Undomestic Diva

Skeletons in the closet

I only deep-clean when I'm angry. And I was angry. Rather than be spending time cleaning out a closet and re-organizing purses, wallets, clothes, shoes and every accessory I own by color, style and length I would have preferred to be seeking revenge. That kind of angry.

It's a damn good thing I chose the closet.

Or so I thought.

Inside that closet I didn't just come face to face with bad fashion choices and ill-fated purchases; I ended up confronting my past. Notes from a marital counseling session found in an old purse. God. My wedding ring which no longer fits. Fitting. The Hawaiian carving from our Maui trip that was supposed to bring us good luck. Right. An entire box of momentos from that trip. We were already having trouble. 

I was only trying to clean out the closet.

See? THIS is why I don't clean.

Perched up on one of the shelves sat my old jewelry box which, in reality, became more of a keepsake box, having never been one to wear jewelry, even my wedding ring. I got it down, curious what memories might lie in it. Definitely handmade macaroni bracelets and necklaces from the boys, that much I could count on. 

I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

The bracelet my Dad gave me at my eighth grade graduation. The purple bow I wore at Maddie's service. The visitor badges I saved from Big T's plastic surgery. The cigar my Dad and I were supposed to smoke together on his 50th birthday and never got around to it.

And then that tongue depressor my sister made me that night in the ER. Dated and everything.

I started crying. Hard. There, on the floor in my closet I cried out loud, for no one to hear, mascara burning my eyes, letting go of I don't know what.

Everything.

Something.

Anything.

All of it.

So much has been welling up in me the last few weeks and I've complained and joked and rationalized and refused to stop and feel any of it. My past has been haunting me more than usual and in more ways than one and in my typical keep-my-head-up-high demeanor, I've carried on with a la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you-life! attitude.

It catches up with you.

It caught up with me.

People ask why I'm doing this 30 day challenge Operation Eleanor. Some have even suggested I seem so 'fearless' they are curious what my fears could possibly be. The truth is? I'm afraid of everything. Everything. And it's exhausting. It's exhausting to be constantly afraid and it's exhausting to not live the life you want to live because you're too afraid.

It's time for me to get rid of the skeletons in my closet. Or at least face them. And it's harder than I could have ever imagined.

How to fake a fondant cake

It's so easy even an Undomestic Diva can do it! Ha. Truthfully: Y'all know I can't cook or bake (hi, Mr. Fireman) and I am not the least bit artistic yet I can fake a fondant cake. It's no Charm City creation - that's for sure. But it's good enough for my boys and that's my target audience. And if I can do it? You can.

I set out to make a Jack Skellington cake for L-Dub's 7th birthday because Nightmare Before Christmas is his absolute most favorite movie ever. Ever, EVER.

Print out a detailed photo or make a sketch of your idea. You will need to know what you're doing before you do it so you don't over or under buy fondant and so you make enough cake, etc.

Bake yo' cakes. You will need A LOT MORE cake than you think. Because you will waste A LOT MORE cake than you will want to admit. Here I baked six 9" inch round cakes.

If you're stacking cakes, you will need to 'top' the cakes... make them level by cutting the rounded tops off. You can buy a saw-like tool to do this but honestly, I have one and it's easier to use one of these long serrated cake knives. 

Icing is your glue. Before stacking your cakes, spread a blob-o-icing on each cake except your top cake.

Stack your cakes, trying to make sure they don't lean to one side or another. For stability, you can add dowels (or cheap trick: kabob skewers) after you've cover your cake in fondant.

Add your top cake with the smooth side up for easier crumb coating. (More on that in a few!)

Carve your cake. I needed a sort-of round cake (think pumpkin-shaped) so I took that same serrated cake knife and started carving. Yes, it will look like a mess but you're not done so don't be discouraged.

Here's where you start seeing ALL THAT BAKING go to waste as you cut away a ton of cake you won't need. (Tip: save your cake scraps in case you need to 'piece' together shapes or missing chunks later.)

Carefully move your cake from your messy area to its final destination (plate/platter/cardboard wrapped in foil is awesome for bigger, heavier cakes). Yes, it will get messy but you can easily wipe away crumbs, icing, etc.

Ice your cake. This is what is referred to as crumb coating since it will not look pretty and smooth -- it will have crumbs mixed into the icing and be messy. That's ok. It won't be seen. Put an even layer of icing around your entire cake. (Tip: Put store-bought icing in microwave for 10 seconds before using to make it easier to slather on.)

Make room in the fridge! Very carefully put your cake in the fridge after crumb coating for a solid hour. It will make it easier for you to smooth on the fondant.

