I am a cake lover, and if you know me, you already know that...and if you don't, now you do. I love frosting, cake, even stuff sprinkled or squirted on the cake. I do not discriminate. I am sharing with you my dream about cake and I hope to make it on a TV show someday to fulfill this dream and not do it through a wishing foundation because I am dying. That would suck, but I would still wish the wish and eat the cake if I had to do it that way.
My dream is to buy a cake from Charm City Cakes on 'Ace of Cakes.' Duff makes an awesome cake (you can here him saying "awesome" if you watch the show.) Yes, I watch cake shows...I love cake, do you get it now? That dream seems simple, but their minimum purchase price is $1000 for a cake. Would I? Could I? Yes and yes...too bad for my husband because I would against his put-down foot. They are based in Maryland, which makes it a tough purchase, but my dream is not far reached. I can do this...and I will.
My dream involves me ordering the cake 3-4 months prior to my impending visit to the east coast where I will stay with my sister in Connecticut. I order the cake via email to Mary Alice, telling her that I want something out of Geoff's bucket list of cakes to make before he dies. I will tell her that I will come purchase the cake, have a piece or two, or three...$1000?? I better eat 3. I will then tell her to donate the rest to a homeless shelter or somewhere that would appreciate the donation of a partially eaten cake. I will also shake hands with the staff as I thank them for making my dream come true. I will then go find another trivial, silly thing to dream about and write about and plot out how to make it a reality. If you can believe it, and I think you do, I have actually spent more than one afternoon dreaming this up and carefully placing it on my "to do" list for next summer. Yes...next summer. The anticipation is going to kill me, either that or spending $1000 on a cake will...more like my husband will kill me when I spend $1000 on a cake. And watch, he'll want a piece of it.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Caught!
I recently had to give a presentation on a student at school. One of the required items to mention was a similarity between my life and his. I shared with my peers (well, sorta--bunch of 20-somethings finishing their 1st credential qualify?) that the only thing we had in common was the fact that we both got caught shoplifting. Recently, during an outing to a work site at Walgreen's, my student tried to stick something in his coat and walk out with the 5-finger discounted item. I too had done that and was caught. While I don't know if Bernie stopped (at least with me because he's been grounded until next year), I do know that when I got caught that was my last attempt. During my entire junior high school career, I shoplifted constantly. Poor? yes...bored?...yes what other reasons did I need? I carried a large bag which to a small extent carried my school stuff. I would walk down an aisle running my bag along the shelf, knocking items in along the way. Make-up, cassette tapes (come on..you remember those, right?)...whatever small item would make it in my bag without notice. I would then walk out happy to be out and go home to enjoy my new unpurchased purchases. No, I was not aware of the cameras that lurked above me in black glass domes nor was I aware of the hired pigs that roamed the store. I was fearless, invincible--no one could stop me! Except the guy at Rite-Aid.
It was evening on a school night at the end of 8th grade. Why was I there with my 2 girlfriends? Why was I so far from home window shopping the drugstores at the strip mall? Those are questions I cannot answer. I was a great liar, which probably explained much of that, but I had no business being there at my age alone. (lessons here people!) I roamed Rite-Aid, which was called Thrifty Payless back then (ew, I hate "back then" usage) and my girlfriends and I were making a killing in the music section. (here I go) Back then, the security on those items was a little shaky since taking them out of the store was easier than taking them out of that big white plastic case they were sold in. I did not notice the man beside me checking out music in my section, which was teenage music that only a teenager could appreciate--top 40 stuff. That should've been my first clue. I also was getting so cocky about my shoplifting skills that I didn't even use them, hello--dropping tapes into my bag without caring who was around me. When it came time to check out, I used the old "make a purchase, but nothing close to the value of the items sitting at the bottom of my bag" purchase of gum then proceeded to exit the store with my friends. Quickly behind us came "the man." He yelled for me to stop. Why didn't I run...hmmmmm. It was dark, in a parking lot, no parents around...I was a glutten. He asked to check my bag. I reluctantly pulled out my tapes. Boy was I easy...and a good friend as I refrained from ratting them out as I coveted the music they got to take home for free. It was then that he took me, and only me, to the back of the store. Ever wonder what's back there? Bathrooms, stocking rooms, closets...and a little room the size of a hall bathroom for the sole purpose of grilling and booking naughty kids. My friends were left in the parking lot with the decision of 'do we leave her and rejoice in our freedom' or 'do we help the poor sap out of her miserable situation?' I did not reflect on either as I sat before this man who looked like Eric Estrada without the dimples or tv show. Papers came out of a drawer, I sat in front of him without a desk between us...so vulnerable and busted. The questioning began, and this...my dear friends...is where my genius comes in. I didn't grow up going to GATE schools for