Tag Archives: Life

Life is a Piece of Cake

Reposting here for anyone that didn’t get over to Cupcakes Take The Cake to see it     (and because I haven’t had time to write anything new!)

Photo credit: www.wilton.com
People. Cake.
People like cake. 
People are like cake!

Building a friendship is a lot like baking a cake. The most important thing to remember is to take your time because a small mistake along the way can have a large impact. When baking, each step in the process of turning individual ingredients into a baked treat is crucial and rushing through one can destroy the finished product.  The same is true for a friend…

  • Completely cream the butter and sugar to keep get rid of any grittiness. You want your friendship to be as smooth as possible.
  • Don’t over-beat the eggs. No one wants to end up with a dense friend.
  • Sift the flour and add slowly or you will have a bumpy ride.
  • Properly grease the pan or you will end up in a sticky situation.
  • Don’t set the oven too high or the friendship will end up a little burnt around the edges.
  • Don’t set the oven too low or you will have a friend who is half-baked.
  • When things get heated, take the time to let things cool off or everything will just crumble apart.
  • Perfecting the batter of your relationship will provide a good foundation for a sweet, lasting friendship. And having a truly good friend in life is the icing on the cake.
Photo credit: www.wilton.com

Use your imagination for a moment and visualize the people you encounter on a daily basis as cupcakes. The different “flavors” you meet are countless!

  • Vanilla Cupcakes with Caramel Filling seem plain and boring at first glance, but once you get to know them you find they are filled with sweetness.
  • Chocolate Ganache Cupcakesget attention because they are rich and decadent, but you get your fill of them very quickly and don’t want to see another one for a while.

    Photo credit: www.wilton.com
  • Devil’s Food Cupcakes, the troublemaker that you just can’t stay away from. You know they are bad for you, but you just can’t help yourself.
  • Turtle Cupcakes are a little nutty, but basically close to perfection.
  • Red Velvet Cupcakes appear very regal, but upon closer examination are actually ordinary but try to make themselves look like something special by adding something artificial.
  • Strawberry Champagne Cupcakes are the life of the party, but at the end of the night can leave a bad taste in your mouth.
  • Maple Bacon Cupcakes initially seem odd but end up being refreshingly original.
  • Savory Corn Cupcakes don’t sugar-coat anything.
  • Lemon Meringue Cupcakes have a bitter outlook when at the bottom but lighten up when they are on top.
  • Blueberry Cupcakes are your loyal, true blue friends.
  • Cupcakes with Fancy Decorations create an instant attraction to their beauty but you find out they have no substance and can be dry and stale.
  • Don’t get me started on Muffins. They are just so fake.
Photo credit: www.photojojo.com

You can actually turn your friends into cupcakes with edible photo toppers!

Wouldn’t it be fun to select a cupcake flavor that best describes each of your friends and put their photo on top?  You could throw a party where each friend would see what you think of them by the flavor you picked…well, maybe that wouldn’t be a good thing after all!!

If YOUR friends were cupcakes, what kind would they be???


Guest blogger for Cupcakes Take the Cake!


I was selected as a guest blogger for Cupcakes Take the Cake!  Yay!  Please click the link above to read my post, and then PLEASE click the LIKE button on their website, so hopefully I will be asked back in the future. 🙂

(Of course, LIKEs here are always appreciated too.  That goes without saying!)

The Tarnished Golden Rule

After a football game loss, a member of the opposing team upset Eric by giving him a hard time at school…

Eric:  I can’t wait to play them again.  I hope we win this time so I can go to school and tease THEM about losing.

Me:  Remember, do onto others…

Eric:  I know.  The ‘others’ were mean ‘unto’ me, so I will be mean ‘unto’ them.

Me:  No…it means you treat them the way you WANT them to treat you, not the way they DID treat you.

Eric:  I like my version better. 

In a Minute

“In a minute.”  How many times have I said that to my kids when they ask me to do something with them?  Way too many.

Last night, a minute was the difference between a scary situation and a disastrous situation for Jim and Greg.

As they waited at a stop light, they suddenly had front row seats to a high-speed car chase.   A car seemingly came out of nowhere, hightailing it into the intersection.  As the driver attempted to turn at the high rate of speed, the car slid sideways, jumped the curb, started to roll, and ultimately slammed into an embankment.

