Children break things

In 2008, my husband and I bought a vase.

We had just moved into our first legitimate home together. Everything was brand new to us. The place seemed huge. It was just the two of us. We were waiting for our kids to arrive.

Actually, I bought a vase.

I'm not great at home decor, and by that I mean I suck at it. I do not have refined tastes, and I don't know the difference between an original indy artist's painting and a print bought at a thrift store. But I was trying.

So, I bought this huge shiny brownish vase. From Marshall's. For $20.

And I loved it.

Soon after its arrival on our fireplace, my husband looked at it and said, 'why is there an empty vase here?'

And I was like, um, 'IT'S DECORATION, DUH."

"No, no. You can't have a vase without something in it."

"Um, yes you can. I'm pretty sure Pottery Barn does this shit all the time." (I'm paraphrasing, here. Eight years ago, I wouldn't have said this. I would have meekly smiled and nodded. But I'd say it TODAY, and so let's just pretend that's what I said. Because I definitely thought it.)

But an empty vase would not suffice. A few days later, my husband came home with some forest-green fake leaves. I don't even know where they were from, but they smelled like the inside of JoAnn's or Michaels or The Christmas Tree Shop.

Whatever, we are high class, okay?

We stuck the leaves in the vase, and voila. Before we'd even hung our (by which I mean my husband's) paintings on the wall, we had an accent piece to die for.

It went supremely well with my pregnant belly and my impeccably clean, before-kids carpeting.

That vase stuck with us throughout the years. It saw the layoff, the move to Florida, a condo and then our rented house (because lol if we're going to buy again after the housing collapse that we felt the brunt of).

It saw my kids as infants, toddlers, little kids, and finally, the big kids they are today. It's been a steady friend and companion. One of the first things my husband and I ever bought together (the couches you see in the picture being the first. ... Do you see that white couch? WHAT FOOLS WE WERE.)

Three moves, three jobs, and a family later, that vase stood tall, guarding the fireplaces of our abodes.

Until the other day.

I don't know how many times I've said/shouted/screamed 'no running in the house', but I'm pretty sure the dog doesn't want to eat glass. Anyway, I may as well have said it 0 times because apparently running in the house is still and will forever be a thing here.

And when you catch them in the act, they do that awkward quick conversion to super-fast walking. loooool, okay, kids, you fooled me.

The girls, to their credit, were distraught about breaking this vase. I didn't even yell at them. It turns out, they feel way worse about doing something by accident than when they are purposefully being turds. They feel the way I want them to feel when I've chastised them for being rude or mean. Only they just accidentally broke something. Life isn't fair, y'all.

I shooed them outside and set to work cleaning this mammoth mess. (I got the dog new food and washed his bowl. Don't worry. He won't be killed TODAY.)

I brought the shards out to the garbage, and when I came back in, my girls had given me the gift of a new vase for my husband's hilariously colored leaves.

Perfect.

This happened two days ago, and their "vase" is still there in front of the door with the leaves in it.

Not because I'm sentimental and touched (although I am), but more because I'm the kind of mom who looks at things on the floor and wonders...how long can this stay here before something bad happens?

I'll let you know.

For now, enjoy our decor as you sip some coffee from a stained mug and marvel at our bean-bag filled, princess placemat having, high-living, jet-setting lifestyle.

Why ridiculous stories do well

So today I had a piece up on Washington Post On Parenting about my hilariously bad grocery shopping habits.

I pitched it as a funny blog bit, and that's what I wrote, style and form and all. I mean, I used the word poo-splosion in the Washington Post, and I'm thinking not many people have been able to pull that off.

Now, why on Earth would I do such a thing? Does it get any more boring than grocery shopping?

I didn't think so. Until I posted a picture of my carriage on my private facebook, to show my friends how full it was. (My facebook is SCINTILLATING, let me tell you about it.)

Anyway, in true fashion, I got about 250 comments telling me about all the ways I was doing it wrong, with varying degrees of outrage, disgust and empathy. It was a pretty great thread, not going to lie.

And I've learned a few things about the Internet:

1) Facebook doesn't lie. If people wanted to talk about my groceries on Facebook, they probably wanted to talk about my groceries in a national newspaper.

2) You don't have to be serious all the time. The tone in this blog (and in that piece) is pretttttty different from the tone I strike when writing a story on something actually relevant to anyone's life.

3) People LOVE to feel superior to other people, and I love to help them make that happen.

