Housekeeper

My house is a mess. It's tough to keep it clean around the holidays. Present wrapping creates scrap paper and ribbon, and there are always "spare parts" left over from putting together the big toys on Christmas Eve. Of course, the biggest mess occurs when unwrapping presents: torn paper everywhere, tissue paper strewn out of emptied gift bags, curling ribbon mysteriously in your hair, sticky gift tags annoyingly stuck to your feet. You try to keep it contained, but there's just too much of it.
And then there's the feast. The preparation mess of mixing bowls, mixing spoons, pots, pans, crumbs from your mid-baking cookie snacking (I know it isn't just me).  The dinner mess of food that didn't quite make it from the casserole dish to the plate, and food that didn't quite make it from the plate to the mouth (also not just me). The scraping of half-eaten food from the dinner plates, the rinsing of crumbs off the near-spotless dessert plates. The drinking glasses left upon all the flat surfaces of your house, with no one to claim them. The rearranging and inevitable cleaning out of the refrigerator to make room for the leftovers.
Cleanup may not take so long, were it not for letting the dishes soak - yeah, that's it, soak - while you linger at the dinner table, laughing with the family. The recycling may have been taken out sooner if the kids didn't love to keep taking the tissue paper out of it to play with - and if we didn't secretly enjoy letting them. The trash may have also been taken out if we hadn't all been too busy testing out our new Christmas electronics. And the toys may have gotten put away, except - they're actually being played with - if just for this one day.
The mess must be dealt with eventually, but the relatives will be leaving sooner than you realize, and the wrapping paper isn't going anywhere (the tissue paper, perhaps). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I think family gatherings like this are times that even a professional housekeeper can enjoy a less-than-spotless house, guilt-free.

Gift Recipient

My mother, in typical mom fashion, did her best to teach me gratitude. I think she did a decent job, but I sometimes worry that others may not agree, given my propensity to utter awkward things when given a gift.
A coworker (who often doles out candy) brought me a box wrapped in red paper. I was sitting; he was standing when he passed the box to me, and I saw a sticker on the bottom that much resembled a nutrition fact label. I took the wrapped box, and became quite conscious of the wrapping, and whether I was supposed to open it, since the label gave away the contents of the gift. Let me say that I had already thanked him for the gift, lest you think the following was all I said. But I said, "It's chocolate, right?" as my way of determining whether to unwrap the box. I hadn't quite finished the sentence when I realized how it sounded. Too bad it was 4 audible syllables too late. In good humor, he said, "Yes, it's chocolate." I am pretty sure he understood why I was asking, but I had to explain myself, just in case, "Because, y'know, I thought I saw the label that said 'chocolate'...wasn't sure if I needed to open the wrapper. Heh. Heh...Thanks again!"
Then there was the time I was at a complete loss of words when, the Christmas I'd barely begun searching for a new keyboard and hadn't even settled on all the features I wanted, my husband unexpectedly brought one home. I am not sure I even thanked him at all, I was in such shock. And since I wanted to research features on other pianos, to possibly exchange the one he'd brought me, I kept the surprise keyboard....for several years. I believe I'd had it for a year before I even took it out of the box.
The worst offense I've ever committed, though, is that I've never - not even once - worn a pair of earrings my daughter bought me. In actuality, I haven't worn any earrings in years, save another pair she bought me last year that are hypoallergenic. But this particular pair she gave me one Christmas are not hypoallergenic, and not my style- not that that matters one bit. Since they will probably irritate my sensitive ears, I even came up with the clever idea of snipping off the posts and turning the design into a charm for another piece of jewelry, like a necklace, bracelet, or even dangly earrings that I make with sterling silver wire.  It's just that I keep forgetting about them. The longer I've gone not wearing them, the more covered up by other jewelry they become, exacerbating the problem. And still, occasionally, and occurring with less and less frequency, my sweet, wonderful, Cindy-Lou-Who-eyed daughter will ask me about them. I end up giving her a lame excuse about not having time to put on earrings right then, or some other thing that makes her look at the floor in disappointment, and I wish she had a mom who never ever seemed ungrateful when she is, in fact, very grateful. So this Christmas, I am going to try to be a professional gift recipient, and say nothing other than an enthusiastic "Thank you!" to any and all gift-givers. And maybe, just maybe, I'll remember to wear my earrings while I do that.