Make sure you clean a large, smooth surface. No rogue crumbs (crumbs now become the enemy!), no bumps or grooves, etc. This is where you're going to roll out your fondant.

You can spend a bajillion dollars in the one baking aisle at Michael's with all their nifty tools. HOWEVER, if you're like me and lacking a bajillion dollars, you can make do with only buying a few of those tools and faking it with a few items you already have around the house. These are a few tools & ingredients you will definitely need for the next steps.

Fondant: I have made my own (marshmallow), bought the Wilton brand (I do NOT recommend) and this time, tried the new line by Charm City Cake's Duff at Michael's and was very pleased. It was extremely easy to use. (Tip: You can dye fondant use gel colors HOWEVER if you need a color like red or black I highly recommend buying fondant already dyed in that color.)

Fondant rolling pin: Your wooden rolling pin isn't long, smooth or heavy enough. It's worth the investment.

Cornstarch: A must-have. This keeps the fondant from sticking to everything from your counter to your hands to the rolling pin.

Crisco shortening: Good to have on hand if you end up needing to work with the fondant more than a few times. Cornstarch can dry it out and a touch of Crisco on your hands while kneading the fondant will help bring moisture back into it. (I found I didn't need it with the Duff brand fondant.)

Piping gel: Depends on your project and what detail you will need to add but a good idea for details smaller than fondant can handle.

Fondant smoother: Helps smooth fondant/remove air when you apply it on cake.

Wilton decorating tools: You can skip these if you want, but I find them really helpful especially the more cakes I do. (Using one of those Michael's coupons... good deal.)

This is what 4lbs of white buttercream fondant looks like - straight out of the tub. It's hard and unpliable. Read the directions on the tub - microwaving as directed will make your life much easier. Trust me. ;)

Remember how I said cornstarch will keep fondant from sticking to what you don't want it to? Super important. Sprinkle a bunch all over the surface where you're about to roll out the fondant.

Spread out the cornstarch - leaving no area untouched, including the rolling pin you're going to use.

This is two pounds of fondant.

And this is four pounds. Doesn't look all that different, does it? I show you this because it's imperative to know that fondant doesn't go far. It seems ludicrous to put FOUR POUNDS! of fondant on a cake but a) you're going to and b) a lot of people peel it off anyway. (And yes, after ALL THIS WORK people will peel it off and just eat the cake beneath it. Know this.

Knead the fondant until it's smooth and pliable.

Roll out the fondant on your cornstarched surface, careful to spread in as round of a shape as possible. This is harder than you think, but, you will not want to have to start over because you end up with a weird shape of fondant that doesn't cover your cake on all sides. The moment the fondant starts sticking to the rolling pin, re-cornstarch it. CORNSTARCH IS YOUR FRIEND!

This will be your biggest challenge: Picking up the fondant to carry and lay it over your cake. Fondant is a) heavy and b) stretches when you lift it and c) is an asshole. Drape it over your rolling pin and be sure your cake is very close by.

If your fondant cracks/breaks/falls apart guess what? You get to start over. Knead, roll out and try again. It always takes me a few tries and several F-bombs.

If you don't look like this by this point, you should go into the fondant cake making business. Also? I hate you.

Somewhere under there is that cake. Er, all those cakes. Now it's time to very gently start shaping and smoothing the fondant over the cake.

Be careful cutting away at the fondant. Just like with the cake - you will have lots of scraps of fondant. But you don't want to cut too much because 'piecing' fondant is not as fun as it sounds and doesn't always look seamless. So cut a little, tuck, cut a little more. Lather, rinse, repeat. Except that rinse part -- fondant HATES water. Good to know. (Tip: Never refrigerate fondant or a fondant covered cake.)

THIS is when you can add dowels (see Michael's baking aisle) or kabob skewers for stability if necessary. Make sure they're cut to fall just-below the heighth of cake so they don't show.)

Two pounds of black fondant. This time, two pounds was more than enough as I was just using the black for decorative pieces. Gloves would have been a bright idea, however.

If you aren't artistic (I am NOT) then this is where your print-out comes in handy. Use it to mimic when attempting to cut-out your accent pieces for your cake.

I used my Wilton tools to cut out my accent pieces however you can also use a toothpick or kabob skewer. Tip: Dip your cutting tool in our beloved cornstarch first so that it does not stick to the fondant as you are cutting.

To adhere fondant to fondant, all you will need is water. AND ONLY A TINY BIT! (Remember: fondant hates water - however it does act as a glue.) I used the cornstarch cap to put a tiny bit of water in it and used my finger to 'paint' the backside of the eye with just a little water. (You don't want it to drip.)

