This Blog Drought Brought To You By Cake.

I'm the mother of a toddler. I work full time. During the week I leave home around 8:30 AM and don't get back until 7PMish. I dedicate my evenings to my kid and my husband. What little free time I do have is occupied with little bursts of excitement like eating and sleeping.

And using Twitter.

Now that Kim has forced me onto this networking crack addiction, I spend hours composing tweets detailing every single mundane aspect of my life in 140 characters or fewer. Which is why I haven't been detailing every single mundane aspect of my life on my blog. So sorry. My narcissism only has so much room.

As a result of these things and other life issues, I haven't been cooking much. Or for that matter, moving any body part below my waist.

So let me tell you about some people who do a lot of things with food. Like turning flour, sugar, fondant and other things into this:


I was at my new friend Miriam's apartment and she offered me a delicious red velvet cupcake. Now, I'm loathe to eat red velvet anything. I believe they're the Lindsey Lohan Is A Lesbian of the cupcake world. A bit played out, y'know? (You're next Whoopee Pies/Jennifer Anniston Is Lonely!) But scientific research has proven time and time again that I'm genetically unable to turn down anything offered to me in cake form. So there you go.

Good thing. Because this cake was the best I've had in a while, and I've had a lot. Moist with a bit of crumb, a hint of cocoa and a deliciously not-too-sweet cream cheese frosting. "You ought to make these professionally!" I said.

Turns out, as part owner of BCake NY, she does.



Typically, these kind of cakes are fantastic until you have to eat them. Then they're so sweet and flavorless in that cardboard, make me gag kinda way. But Miriam and Hella don't load up the sugar. The result is something gives your taste buds exactly what's promised on sight, something that is worth the trouble of chewing. And it doesn't require an insulin shot afterwards

I should stop to say that Miriam didn't ask me to write this post. She doesn't even know I'm stealing pictures from her site. Which could make it awkward at our next toddler playgroup, especially if she sues. No, I'm doing it because I truly believe that they make a fantastic cake. And because I've been Twittering too much to write about me.

Soooo folks. Looking for a fancy-schmancy cake for your kids birthday but don't want to dig into his 529 plan just yet? May I suggest you take a internet walk over to BCake NY. They will take your dreams of percussion-shaped cake and make it come true.

And in times like these, don't we all need an affordable edible drum set? Yes, darling. We do.

Roasted Banana Bars With Brown Butter Pecan Frosting

Perhaps you're wondering why I didn't title my blog with a usual pun like, "Going Bananas" or "The Roast With The Most." A couple of reasons. First, I feel like fighting the tide and for once, not being totally lame. This is a huge struggle for me so patience, patience. Secondly, are you nuts?!!! Can you read!?!? The name of this recipe is so mouth-watering, so roasty brown bits, nutty crunch exciting. I think it works harder than any groan-inducing pun I can think up.

I pulled the recipe from Cooking Light. Yes, I'm still using this magazine, despite what I've said in the past. Maybe I believe in second chances. Maybe I'm willing to admit I was wrong. Or maybe it's because I got a free subscription with a big order from diapers.com. Maybe.

Roasting the bananas is the best part of making this. You place them in a pan with butter and brown sugar. The resulting smells add 4 inches to your hips. Pure, ass-the-size-of-Kansas heaven. And so very worth it.



Then you have to do all that 2-bowl mixing nonsense. I'm sure there's a scientific reason you mix wet ingredients in one bowl and dry in another, then go through all that alternating mixing mumbo jumbo, but I find it really annoying. But I do it because I trust the powers that bake. Still, I kept the banana mixture in the roasting pan instead of dirtying a third bowl, which the recipe suggested. Do they have some kind of underground agreement with Cascade or something? Hmmm.

The cake was ok. Not great. I wish I had used more than just 3 bananas, because it lacked the intense banana flavor I get from breads and muffins. But the frosting? OH! It takes regular cream cheese frosting, good enough as is, and kicks it in high gear with brown butter. It's rich and earthy at the same time. I think it would add a crazy great dimension to red velvet cake. Or the palm of my hand. Not that I tried it or anything.