Ice Road Trucker

Our weather last week remained well below freezing, so the snow on the ground refused to budge. The snow was so thick that, since I didn't shovel my driveway, my car lost traction and I couldn't make it up the slight grade into my garage. And the route I take to get my daughter to school (ok, it's two streets, but still) was never plowed and was very icy. With the temperature stuck in single-digits, there were many more parents driving their children to school than normal. I certainly understand not making your kids walk to even the mailbox in such weather, let alone several blocks to school. I do not understand the loss of all established driving etiquette.
I can understand letting your kids out of the car in the street; since traffic isn't moving and you have to be stopped anyway, you may as well let them out. I can forgive not using a blinker occasionally, because sometimes a car moves to create an unexpected opening along the drop-off curb. While I'm more stingy with my understanding here, I can even get over turning left directly in front of my oncoming vehicle. I guess when traffic is at an otherwise standstill, you go when you can. But the absolute worst transgression I encounter in front of the school is when parents spontaneously pull away from the curb - sans blinker - right in front of me. No gap between my car and the vehicle in front of me, just the audacious confidence that if they start pulling into traffic, I'll not hit them. Even on dry roads, these drivers don't leave me much room to stop; why on Earth are they taking this risk when the street is an ice rink?
We tell toddlers "Use your words," so they learn to communicate to us what they want. A vehicle's turn indicator uses this basic rule of toddlerhood: it communicates to other drivers what you want. Want to turn left? Use your blinker. Want to turn right? Use your blinker. Want to merge into traffic? Use your blinker. Want to pull away from your spot by the curb and have me stop instead of crashing into you? USE. YOUR. BLINKER. If I were more adept at driving on ice, like a professional ice road trucker or something, swerving to avoid you may not be as much of an issue. But since I drive a sedan, you can clearly see that I am not. Something else you can clearly see? My blinker.

Holiday Shopper

While I've already established that I may occasionally overpay for things, I do exercise caution with my money most of the time. The holidays are not such a time. Normally I budget my expenses, buy store brands, shop at thrift stores, stock up on sale items. But as Christmas is quickly approaching, having kids means toy shopping is quickly approaching. I love toy stores any other day of the year as well, but during the holidays, toy stores become absolutely magical: Magical in their ability to turn the most well-dispositioned, well-fed, well-rested child into a screaming, flailing, lump of spoiled rotten on the floor by the train table. Magical in their ability to woefully understock the most sought-after toys of the year, every year. Magical in their ability to turn clumsy me into a superbly stealthy cape-and-masked superhero of a mom. "Did you just put something in the cart, Mom?" "Just my coat, sweetie," ...which I used to cover the stocking stuffer I threw in there while you were looking at Bakugans.
But mostly, the magic of the toy store lies in its ability to make my gift budget disappear. The source of this power lies within the children for whom I am shopping. My daughter is a tween-aged clone of myself, having been replicated via a process that added artistic ability and 1,000 times the cuteness. My son is a 30 pound, curly-haired mass of adorable genius. My niece has eyes the size of former planets with eyelashes that touch her eyebrows, and never denies her Aint B a hug. By their powers combined, I am a blob of toy-purchasing putty in their hands. Utterly diabolical.
As someone who is quite indecisive, I am easily overwhelmed by options. The toy store is certainly a place with a hypnotizing amount of items that would make the children in my life happy; why choose between those items? I'll just take one of everything.
"How are we already out of money?" Husband asks, and faintly, I can hear three simultaneous "Muahahaha"s from three diabolically adorable voices.
Like a superhero guards her alter ego, so must a professional holiday shopper guard her most important item: her budget. Even against an archenemy such as the toy store, with a weapon as powerful as a precious child.

