Okay, So I Don't Bake

Thank you for the birthday wishes for Tommy. They are appreciated.

I have some birthday pictures to share.

Because what would a birthday be without pictures?

Okay.



First I decorated the living room and set out some presents the night before.

It was a good thing because I heard Tommy at 6:30 screeching, "It's my birthday!"

I am not a morning person. But I forced a smile on my face and stumbled into his room. I think I startled him because he went, "What's wrong with your eyes, Mommy?"

Then I realized they were half-closed.

Oh.

We headed downstairs and I asked Tommy if he wanted me to make him eggs or pancakes.

Because he's lived with me for seven years and knows how I cook, he declined and asked for Apple Jacks.

Then he dug into his presents:





You see Hulk's expression? That's basically how I looked.

I'm kidding.

I sort of felt that way though. I wanted to go back to bed.

Then I drove Tommy to school. We brought in cupcakes. I did not make these cupcakes.

Tommy told me seriously, "Most Mommy's make cupcakes."

I replied, "Most Mommy's know how to make edible food."

This silenced him.

Okay, I CAN make cupcakes. But not fancy ones like a lot of mothers do. I usually just buy the Betty Crocker frosting in a can and slather it on top of the cupcakes. If I'm feeling really festive, I toss sprinkles on top of that.

But some mothers, I've found, make their own frosting. And take the time to dye that frosting. And take the time to use one of those fancy frosting tips so that the cupcakes look like they were store bought.

I don't have fancy frosting tips. I don't see the point. If I want a fancy cupcake, I'll run out and buy it.

So yeah. We bought cupcakes at Wal-Mart.

Trust me, it was just safer that way.

So I drove Tommy to school and Tommy told each kid that we passed, "It's my birthday. I'm seven. Mommy didn't make these cupcakes, she bought them."

Thanks, son.

When we got to his classroom Tommy told his teacher matter-of-factly, "These are cupcakes. My Mommy didn't make them because she burns stuff."

The teacher found this amusing but tried to hide her smile in case I found it offensive.

Don't worry, I didn't.

I know I'm not the best cook. I've accepted this.

I tried to kiss Tommy goodbye before I left but he dodged my lips.

"MOM-ME," he shrieked, his eyes wide with shock. He looked like he was about two seconds away from hopping inside of his cubby or something.

"Oh. Sorry," I replied.

Apparently you can't kiss seven-year-olds at school anymore.

I keep forgetting.

I ended up blowing him a kiss, which Tommy pretended not to see.

Then I came home and pulled out the huge box that contained Tommy's new bike.

"Please put this together," I told Tom and plopped it in front of him.

He gave a long sigh. He knew that I had bought a bike but was not pleased that it came from a box.

"Amber," he said. "How many times have I told you NOT to buy a bike in a box?"

I pointed to the box. "But it says it's easy assembly."

Of course it really wasn't. Trouble started right away when Tom tried to screw the pedals on.

The problem was that they wouldn't go on.

So Tom screamed some choice words and shouted at me to get some wrench that I hadn't even heard of before. Then when I told him that I didn't know what he was talking about and could he at least draw me a picture or something, he exploded again.

Excuse me! I don't know tools. But ask me where the purses are at Target and I can tell you right away. The laundry detergent? Oh, just go straight back and you can't miss it.

He eventually got the pedals on. Apparently he was screwing them in in the wrong direction.

I tried not to laugh at that.

It just wouldn't have been the proper time.



I set the bike out for Tommy so he'd see it right when he came home from school.



Tommy's reaction to the bike.

"Holy sh*t!" he bellowed.

I had to pull him aside and explain that we don't use words like that. Even on our birthdays.



After apologizing for using a profanity, Tommy tried out his bike.

Soon after that, we went to Texas Roadhouse. Once again I offered to cook something for Tommy.

His response? "I'll take Texas Roadhouse. I know how you cook."

Hey, I can make a mean plate of spaghetti.

But a person can only have so much spaghetti.

I didn't mind though. I love Texas Roadhouse. They have the best rolls.



Here we are at the restaurant.

We all enjoyed the rolls. Mmm, carbs.



Tom was all, "You just love embarrassing me, don't you?" He couldn't believe that I brought the camera. Out in public.