This grocery shopping post was number one in the parenting section all day, and it was the fourth most read story on the Washington Post site itself during business hours. My husband was thinking that, damn, a whole lot of people must think they grocery shop wrong and want a companion, but that's not it. I mean, surely some people were there for that, but I've no doubt most of the clicks were hate clicks. People can look at that carriage and read my little comedy bit about the process, and they can feel better than me. And I don't mind! Grocery shopping rates right alongside bowling with things I wish I could do really well at. So if I'm able to fill that I'm-better-than-you void with some puffy writing, all the better for both of us.

But, yeah, if anyone was wondering, it's a thing. It's not clickbait. I mean, nothing in the title, I grocery shop all wrong, screams click me. It's not important. Nothing leads anyone to believe it is. And other than click bait and importance, we're left with two reasons people click things:

1) Hate click. Their friend read it and shared it with the "OMG HOW IS THIS IN THE POST" label.

2) Superiority. They read the headline and figured they'd be able to feel successful about one area of their lives.

And that's how a blog-like grocery post got so popular on WaPo.

The end.

Adventures in Valentine Baking -- Guest Post

Okay, so the war of hearts and flowers rages on. But come on people, let me let you in on a little something it seems a lot of people don’t seem to get. You’re not the first person in the world to realize Valentine’s Day is a holiday designed to make you spend money.

Get this, Valentine’s Day is a commercialized holiday, just like Halloween and dare I say it, Christmas and Easter? But you don’t hear people yelling about how Halloween candy is only repackaged Easter candy with ghosts and ghouls added in to trick the stupid people into buying it. Or how pre-packaged Halloween costumes are so freaking expensive and ridiculous, and how everyone spends half their paycheck and winds up wearing the same types of costumes as everybody else anyway I love Halloween, I do. But I love Valentine’s Day and April Fools Day and St. Patrick’s Day too.

Valentine’s Day gets all the flack though. Every year, people revel in making ironic Facebook posts to show the world how enlightened they are and how they’re smarter/more secure/cooler/more cynical than the rest of those who enjoy celebrating such a frivolous day. I guess they didn’t get the memo that the rest of the world knows what they are doing, and yet some people choose to partake in it anyway.

Here’s another secret for you... You don’t have to spend loads of cash to enjoy a holiday. It also doesn’t mean you only show your love one day a year. To many it’s just a fun little holiday to brighten life a bit. Does that mean all the girls who get flowers are neglected by their significant others the rest of the year? Maybe. But that’s not always the case, and I would even bet that’s rarely the case.

A holiday is only as commercialized as you let it be. I don’t like the pressure that comes with Valentine’s Day or Christmas or even from birthdays. I like thoughtful gifts, sure... But thoughtful needn’t cost much. It doesn’t have to cost anything.

One of the sweetest things my boyfriend did for me recently was get excited at the grocery store when he saw they had tiny watermelons. Why? Because he knows I love watermelon. Simple concept really, but it meant the world to me to see him that excited to make me happy.

And to me, that’s what every day is about. Valentine’s Day just happens to have a theme to it which delights the inner child in me every time.

I love to bake, and I think I’m pretty decent at it too. I’m usually a bake-everything-from-scratch type of girl, even making my own homemade frosting. But I have lowered myself to cake mixes when my boyfriend told me he loves Funfetti cakes with specific packaged icing. So on his birthdays, I throw out my from-scratch baking ideas, hold my nose and bake the cake he wants most. Why? Because it holds special meaning for him and it makes him happy.

See a theme here? I like making him happy, and he likes making me happy. I assume most couples have that same mentality. If you don’t, well then I’m sorry. I personally think life is too short to spend it unhappy , but to each their own. What happiness entails for each person is obviously different, and discovering the little things that make a person's face light up with joy is part of the fun in a relationship.

Moving on, let's get back to what makes my sweetie happy. Besides Funfetti cake, there's one other food that makes his little heart explode from happiness without fail. Cherries. The boy absolutely loves anything cherry... Cherry soda, cherry candy, you name it and he loves it. He gets an adorable smile on his face whenever he talks about his love for cherries even, it's enough to make my own heart explode from the cuteness.

Last year, I bucked traditional gender roles because I know he’s a modern man who could handle it. I sent him chocolate covered cherries at work and he loved it. I patted myself on the back for that one, I still do.

I wasn't sure if I could top it this year because to put it bluntly, I’m unemployed and broke. I decided to avoid all traditional and overpriced Valentine’s Day gifts for something homemade and from the heart. I set out on a mission to find something cute, fun and delicious for his Valentine’s Day gift. I Googled recipes for sweet treats and then I had a very wise idea... Cherry pies. Who doesn’t love pie after all?

I went all out and decided to try and find heart shaped cherry pies and discovered a site that showed how to make small heart-shaped cherry pie lollipops. I knew that was perfect and needed to look no further. I didn’t even bother to entertain any other ideas. That was mistake number one, I’m sure.