nothing, people. Oh no, I'm a genius and I shined that night. name? without hesitating for even a blink of an eye I blurted out the name of the girl I hated the most at that time. The girl down the street who tormented me on the bus, the girl who even to this day as adults will not crack a smile at me or let bygons be bygons. Name? Kelly *******. What's your phone number so I can call your parents? My parents are out of town. I was trying to get my grandma a birthday present but I don't have any money and my parents didn't leave me with anything. I'm barely eating while my parents are on some 2-week vacation at some remote resort. What's your number anyway? (proceed to give Kelly's number.) Address? again Kelly's. Parents' names? you guessed it...Craig and Mary. School I attend? Bingo! She actually went to Bullard Talent while I went to Computech. I sat there and gave the most pathetic sob story, as Kelly of course, while he took it all in. He didn't even try to call my parents. It felt like an eternity sitting there with him when all of a sudden a knock came at the door. Eric Estrada minus dimples minus tv show opens the door to a tall, hot young guy. 'Hi, I'm Yvette's cousin. I heard about her being here and thought I should take her home.' My jaw dropped...dude, if you are my cousin does that mean we can't make-out? There behind him were my 2 friends, holding the straight lines across their faces. Eric Estrada gets his name and age (22, holy cow..I'm in love with my cousin) and releases me to a signature from this completely strange relation of mine. We somberly walk the entire length of the store to the exit, which never looked so dang good in my life. Ah, the breath of fresh air, the night moon was beautiful. We got into the car of the guy and his friend and we shut the doors behind us. Bwahahahahaha! came the bursts of laughter from us all. My friends opted for door #2...save the poor idiot. Upon my incarceration my friends made a dash for the McDonald's across the street and found 2 guys willing to act as my relatives to bail me out. What kind of world do we live in where a couple of guys are willing to lie to bail out a thief? At the time, it was the most awesome world. I wanted to formally thank my rescuer, but I think he drew the line on ethics by not making out with a minor, though it would've been our little secret that I would've shared with every kid at school. Alas, he dropped me off and reminded me that I was banned for 6 months from the store. OK hot Cuz, I'll stay away for 6 months...or I'll at least relay the info of banishment to Kelly, 2 doors down. I've been honest in my purchases ever since. Can't expect to get off so freely twice in a lifetime...there's only so many times I can rat on Kelly and sleep at night.
It was evening on a school night at the end of 8th grade. Why was I there with my 2 girlfriends? Why was I so far from home window shopping the drugstores at the strip mall? Those are questions I cannot answer. I was a great liar, which probably explained much of that, but I had no business being there at my age alone. (lessons here people!) I roamed Rite-Aid, which was called Thrifty Payless back then (ew, I hate "back then" usage) and my girlfriends and I were making a killing in the music section. (here I go) Back then, the security on those items was a little shaky since taking them out of the store was easier than taking them out of that big white plastic case they were sold in. I did not notice the man beside me checking out music in my section, which was teenage music that only a teenager could appreciate--top 40 stuff. That should've been my first clue. I also was getting so cocky about my shoplifting skills that I didn't even use them, hello--dropping tapes into my bag without caring who was around me. When it came time to check out, I used the old "make a purchase, but nothing close to the value of the items sitting at the bottom of my bag" purchase of gum then proceeded to exit the store with my friends. Quickly behind us came "the man." He yelled for me to stop. Why didn't I run...hmmmmm. It was dark, in a parking lot, no parents around...I was a glutten. He asked to check my bag. I reluctantly pulled out my tapes. Boy was I easy...and a good friend as I refrained from ratting them out as I coveted the music they got to take home for free. It was then that he took me, and only me, to the back of the store. Ever wonder what's back there? Bathrooms, stocking rooms, closets...and a little room the size of a hall bathroom for the sole purpose of grilling and booking naughty kids. My friends were left in the parking lot with the decision of 'do we leave her and rejoice in our freedom' or 'do we help the poor sap out of her miserable situation?' I did not reflect on either as I sat before this man who looked like Eric Estrada without the dimples or tv show. Papers came out of a drawer, I sat in front of him without a desk between us...so vulnerable and busted. The questioning began, and this...my dear friends...is where my genius comes in. I didn't grow up going to GATE schools for nothing, people. Oh no, I'm a genius and I shined that night. name? without hesitating for even a blink of an eye I blurted out the name of the girl I hated the most at that time. The girl down the street who tormented me on the bus, the girl who even to this day as adults will not crack a smile at me or let bygons be bygons. Name? Kelly *******. What's your phone number so I can call your parents? My parents are out of town. I was trying to get my grandma a birthday present but I don't have any money and my parents didn't leave me with anything. I'm barely eating while my parents are on some 2-week vacation at some remote resort. What's your number anyway? (proceed to give Kelly's number.) Address? again Kelly's. Parents' names? you guessed it...Craig and Mary. School I attend? Bingo! She actually went to Bullard Talent while I went to Computech. I sat there and gave the most pathetic sob story, as Kelly of course, while he took it all in. He didn't even try to call my parents. It felt like an eternity sitting there with him when all of a sudden a knock came at the door. Eric Estrada minus dimples minus tv show opens the door to a tall, hot young guy. 