Natalie got a little impatient so I dove into my secret weapon. My purse. And then I pulled out another secret weapon. My keys. Forget toys! Just hand your kid a bunch of keys. Or a cell phone. Which I gave to her next. She somehow managed to change my background which is something I didn't even know how to do.

Natalie just sits beside me in the booth. We learned early on that she refused to sit in the high chairs. Maybe they were beneath her, I don't know. But each time we'd put her in one she'd stand up and shout, "HI!" to the entire restaurant and then attempt to climb out. This made patrons nervous and we'd constantly hear shouts of, "She's making an escape for it!" "Look out!" Yes fellow resturant people. We can see.

After we ate, we came home and had cake.



Also made by good old Wally World. Tommy took awhile to figure out what cake he wanted. I let him flip through the cake book and he'd be all, "I want that one...no wait..THAT one...WOW a military cake! That one! WAIT! LOOK AT THIS ONE!" I thought he'd pass out from the excitement.



He blew out his candles.



And then opened more presents.




The dang Hot Wheels toy upset me to the point where I was about to hurl it out the window. I couldn't figure out how to put it together. It's really humbling when your seven-year-old can figure it out before you can.

I also did a birthday photo shoot with Tommy:



"What's with that expression, Tommy?" "I'm being a model," he answered.









He came up with all these poses. He explained, "It's what models do."





"This lollipop has a weird smell, Mommy."







Then he gave me this expression and I figured we were done.

Only At Wal-Mart...

So a few people mentioned that I ought to tell Tom that I'm pregnant in order to scare him. (See previous entry if you have no idea what I'm talking about.)

I've already tried that.

I casually mentioned that my period was late and that I might be pregnant awhile back.

Tom's reply?

"Great!"

Of course it was followed by, "This means we get a bigger house!"

Tom has said that he wouldn't mind if we had another baby. But of course he'd say that. He doesn't have to get fat or walk on swollen ankles or push a human being from his privates. He doesn't have to deal with sore nipples or sleep deprivation. Sure, he was a help with Natalie but he would conveniently not hear the baby when she woke up screaming at three in the morning.

So yeah, if I didn't have to do any of that, having another baby might seem like a great idea to me as well.

I'm still working on an idea to scare him. I'll get him at some point.

But anyhow, today I went to Wal-Mart because I decided that I needed to get some bikini wax cream so I could clean up.

Down there.

It’s been awhile since I’ve tended to that area. I figure that my legs get top priority and by the time I’m finished with them I start to panic and think that Natalie must be hanging from the ceiling fan so I don’t go any further. Actually, to be honest, Natalie is usually in the bathroom with me while I shave. She finds it amusing to stand on top of the toilet and make faces in the mirror.

So I usually end up forgoing that area because A) I don’t want to traumatize my daughter and B) I don’t have the time. I’ve asked Tom what he would prefer to be taken care of, my legs or my he haw and he opts for the legs.

I decided that tonight I would surprise Tom and, erm, groom. This meant I had to go to Wal-Mart and get the Bikini Zone stuff that I used before. It makes sure you’re not left with those unsightly red bumps. I didn’t realize that I had used the last of it when we went to the beach in August. When I was digging through my drawer of stuff I found the near empty bottle and realized that there was no way a little squirt was going to take care of...well, all of that.

So off to Wal-Mart I went. And I realized I couldn’t find the Bikini Zone stuff. I was going down aisle after aisle and it was driving me insane. Natalie was growing impatient and she started to stand up in her cart seat.

“You have to sit,” I told her in my best Mom voice.

“I play,” she replied and draped a leg over the cart handle and attempted to get down.

“No, we’re not playing. We’re looking for something. You have to SIT,” I said firmly.

Natalie was not having it. Her patience was gone. So I had to hoist her on my hip and push the cart with one hand. Which is not easy in Wal-Mart because there are people everywhere. I nearly ran into the following:

--An old lady checking out a Preparation H box (which made me think of Austin Powers. "I will call it...Preperation H." "You might as well call it Operation Ass Cream." "What?")

--A little boy who seriously morphed out of no where and nearly became forever embedded into the ground

---A display of diet pills (the experts say they don't work.)

--A woman yakking on her cell phone and not bothering to pay attention to where she was going. She was seriously involved in a conversation about someone name Jose because she was all, "Jose said that...but Jose wants to...Jose wanted hot dogs but there are like fifty brands of hot dogs here..."