I gently pressed the eye on the cake, holding it still for a few seconds, careful not to move it (black fondant runs and leaves color on the white fondant, I learned) before letting go. Tip: Don't press hard - you will change the shape of the very pliable fondant you're adhering.

Once my fondant accents were added, I used a rolling Wilton tool to make a slight indent where I planned on piping the mouth. (A toothpick can do the same.)

Started piping along my self-made dotted lines, using barely-damp (fondant hates water!) Q-tips to quickly wipe up mistakes.

Attached mini Santa hat via toothpicks and ta-daa! done.

And enjoy.

Already and just now

Some anniversaries aren't meant to be celebrated yet you remember that day so vividly you see it returning in rapid speed and spend it in slow motion, unable to escape the emotion of it.

Veterans of broken marriages promised me it would be a year - a full year - until my life regained any semblance of normalcy again but I shook off the idea, pledging to myself that I wouldn't allow it to take another year from me. No, I would be the exception to this rule. I would find a new normal quicker than that.

Yet here I am. Already and just now. Exactly one year later from that fog of a day I remember so clearly. And there is nothing normal about my life. Everything is new with a touch of old, bittersweet and unexpected. The highs are euphoric and the lows are devastating. It's an uncomfortable mix of trying to learn from my past and give hope to my future and the whiplash from looking back and going forward is exhausting. It's unsettling mix of lonely and liberating, facing fears I always hid from and finding courage I didn't know I had.

I can't tell you how I got here; from that day to this one. I don't know how I survived a year of spinning circles without falling over. Because the truth is, I've fallen down a lot more than I've stood on my own two feet.

Thank god for good friends who continue to help me back on my feet.

There is no futuristic road map or emotional GPS for this sort of journey - that much I've learned. And for someone who always needs to know who, how, what and when, this has been quite a trip. Who knows where this road will take me. All I know is I just have to keep going.

Cockfighting for kids

Randomly, as conversations frequently happen with my boys, my 6 year old dropped an interesting oh-by-the-way-this-happened-at-school-two-days-ago bomb on the way to soccer Saturday morning.

"My friend was getting beat up by this kid and I asked him if he was getting hurt and he said yes and I said what does the kid look like and I went and found the kid."

I turned down the radio the rest of the way.

Shit.

All three of my boys are trained in MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) a full three years; the six year old a first degree green belt. He's also Mr. Peacekeeper of the bunch but when he spars? I hold my breath. The kid is a powerhouse. 

"You went and found him? Then what?"

"I found him and his friends hiding behind a wall. They started punching me."

I was clutching the steering wheel, scared to ask what happened next. We have made it very clear to the boys that they are not allowed to use their MMA training unless they need to defend themselves and - well - here we are, a situation where he had every right to defend himself.

"I blocked the punches."

"Did you punch them back?"

"No. Just used my MMA blocks."

Relief.

"So you didn't have to punch anyone?"

"Nah. Their punches weren't very good so I just blocked them until they got tired and then I got a teacher."

I sat back in my seat. I was impressed. At six years old, he had a) stuck up for someone getting hurt, b) utilized his MMA skills while maintaining the right amount of composure and restraint and c) made sure a teacher took control from there.

This is where I make my case for MMA. When I mention my boys (ages 5, 6 and 8) are MMA trained as well as nationally recognized and awarded, I hear everything from "Geez, what is that? Cockfighting for kids?" to "Oh you're raising little fighters, huh?"

No, actually.

I'm raising boys. Boys who participate, play and train in a number of sports - soccer, baseball, basketball and yes, MMA. Boys who are strictly disciplined at home and whose discipline continues at the MMA studio. Who are not allowed to abuse their training in any way. If they do use their skills in a way they shouldn't, they won't just answer to school officials and us as parents but to their sifus and senseis. They will lose their ranks and belts. They are taught respect and self control before they learn to throw a single punch and they're taught that throwing that punch is only done when it's necessary.

And sometimes, it is necessary.

My oldest spent three years being bullied to the point of complete misery and anxiety at his last school. So much so that it ended in both police and school board involvement at the end of last year and us moving schools. This, mind you, with the school having a supposed "zero tolerance" bullying stance.

Yet he never threw a single punch. He never defended himself.

I'll be honest. I wish he had. When your kid cries himself to sleep at night because the kids won't leave him alone and the school officials whose job it is to keep him safe refuse to, don't tell me you wouldn't want your son to fight back too.