'Hi, I'm Yvette's cousin. I heard about her being here and thought I should take her home.' My jaw dropped...dude, if you are my cousin does that mean we can't make-out? There behind him were my 2 friends, holding the straight lines across their faces. Eric Estrada gets his name and age (22, holy cow..I'm in love with my cousin) and releases me to a signature from this completely strange relation of mine. We somberly walk the entire length of the store to the exit, which never looked so dang good in my life. Ah, the breath of fresh air, the night moon was beautiful. We got into the car of the guy and his friend and we shut the doors behind us. Bwahahahahaha! came the bursts of laughter from us all. My friends opted for door #2...save the poor idiot. Upon my incarceration my friends made a dash for the McDonald's across the street and found 2 guys willing to act as my relatives to bail me out. What kind of world do we live in where a couple of guys are willing to lie to bail out a thief? At the time, it was the most awesome world. I wanted to formally thank my rescuer, but I think he drew the line on ethics by not making out with a minor, though it would've been our little secret that I would've shared with every kid at school. Alas, he dropped me off and reminded me that I was banned for 6 months from the store. OK hot Cuz, I'll stay away for 6 months...or I'll at least relay the info of banishment to Kelly, 2 doors down. I've been honest in my purchases ever since. Can't expect to get off so freely twice in a lifetime...there's only so many times I can rat on Kelly and sleep at night.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Prayer
I have to write this one down, though I'm not sure how to give justice to the story without the sound of the prayer.
It all started with Kindsay--as usual. Greg and I go to work and she stays at home waiting for her bus, about an hour. Now, don't freak out! Kindsay could survive on a deserted island with nothing but a DS and a tee shirt. She can't be trusted to care for anyone but herself, but alone she is extremely resourceful. However, she is still learning about the dangers of life around her. How long did it take before she looked both ways before crossing the road? Oh...yesterday I think was the first. Seriously, she doesn't make herself aware enough of her surroundings. She almost wears those blinders that horses wear to keep focused. Kindsay is focused on herself. It was not more than three months ago that I left her to go to work, kissing her good-bye and saying a prayer with her. She calls my cell as soon as I turn onto Ashlan towards work, and we talk the entire time she waits for her bus...on and off at least. (She calls my mom and Greg in between calling me.) On this winter morning, I get a call from her about a man at our door. I panic...what man? "A man," she said, "and he needed to do something on our house. He left his number and said he'd be back. I don't know who this man is." I panic some more. What man? I wasn't expecting anyone, and our house says No Soliciting on the door so we aren't welcoming to strangers. I talk to her until her bus comes, making sure she gets on the bus safely and spend the rest of the day wondering who the man was. I get home later and find the card left. A note from PG&E...our energy company had to tweak something on an experimental device I agreed to install. Relief! Still, Kindsay blindly opened to the door to this man and I had to get it into her head that she could not for any reason ever do that again. That night, I sit her down and tell her the Polly Klaas story. It's the little girl who was ripped out of her home, taken by a strange man, thrown into a car, badly treated until the man cut her open and threw her body in a ditch. This wasn't the actual account of what happened, I made it worse to drive home the horror so she wouldn't test my theories on strangers. Her eyes are wide but she nods that she won't open the door again.
I felt like I got through to her. Sometimes something so dramatic and exaggerated has to do the trick for her. A day or so later, I forget about exchange of tales and conduct a family home evening with the kids and Greg. We talk about nice things, good morally strong stories that drive home a concept of values. My kids have very little patience for lessons in the evenings of the beginning part of the week. I know to make my lesson to the point and with little fluff. Each child participates somehow, and Kindsay has offered to say the closing prayer. As we gather around her she begins quickly.
"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day. Help Jesus be safe. Please don't let us get taken by a strange man out of our house."
Kindsay! I say in a whisper.
"And thrown into his car."
Kindsay--in the name of Jesus Christ! again...a whisper of urgency to get her to end her prayer.
"And badly hurt by him."
Kindsay! Stop! Greg is chiming in with me.
"And cut open."
In the name of Jesus Christ! no more, Kindsay! Greg and I are both trying to end the prayer at this point as my boys' eyes are now wide open and mouths dropped.
pause
And in her most rapid speaking--"and thrown into a ditch, name of Jesus Christ amen."
And we all went to bed with the frightening images in our heads while secure in the knowledge that it won't happen to us now because Kindsay prayed about it. Nighty night!
