Barn Cake! Barn Cake! The

Barn Cake! Barn Cake!

The barn cake went off without a hitch, thanks to help from my sister (a die-hard Food TV junkie who knows about moving cakes around with wax paper and stuff like that) and my mom (who made a late-night run for more food coloring, and suggested the layering effect for the roof) the barn cake turned out exceptionally well. It’s not of professional quality or anything like that, but the wee one recognized it was a barn, and, really, that’s all I could ask for.

So here you go, the before and after shot of the barn cake (and please ignore the knives and prescription drugs laying dangerously close to the cake. We really are into babyproofing. I swear):






misty-eyed this hour, two years


this hour, two years past
not even half-way there yet
had nine hours to go

sentimental on
the wee ones second birthday
time to start a brood?

time must erase pain,
create some weird genetics
to pine for labor

it means Hawaiian Cowboy paniolo

it means Hawaiian Cowboy

paniolo birthday
already one crisis was
averted, thanks mom

thanks to a near midnight run to the grocery store for about a gallon of red food coloring my mom has saved the barn cake from being silly putty pink. Huzzah!

The party is this afternoon… more details to come.

And here’s one more party preparation haiku:

adding blue does not
a redder barn cake make. It
smurf-ify’s hand, though

and it begins… snuffy, check.

and it begins…

snuffy, check. elmo
as angelfish, check. Cartoon
seal, pink… freak out time

The wee one wasn’t too keen on the pink seal making an appearance on Sesame Street this morning. I wish I had a peak into his brain (the wee one’s, not the seal’s)… he’s not scared of two-headed monsters wearing togas, but the pink seal… good god the world is ending.

Speaking of the world ending… the fam is rocketing to the big D this weekend. Land of big hair, big houses and bad traffic, here we come. Though I guess I shouldn’t say “rocketing.” About every other mofo in central texas is going to be heading out that way today too. It’s gonna be a slow and go ride.

When we get there, though, it’ll be worth it. The grandparents get to see the wee one, I’ll get some quiet time to finish a couple of freelance jobs and then on Sunday we’re having a blowout birthday bash for the wee one, who turns two on the 31st. It’s gonna be great fun. I’m trying my hand at making a cake in the shape of a barn for this year’s party. Martha Stewart I’m not, but last year’s giraffe cake went off without a hitch, so now I’m filled with confidence in my cake-shaping capabilities.

Anyway, I’m sure this post is about as interesting to you as every other blog post about preparing for a trip so I’ll stop writing now. I may not get a chance to update the blog much this weekend, but we’ll see. I’m kind of obsessive about it. Plus, it only takes about five seconds to write a haiku. And what’s more fun that writing haiku about baby birthday parties and the subsequent Clash of the Grandmas that will inevitably ensue?

embarrassing myself for your pleasure

embarrassing myself for your pleasure

I was looking for some really old haiku to post when I accidently stumbled on my old theatre journal from high school. Being the diligent geek back then, I kept copious notes of my feelings about “the stage”, the plays we studied, and other mundane things I didn’t feel weird about having my teacher read.

Inside this journal I’ve discovered the long lost script to the short play I wrote for our senior show (I was in fancy drama in high school – theatre major studies – two hours a day for the hard core drama queens. We got our own shows. It was awesome).

Anyway, I thought that given how terrible this play is, and given that I tortured an audience with it and forced my best friend to play the lead, I would post some of it here as a penance.

So laugh all you want, and be glad you didn’t have to see my awkward staging (yes, I directed the show, too. yikes.)

by 17-year-old Kari, victim of 90’s grunge rock angst

Questioning life, altering time. The footsteps of my soul leave lasting imprints on your eyes. Talking, swaying in tethered limbs that aren’t breaking. They crack and they squeak, but they don’t break. Maybe now they will break and we will hit the leaves and bury the exterior for good and for always. We will whisper through the leaves, but until we fly free we are tethered to that tree, to the sky, to the world… to ourselves. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, my mind, my workshop, my soul, my everlasting light of freedom so dimmed by reality.

(shouting from where he sits in the audience)
The Dreamland Warrior is really a small man with silver hair and a rather large pot belly. He is a special man and so are his pet lizards. The lizards live on a red wall in his living room and shout, “Jump over the clay, mommy! Jump over the clay!” They aren’t mean animals, they’re just misunderstood and a bit rebellious. That’s why the Dreamland Warrior must make them eat Oak trees and wear Obsession for men.
(girls off stage chant “eternity, eternity, eternity, eternity”)
Oh dear, time to lose interest in the subject and gain it in another.

OK. I’m stopping now because this is just too painful. This should be enough for full penance, though, don’t you think? Oh man it’s so bad, I’m hanging my head in shame and no can even see me.

I’m sorry I didn’t find the old haikus. I’ll look harder next time.