Almost immediately, a police car followed in hot pursuit.  The officer stopped and jumped out with his gun drawn.  Jim could hear him yell, “Get down on the ground!”  The driver put his hands up and flung himself out of the car, landing face down.  The officer stood as still as a statue – gun still aimed – waiting for backup.  (If you look closely at the photo, you can see both the gun and the guy sprawled on the ground.)

In a minute, the light would have turned green and Jim and Greg could have been in the middle of that intersection.  In a minute, they might have been more than witnesses.  In a minute, things may have turned tragic.

Greg got in trouble this week and I was lecturing him about it again last night.  One of the last things I said before we parted was, “I’m so disappointed in you.”  I meant I’m disappointed in that specific behavior.  But I said “in you.”  I shudder to think how those words would have haunted me if, in a minute, something terrible had happened.  How I would have re-played in my mind every single time I responded “in a minute” to a request.

Mom, will you play Battleship with me?”  “In a minute.”

“Mom, will you make cookies with me?”  “In a minute.”

“Mom, may we go to the mall?”  “In a minute.”

Jim said when it happened, Greg just kept saying over and over “That was unexpecting.  It was really unexpecting.”  Then later he added, “We’ve had some unusual Daddy/Greg time before, but that was the most unusual-est!”  When I asked him if he was scared, he replied “No!  It was awesome!”

I love that he is still unjaded and innocent enough that he doesn’t comprehend what could have happened in that minute.  That he doesn’t realize that life can change in a minute.

To rephrase a common quote, live each second to its fullest; you never know what the next minute may bring.

Greg, you are so right.  Life is unexpecting.  It is really unexpecting.

“Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.” ~Ronald Reagan

Distressed and De-stressed

After explaining to Greg why I had been pounding our coffee table with a hammer to distress it and had put an antique finish on our kitchen cabinets, he replied,

“So you are TRYING to make them look old?  And beat up?  We usually get in trouble for that!!!”

There are many reasons people find antiques and faux antiques alluring.  Maybe they like the uniqueness.  Or they like the history of the piece.  Or it is appealing aesthetically.

For me it’s simple.  My kids trash everything.  So why not have items that look “old” and “beat up” on purpose.   The dings, dents, marks, chips and stains that I tried unsuccessfully to avoid suddenly “add character.”

Antique to me means one less thing to cause anxiety.  One less thing to cause anger.  One less thing to cause stress.

Distressed makes me de-stressed.

P.S. I highly recommend beating something with a hammer.  It is therapeutic.  Just make sure it is something, not someone.


My Sick and Tired List

I am sick. A lot. I hide it. Well.

I try not to complain. I really do try. I tell myself that others have worse problems. I’m fortunate in many ways. But that doesn’t mean my problems aren’t important. So, for today, I’m giving myself permission to complain. A lot. I’m not hiding it. Not well.

I have a body full of bacteria and a weak immune system. I have lyme, and have also tested positive for all of the major co-infections that ticks carry. Lucky me got bitten by a tick with super powers. Oh, did I mention I also have lupus? And blood clotting issues that makes my blood the ideal environment for bacteria to thrive? When I get sick, I really do it right.

A recent illness required a trip to the ER. While lying around, I made a sick and tired list. It was therapeutic.

