Have you all seen this cool show on the Food Network...It's called Ace of Cakes and it follows a company in Baltimore (an old hang-out and for a short time, address of mine) called Charm City Cakes, which makes the most amazing edible replicas of- you name it- King Tut, the Chesapeake Bay, etc. Check it out- really interesting, especially if you happen to be a pathetic soul like myself who can't even write your child's name in icing to save your life....

Here Are The Links:
Charm City Cakes
Ace of Cakes- Food Network

When I lay with Benjamin at night, to ease him into slumber, he not only insists on resting his head on my arm (and not just any part of my arm, either- the place just above the crook that's a little meatier- notice i didn't say more
muscular....)but he has grown fond of the habit of telling two jokes or asking two questions before drifting off. Last night he wanted to know if eyeballs grow (along with something else a little less challenging). I'm sure this is something I should know but I had no idea so I googled it (what in the world did we do without the Internet)and here is the answer:

At birth, the head and structures within it, such as the eyes and brain, are more developed in proportion to the rest of the body. The head and eyes increase in width by only 1.5 times up to the age of 5 years, and after that only a very small proportion more until early adulthood. So the eyes do grow slightly, probably only a matter of millimetres, and only up to age 5 or so.

So, this evening, as we spooned, I excitedly gave him the eyeball info, then received the night's two inquiries: "Mommy, is God Jesus' son?" "No, Jesus is God's Son, Ben." "Mommy, why they hang Jesus on the top of an X?" "Uh.....well, because he went out of his way to help a lot of people and some folks who were in power back then didn't like him being so nice..." (not so Biblical- but an okay summary for a five year-old, I think). so Ben then proceeds to give his opinion on the matter: "Mommy, ya know what- that crazy, Mommy, that TOTALLY crazy."

I thought I would mention that just after posting the preceding blog, I walked into the kitchen- and to my horror, was pelted by 5lbs. of powdered sugar that Lily had erroneously placed on top of the refrigerator (after mistaking it for flour while baking her cookies this afternoon). While gritting my teeth and channeling Jesus for a miraculous level of self-control and non-violence, I calmly vacuumed the floor and tried not to make eye-contact with my daughter, lest I commit a felony and end up in prison.

One day I will look back at these moments and laugh. Right now, I'm alternating between homicide and a nervous breakdown.

That's all.

I got a little bit of love from my neighbor today. Jean lives several houses down from me, on the other side of the cul-de-sac, and was sitting outside on her front steps as the kids and I were walking home from school. She had been babysitting her five month-old granddaughter since 11am, and as we chatted, she mentioned how she'd been thinking of me, wondering how it was that I ever got anything done- since she only had the one baby and accomplished nothing all day. I began grinning from ear to ear and thanked her- for validating the fact that I don't usually get much done and that it is totally normal. This from a woman with three grown boys, I knew was heartfelt and a real verbal hug from her to me. I needed to hear those words today because as hard as I try, I mostly feel like I'm a hamster on a wheel-running fast but going nowhere. I vacuum the first level of my house twice a day and it still looks filthy most of the time. The laundry piles up like Mt. Everest and we can never find essentials like shoes, jackets, keys, etc. After my daughter, Lily, was born 10 years ago, my husband said to me, in a moment of love, that the only thing he ever expected me to get done was the feeding of my baby-everything else could wait. And to this day, he still urges me to let all of my expectations of perfection go, and just be with my kids-and forget about the house. Sometimes it works, but mostly I just feel like a failure- and that is tough to live with everyday.

Right now, I'm grateful for Jean, for her knowing how tough it is to take care of a child (or four), all day. I'm grateful for my husband who wants nothing more than my happiness and the well-being of his children. And I'm grateful that at almost 6pm, I'm still in one piece and coping with the shoes sprawled in my foyer, the blanket in the middle of the livingroom, the flour from Lily's baking extravaganza all over the kitchen tile, and the ring around my bathtub.