So I say, give it a go. Add a few more bananas. And make lots and lots of frosting. If you don't you'll feel like you've been spread too thin. SNAP! I still got it!

You can find the recipe here.

His Model Name Is "Fuse"

Recently Walt decided to roll out of bed and don the fashions of Vera Plum. It's a lovely place specializing in fun, cool clothing, the kind that draws positive attention to your kids and makes you look like an ultra hip mom who would never even CONSIDER putting "Nights in Rodanthe" on her Netflix list. I'm uh...just sayin'.

Give it a look-see. While you're there, you may want to go here, here aaaaannnnd, here.

It's fun being the mother of a child model. Except it's really hard to feed a toddler who's watching his carbs.

For Those About To Birth

Not perfect. But pretty cute.

A few weeks after Walt was born, an acquaintance of mine gave birth to her own son. I was so excited to have a (sorta) friend with a newborn. I imagined we'd commiserate over our lack of sleep, our breastfeeding challenges and all of the other things that happen when a 7lb human being comes in and tornadoes your life. Instead, we had conversations like this:

ME: Hey! Want some coffee? It's the only way I survive this lack of sleep thing.

ACQUANTAFRIEND: (somewhat smugly) Oh, little Jim-Jim already sleeps though the night. For like, 8 hours! He's been doing it since he was 2 weeks old.

ME: (seething with jealousy) Really? He must not nap, then.

ACQUANTAFRIEND: (quickly. too quickly.) Oh, he naps. About two or three times a day for about 2 hours each.

ME: (in disbelief, awe and a little anger) Really? Did you give up breastfeeding or something?

ACQUANTAFRIEND: (taking full credit for her terrific mothering) No, that's going great. No problems.

ME: (trying to keep my eyebrows from tying themselves into resentful knots) Um. Awesome. You got a laid back baby!

ACQUANTAFRIEND: Oh, he's active. He's already smiling and he's only 3 weeks old!

ME: (spontaneously combusting inside) Great. Uh, I gotta go. My ears are leaking.

As time wore on, these conversations got worse and worse. Her son was independent yet completely bonded with his mom. He rarely cried. He was already walking by 9 months. I wouldn't be surprised if he's doing Calculus equations as I type.

It wasn't hard to accept that some babies were more advanced and even-tempered than mine. I've been around enough kids to know that Walt falls in the middle of most things and has his own charming mix of super and not-so-super qualities. What made it hard was that this mom was so wipe-that-shiteating-grin-off-you-face smug about the whole damn thing.

If you're about to have a baby, I'm going to give tell you a little something that will help you make friends at the playground and make you more bearable to others. Most of you already know this rule, but in case you don't...

DO NOT TAKE CREDIT FOR YOUR EASY/BRIGHT/OFF-THE-CHARTS CHILD IN FRONT OF OTHER PARENTS. Ever. And in no way act smug or matter-of-fact. Pretend like you're one of those actors who won an Oscar and "forgot" to write an acceptance speech. Who me? You're kidding! I don't know how I got so lucky! Ha-ha!

We all know that you truly believe it's what you deserve. That your easy going, highly performing child is a result of supreme parenting skills and sacrifices. All we're asking is that when you're in front of us, you act like it's not.

Point out flaws in your child, even if you have to make them up. Tell us that Prudence won't eat vegetables or that Atticus won't let you out of his sight. It'll keep others from rolling their eyes every time you leave the playgroup. Because trust me, we do. (Note, there's a mom in our playgroup with a gorgeous, incredibly smart little girl who plays this perfectly with her kid. I'll ask if she gives lessons.)

Then at night, when the baby's asleep and the lights are down, you and your partner can join in the chorus of parental conversations all over the world, reveling in your incredibly gifted, beautiful child as well as your superior parenting skills compared to the rest of those losers.

It's how normal people do it.