I didn’t question my ability to make them at all.

That was mistake number two. I forgot one tiny little detail. I can bake, sure, but I have the artistic skills of a preschooler. I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler and I have no hand-eye coordination. Any craft I manage to complete looks like something a toddler mashed together with a glue stick and construction paper while eating cheesy poofs and watching cartoons at the same time. In fact, they probably can create something nicer than I ever could with that method. Somehow, I never learned how to be crafty.

None of that crossed my mind. I was determined.. The directions looked so simple, that even I could do it, right? I briefly entertained the idea of creating a small business selling heart shaped pie lollipops because I just knew once I showed them off to the internet, people would ooh and ahhhh and everyone would want to buy my beautiful creations.

I went to the dollar store and picked up a vase and some Red Hots. In my head, I planned on creating a dazzling and beautiful pie lollipop bouquet that would probably make you sick to your stomach just looking at all that sweetness.

The reality? Uhh yeah. It’s the thought that counts, right?

I bought heart-shaped cookie cutters and used the smallest one since they needed to stay on the stick. I used pre-made pie crust because I haven’t made homemade pie crust before and figured I’d play it a bit safe by not making the crust from scratch. Thankfully I did it this way because I realized halfway through that I didn’t have a rolling pin. Could you imagine my annoyance if I had made all the crust and couldn’t roll it out?

As if the task at hand wasn’t hard enough as it was.

I cut out a bunch of tiny little hearts and that almost seemed too easy. I had leftover dough and scrunched it all together and tried to flatten it out. Uh yeah, remember the part about not having a rolling pin? I had several lumpy, really thick hearts. I figured it wouldn’t matter. I’d find out later just how wrong I was about that, but I realized that was the least of my concerns at the moment.




I opened up the can of cherry filling and almost beat my head into the counter top. Stupid me. One cherry would take up the whole center of the heart. One cherry. It wasn’t the preserve like stuff they were using in the example, these were real cherries and I never realized how large a cherry was until I was trying to center a couple in the middle of a tiny 2 inch heart without going over the edges. Have you tried it? I think it would be easier to fit a square peg in a small round hole.

But I put one cherry in the middle and sealed it up anyway. Making this blob that looked like a pregnant pie ready to deliver the cherry baby at any minute. Then i realized I forgot the stupid stick which made it a lollipop in the first place.




That didn’t look like the pictures on the website...

So I did the next best thing. I drained just the juice and left the cherries out entirely. That should work, right? Not exactly. I discovered that when you try to close the hearts, all the juice seeps out the sides of the heart.

And crap, I forgot the stick several times and clumsily shoved it in the bottom.



Eventually, for better or worse, I had them ready to go into the oven. I was hedging my bets and working on a backup plan just in case though. The other roll of crust would make larger heart shaped hand pies because this looked like it was going to go very badly.



Mistake number three? I forgot to grease the pan. So they all stuck. Many fell apart from that alone. I taste tested the failures and realized I was eating pie crust on a stick. There were no gooey cherry innards to any of the lollipops.


FAIL.

Switching gears on the fly, I decided the larger heart-shaped pies would be better anyway. The first couple were beautiful, though seepage was beginning to be a problem. I wanted enough filling to make them taste yummy, but that meant that cherry juice seeped out the sides of the heart.





Being the optimist I am, I realized this only added to appeal. After all, knowing us, what would be more special than bloody hearts on Valentine’s Day? We are both horror writers after all.

My bloody Valentine’s Day hearts were going so well, I wanted to bake more. After all, the second crust only made a couple and the fun was just beginning. This is when I made the executive decision to run out for more pie crusts. And a rolling pin because I saw how chunky and bloated the crusts were that I’d hand rolled.



This was also about the time my sweetheart had gotten home for work and was getting ready to head over to my place. Time crunch. Mega time crunch.

First, Target for the rolling pin and I assumed they would have pie crusts. Of course, it’s me we are talking about here and why would I get lucky like that and be able to go to only one store? But they had some peanut butter chocolate chunk cookie dough that could make for a great gift too, so why not? Normally I make cookies from scratch too, but with the clock ticking away and possible pie failure on my hands, I said to hell with it and grabbed the cookies just in case.

This particular Target is known for people shopping like they drive. Meaning the lines are long, people are slow and they just stop right directly in front of you and block your path because whatever they’re looking at is more important than letting you through so you can get the heck out of there as fast as possible. This just made me panic even more and consider some shopping cart road rage, but I resisted. Needed to get home to the pies.

After long, agonizing minutes in one of two very long lines (when over a dozen lanes sat empty), I was finally free! But now I had to run to the grocery store for pie crusts or I’d just bought a rolling pin for nothing. Argh!

I got home just as he texted me that he was on his way. California traffic sucks, and for once in my life I was thankful he’d be caught in rush hour traffic. I hoped that it would be worse than usual, because I needed all the time I could get right now. At the very least, I had 45 minutes. I might have had an hour if things were really bad... Yikes.

I was still in my pajamas and it was going on 5 pm. I’d spent several hours baking... Something I’d thought would be a simple afternoon activity.

I made several more larger heart pies, and this time added some chocolate in them. However, whenever you’re in a rush, everything goes wrong because the Universe is always so awesome like that.

The problems I encountered were all new to me and hadn’t happened on the first two go rounds! Crust sticking to the aluminum foil I was working on and having to dig foil out of the dough several times. Crusts sticking to each other and tearing, including the bottom of the heart that got ripped off. You name it, suddenly all hell broke loose in my kitchen and I thought I might throw in the towel. Or throw all my pies in the garbage disposal and watch the little hearts spew cherry blood all over while feeling a sense of revenge over the little annoying suckers.

But I knew that my five hours baking would have been wasted for nothing. So being the patient girl that I am, I stuck with it. All the while daydreaming of the demise of these little pies, the new bane of my existence! I ate a few of the ugly ones out of spite.

I came down to the last two... Well I had just a little too much pie filling and you know how that goes, you have to use up every last drop. I had just a few too many cherries and my pride wanted to use every last bit of the filling to make it an exact science. I stuffed the last of the pie filling inside them, added chocolate chips and voila! They now spewed both cherry blood and some chocolate colored liquid that could be any number of things if you used your imagination. All because I couldn’t throw a couple cherries away. OCD be damned.

Pies all filled and the last ones were finally in the oven. I decided I couldn’t let the cookies go to waste or save them for the weekend. No, my desire to bake all the things kicked in and I couldn’t fight the urge. Heart-shaped cookies had to be made now as time ticked away and I knew he could knock on the door at any moment and catch me mid-baking frenzy.

I tried cutting the cookies before baking them and when I checked on them, I realized I didn’t have hearts. I had one large blob of cookie cake. So I cut them again. This time throwing the cookie scraps in a plastic bag because dang it, I won’t waste sweets. That’s sacrilegious.

I had just finished with the last cookie and pulled out my outfit for the evening when I heard the knock on the door. I had to answer in my pajamas. I had meant to dress up all pretty for our Valentine’s Day dinner, but looking pretty took a back burner to finishing what I’d started earlier in the day.

But I was finished and the gifts were a success, regardless of how they looked.

The cute little vase with the Red Hots, how did that turn out? Well see for yourself.



Not what I had in mind. Not what I had in mind at all.

They say presentation is everything, but I think I will stick with, “It’s the thought that counts”.

He loved them. He loves me. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

Next year, I will have to one-up myself. Perhaps anatomically correct hearts with cherry blood seeping out. Now that would be fitting for the twisted little couple that we are. It gives me something to aspire for at least.


...

Kristen Duvall is a writer of tales both real and make-believe. A Midwestern girl at heart, she now resides in Southern California with her boyfriend, Great Dane, and a rescued calico kitty she lovingly calls the Kiki Monster. She's a full- time writer with one book out now titled Femmes du Chaos.

In which Facebook tells me my kids will kill a dog

Facebook.

Lovely Facebook.

I realize most people use the social media platform to show the world their ideal selves, throw up their highlight reel. I use mine more like a blooper reel, to  be honest, and for the most part, that serves me well.

I don't care if people know my house is sometimes messy, or if my kids sometimes misbehave. I make mistakes, and I post about those. I fail in the kitchen, in the home, in trying to be fashionable, in writing, in life. And I post about it. Because I'm a real person and I just don't have the energy to put my best foot forward. Sometimes I don't even have a best foot, it's true.

That said, just because I share things that aren't all roses and sunshine all the time, doesn't mean Facebook friends know me any better than they know anyone else. They certainly don't know me better than I do.

That said, I got a dog a few weeks ago.

Before I got this puppy, I had done a lot of research online, finding the right match for our family. I'd been looking since October. I also have had and trained a few dogs in my lifetime, though none so small (he's a Chorkie, and will top out at 8-10 pounds) and none while I had a family.

Facebook, though, didn't know that. Facebook only knew that I posted a picture of the little guy along with the status: "Going to see this little guy tomorrow. If all goes well, we'll be getting a puppy."

This was enough to set the social medium on fire, apparently.