It all started with Kindsay--as usual. Greg and I go to work and she stays at home waiting for her bus, about an hour. Now, don't freak out! Kindsay could survive on a deserted island with nothing but a DS and a tee shirt. She can't be trusted to care for anyone but herself, but alone she is extremely resourceful. However, she is still learning about the dangers of life around her. How long did it take before she looked both ways before crossing the road? Oh...yesterday I think was the first. Seriously, she doesn't make herself aware enough of her surroundings. She almost wears those blinders that horses wear to keep focused. Kindsay is focused on herself. It was not more than three months ago that I left her to go to work, kissing her good-bye and saying a prayer with her. She calls my cell as soon as I turn onto Ashlan towards work, and we talk the entire time she waits for her bus...on and off at least. (She calls my mom and Greg in between calling me.) On this winter morning, I get a call from her about a man at our door. I panic...what man? "A man," she said, "and he needed to do something on our house. He left his number and said he'd be back. I don't know who this man is." I panic some more. What man? I wasn't expecting anyone, and our house says No Soliciting on the door so we aren't welcoming to strangers. I talk to her until her bus comes, making sure she gets on the bus safely and spend the rest of the day wondering who the man was. I get home later and find the card left. A note from PG&E...our energy company had to tweak something on an experimental device I agreed to install. Relief! Still, Kindsay blindly opened to the door to this man and I had to get it into her head that she could not for any reason ever do that again. That night, I sit her down and tell her the Polly Klaas story. It's the little girl who was ripped out of her home, taken by a strange man, thrown into a car, badly treated until the man cut her open and threw her body in a ditch. This wasn't the actual account of what happened, I made it worse to drive home the horror so she wouldn't test my theories on strangers. Her eyes are wide but she nods that she won't open the door again.
I felt like I got through to her. Sometimes something so dramatic and exaggerated has to do the trick for her. A day or so later, I forget about exchange of tales and conduct a family home evening with the kids and Greg. We talk about nice things, good morally strong stories that drive home a concept of values. My kids have very little patience for lessons in the evenings of the beginning part of the week. I know to make my lesson to the point and with little fluff. Each child participates somehow, and Kindsay has offered to say the closing prayer. As we gather around her she begins quickly.
"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day. Help Jesus be safe. Please don't let us get taken by a strange man out of our house."
Kindsay! I say in a whisper.
"And thrown into his car."
Kindsay--in the name of Jesus Christ! again...a whisper of urgency to get her to end her prayer.
"And badly hurt by him."
Kindsay! Stop! Greg is chiming in with me.
"And cut open."
In the name of Jesus Christ! no more, Kindsay! Greg and I are both trying to end the prayer at this point as my boys' eyes are now wide open and mouths dropped.
pause
And in her most rapid speaking--"and thrown into a ditch, name of Jesus Christ amen."
And we all went to bed with the frightening images in our heads while secure in the knowledge that it won't happen to us now because Kindsay prayed about it. Nighty night!
Kindsay--Again
Ah, my favorite subject. Kindsay is a funny girl--at least 3 days later. Her passion is animals: loving and hating. I have a beta fish in my classroom and over spring break had to bring it home to care for it. Kindsay called me on my way home from McLane asking incessantly about the fish-whose is it?, why do we have it?, can we keep it?, why are we taking it?...and on and on during the fifteen-minute drive. I tried to answer, but my answers weren't what she was interested in. She was simply interested in understanding the concept of the fish and all she wanted to hear from me was that we would be keeping it. No, my answer was pretty firm coming out. We've had fish before. "I will not kill it. I will not put it on this lightbulb and kill it like the other fish." all the while I am repeating No No No. "Mom--we are fish poor!" She was scraping for anything to say to convince me that we need a fish. Oh, we're fish poor...well then we should keep this one! "We don't have a hamster and we don't have a fish! And I won't kill them this time!" When I got the fish home it took a matter of a few hours before I went back to find bread crumbs in the fish bowl and the plant that was entertaining the fish thrown in the trash can. OK--this is WHY we don't have a fish, and why we aren't keeping this one! The fish food, I told her over and over, was at grandma's and we would get it later! I say this to her as I'm scooping bread crumbs out of a very narrow opening in the poor excuse of a fish bowl. The fish is playing dead, like Nemo. She put her face right into the glass and yelled at the fish, which she named Chloe at first, then Zack, then Jack. It's dead! She screams this down the hall. I go to the fish, who has one eye open scanning the glass, and I realize its fins are moving slightly, enough to prove its not dead. In a swoop I've got the fish and whisk it off to my mom's for safe keeping. Let's hope it survives spring break, and doesn't wind up half-fried in a plastic egg in a basket filled with sugary, edible grass.
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