Hinter

We have officially entered the season of spending way too much time at Barnes&Noble under the guise of gift shopping. I am not patient when it comes to gifts, either giving or receiving. As a gift giver, once I have found the perfect gift, I am anxious to let the intended recipient enjoy it. As a recipient, I am a shaker, a peeker, and a shape analyzer. The longer the wait to open the gift, the worse it is for me. I've tried to convince my relatives to not tell me when they've purchased a gift for me...not that any of them adhere to this policy. My mother's argument against wanting me to know what's in the Santa-Claus-adorned gift boxes is that it won't be a surprise when I open them on Christmas day. Honestly, I find that knowing what gift I'll be getting doesn't detract from the anticipation of actually receiving it. I get the same feeling when I purchase things I have to wait for, be it online ordering or layaway.
Because I like hints that are more like exact descriptions of what the gift is, when my turn comes to provide hints, I am prone to divulging way too much information. The best example of this would be one particular Father's Day when I was about 6. An eager gift-giver even then, I was taunting Dad with, "You'll never guess what we got you!" and then, excitedly, I said, "I'll give you a hint! It's silver, and it pops up toast."
I'm not convinced that any six-year-olds are professional hinters, but perhaps there are 30-year-olds out there that don't still get teased about accidentally telling their dad he was getting a ***spoiler alert!*** toaster for Father's Day.

Baker

This is a Thanksgiving recipe I tried out years ago. Feel free to try it yourself!

You will need:
- 1 promise to bake an apple pie for Thanksgiving dinner
- 2-4 hours' sleep
- 15 presses of the "snooze" button
- 1-2 hours less prep time than required to bake said pie and have yourself and child(ren) ready to leave the house at 11:00AM
- 8-10 impatient family members

Brush teeth, shower, dress for 5-10 minutes. Using a loud voice, instruct other family members to repeat this step for themselves. Make pie crust, not allowing the 30 minute refrigeration time called for in the recipe. Prepare pie filling, place in unbaked pie shell, promise to bake pie at Mom's while eating dinner. Do not bring cookbook.
Run to the car at 11:45AM, then simmer in holiday traffic for 25-30 minutes.
Arriving at Mom's, provide half-baked excuses for lateness within earshot of all other upset relatives. Begin eating dinner, forgetting to bake pie for approximately 30 minutes.
Begin baking pie, forgetting proper baking time and substituting it for far less time than required in recipe. Serve pie. Wonder why it doesn't taste as delicious as previous times you've baked it using the same recipe.
Once back at home, review recipe and realize pie was undercooked by 25-30 minutes. Abandon dreams of becoming a professional baker.

Serves 8-10, if they'll eat it.

Carrier

I just spilled coffee on my only white blouse. I've had it for years, so frankly, I'm proud of myself for this mishap not happening sooner. The argument could be made that I was asking for it, trying to carry three other things tucked under my arm, unlidded coffee mug in one hand, trying to open a door with the other hand. The unfortunate truth is that even without the additional cargo, in the matter of Coffee vs. Shirt, the odds were already heavily stacked in cofee's favor. My arms and hands tend to plum forget that they're holding something. They are especially key repellant. Holding my cell phone is like Bugs Bunny trying to hold a bar of soap, and TV remotes and game controllers are almost as slippery.

At least -aside from the batteries falling out- these items don't make a mess when dropped. I also drop food as if I'm in a contest with my toddler over who can make the floor more colorful. I drop at least one grape for every handful I wash. I drop a chunk of every food I attempt to chop. In one day, I not only splashed half & half on myself twice, I also dropped an almost full container of yogurt while taking it out of the fridge. The yogurt spilled inside the refrigerator, which made cleanup a bit more complicated as I had to wipe yogurt off of soda cans and pull out the produce drawers just to find it all.

