birthday – Thoughts On Stuff

Happy birthday, baby chick!

By sunday on May 20, 2011

I made a no-sugar apple/applesauce muffin for 80’s birthday. I wanted frosting for a real good mess, but wasn’t sure how to keep the sugar level sane.

Thanks to a delicious lunch as Sofra, I was inspired to blend two parts cooked sweet potato to one part goat cheese. What I ended up with was a very sweet, creamy, almost marshmallow-tasting frosting.

I’m that mom who limits sugar, just like my mother before me. Some day, I’ll compromise on letting 80 have more sugar, by allowing her to eat Smurfberry Crunch on Saturday mornings, just like my mother before me.

80’s 1st

By sunday on May 16, 2011

We kept the baby alive for a year. Here’s proof.

80 and I went shopping for a new sippy cup (upgrading to a straw), which has a nice rite-of-passage feel.

Two friends (well, four friends if you count the toddlers) stopped by to wish 80 a happy birthday.

Pants are for suckers. Pants-free is the way to be.

I’ll be posting the cake-smash pics and video in a separate post. Off to eat celebratory lamb tikka masala. It may be 80’s birthday, but it’s also my birthiversary and I get treats too.

Flashback: Dirty Diaper game

By sunday on January 12, 2009

I’m gearing up for my 30th birthday party with a candy bar-related bash. We’re going to have a candy bar tasting. (About a year ago, I read Candyfreak, so now I’m all about trying different kinds of candy bars.)

I was just arguing with a friend that indeed his three-year-old son SHOULD come to the candy bar and booze party, but he thinks not. I then joked that we should feed candy bars to his infant daughter.

Then it hit me. The flashback.

I was at a baby shower. There was a baby shower game called “Dirty Diapers”. Disposable diapers with melted candy bars were passed around, and you had to try to figure out which kind of candy bar it was, based on its melted form, within the context of a diaper. It’s harder than you think.

I wasn’t a huge fan of baby showers anyway, but I hit the point of no return when the old lady to my left passed me what I think was a hot Butterfinger in a diaper and said “Oop! I think this little one must be sick!”
shark puke

On the upside, the expectant mother is still a good friend (in fact, she’s flying out here for my birthday. I should make her stare into some diapers of chocolate), and the little fetus inside is now one of those superserious cuties.