Sunday, July 19, 2009
I took more than a few bullets to make sure that my husband had the best birthday possible. The big two-five. He deserved to enjoy it, against my angered will from the peanut incident. While he was browsing for new clothes, his gift card in hand, I corralled the kids as best I could. I huddled inside a dressing room to breast feed the baby, and lied to the toddler about the "broken vacuum" under the bench. I took a bath in hot vomit, and then got down on my hands and knees while balancing 25 pounds of screaming child in my weak arm, and scrubbed the dirty carpet as hard as I could with a disintegrating paper towel that of course, broke the canister when I reached for it. While Christopher was off looking at "man stuff", I ran back and forth to the bathroom playing "I have to go potty mommy!" with a fibbing 2 year old who had heaps of giggles choosing which stall she would use this time, and this time, just happened to put my face about 2 inches away from an unknown substance that lined the backside of the public restroom toilet, causing my stomach to go into convulsions. I forgot, or really, didn't have time to eat, letting my hypoglycemia punch me in the face. It didn't help that the one meal I had eaten, didn't stick with me. I didn't get a chance to color my hair, which was OK, since I had already tried to do it but run out of time for the previous 4 days. There simply isn't enough of me to go around. But the icing on the cake (oh god, how funny am I), was when the supposed-to-be best birthday cake of all time, fell apart due to lack of proper freezing, overcooked eggs that were in the way, and needy children that just don't understand that I was not put on this planet strictly for their personal needs, although it may seem that way, and rightly should to them. So while Christopher got a striking new outfit, spent a decent amount of time drooling over tools and electronics, feasted on delicious potato salad and mounds of meat, and scarfed down enough fudgy sugary goodness to pack on that extra 5 pounds that the Texas heat has taken off of him in the last week... I'm sure glad July 18th is over.
From now on, every year, I'm going to make him a Sasquatch cake. Its a new tradition thats just too good to pass up.
Edit: It was brought to my attention in a comment from the lovely Amy, that I didn't exactly explain what a Sasquatch cake, is. For my long time readers, its probably a no brainer. I toss around the nickname "Sasquatch" like I toss around dirty diapers (my daughter always has to chime in with "No Mommy, we don't throw diapers! We throw balls, and we hit balls"), but for those of you that are new to skimming through my ramblings hoping to hurry up and get to the good parts, Sasquatch is what I frequently refer to my husband as. Tall, hairy, breaks things simply by picking them up. Hes horribly unaware of his size, making limb control that much more difficult. The Sasquatch cake was very much the same. Large, lumpy, messy, but oh so delicious (tee hee).