Amid the squeals of omgcutepuppy, there were a few concerned yet respectful comments inquiring as to whether I knew what I was getting into with a puppy. Understandable. As much as I share on social media, I hadn't found reason ever to go into my history with dogs, or even (aside from one comment months before) to indicate that I was researching puppy options for the family. I put those fears to rest with a brief explanation. Then I got this comment:

"How long are you home everyday? Aren't you gone quiet a bit with grad school? And doing other stuff. A small dog that is going to top out at ten pounds most can't really go more then two hours with out bringing them outside when they are itty bitty puppies. With two kids who can go from fine to freak out in two seconds a small puppy could easily get hurt,or a broken bone or worst case dead are you prepared for them to fight over a puppy and how to handle that? Also asking which is better to house or crate train makes me think you have not really 100% thought this through and you're just thinking omgPUPPY. And while they may look cute I also don't think a yorkie corgi mix is really a good mix for your family. You could end up with a nightmare nuerotic dog real quick. Please look more up on both breeds and search around for puppy classes and if you really do plan on impulse buying a puppy and get it to puppy classes ASAP. And I hope you're not paying a ridic amount for basically a mutt."

So much wrong with this comment. Not that I have to defend my life or my choices, but I'm not gone hardly at all. I'm home basically always. I thought crate training meant training the dog to go to the bathroom inside. Crate training and house training were the same to me. So, yes, got me on misuse of terminology. Not a Corgi mix. Not an impulse buy. And for someone so concerned about the apparently downtrodden and horrid life this dog is about to have, that last line calling him a mutt and not wanting me to spend money (ie: ensure I make a commitment to this decision) stands out as odd.

Now.

How about we deal with this: "With two kids who can go from fine to freak out in two seconds a small puppy could easily get hurt,or a broken bone or worst case dead are you prepared for them to fight over a puppy and how to handle that?"

I'm sorry, but no matter how well you think you know me, Facebook, it is totally inappropriate to imply my children would kill a dog. They are six. They're not going to tear it apart like a stuffed animal because they can't control themselves.

This was my reply at the time.

"Thanks. I'm home all day. My kids won't break the pup's bones either. I've bought and trained dogs before, as well. Though they were 25-40 American Eskimos. My kids also won't fucking kill the dog."

I figured that would be it. Thank you for your slightly inappropriate concern, here's why it's not valid, have a good day. Nope. More puppy drama ensued (puppy drama, Facebook. Are we serious?)

I was unfriended and then a status was made about how my home isn't stable and said ex-friend wasn't going to stand by while I let a puppy into this house.

Oh.

You're right, Facebook. This is clearly a dog fearing for his life, daily.

I made a few statuses about it myself, because when you're fighting on Facebook over a dog, you can't let such an important topic drop, amirite?

The first status just let Facebook know that while I appreciated its concern, I simply didn't tell the medium everything, and rest-assured, I pretty much had a handle on my life at all times, as wacky as my statuses may sometimes seem.

Thankfully, most of my friends have good senses of humor, and I got these types of responses:

"Good lord is this over the fucking DOG? Buy the dog, fuck anyone who thinks you're under qualified or over paying. Can you take a dump without everyone commenting on the size/shape/color?"

"Hang on, I have lots of relevant advice for you. I would hate for you to make a decision for your family without my super important input you didn't ask for."

"AS EXPERTS ON YOUR LIFE AND LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE DOG BREED OR CROSS BREED IN EXISTENCE, LET ME TELL YOU WHY I THINK YOU'RE A TERRIBLE PERSON FOR BUYING A PUPPY."

We continue to have fun with it. I let everyone know I also have a fish they didn't know about and everyone clutches pearls in jest. Someone asks me if we're breaking up.

"Well, I guess that depends on whether you think my kids are big enough assholes that they'd straight kill a dog.
If yes, we may have to go our separate ways. But don't worry. I'll pick up the check. Right after I impulse buy a puppy that I never researched until right now when I posted about it."

And I'm just putting this comment here because it makes me laugh:

"like how have your kids ever come across as aggressive puppy tossing cage fighters? Sure they have their twin moments, but even that seemed like when they were younger like all kids. They don't come across as unruly maniacs who would grab a dog by one end and pull it in half. They seem p level headed from how you discuss them."

Aggressive puppy tossing cage fighters. I die.

Okay, so we all have our fun, the other status that I can't see because I was unfriended is going on, and it's all about how I seriously should NOT get a dog because it spells doom and I'd just be the worst pet owner.

Yup. Totally the worst. This poor creature.

Anyway, I could have let it drop. But, I mean, how often do you get to participate in puppy drama? I'm guessing it's once in a lifetime. So I made one more status. Your typical, searching-for-validation-even-though-it-couldn't-be-farther-from-necessary post.