Sometimes it is just day by day, people, day by day.

i've got the voices of Beatles ringing through my ears right now- as I sit with my laptop on the bench in my front yard, listening to my sleeping babyboy breathe in and out, huddled under a blanket in our double jogger. The sun has decided to make an appearance today in SteelTown and I couldn't be more grateful- I'm sure I have a bad case of undiagnosed seasonal affective disorder. My mood has improved about 1000% in the last two hours, having been in its dormant irritable phase since November. Pittsburgh is a fabulous place to live, with the exception of the fact that you must love the color gray (in addition to being freezing cold almost all the time)- it has got to have the most mundane pallor of all the cities in America. After the kids' bunkbeds arrived this morning (yippeee), Ben, Sethy and I hauled our happy-slappies uptown to the coffee shop for Ben's favorite snack- natural orange soda (in a real glass bottle) and a homemade blackberry muffin. Any romantic notions you may be having about some peaceful mother-son connection over lucious yummies should be put aside- Ben spent the entire time guzzling his drink like a frat boy with a beer bong, then twirling around the shop like a fairy on crack. Then, of course, while I am attempting to sip my fresh squeezed lemonade, in peace, the inquest begins "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMY- WHEN WE GOING TO LEAVE MOMMMMMMMMY- I BORED MOMMY- MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMY I NEED SOME FRESH AIR- LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

But the sun is shining people and that makes it all tolerable.

Our dreary Easter morning in Western PA began with a ten-clue scavenger hunt for the Easter Baskets (created by my hubby-the sleuth du jour). The clues originated on the sofa in the living room, progressing from there to the dining room, the top of the play set out back, inside the oven, to the upstairs loft, the coal room in the basement, the top of the tree on the island of our cul-de-sac, the park bench in the backyard, then to their beds, where the goods awaited them under the covers. After some fluttering about, we enjoyed a yummy pancake breakfast, and a short discussion of the meaning of the day. Tiring of the indoor gymnastics and touchdowns which were just merely missing my china, I challenged Tom and my children to a rousing game of backyard softball (Lily chose to plant herself in front of "Enchanted" instead). As the sun finally made its appearance in Pittsburgh, I was running the bases with caution, fearing that I would end up with a years worth of physical therapy should I go hog wild and fly into Home, like Tom, the more daring (or brain-dead) parent. There's nothing like a five year old and seven year old to remind you how out of shape you are, but this is Easter people, and I chose not to notice. Then the boys and I plopped ourselves down in the dirt and dug for worms, and planned the worm habitat that they are hoping to create, while Tom made supper. Once our neighbor, Georgina, arrived home from her Unitarian service in the city, the party really began, with my three oldest children joining her, on top of the stone wall surrounding my porch, for a hilarious rendition of the Macarena (accompanied by the actual song played on our boom box at deafening decibels). I know what you're thinking- where's the sacred- the serene- the respectful celebration of the resurrection of our Lord? Well...I decided that it was within the glee of my children, and the swelling of my own spirit, spending unending amounts of time, together- as a family, reveling in life and the joy of springtime.

This is officially my 200th post on this blog and what this means, people, is that i've been more loyal to Picking Daisies than I ever was to all my childhood diaries and journals combined (does this sound familiar..."dear diary, i'm sorry its been three years since i last wrote- i have so much to say..."). Wahoooooooooooooo! Not even my infamous case of ADD distracted me from laying it all out here, on a semi-regular basis...what a miracle. So, in honor of the impossible becoming possible, I'm offering to you, friends and strangers and lurkers alike, a prize if you comment on this celebratory post. Maybe some of my mommy porn or one of my favorite bumper stickers or my snoring husband (just kidding...i think) or pooh-eating fourth child in your mailbox. Come out come out wherever you are.....free gifts for all!