Then, there is the Pumpkin Pie Incident.
At a high school craft fair one year, I bought a pumpkin pie that a student had made. It looked great, and as soon as I bought it, thoughts of creamy, nutmeg-y, pumpkin confection perfection began to dance in my head. I was also a vendor, so I had many items beside the pie to carry back to my car at the end of the show. When I had little enough for one last trip, I piled the pie tin on top of the two boxes I was going to carry. These were not heavy boxes, so I could handle it (insert suspensful pause here). At least I made it outside before the pie slid off of the top box. There it was on the sidewalk, the pile of mashed pumpkin and broken pie crust that my tastebuds would never get to meet. My disappointment was immense, augmented by the fact that I should have known better. Two boxes and a pie tin? What do I think I am, a professional carrier? I may as well have been trying to take yogurt out of the fridge.

Dieter

Years ago, I really started trying to eat better. I followed the expert advice of eating fewer fried foods, more produce, whole grains, smaller portions. Instead of eating out for most of my meals, I cooked at home. There was no immediate or drastic weight loss, but I felt better about what I was consuming. While I readily admit that I have a 2-Chewy-Chips-Ahoy-a-day habit that I will not apologize for, I believe that I usually do very well limiting junk food and portion sizes. Then, some days...
Because I don't eat out often, I feel excused for overeating when I do. Even though I almost always box half of the meal immediately, half meals at most restaurants are still huge. This is not even an option with family-style dining, where I never stop at one serving. But truly, my greatest weakness is dessert. I will view the dessert menu before entrees. I rarely share dessert. I rarely leave any dessert over to take home. I do this even though I am fully aware that the dessert could very well meet my caloric intake for the whole day.
I do sometimes have days where my portions remain small. All 112 of them. Take one date night where Husband and I stayed home with a rented movie, takeout burritos, and candy. Since it was a giant Chipotle burrito, I only ate a third of it. Then I had some tortilla chips. And some more chips. Then I ate some of my candy, stopped when I thought I'd had enough, and put the bag down. Then I ate some more chips. Then I ate some of Husband's candy. Then I ate more of my candy. Then more of his. I can quit any time!
I've read that you shouldn't beat yourself up for lapses in good eating habits. Just face up to your mistakes and get back on track tomorrow. But if tomorrow's breakfast is last night's leftover pizza and ice cream? Well...you might as well confess that you are not a professional dieter.

Office Supply Distributor

I don't know if this happens in other offices, but at mine, we are inundated with rubber bands. They're mostly used to bind stacks of mail. Occasionally there will even be one random rubber band left on my desk by someone else. Because I process most of the mail at work, I end up with most of the rubber bands. Other than one coworker who started a rubber band ball, I have no idea what anyone else does with them all. Maybe they throw them away? Maybe they melt them down and make tires? There're probably tire molds at someone's house, right? Everyone's got that friend who has the kiln, the industrial copier, and the tire mold that they got for a steal at business liquidation auctions. No? Well, I was getting off subject anyway.

The rubber bands are out of control. I have no idea what to do with them. I don't have any way to reuse them. They just sit in my desk drawer next to the paper clips, waiting to not be used. So I decided to put the rubber bands in a cup and wrote "Free Rubber Bands" on it, so anyone needing a rubber band could take one or five hundred. I assembled a photo essay detailing the result of my generosity, which I now present:

That's my chair that I had planned to sit down in when I got to work. Guess not. And guess where the rubber bands ended up once I got them off of my buttstand? Right back to the cup. Professional office supply distributors charge for their supplies, and people steal them from work all the time. I think I'm going to move the rubber bands to an upscale ceramic cup, charge $.25 a piece for them, and watch them disappear.