"I mean, like, there's a difference between brutal honesty and alleging someone's six year old, fairly competent (if emotional) kids will kill a dog, amirite? I think I'm right on this one. Just saying."

I got almost 200 comments validating me when I didn't need to be validated, because I play Facebook. I like validation. I like statuses. I like comments. I like conversations. I also appreciated the level of pure ridiculousness we had reached.

I mean, I'm busy a lot of the time. But when I'm not, you can find me on Facebook, fighting for my right to own a dog.

...

So, in conclusion, when you go to comment on someone's status about something you know all the stuffs about, take heed. Maybe the person also knows what they are doing. Maybe their kids actually won't kill a dog.

Always remember, Facebook, you're not my mom.

Yoga Phrases for the Competitive Mind

I'm basically the worst match for yoga in the history of ill-fitting romances. I'm not one to just "let go of what I'm holding". I need that shit. Also, I'm not satisfied to just be present in my body. That body has things to do, and I still haven't quite reconciled that fact with me allowing it to lay still for fifteen minutes "softening." When I "follow my breath" I follow it to the ground. It took me two months to figure out the instructor meant follow it into your body, not follow it after it leaves your nose. In class, I compose frenetic to-do lists, figuring out how to best compose my day after this basically groundless excuse to stretch for an hour while listening to Gregorian chants.

blogs.plos.org

You could say I'm an anxious sort of person. Which is why I started doing yoga. So…well done?

I'm not quite ready to "receive the effects of the postures" and I thought maybe I'm not the only one who hears something other than what is said during this hour of "being present."

With that in mind, here's a short run down of how yoga terminology translates to in the competitive, scattered mind, and how one might react to such phrases:

There is no achievement, there is no goal.

Achievement right now would be doing a correct pigeon, thank you very much. Actually, that's the goal, too. There is achievement and goal, right here! Why are you lying to me?

Discover who you are without struggle.

Without struggle I am...nothing. Well, that's depressing. Let’s quickly move along, shall we?

Find your edge.

Actually, I'm interested in finding your edge, instructor. That's why I'm here. To be as good at this as you are.

Be curious about where you can go.

Can I jump right over my edge? That's where I'd like to go, please. This edge is kind of in my way.

Doing the posture will not make you a better friend or neighbor.

Good thing I'm not here to be a better friend or neighbor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to force my knee to the floor with my mind, and you're interrupting The Force, here, lady.

The worst that could happen is that you fall.

That will never ever happen. Like neve--WHOA! Well, shit. That was embarrassing.

Think about crawling your fingers back.

Crawl your damn fingers back. Now.

You might even hold onto your foot with your hand.

You will hold onto your foot with your hand if it kills you. God, I hate my edge. HAND. GO TO FOOT. HAND. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GO. TO. FOOT. I COMMAND YOU.

If you are struggling, let it go.

No.

Suffering is not required.

Thank God it's still optional, then. Because until I am my most beautiful tree, you can bet your ass I'm going to suffer.

Breath, relax, think, feel and allow.

So…I have a grocery list to compile right now, if we're just going to stand here for a sec.

Let your body move any way it's asking.

Is it my fault my body always asks to cross its arms, slouch and look at the instructor impatiently? I think not. I'm just doing what she said.

Soften the space between your eyes.

What? There is a skull there, dudes.

Without lifting your head, lift your ears.

What in the hell even?

This is a beautiful place to practice.

Translation: You totally suck at yoga. Don't hurt yourself, big guy.

Let go of what you are holding.

Um, no? That is a really scary prospect, and if you don't mind, I'll just cling to it, lest it get away from me and then ambush me later.

Be in the present moment.

But, like, the present moment is kind of boring, though. I'm pretty boring, to be honest. Can we be somewhere else? I hear zen is pretty rad. Let's go there.

Consider deepening the twist.

Deepen that motherfucking twist, right now.

Let your hands come to wherever they rest.

Touch. The. Floor. Without. Bending. Your. Knees.

Honor your edge.

Translation: Hahahahaha, I see you failing this pose. Give up now before you humiliate yourself.

One side might want something different than the other.

Translation: Man, you really suck on the left side, huh? I guess that side just wants to lie down. Maybe eat a bonbon.

Nothing to do, nowhere to be but in this moment.

God, why am I such a privileged piece of shit? All the other people have things to do and places to be. TRY HARDER. AT EVERYTHING.


Of course, I am fully aware that you are not supposed to think these things, but I don’t care.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to write, a marathon to run, two children to raise, dinner to cook, school to go to, manuscripts to edit--omg. Where's the coffee?

 

Domestic Life: The Struggle is Real

So, remember yesterday, when I made that abomination of a pie?