This is the irony of the schools' no-bullying campaigns. Even when the schools enforce and provide consequences to the kids who are bullying (which his school didn't), rarely do they go beyond the write-ups and suspensions to actually get to the root of the problem and resolve why the event(s) even happened in the first place.

Maybe this is why the bullying never ends? Why it's being called an epidemic?

The schools have kids - even at the Kindergarten level - so scared about coming face-to-face with the principal over an altercation of any kind with another student that kids will let other kids bully them until they can't take it anymore.

If they tell on the kid? They're told not to be a tattletale.

If they stick up for themselves? They're given the same exact punishment as the kid who threw the first punch.

And the moment the bully's friends find out their buddy got "ratted out" well, forget it.

Don't get me started on the parents who refuse to believe their precious child could have ever done such a thing.

We will never encourage our kids to fight. Ever. But we will always make sure they know that they have the right to defend themselves if they have to. Because in all the anti-bullying campaigning, the school's are failing to teach our kids that they do not deserve to be pushed over, punched, jabbed, tripped, bitten, spit on and harassed by anyone. And if the schools won't remind my boys that they deserve to be treated better than that by other human beings, I will.

Nine hours

THIS is what - or who, rather - I'll be spending nine hours with in the car today.

They? Are excited.

I? Am terrified.

You? Pray for me.

Oh how the time, it flies...

Last night you graduated preschool and today you turn five. But I'm certain this isn't possible because you're the baby; you're not supposed to grow up. Yet somehow, you're the oldest - at least you think you are - and definitely the most entitled, complete with an I Will Rule The World attitude that is both admirable and challenging. Someday, you will rule the world in a way only you can, but for now, you rule ours with your charm, wit and impeccable sense of timing.

I'm not certain where these five years have gone... I know the first two were not what I had hoped for either of us and this is why I love you extra hard and kiss more than you want and snuggle you every chance I get. You have taught me to appreciate every single moment of every single day. I am grateful for you in every way.

It is so easy to love you.

There are lots of things I love about you... your feisty attitude, how smart you are, your quick-witted remarks, your self-confidence, the way you still like me to hold you - sometimes, your odd sense of fashion, the way you can beat the levels of Angry Birds I cannot... the list goes on. But one of my most favorite things is the way you love music and immediately learn the words to every song I play in the car or in the house and then sing along way too loudly with me to our favorites.

Big T, here's to a very happy birthday to you - my now 5 year old (going on 15) - who is very much the glue in our family.

I love you dude.

*fist bump*

{Mom}

*Song: The White Buffalo's "Story"

Pen pals

I lost him for a little while. The boy who I suspected would forever sit in my lap, never grow too old to cuddle, always be the lovable, easy-go-lucky thoughtful kid of the bunch - he vanished very suddenly and all that was left was an angry, hateful child who screamed and threw punches and lunged and cried and cried and cried until he could not breathe where he once hugged and smiled and grabbed hold of your hand and laughed so hard he snorted while his nostrils flared.

He was gone.

For weeks - months - I tried to figure him out; this new kid who was not even recognizable as my own. I tried to comfort him. Talk to him. Reason with him. Tell him it was OK. I talked to friends. I talked to therapists. And finally, I sat beside him and cried with him; grieving for the loss of the boy I used to know, hysterical with guilt for having done this to him, sobbing desperately for the tears and tantrums to end.

What had I done?

Where had he gone?

Would I ever find him again?

Hours at a time would pass as he would grunt - not speak - demands that I couldn't possibly translate, tracing his fingernail along the linoleum spelling out his requests rather than speaking them. 

"Are you sad?"

"You can tell me what's wrong."

"Is something making you mad?"

"Buddy, I'm sad too."

Eventually I just let him vent. This was his safe place to let go and while I wasn't sure how much of his 'letting go' I could take without completely breaking myself, it was all I could do; let him know I was listening, I was by his side, and I wasn't going to leave no matter what. So I cried with him.

There was no rhyme or reason to when small slivers of the boy I used to know slowly started surfacing again. He's still not the same kid and probably never will be. I don't know that I can forgive myself for that. But I will take whatever glimpses of the old him and grasp onto them and love the new him, even if he's a little less cuddly and trusting and innocent.

He and I have become pen pals recently. He's been learning to write full sentences using his sight words in school and in his typical over-achiever ways, practices extra at home by writing me letters every single night before bed and I write back, leaving him a note to wake up to in the morning. He loves waking up to these replies. But he has no idea what his notes mean to me. How much I look forward to them being delivered to my bedroom door with stifled giggles and the sounds of crinkled paper followed by running feet back to his bedroom. But more than the hilarious letters that I will cherish forever, these letters symbolize something more. It means he - the boy I used to know - is surfacing again. It means that despite his world being shaken so badly in the last year he is finally realizing that it's going to be okay. Different, but okay.