Party Planner

Last year, I thought it would be fun to have a Halloween party. I had never hosted one before, but I had lots of cute ideas (mostly involving food) in mind. Because Halloween is not just about me, I had to get permission from my daughter. After much (much, much, much) consideration, she agreed to the party. I immediately began my shopping list, to-do list, and activity list. I thought the easiest way to schedule a kids' party Halloween night would be drop-in style, rather than a set party beginning and ending time. So aside from friends and family, I thought it would be fine to invite her entire 5th grade class, since not all of the kids would be there at once.
Because the schedule was relaxed, and because we hadn't concretely decided on the party soon enough, we only started making the invitations on the Sunday prior to the Friday night event. We made our own, cutting cute ghost shapes out and hand writing the party info, including the clever phrase, "Be there...or Beware!" This little craft project took us until Tuesday to complete, thanks to being interrupted by things like work, school, and sleep - so the invitations went out on Wednesday.
I realized I was sorely mistaken thinking that it was alright to get invitations out so late, even if the message was "drop by when you can," when besides friends and family, only one of the 5th graders showed up.
"Mom, I don't want to have a Halloween party next year," were the words my daughter used to fire me from professional party planning.

Bargain Shopper

Since this is about shopping, I'll post it in list form. I have overpaid for the following items:

• Shampoo - I left the $1.00 off coupon in another purse.
• Halloween costume - the offer was buy the costume, get a free plastic trick-or-treat pumpkin bucket. The costume didn't fit, but upon returning it I found that getting the "free" bucket, and not returning it with the costume, lessened the return value of the costume itself by $1.00.
• Claritin - the $3.00 off coupon was sitting in my wallet. The same wallet I took my credit card out of to pay for the Claritin. D'oh!
• Soy milk - it was a buy 2 cereals, get the soy milk free coupon. The coupon was attached to the cereal...and still was attached when I got home.
• Jeans - I found the perfect pair (yay!) for $49.95; a few weeks later they were on sale for $9.95. Ouch.
• Egg Nog Latte - I asked for soy milk, which I was charged for, without knowing (because the barista didn't tell me, even as she rang up my order) that the latte was made with actual egg nog instead of flavored syrup, nullifying the need for milk of any kind. I only found out as she was making the drink. Grr.
• Bulk candy - because my son reached out of the cart and shoved some in his mouth, and I had no idea how much of it he took, so I just asked to be charged double for the candy I actually bought.
• My laptop - it no longer works, is out of warranty, and I'm still paying for it. Ah, good old high interest loans.

I often read articles about the tricks of bargain hunting and coupon clipping, and I know there are sites out there to help you find coupons, but seeing as I can have the coupon in my purse, put the product in my cart because of the coupon, and still not use the coupon, I don't know what good this does me. I also hate to haggle over a price, and I'm pretty sure haggling skills are a must on any professional bargain shopper's resume.

Karaoke Partner

I am an avid karaoke lover. Since the time I was old enough to be allowed into a karaoke bar, I've been karaokeing*. I've always loved to sing, but since talent scouts don't just knock on doors (do they? because I'm ready if they do), my only venue is the local karaoke bar. So when I took a trip to see my best friends in WA, we hit the karaoke joint the first night I was there. It was great - we hadn't seen each other in years, and we were having a blast. After I'd sung a couple of songs, a guy asked me to sing an Evanescence song with him. I said sure, but I warned him I didn't know it that well. I also warned him that, since I was on vacation, I was drinking and couldn't guarantee my level of sobriety by the time our turn came around.
Which seemed to be a long, long, time...but maybe** I was just guzzling my tequila sunrises faster than I should've. Either way, it was a few drinks later before our song came up. I was right to have warned him, because I was definitely smashed. I should point out that this is not the kind of drinking I do on a regular basis (not since I was 21, anyway). I am not a heavy drinker under most circumstances, even on occasions when I have a designated driver. But this was different; I was partying with my girls, on vacation from all my responsibilities, and nowhere to be in the morning. I didn't hold back. And honestly, I don't remember much of the duet. I think I hit some of the notes. Maybe even most of the notes (the guy did high-five me afterward). I do remember giggling. And unless you're doing that way overdone dirty version of Summer Nights, a professional karaoke partner does not need to giggle.

*most likely not a word.
**with "maybe" being defined today as: definitely, certainly, and without question

P.S. This is a public service announcement: STOP SINGING SUMMER NIGHTS AT KARAOKE- any version - IMMEDIATELY.

Prize Fighter

Not only am I clumsy - dropping things, running into things, tripping over my own feet - I bruise easily. When a bruise appears, I usually have no recollection of what caused it, since it didn't hurt at the time. My husband has given up asking me where bruises came from, since I almost never have an answer. (Side Note: this is why I don't wear shorts. Black and blue shins are just not fashionable.)
But some injuries are memorable, especially when the mishaps seem to come non-stop. In a matter of a few days, I had bruises on my forehead, my arm, and my chin.
Wednesday - Forehead injury: My two-year-old and I were settling in for a nap. I laid next to him to read a book - a required naptime calming procedure with my rambunctious boy. But before I had a chance to open the cover, he began rolling around. He rolled to the right, then when he rolled back to the left, conk! right into my temple. I know his head hurt too, but I was the one to yelp first. Guess which of us ended up with the bruise...
Thursday - Arm injury: I had to take my poor flu-symptom-suffering 11-year-old daughter to the doctor. Not feeling well myself, I decided the easiest way to keep the still-quite-healthy two-year-old under control was to keep him in his stroller. For some reason, the stroller had been put into the trunk upside-down, making it difficult to take out, and with it some random junk from the trunk (heh, heh) fell to the ground. By this time, my daughter had gotten out of the car and was watching me struggle. She wasn't watching me closely enough, though. Once the stroller was out, she tried to close the trunk - with my left arm still inside it, trying to put back that random junk that had fallen out.

"AAH!" the parking lot echoed, "What are you doing?! NEVER close this trunk unless I say it's okay!" I realize I was yelling at a sick child, but at that point, I'm not sure which of us was more miserable. She certainly wasn't the one with a rapidly-developing bruise on her forearm.

Friday - Chin injury: There I was, sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when my two-year-old (yep, him again) came over to play with me. I reached out to hug him, resting my chin on his cute, curly little head, when he jumped. His cute, curly little head hit the bottom of my chin, which hurt me, but not him. A little while later, a little purple circle appeared on my chin. Sigh. Being so little, you wouldn't call him a bruiser by looking at him, but he definitely is. And looking at me, you might suspect I am a professional prize fighter, but I definitely am not.

Dancer

When I was 5, I took ballet lessons. I have no idea if I was any good, because I also stopped taking ballet lessons when I was 5, so I barely remember it. I do know that the lessons did not have any lasting effects, because I am hopelessly devoid of grace or fluidity when I walk from my desk to the copier, let alone when I dance. These days, I no longer even bother attempting to dance while sober. This limits my dance opportunities to a handful of occasions per year, which is really in the best interest of all mankind.
I have known this about myself since about middle school, and though I would attend nearly every school dance, I wouldn't actually dance. I would go to stand on the wall with my friends and talk about boys. When a song came on that I just couldn't resist, I would dance badly anyway, hoping everyone else was enjoying their dancing enough not to notice me. My senior prom, when dancing to "YMCA," my date complained, "I can't keep up with you, you keep changing your beat." I blamed it on my shoes being too slippery on the dance floor.
I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance for several months now (thanks to its back-to-back seasons) with unmitigated envy. I am awed by the absolute control some humans have over their own bodies, while I stumble just playing Dance Dance Revolution. While I was watching last week's episode, my toddler glanced at the TV and then began mimicking the dancer's moves. He was really trying, and was able to accurately copy a couple of her steps. I called my husband in to watch.
"Look, that's the same move! He got it right!" I bragged, "He's going to be good at anything he tries." And I will be proud of him in all of his endeavors, but I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. If he is a good dancer, it won't have anything to do with my gene contribution. Hopefully when he's a professional dancer, he'll give his poor mother lessons.