  • I’m sick and tired of hearing “but you don’t look sick.”
  • I want to not FEEL sick.
  • I’m sick and tired of feeling weak for not being able to get rid of  problems caused by a bite by something the size of a pin head.
  • I want to feel strong for being able to get out of bed at all while my body is fighting so hard.
  • I’m sick and tired of feeling like a guinea pig when a new treatment option comes out.
  • I want off this hamster wheel.
  • I’m sick and tired of being told that I always have a smile on my face and handle it so well. Don’t ask my family how I really handle it. They see me at my worst.
  • I want to truly always have a smile on my face.
  • I’m sick and tired of having liver damage caused by the bacteria.
  • I want any damage to my liver to be caused by too much expensive wine.
  • I’m sick and tired of brain fog making me forgetful.  Wait, what was I going to say next?? Oh, now I remember…
  • I want the only cloudiness I deal with to be weather related.
  • I’m sick and tired of the random ups and downs of symptoms that come and go.
  • I want to ride a roller coaster, not live one.
  • I’m sick and tired of going to the lab for blood tests. And being told how bad my veins are as they poke me repeatedly to find a good one.
  • I want to only be poked on Facebook. And even that can be annoying.
  • I’m sick and tired of getting burned from forgetting sunscreen during a car ride while on medication that makes me sun sensitive.
  • I want to get burned from having so much fun at the pool that I lost track of time and spent the entire day there.
  • I’m sick and tired of telling my kids to see what is in the freezer because I’m too tired to cook.
  • I want to have freshly baked cookies ready every day after school.  …Yeah, that probably wouldn’t happen regardless.
  • I’m sick and tired of taking horrible tasting pills by the handful.
  • I want handfuls of M&Ms.  They melt in your mouth.
  • I’m sick and tired of spending so many hours in bed.
  • I want a Tempurpedic. But I digress. I want to only need my bed at night.
  • I’m sick and tired of my kids searching for socks that match because I haven’t done laundry.
  • I want a laundry fairy. But, again, I digress.
  • I’m sick and tired of a new treatment making me feel better temporarily.  Without warning the improvement ends. It always ends.
  • I want the end to be happily-ever-after.
  • I’m sick and tired of cancelling plans with friends. Or hesitating to make plans in the first place to avoid having to explain why I am cancelling.
  • I want to be a good friend.
  • I’m sick and tired of being a source of information for friends concerned about having lyme. I enjoy helping; I don’t enjoy why I am knowledgeable.
  • I want to have never heard of lyme. Just the green fruit.
  • I’m sick and tired of doctors telling me I have a high tolerance for pain. That doesn’t make living with it any better.
  • I want to be a wimp and cry over a stubbed toe because that is the worst pain I have ever felt.
  • I’m sick and tired of trying to cram in everything fun on days when I am feeling well. I should have learned by now that doing too much at once ultimately makes me sick again.
  • I want to have fun every day.
  • I’m sick and tired of having an illness that I don’t want to discuss because it is so misunderstood and affects everyone so differently.  If I hadn’t personally experienced it, I wouldn’t believe some of it either.
  • I want it to make sense.
  • I’m sick and tired of well meaning people telling me of a friend who tried “X” or a cousin who took “Y” and are perfectly healthy now. I have tried “X” and “Y” and also A-W.
  • I want to find “Z.” I know that will cure me. It is out there. Somewhere.
  • I’m sick and tired of doctors telling me I am a medical mystery.
  • I want to be solved.
  • I’m sick and tired of calling it lyme disease. Disease sounds too permanent.
  • I want it gone.
  • I’m sick and tired of being sick. And tired.
  • I want health.

Priceless Paper

From a distance, the yellowed, typewriter written, tattered papers appear to be nothing impressive .  But the information contained on those papers is what makes them amongst my most cherished possessions.  It is the only window I have into an unknown part of my life.  The only knowledge about my biological past.  My adoption papers.

The sketchy information does not even come close to telling the entire picture about the beginning of my life, but it’s enough for me to read between the lines to create a story in my mind.  Enough to take the blank slate and provide some understanding of the circumstances surrounding my birth and what makes me the person I am.

The first page of the paperwork contains details about my biological parents.  The brief description – only a few lines total – is the most valuable information to me.  I can peruse the traits and see glimpses of myself in the presentment, especially in the features and personality of my biological father.  “Green eyes, dark brown naturally curly hair, dark complexion” could readily describe me.  I like to think I also am somewhat “outgoing, happy-go-lucky and have a good sense of humor” which is how my biological father’s personality is portrayed.

My biological mother is also described as having brown hair but with brown eyes, and no curls.  From reading her description, however, I know where I got my left-handedness.  Drawing is listed as an interest.  Perhaps that is where my son, Jake, got his love of art.  Her personality is depicted as “moody, quiet and lazy.”  I choose to envision that she was understandably moody because of the turmoil she was feeling over giving me up for adoption.  She was uncharacteristically quiet.  Pensive, wistfully wondering what “could have been” under different circumstances.  She was not lazy, just weary.  Fatigued and distressed about the toll pregnancy was taking on her body – and soul – for a baby she was not going to raise.