Tomorrow is Easter. I spent about an hour tonight preparing "baskets" for my children (they are actually cloth grocery bags from our local Giant Eagle- which the cashier, upon my divulging of this plan, found rather odd. Our "Easter" box, full of our regular baskets and home decor is currently beyond reach in a closet in the basement, where we had that oh-so-unfortunate sewage explosion two weeks ago). I thought I would let you, my wonderful readers, in on the secret contents before they are revealed to their recipients tomorrow morning. I'm not the traditional Easter Bunny (shocking, I know), who brings jelly beans and chocolate rabbits- oh no...my children awake Easter morn to the challenge of first having to find their baskets, which I hide the best that i can, then to the lovely treasures which await them inside. As they receive more than enough candy from my parents, in the days preceding this holiday, I give them a fair amount of material "stuff", instead. This year, for instance, Lily will uncover a pair of pink lacrosse sticks, the movie "Enchanted" on DVD, a "Radio Disney" CD, a wonderful Gymboree sundress I found at the thrift store, markers, gel pens, a Sea Monkey growing kit and halvah (a Lebanese sesame dessert that i've been eating since I was a child, and which Lily and Benjamin devour in an instant). Liam will delight in a tennis racket and bottle of balls, a "Harry Potter Scene-It" DVD game from the thrift store, a spy book, an Elmers paint book and pens, the third DVD in the Harry Potter Series-"The Prisoner of Azkaban", and a Radio Disney CD. Benjamin will find a snazzy orange football, the game "Don't Spill The Beans", some addition flashcards (he loves adding things together), several picture books, a Space Shuttle pop-out book, a Harry Potter T-shirt from the thrift store, a pocket-size photo album, the movie "RV" on DVD, and a Radio Disney CD. Finally, Sethy, who I'm well aware could care less, will be showered with a big red ball, some wooden baby rattles and some board books.

We started a tradition four years ago, in our family, where we spend Easter, not in church, as is the typical method of worship, but in Nature, enjoying God's creation at the source. I began to find, a while back, the whole chaos of dressing in all the finery and fighting our way into packed pews after knocking down two old ladies and ten children just to find a parking spot, a little anti-Christian- if you will. The only thing that was being resurrected on Easter morn, every year, was my stress level and the tantrums of every one of my lovely offspring. So, we generally look to go for a hike somewhere and just be together, talking about God and things that we are thankful for. I don't necessarily believe that our way of paying homage to Christ is the better one, but it is what feels right to us at this stage in our lives so we have decided to continue to practice it for now.

Is Easter a special day in your life and how, if at all, do you celebrate it?

My son, Seth, has hit that developmental stage where the mere thought of losing sight of his mother, sends him into a psychotic episode rivaled only by that of Ms. Blair of Exorcist fame. This morning, in order to avoid having to start my day being serenaded by his howling, I placed him on a sheet on the floor, right outside of the bathroom, naked (to air out his bottom), and within ear shot of me bathing. As I showered, attempting to enjoy the small luxury of warm water cascading over my sleep-deprived bod, I noticed a disturbing yet familiar odor in the air- and immediately catapulted myself through the curtain to find my adorable 9 month old , happier than a pig, laying in the biggest pile of pooh I've ever seen emanate from his heinie. Worse yet, as I bent down to rescue him from the apparent error of his TERRIBLE mother's ways, I noticed, to my horror, that he had been sampling the goods, so to speak, evidenced by the smears of fecal matter around his lips. MY BABY ATE HIS OWN POOP, PEOPLE!!! WHAT KIND OF MOTHER AM I?!!! Luckily, to my surprise, there were no dire consequences for this misbehavior- no ecoli induced vomiting or, (gasp) death, as I had initially feared (I mean, don't people in third-world countries die from such contamination?) Word to the wise- don't attempt to practice any sort of hygiene once giving birth- at least not without your baby within arms reach and FULLY CLOTHED!!!