Right.

So, I totally sent that to work with my husband this morning, as part of his lunch. Because what is love without forcing family to eat kitchen fails?

I...got a few texts about it. They started, though, with a spork.


HUSBAND: Can we just throw out all our surviving sporks already?

(answer: no. WHAT IF WE NEED A SPORK, THOUGH?)

ME: I didn't give you a spork today. In fact, I think I forgot to give you any utensils!

(Whoops. That happens sometimes. At least there was food?)

HUSBAND: Ah, good. Even no fork is better than a spork. There was one in there with the coffee. Maybe a long-term tenant of that compartment.

ME: Haha. Must be. Maybe I threw it in there forever ago for emergencies and forgot about it.

(SPORKS: for all your emergency utensil needs)

HUSBAND: What kind of pie is this supposed to be? Has a gray goop on it and an odd taste. I'm eating it cold. Better hot?

Or is it too a long-term tenant that I have overlooked for months?

(Welp, I guess it really is that bad, guys. Usually he likes my food, even the fails)

ME: No. I had some this afternoon. It's supposed to be a purple cream pie. It won't make you sick, but I tossed mine. Tastes weird. I must have messed it up.

(Ya think? Maybe a little? Also, it was NOT supposed to be a purple cream pie.)

HUSBAND: The crust is good. Ate the goop, too.

...

And there you have it. True love for you on a Friday afternoon.






 

Fail Kitchen - Apple Roses Cream Pie

Yeah, no. "You're stupid dough hook."









 

Boys and their bits -- Guest Post

Donnelle over at The Never-ending Laundry has a funny and too-true post about kids...and their parents...and the things we all find ourselves saying.

 ...


Although my daughter is the twin who will matter-of-factly explain (to me, or the neighbour, or the supermarket checkout operator) that "Finn penis. Daddy penis. Me vulva.", nothing compares to the fascination small boys have for their boy bits.

I've previously shared the most memorable diddle incident from my eldest, but I'll quote it again here:

Disturbing parenting moment #4354:

Sitting next to your only-undies-wearing son, and looking over to realise he has stretched his penis out to over twice its normal length.

Disturbing parenting moment #4355:

He notices you looking and announces, "My penis is a string for a golden harp."

Disturbing parenting moment #4356:

He twangs it.

Aside from the instinctive "nappy off, party time!" grabbiness, the first understanding I had of the level of connection between a boy and his banana was when my eldest, at around age three, walked in on me in the shower. Eyes wide with concern, he exclaimed, "Mummy, your penis is broken."

While we'd talked about anatomical differences with him, it wasn't an everyday discussion like it is with boy/girl twins. That started early, mostly with strangers. "Twins?" Yes. "Boys or girls?" One of each. "Are they identical?" ....No, one has a todger.

"Your brother's penis is not a pull cord." I overheard that gem from the bathroom where hubby was tackling bathtime. A few months later it happened again. "No, only Finn can touch his penis. You're not allowed to touch any penises for at least 30 more years."

With it being "summer", we've been giving Finn lots of nakey-butt time in order to help with toilet-training (Vieve is not interested yet). That has led to some things I never thought I would say, things like:

"No penises on the table."

and

"Don't eat rice off your brother's penis."

Finn went through a period of anatomical confusion in which he muddled his bottom and his bratwurst. This led to a hilarious scene where, trying to explain to his Nana that her Manx cat had no tail but did have a bum, he kept lifting his shirt to show Nana his "bum" while Vieve chased him around in circles exclaiming "No! Bum here!" I even have video footage... but I might save that for their 21st.

(Apologies, by the way, if the willy euphemisms bother you. Like many of you, we use the correct terms around here, but the post got a bit "penis penis penis penis". I briefly considered using "Penis penis penis penis" as the title of the blog post, but then I thought about how "Penis penis penis penis" would look in the sidebar. Penis? Penis.)

I'm pretty sure the frankfurter fascination is universal for small boys. Do you have any funny stories to share?




 

FAIL KITCHEN LINEUP - July

Another big month here on Fail Kitchen. I've got recipes coming out my ears. At least thirty I haven't had a chance to write out yet, and so many more we've done and are doing. Here's what's coming up:

Magic Custard Cake: This tasted fantastic. It didn't, um, look like the picture though.  Recipe Here.

Again, a great try. We almost had this one.  Recipe Here.

Red, White and Blue Candy Bars. And this was last week's episode. I moved it up in line because it was supposed to be patriotic. Only the blue and red and white kind of didn't show up. We tried. Recipe Here.

And these are still waiting for their video debut!

