Tuesday, June 29, 2010

It's All Fun And Games Until Somebody Finds the Easy Bake

I am now on Day 7 of SUMMER BREAK (Day 11 if you count weekend days, which I don't, as the minis would be around on those days regardless). Seeing as how I haven't faked my own death and absconded to Mexico, nor have I flipped my lid and taken off on a country-wide killing spree in the Xterra, chain-smoking Marlboro Reds while wearing cutoffs and mirrored sunglasses, and taunting the police from pay phones in really boring states like Missouri, I consider SUMMER BREAK to be a success, thus far. We have spent a great deal of time at the pool. We have been to the water park at the Y. We have seen a movie. We have gone on a quest to locate and purchase both a blue light saber and a green one, we have filled up the Barbie pool and let Barbie and all her boyfriends (Ironman, Batman, Wolverine, the Incredible Hulk, and Darth Vader--clearly the girl gets around AND has a certain "type" of man she prefers) have a pool party, and we've had a good dose of Jesus at Bible School. We've visited the library, the mall play area, and the park (in hundred degree weather, I might add). And what all this means is: I have officially shot my load. (I hope everyone enjoys that attractive sexual metaphor, as every time I hear it I feel mildly queasy and truly only chose to use it in this instance to see if anyone else also felt mildly queasy at the mental image. Please tell me if you did. However, if you merely got excited by it, I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW, SO KEEP IT TO YOUR DAMN SELF, PERVERT.)

Throughout all of these activities, I have plastered on a smile and pretended IT WAS THE FUNNEST THING EVER (yes, I said "funnest,"--suck it up and deal, yo). Why? Because I am a good Mom. As a matter of fact, I decided yesterday I am the BEST FUCKING MOM EVER. And for good reason: Belly found her Easy Bake Oven.

Now, let me explain how the Easy Bake Oven came into existence. (Please note, this is not the history of the Easy Bake Oven itself, but more of an overview of how the McPhail Family came to own said oven, as any Mom on the planet will tell you that EASY BAKE OVENS ARE THE DEVIL AND YOU NEVER PURCHASE THEM FOR YOUR CHILDREN UNTIL YOU ARE ON DRUGS, OUT OF YOUR EVER-LOVING MIND, OR BOTH.) One of my mother-in-laws (yes, I have two) purchased the oven for Bellamy for Christmas. When she told me, I immediately flinched in pain, then dropped to my knees to pray to God that perhaps he would deem me worthy to have just one teeny, tiny little prayer answered and the damn oven would magically disappear. He did not, and it did not. However, he did buy me some time--Barbara misplaced the oven for six months, which means that Belly did not receive it in December for Christmas, but rather for her birthday in June. Bellamy was ecstatic. I had a fourth glass of Chardonnay.

In the midst of the excitement over her other birthday gifts, I managed to swipe the Easy Bake and stash it in the closet. The "closet" being the storage closet upstairs, where random McPhail items go to hide for years at a time, and where no one ever goes unless B decides it would be really fun to go play in the attic for a bit, using tools and man things like air filters and such. Anyway, there the oven rested for a month. Until yesterday. When Bellamy, somehow, located it.

So last night I was forced to Easy Bake. Let me just point out that whoever decided it would be really fun to make an "oven" that "cooked" things like "cakes" the size of sugar cookies and "cookies" the size of dimes by using a light bulb that actually creates enough heat that one can be easily burned if one touches this oven should be dragged out into the street and shot, after being forced to Easy Bake for the duration of the life of an economy-sized pack of 100 watt light bulbs. Creating the batter involved opening a packet, dumping it into a bowl, adding a teaspoon and a half of water, stirring and putting it in the tiniest little cake pan you've ever seen, then shoving it in the damn oven with a big, yellow utensil. Being the watchful eye while all this was done by a seven-year-old and a four-year-old took OVER AN HOUR and ultimately involved one eye poke (Belly to Sutt), one punch to the arm (Sutt to Belly), LOTS of bickering (both) and cake batter on the table, floor, and children. Considering the amount of cake batter produced to begin with was probably less than a heaping Tablespoon, this was quite a feat. Twelve miserable baking minutes later, we had a cake. A very small, very rock hard cake. My children were enchanted. I needed a shot of tequila and a Xanax.

Needless to say, I think I deserve serious kudos for cheerfully Easy Baking the hell out of some yellow cake. I won't even mention suffering through making "frosting" and adding sprinkles. One more complicated Mommy activity down, only a summer full of more to go. Let's hope I'm still standing in September.

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