"I became what I am today at the age of twelve...I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years. One day last summer, my friend Rahim Kahn called from Pakistan. He asked me to come see him Standing in
the kitchen with the receiver to my ear, I knew it wasn't just Rahim Khan on the line. It was my past of unatoned sins...I thought about something [he] said just before he hung up, almost as an afterthought. There is a way to be good again..." Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

On Sunday afternoon, I drove nervously to see her, this childhood friend-sister-twin, whom I'd amputated, like an arm or leg, in a moment of immaturity and selfishness, twenty-one years ago. She'd been the most significant part of my life- the person who'd filled my soul with pure joy- the kind that comes from your gut, with bursts of laughter that could cure even the most miserable teenage angst. Being with her had made me feel normal- a seemingly impossible state of being during the awkwardness of adolescense and all the insecurity that accompanies it. And then, somewhere along the way, I lost sight of her and I did some stupid things and then she was gone-

As I made my way down her driveway, glimpsing out of the corner of my eye, that familiar face, that girl I'd loved to my core, I felt the enormity of two decades of loss- the dreams where she'd appear- haunting me- forcing me to remember- reminding me...all was not well...that I needed to make it right...there were years of letters written then discarded without being sent...then one in January that I let slip into the mailbox...

And as I reached for her, sinking into her arms, I allowed myself to let go- of all the pain and the blame, sobbing, holding on, I felt redemption and renewal and I thanked God for second chances and, without words, I thanked her for allowing me to be good again.

He's been here. Bigtime. And now his angels are hovering over me, taking care of me in the sweetest ways- Val showing up with two bags of groceries for us- out of the blue- where does this come from? This love of human beings that motivates people to reach out, no expectations of anything in return? Val would probably laugh to think I lumped her right in the boat with Christ, but really, friends, deep down- this is where he is. He's not in the big fancy churches or the confessionals or the bible bookstores...he's laying with you in the dirt of your life, when your hair resembles a wet rat, you're wearing sweats from three days ago, the shower is a distant thought, there are crumbs on your 400 thread count sheets, cat pee on your carpet, papers piled to the ceiling, unpaid bills in your mailbox, and you think you can't possibly go on.

When you are going through a tough time, the best gifts are often home cooked meals. I know this for certain, starting with five years ago when my husband was having some really intense cancer treatments and friends began appearing at my doorstep with dinners. Then in June, when Seth was born, a whole new crop of lovelies, here in the South Hills of Pittsburgh, emerged with an amazing outpouring of nourishment, for weeks and weeks. So, whenever I know someone is down in the dumps, usually another mom who is barely squeeking by, taking care of little ones and coping with the flu or some other horror story, I'm always inspired to give back a little of the karma I've received during my own rough patches. Bonnie Dougherty and I started our weekly dinner exchange after a little quid pro quo of meal making over the summer- we couldn't imagine, anymore, why we weren't just sharing dinners for no good reason- so now we do.

Just last week I made a quiche for a friend whose husband underwent major surgery- and today she called to say it was her family's favorite meal, so I thought I'd share the recipe with you, as it was easy to make and delightful to give on a cold winter day:

Judy's Comfort Quiche


1 frozen pie shell (hea, people, I'm no Barefoot Contessa with the homemade dough)
3 Eggs
1/2 tsp salt, pinch of pepper
1 C of Cream (you might as well do it right if you are gonna do it)
1 Clove of Garlic, minced
1 C of Shredded Cheddar Cheese
1/2 C Goat Cheese
1/2 C Feta Cheese
3/4 C of Fresh Mushrooms, thinly sliced
3 pieces of baked ham, cut into 1" squares (or tear to pieces with your fingers)

-Preheat oven to 350
-Mix eggs, cream, salt, pepper and garlic in bowl, add mushrooms and ham.
-coat bottom of pie shell with goat cheese (use more than 1/2 c if desired)
-pour egg mixture over goat cheese
-top with cheddar and feta
-bake for 45-60 minutes, testing with a knife until it comes out clean