Cheesy Pull-apart Bread. Original recipe here:

Heart-shaped Hard Boiled Eggs. Original recipe here:

Pinata Cookies. Original recipe here: 

Next up for filming?

Dog sandwich buns, which just say...bake in the oven. What could go wrong? Recipe Here:

I will only be frosting ONE cupcake like this. Because seriously? Recipe Here:

Ice Cream Cupcakes? Maybe I could do this? Recipe Here:

And yes, I've totally been avoiding this apple pie like thing. Because ARE YOU LOOKING AT THAT PICTURE? I need more energy to attempt. Recipe Here:

And amazingly, that's just a tiny silver of what's coming up. After these? We've got:

The Epic Homemade Candy Bar
Apple Crescent Roses
Baked Egg Avocados
Homemade Samoas

Phew. It's going to be a busy summer!

And don't forget our latest videos, omg.



The "patriotic" candy bars...




Watermelon cake, which was OH SO CLOSE.



Zebra Cake, which my friends have started lovingly referring to as vagina cake. Yum.




And the Oreo Ice Cream Cake, where my kids pretty much steal the show.

Plus a whole bunch more on the Fail Kitchen Youtube Channel. Go subscribe!

 

Fish Bottoms and Four Year Olds -- Guest Post

Today, fellow twin mom, Donnelle, gives us a glimpse into the wild world of a family with twins...AND another kid. Phew. Check her out at Neverending Laundry.

...


Life with four-year-old boy/girl twins and their older brother has been exhausting for years, a never-ending battle of interrupted sleep, laundry and self-replicating messes. It's only in the last six months that it's started to become enjoyable. Their developing sense of humour is particularly fun, when it's not endless "Knock Knock Mr Potato-head" jokes.

Recently we sat down to a mid-week-exhaustion dinner of crumbed fish fillets and oven chips. “What kind of fish is this?” our eldest asked. “Hoki,” I said, at the same moment that hubby said “Fartfish.” This is what passes for humour around here. The kids laughed and laughed. 

Vieve said “Fartfish? Do fish fart?” 

Straight-faced, her big brother replied “All fish fart. It’s how they communicate.”* 

As Finn and Vieve laughed, I quietly high-fived him. 

“Do fishes have bottoms?” Vieve asked. 

“Of course they do.” 

“No, they don’t! They don’t have a straight line and two funny cheeks!” 

“Our bottoms only look like that because that’s where our legs join on. Fish just have a sort of a hole.” 

“What does a fish bottom look like?” At this point I had to tell Finn to sit down, as he was enthusiastically trying to demonstrate what our bottoms look like. 

Hubby whipped out his phone and started a verbal Google search. “Find me pictures of a fish anus.” 

“NO!” I shouted. 

“Wha- oh. No, we probably don’t want to do that.” He thought for a moment. “Find me pictures of a fish’s bottom.” He was rewarded with pictures of the back of Wedgwood and Spode plates. He sighed and tried again. “Find me pictures of the bottom of a fish.” At least it was fishes this time, not dishes, but it wasn’t really what we were after. 

I snaffled the phone off him and typed in “fish cloaca”. That got us what we needed to know. The kids duly admired and discussed the picture of a fish’s cloaca. 

“Do fish pee?” Vieve asked. And this is why I will never take my family out to eat in public.

*So it turns out some fish actually do communicate by farting. I thought he was mimicking his father's trollish sense of humour, but no.

 

The Fail Kitchen Lineup - June

In lieu of a recipe this week, I thought I'd list out the EVER-GROWING request list for Fail Kitchen.


Here are the ones already in the pipeline:

Pinata Cookies. Original recipe here: 

Watermelon Cake. Original recipe here:

Cheesy Pull-apart Bread. Original recipe here:

Heart-shaped Hard Boiled Eggs. Original recipe here:

Zebra Cake. Original recipe here:

No Bake Oreo Ice Cream Cake. Original recipe here:

And there are dozens more I've not even touched yet. People seem to have a lot of suggestions for me.

Here are the next batch up to film:

Oreo Peanut Butter Brownies. Recipe Here.

Magic Custard Cake. Recipe Here.

Red, White and Blue Raspberry Bars. Recipe Here.

Roses Apple Pie. Recipe Here.

And the suggestions for after these are just as amazing.

World's Biggest Candy Bar

Ice Cream Cupcakes

Goldfish Frosting

Apple Crescent Roses

Yummy Dog Sandwich

And, I've also got a new round of recipes I have to look up! I think I'll do The State of Fail Kitchen every month or so, as the recipes and fails refresh, so stay tuned.

And of course, don't forget about the awesome recipes already up on YouTube!

Jelly Worms:


Blooming Onion:


Chocolate Covered Strawberries: