting across the ball pit with his daughter, started laughing and grunting under his breath, (which I clearly heard) "..Heh Heh ...Blue Balls" like he was Bevis or But head or something. Clearly amused by my little fopar.

For a split second I thought maybe he was laughing at the way I said balls.  No matter how hard I try to lose my NY accent, balls is still a tough one. Then I realized there was no laughter upon my "RED BALLS" lesson.   Just blue!!!

Yet again, helping me prove just how wrong that stupid guy theory is.  Clearly the color "BLUE" had more of an impact on this man then red.

I rest my case, and my dignity today.

The Dreamer.

I'm a big advocate for believing in your dreams.  I think the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody else see's but you, is fearless.  Quite honestly I think it's  a major turn on as well, and one of the biggest things I admire about my husband.  

 I've also accepted the fact, that life makes no guarantees as to what you'll have, and standing by your choices, and your dreams, can sometimes be a pretty daunting task.  

We've all read quote after quote, and listened to speech after speech, about just how easy it is to follow your dreams. The fact is, it's not always as simple as, "Never say never",  and "Always have a dream in your heart."  Life seems to like the curve balls a lot more than the poets. It's no wonder people have lost sight of what it is that truly makes them happy.      

I'm not sure when the dreaming started to drift out of my own life, and definition settled in, but somewhere in between I got a little lost.   

Ironically as a new mommy, the path I see into my sons future has never been more clear.  With every fiber in my being, I truly believe he can be whatever it is he wants to be.  I've never been  more sure about anything in my life.  I tell him so every day.

This got me thinking.  When did I lose that certainty in my own self? I truly hate the land of beige and predictable and certainly never want to return there ever again.  

Yesterday I had the opportunity to dust off the old "dream" cape, and hang up the  "mommy" cape, ( if only for a moment) and what I learned, surprised the hell out of me.  

I don't have to choose.  I don't have to be defined with just one title. I can still dream my little heart out, and believe in every single one of those dreams.  My back has got room for many capes, and like the true fashionista that I am, I can wear the hell out of all of them!

Even if at the end of the day nobody else see's what I see, you can be sure I will be strutting down the runway in my mind, like god damn Cindy Crawford, to the sound track of Glee, Season 1. 

(Insert the cast of Glee singing..."Don't Stop Believing right about now. )

Side Bar- Have you noticed blogging is really just a big old diary entry we let everyone read. How bizarre is that? 

I promise more bitching and funny to come.  The dreamer in me, had to purge. 

Thank you thank you!