Its late, and I clearly should have been in bed by now- but there was the small matter of the sewage pipe erupting all over my basement (a collective "ew" would be appropriate right about now, people). So, sitting here, wide-awake with stress and heartburn, watching my husband rip up soiled carpeting, I've been navigating to CNN, keeping an eye on the election results for the state of Texas. Have we all sat back and really grasped the awesome history in the making? I mean, HELLO, there is a black man and a woman running neck and neck to be the Democratic nominee for the 2008Presidential election!!! A BLACK MAN AND A WHITE WOMAN? I don't think most of us could have dreamed this big.... Now, those of you who've been following this little blog of mine, may well have summised that I am a fan of Hillary Clinton- I am, indeed-just a personal preference, but, truly, either of them could win and in the end I would be so thrilled. Not only for our country, which desperately needs regime change, but for my kids. If the Democrats win this year, and they very well could, my kids will actually get to witness the inauguration of a minority as a leader of this great land. They will no longer have to question why all the Presidents have been white men. They will see possibility where there once was only a slim chance. My daughter will KNOW that women CAN be anything they want to be, that its not just some cliche we deliver to young girls before they are old enough to deal with reality. My sons will know that the voting process is decided upon the merit of a man or woman not by the color of their skin. We are on the brink of a magnificent future and that alone makes the sewage in my basement a little less troubling this evening.

By the grace of God, two weeks ago, I discovered, while surfing the net, that one of my favorite authors, the "Billy Graham" of the liberal-feminist-Jesus followers- Anne Lamott, was coming to Pittsburgh to help the Church of Reconciliation celebrate its fortieth anniversary. My heart racing, I purchased the best tickets I could afford, on-line, and last night, with my buddy Christina holding down the fort here, and a thousand prayers that Seth would sleep, Tom and I drove to the campus of the University of Pittsburgh to see her. For me, it was a magical evening- second row seats amongst throngs of people, black/ white/ young/ old/and somewhere in between, gay/ straight, single/partnered- warmed by the mutterings of liberal conversations all around me...serenaded, at first, by the gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgendered choir of Pittsburgh, then, like your big sister or your best friend, Anne Lamott (Annie, as she prefers to be called), sauntered out onto the stage- and I found myself whooping and hollering, overcome with excitement that this woman, this wisest of souls, this lover of Jesus and of justice and of people, was before me, in the flesh. So incredibly human, suffering from symptoms of the flu, she addressed the hundreds of us as if we were on a comfy couch, sipping hot chocolate- pausing to gather herself or catch some fleeting thought, with no apparent self-consciousness or need to be smoother. My mind wandering only to my deepest prayer that Tom would not begin snoring (as he did the last time we had front row seats- to a Mary Chapin Carpenter show), I sat entranced by her spirit, finding myself moving closer and closer to the edge of my chair- as if to try and hear deeper her every word, at one point nearly collapsing overtop the seat in front of me- which, luckily, was empty. I nodded with every thought she expressed, and cheered loudly- overjoyed as each of the feminist or slightly "leftist" views would escape her lips (she voted for Hillary- I nearly wept). She, again and again, brought her talk back to the mantra, "slow slow, quick quick"- the way she and her boyfriend were learning the foxtrot in ballroom dancing, and also the method by which she believes we all will find success on our journey in writing, in recovery, in life, and in Christianity. And she so profoundly ushered forth the truth- that faith was not the opposite of doubt, but the opposite of certainty.

Afterward, during the book-signing, I went through the line focused on what in the world I would say to this marvelous soul (while Tom, in true man-fashion, attempted to engage me in conversation about the various civil war artifacts surrounding us, in display cases, on the wall- we were in the Soldiers And Sailors Museum).