And a Wal-Mart worker who looked like she was marking things down. I stopped about a centimeter away from her and asked if she knew where I could find bikini wax cream. Yes, I was a little embarrassed asking. Because I was basically admitting that hey, I’m a mess down there and I need help.

But the worker didn’t even pause from gathering a bunch of shampoos and dumping them in an empty cart beside her. She just went, “Crotch creams are down thataway,” and gestured with her thumb.

Huh?

Crotch creams?

I swear, no one in Target would ever use the words “crotch” and “creams” in the same sentence. Sometimes walking into Wal-Mart is like walking into a whole different world. I imagine that the workers there are used to customers saying things like, "I've got the shits. Where is the medicine for that?"

“No,” I said, finding my voice after being appalled for a few seconds. “I need bikini wax cream.”

Once again, the lady didn’t even pause in what she was doing.

“Lubricants are down that aisle,” she said, pointing in another direction.

Was she even HEARING me? I imagine if I had said something like, "Look, lady, I just want to surprise my husband so it doesn't look like I have a squished kitten between my legs," that she would comprehend.

But obviously I wasn't going to say THAT.

“No, I already have some of that stuff,” I said, before thinking. Then I felt my face grow warm. Ew, now she was going to think of me as some sex fiend or something.

But this caught her attention. She actually paused in marking down a shampoo bottle and actually looked at me as though she were shocked at what I had to say.

Please lady, you used the words crotch and cream.

“What is it that you need?” the lady finally asked impatiently. She leaned against the cart and gave a long sigh.

“Bikini wax cream,” I repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. “You know, for when you wax, um...your bikini area.” And then I added to making a fool of myself by actually making a shaving motion. Right by my, um, area.

I was sure that my face resembled a cherry at that point.

But my bizarre charade seemed to make the lady’s mind click because she was all, “Go down the deodorant aisle. That stuff should be down there.”

Then she turned around and went back to her task.

“Thanks,” I said to her back and then headed for the proper aisle.

And then there it was, my Bikini Zone stuff. I had gone down that aisle, for the record, but I must’ve missed it. Maybe because there was only one bottle left. I’m not sure. Apparently a lot of people are at work keeping their he haws neat.

Then I went to check out and I managed to spend $90 when I had only come in for the Bikini Zone stuff.

How does that happen?

I suppose I really didn't need the new couch pillows. But the ones we have now are stained and disgusting. I hate when things get stained. I'd like to say the pillows are messy due to the children. But no, that would be my husband, who likes to gobble down snacks on the couch and said snacks drop on my pillows and apparently it's too much of a chore to get up and grab a paper towel.

I guess I really didn't need the chocolate cake. But it practically had my name on the package. Mmmm chocolate fudge cake. Amber, buy me. I promise not to expand your thighs and I won't tell your WiiFit.

Maybe I didn't really need the fruit platter. But I felt guilty over buying the chocolate cake and figured the fruit would balance out the chocolate. Yeah, it would have been cheaper to just buy the fruit and cut it myself. But I hate cutting things. To be honest, I usually end up cutting myself. So in order to keep my digits, I try to buy things that are already sliced.

Natalie INSISTED on the Toodee shirt. It was on clearance for $3 and she practically danced out of her seat when she saw it.

"TOOOOODEEEEE!" she yelped, pointing wildly. "TOOODEEE!"

This lady who was looking at clothes beside me glanced up and went, "How sweet. She's letting you know she went doodie."

Uh.

"Actually, it's a character off this creepy show called Yo Gabba Gabba," I explained.

I didn't say that when Natalie takes a dump, she stomps over to me, hurls a diaper in my direction and says gruffly, "I poops." Then she lays down and looks at me expectantly. Well, come on then. Don't dilly daddle. Clean me!

I HAD to get Tom's energy drinks. Those are $6 for a four pack. He says he needs them to stay alert at work.

Okay fine, I DIDN'T need the pink jelly beans. But I made the mistake of going down the Easter aisle and they had Easter goodies sorted into colors. There was yellow, green, orange, blue and pink.

Buy In Color! a sign boasted.

Neat.

Natalie begged for a bright pink lollipop that was nearly as big as her head. It was $1, so I obliged. I figured it would make for a cute photo prop. While she's going to town with the oversized treat, I'll snap away.

Basically, I needed everything I bought.

I swear it!