“Completed high school” is listed as the education for both, with the addition of “anticipates furthering her education” for my biological mother.  From this, I deduced that the pregnancy occurred during their senior year of high school and I was born the October after they graduated.  In another area of the paperwork, it states that pre-natal care began in mid-June.  I concluded that the pregnancy was concealed from her classmates, and most likely her parents, until after graduation to reduce the embarrassment of her predicament.  I wonder if either did go on to attend college after the adoption.

Some of the other tidbits of information tend to cause more questions than answers.  The papers state that I wasn’t given baby formula for the first time until three days after birth.  What happened during those first days of my life?  Was I still with my biological mother during that time?  What other explanation could there be for the delay in receiving formula?  My adoption wasn’t finalized until the end of January, more than three months after I was born.  I believe I was in a foster home during this time.  Was I living at a private residence or a group home?  Who were the kind people who took care of me?  What were they like?

Most of the remaining information is mundane medical records and daily routines.  But to me it is precious.  I don’t have anyone with whom to discuss those first three months.  No one to tell me how often I ate,  how I reacted to bath time, that I made a “coo” sound when I laughed.  These type-written words are all I have.

Will I meet my biological mother and father one day?  Perhaps.  There are so many questions that these papers can never answer.  Maybe one day I will try to fill in the gaps left by the words that are not written. But for now, when I feel overwhelmed by all the unknown, I will pull out the worn, aged papers and look for a clue I may have previously missed.  A clue to my biological past.  A clue to my adoption story.


You may have noticed I only reference the parents who created me as my biological mother and father.  Not Mother and Father.  Not Mom and Dad.  I will always be grateful to the people described on those pages for making the difficult decision to give me to someone who could provide a better life for me.  But my adoptive parents were, and always will be my Mom and Dad.


I’m so excited that this post was featured on the Freshly Pressed page.  Thanks WordPress for the recognition!  http://wordpress.com/#!/fresh/

Blogging For Idiots

Text conversation after I discovered Jim’s accidental post on my blog (see “Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment” for the story).
Me:  You have made me laugh for the past hour.  You MUST read my new blog entry.  It is an explanation of “my” blog entry from this morning.
Jim: OK, but I have that look of horror on my face again.
Me: You should. Let’s just say I found your “comment.”  And so did the rest of the blogging world.  Go to momopolize.com to read it…NOT wordpress.com.
Jim (after reading blog): Does that make me a blogger?
Me:  Sure.  You are now a blogger.
Jim: Yeah!  Maybe I’ll get that book deal.  Blogging for idiots.


Sorry, Jim.  Looks like it’s not in the cards for you.  Maybe “Commenting for Idiots?”

(photo from nulledtemplates.com)

Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment

Important warning to all bloggers:  One must be sure to log out of WordPress on husband’s computer when finished.  Or one may find a new mysterious blog entry next time one logs on.

My husband, Jim, finally decided to read Momopolize.  “Gee honey, it only took you 3 weeks.  Thanks.”  Oops.  I forgot, I promised to play nice.  I meant “Gee honey, you took the time to read 3 weeks of blogs in one day.  Thanks!!”  After reading, he decided to post a complimentary comment about my new blog.  Only he didn’t post a comment.  He put his comment as a new blog post.  And PUBLISHED it.  For the world to see.  So for everyone who viewed the new blog entry from earlier today titled “I hope no…”, now you have an explanation.  I’m sure you’ve been wracking your brain all day trying to figure out the mystery.

At least now I know I’m not the most technologically challenged person in the family.

This was Jim’s “comment” blog entry seen ’round the world.

“I hope no one sees how long I’ve been reading this. I never realized how much I miss of my own family. What an interesting time from 2:30pm to 6:00pm each week day. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for all you do! Love you.”

I hope this dispels any rumors that I am narcissistic for posting my immense appreciation and love for myself.

Honey, repeat this 3 times:  Don’t click “add new post.”  Ever.  Thanks for the kind comment though.  I really do appreciate it.  And for giving me my laugh for the day.  And material.  Lots of material for my blog.  Writing my blog is easy.  I simply regurgitate the antics of my family!

I’m not really a writer. I just play one in real life.