Annie greeted me with a smile and asked how I was doing- I took a deep breath, laughed, explaining to her that I was nothing short of giddy- as if I were a teenage girl in front of the Beatles or Elvis- tempted at one point to throw my bra up onto the stage- except for the fact that it was a very tattered, worn-out nursing model- , much too delapidated to grace the presence of someone of the likes of her. She giggled, thanked me for wanting to do that, then posed with me for a picture- both of us removing our glasses to look, as she described "cuter."
(when I recounted this conversation to Lily- she was nothing short of horrified that these were the words I chose to say to someone that great...yeah- that's me- wildly uncooth- but I'm sure, in some corner of her most comedic being- she got me)

If you've never read any of her marvelous works on faith and life, throw on your shoes, now, and run to the nearest library or bookstore- you will be amazed that you've lived so long without her inspiration.

You can always tell when I'm having a rough day- I take two showers. Not because of some profuse body odor (though that isn't totally out of the question) but because its the only place in my house that I can go where there's even a chance of peace- the warm water baptizing me in stillness, drowning out the chaos just outside the bathroom door....

It was one of those days- Friday- when I could barely cope, minute by minute. Three of my four children were sick- everyone of them home with me- the baby
being the worst of all- looking so bad that at some point, around noon, I became afraid to put him down- afraid that we was just going to fade away- pale, sobbing, pus seeping from the corners of both eyes...unable to nurse...I alternated, for hours, between rocking, and pacing, and laying. Nothing providing him with any long term relief- only minutes of slumber. The angels in my life stepped in, without so much as a plea from me-Donna brought bags of groceries and surprise cupcakes
for the other kids; Casey took Benjamin to play with Ella at her house. Kim stopped by and made me laugh-

Things got really scary when I was on the phone with Dr. Hildebrandt, the world's finest pediatrician (next to the lusty Dr. Feldman from my previous home), describing Seth's frightening pallor, and Lily walks into the living room and begins vomiting everywhere, followed by Liam coughing uncontrollably and complaining about his earache. Unable to put Seth down, or unwilling to put Seth down, I had the kids lay towels over the puke and continue watching TV in the basement- as the waves of guilt began to wash over me- my poor kids- sick and fending for themselves. Why can't I be a better mother- why can't I figure out how to parent better, on days like this- what is the secret to getting through that I just can't figure out- WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME??? I kept fantasizing about running away- trudging through the snow to some place of utopia- a hotel, a hospital, jail...anywhere that I could just crawl under some covers and not be expected to achieve any amount of greatness or even marginal functioning.

I called Tom, begging for some help- and all I'll say is that at 2:30 he promised to be leaving early-not because of our family crisis but because of the blizzard-like conditions outside-
and at 5:30, when I found out he was only half-way through the city, the bad-mommy demons took over and I threw the phone up against the wall, smashing it to pieces, yelling the "F" word to anyone who would listen. Then I put Seth in Liam's bed, howling and dripping bucketfuls of snot everywhere, and I walked away- trying to breathe myself into remaining in this life...

After Tom walked through the door and I ....uh....contemplated shoving his head into a wall, I rocked Seth to sleep, staring, like a zombie at the wall in his nursery, where once there was the word "dream", spelled out with these PotteryBarn-esq letters, and now, with the demise of the "D" a while ago, there remained only "ream".
REAM people, I stared at the word REAM, unable to stop obsessing about the missing D- where was it and how come I can't get it together enough to find it and put it back on the wall. What kind of mother has the word "ream" in her baby's nursery? REAM?!!! Then, in my sleep-deprived and stress wrecked stupor, I began playing a game of mental boggle- trying to see how many words I could make from the letters that spelled REAM...EAR, MARE, RAM....and I knew I was done. That all that was left of me was the energy to walk downstairs, claw my way into the shower, and disappear....and I did.

I hope that by reading these words of desperation you are able to garner some validation for your own moments of despair- your own less-than-perfect days where you feel nothing but shame for your inability to be a better person. There are limits to what we can bare, as human beings, and even the most spiritually sound of us (I wouldn't say that was me- but I know some I would describe like that) walk to the edge and consider a jump-