Tag Archives: You won’t miss what you don’t know

Easter Bunny no more

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Dear Easter Bunny, please accept our sincere apology for banishing you to the land of creepy holiday creatures where you will reign supreme I am sure.

You were slayed when 9-year-old Mr. Monk declared that he no longer believes in Easter Bunny.

Rejoice!

The Husband took the boys to Wal-Mart last night because I had failed to procure pastel things to appease the Easter Bunny. This man loves a great bargain and is not afraid of those greeters; he falls square in Wal-Mart’s target segment. While there, Mr. Monk made the surprise announcement. Now that there’s no need to keep up the charade, they came home with a bow and arrow set, a Captain America shield and two water pistols, and created the bestest Easter baskets at the fastest speed in the history of this household.

 

The boys had given up soda pop for Lent hence the giant bottles of soda in the baskets. Mr. Monk took one long sip of his orange soda and declared, “This is the BEST Easter ever!”

Deprivation is the mother of poetry joy.

Let Them Eat Cake

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The night before Thanksgiving my then 7-year-old boy, Mr. Monk, found it difficult to fall asleep because he was giddy with excitement: grandparents and uncle were flying to celebrate the holiday with us, and his birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year.

“Mom, you know why I love Thanksgiving?”

“Why?” I asked, knowing he was excited about his birthday and the presents.

“Because I can ask you to cook and you wouldn’t ask, ‘So are you going to eat it?’ And you wouldn’t be too busy to cook.”

Yeah, I am Mother of the Year.

Because of his temperament, Mr. Monk has never really looked forward to a big birthday party at one of those dreadful places with crappy rides, screaming ruffians and giant horrid animals (Think: Chuck E Cheese). Since his birthday is always in the Thanksgiving week, he is content, and possibly happier, to simply celebrate it with the grandparents.

This year though I feared that he might have been shortchanged. On the morning of his birthday, after I wished him a Happy Birthday with lots of kisses and hugs, I started dishing out assignment for him to help get the house ready for our guests from out of town.

“I know it’s your birthday, but Thanksgiving takes precedence today!”

Mother Of The Year.

To make it up for him, I let him help me prepare the dishes.

The morning after Thanksgiving, I was beat. I slept till 10:30 am when Mr. Monk came to wake me up.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Wake up. WAKE UP!”

“GO AWAY!”

It took me another half an hour to remember that it was supposed to be his “make-up birthday” day.

Mother. Of. The. Year.

I sort of made it up for him by letting him help crack the eight eggs required for the recipe, zest the lemons, squeeze lemons with the citrus press, bake his own birthday cake, make the frosting, and frost the cake.

This was our first try at making a “fancy” cake (i.e. NOT cupcakes) from scratch complete with homemade frosting: When I saw Velva’s Luscious Lemon Cake on her blog Tomatoes on the Vine, I knew I had to make this for Mr. Monk because

1) he’s been begging for a homemade birthday cake forever (Remember he somehow envisions me to be some sort of a June Cleaver without even knowing about June Cleaver)

2) he loves the lemon loaf at Starbucks (and yes it IS indeed kind of embarrassing how familiar he is with Starbucks)

The results?

The cake was a hit! (Thanks, Velva!)

Mr. Monk had loads of fun in the kitchen with mom and grandma.

And he LURVed the lemon frosting.

It was well worth it even though I burnt the hand mixer making it, with smoke coming out of it and all…

So.

Mother of the Year?