Coloradan

I live in Colorado, where we have two seasons: "Mildly Warm" and "*@#!ing Cold". These seasons last all year, as what should be summer is peppered with many cold days, and winter can be mercifully relieved by a warm day. Many people who live here enjoy the mild weather, but I wish it were warmer. This year, we've had far less of the Mildly Warm season. We are just now entering what the rest of the world would call "Fall," and have already gotten some snow. I am not happy.
But since I am clever, perhaps I can outsmart the weather. I'll embrace it; prepare for it; even appear to enjoy it. On one of the first cooler nights, I picked up soup and a hot pumpkin spice latte for dinner. The other day, I bought a new sweater. I have even started shopping for the kids' Halloween costumes. See? I'm ready. Mmmm, soup. See? Enjoying this. Are you getting this, Fall? I'm done with Summer. No need for any more warm days this year!
What's this, weather reporter? A mildly warm, sunny weekend? Nooooo!
(wink, wink) I may have just pulled this off.
I've lived here for 15 years, which in most careers is long enough to be considered a professional. But as I sit shivering under my electric blanket, in flannel pj's and fleece socks, in September, acclimatization continues to elude me. I accepted long ago that I just don't have what it takes to become a professional Coloradan.

Cake Decorator

For my daughter's eleventh birthday, she decided (after many, many changes of mind) on a backwards birthday theme. There were some good ideas floating around the interweb tubes:

Eat under the table! Eat dessert first! Hang droopy balloons from the ceiling and put the streamers on the floor! Then I struck idea gold: meatloaf cupcakes with mashed potato icing. Brilliant! I'll make dinner look like dessert, and dessert look like dinner.

Since the birthday girl didn't want meatloaf, we decided on macaroni & cheese, in a casserole dish, frosted with mashed potatoes, to look like a cake. Then, I searched for cakes that resembled food and found one I believed myself capable of: a pot of mac & cheese. The baker didn't provide much instruction, but it appeared to be a couple of layered round cakes frosted with gray icing, and licorice handles (very nice touch). The top was scooped out a bit to form the lip of the pot, then had the orange noodles piped onto it. I could totally do that. I was pretty sure, anyway.

   I've made cakes before, but I never make birthday cakes.  I knew it wouldn't be too difficult to make this cake, but step one was to bake round cakes, and I do not own round cake pans.  I only recently acquired a muffin tin (thanks, Mom).  Step two was to layer the round cakes and frost them with gray icing, but my good friend who loves cake decorating warned me how difficult gray icing is to make.  To sidestep these hurdles, I decided to bake the cake in a glass bowl, which I already owned, and could then use any color frosting.  Great! So simple!

   The tragedy here is that it was simple.  So, so easy...except that I realized I don't know how to smooth out icing.  The bowl looked terrible, and every attempt I made at smoothing it just shaved more frosting off and left ragged edges.  I did what I could to minimize it, but it was still rough-looking.  The noodles, on the other hand, turned out wonderfully.  In fact, the cake did actually fool a couple of guests who thought the food was in a stoneware bowl.  An ancient, handmade stoneware bowl, maybe.  They were probably just trying to make me feel better. 

Of course, the important thing here is that everyone loved the concept, and the cake tasted great (it was still cake, after all).  I still think the cake belongs on Cake Wrecks, except that I am not a professional cake decorator.

This would belong on Cake Wrecks, too, if it were a real cake.  It should be noted that it is difficult to write from a ketchup bottle.  Also, a completely unrelated bit of advice: if ever faced with the option, don't put birthday candles into a still-warm casserole.  That said, I have no idea how those wax bits ended up in the mashed potatoes.