And I am finally realizing that he is going to be okay. Different, but okay.

UPDATE: The flu, pneumonia & barium esophagrams OH MY! (Insert good thoughts here, please)

UPDATE: Happy (soooo happy) to report that Big T is finally eating again. Apparently it only took a massive hospital bill nasty "bubble gum" barium shake to encourage him to try again. But whatever, I will gladly pay that hospital bill to know he's OK. 

(The pediatric ENT had told us that he may have been traumatized after his choking incident to the point of being scared to swallow and/or have severely scratched his throat in the process. This appears to be the case... while scary, it could have been much, much worse.)

Only Big T.

:::

You know, when it comes to parenting, if it's not one thing (say, getting the flu so badly that it lands your 6 year old in the ER and he misses 12 days of school), it's another (like your 4 year old possibly having something lodged in his throat and requiring a barium esophagram STAT!) (Same child who just came off breathing treatments for pneumonia every 2-3 hours for the last week). And this was just in the last month or so.

What can I say? We like to pay medical bills?

Ha.

Hahahaha.

HA.

(Excuse me while I cry.)

But in all seriousness, this little dude --

This indignant, charismatic, raucous 4 year old who thinks he rules the world (and every Starbucks in it) - could use a few good thoughts today as the doctors and radiologists try and figure out why he hasn't eaten in 12 days.

Possibilities:

He swallowed something he shouldn't have and it's lodged in his throat.

He scratched his throat when a tortilla chip was pulled out of his throat after choking.

He's afraid to eat (and very adamant about it?) since choking.

He has some sort of infection or (I hate that this word was even mentioned) outpouching in his esophagus.

Knowing him, it's none of the above because he is just That Kid, Mr. Difficult, always finding a way to do things against the grain. But no matter what it is, we just hope it's a) not too serious and b) fixable.

Because Big T may have plans of ruling the world someday, but right now, he rules ours and we like it that way.

Good fortune

The boys and I shared lunch the other day at Panda Express - not so much for the noodles but more so for the opportunity to use "Chinese sticks." ("You mean, 'chopsticks?'" I corrected the 4 year old. "No, Mom," he replied - clearly irritated that I had no idea what I was talking about. "CHINESE STICKS.")

At home with our noodles and sticks, my oldest touted this as "the best lunch EVER" while my middle guy, picking through his chow mein for "the right noodles" asked me if I knew where there were any flies so he could practice catching them. With his Chinese sticks.

"CHOPsticks."

"CHINESE STICKS!" they shouted in unison.

Who knew lunch could be a) such an adventure, b) such a mess and, c) such an awakening at how culturely deprived my children are. We really need to broaden our horizons from the local Mexican food hole-in-the-walls to I-don't-know? Sushi? Thai? ITALIAN?! Next up: Buying a globe!

But the icing on this cultural cake was the opening of fortune cookies when the noodles had been thoroughly picked through, dropped everywhere and stuck to cheeks, unbeknownst to one indignant 4 year old who couldn't be convinced otherwise.

I read each child's fortune to them as they opened it.

E-man's said: "You will soon find new adventure in life." I told him this was very true and it has always been true.

Big T's said: "Treat a friend to flowers." I told him to leave the neighbor's flowers alone.

Then I read L-Dub's: "You will be involved in many humanitarian projects."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"Well, it means that you will help a lot of people. And you know what? Knowing you, that is very true; you're always very kind, generous and helpf--"

"THAT IS SO NOT TRUE MOM!" I'm interrupted by my oldest who is appalled by L's fortune. "HE STEEEEEAAAAALLS! HE TAKES MY LEGOS! HE FINDS MONEY THAT ISN'T HIS!"

"Yes, son, but aside from all that, he's a very good person."

Keeping the peace since 2003.

Letters to Santa

It's true, kids say the funniest goddamn things. Wait. That's not how that line goes, is it?

Anyway.

We let the boys (ages 7, 6 and 4) dictate to us what they want for Christmas this year and well, good luck Santa. The 7 year old is on the fast-track to becoming an engineer with his exclusive Lego-everything list, the 6 year old doesn't quite get that Santa doesn't grant wishes necessarily nor does he rob banks and the 4 year old? Well, that's just some entertaining reading.

(Click on each list to enlarge.)

Dear Santa, From Big T:

Dear Santa, From L-Dub:

Dear Santa, From E-man: