Periodic Table of Elements Cake

I know everyone is waiting on pins and needles to hear about our summer reading, but I've received a request for information on my son's birthday cake. Never one to disappoint, here are the details.

My eldest son loves science, but he somehow thinks my cake making can defy the laws of physics. Deciding on a cake each year can be a bit of a compromise. After rejecting several impossible designs of computer games he likes, I finally suggested we find another passion of his and we settled on the periodic table.

Since he is at Scout Camp on his actual 14th birthday, we celebrated tonight. Ryan has a couple friends over and I am feeling extremely short.

And here is our Periodic Table Cake:

After trying to decide if I should cut up a couple regular cakes into little squares or just buy a small square pan, I bought the pan. With a 40% off coupon at the craft store, it cost me less than $6. Best decision ever. If I did it again I would buy two and finish baking twice as fast!

One cake mix, adapted with the White Almond Sour Cream recipe (once you try it, you'll never go back), made 6 batches in the pan and was enough squares to make all the elements plus extra. 6x24=144. You need 118 for the periodic table and some will be ruined when you try to pop them out.

There are no directions on the pan for adapting regular recipes' cooking time. My oven did fine with about 1 teaspoon per square, 350 degrees for 11 minutes, then 10 minutes in the freezer before popping them out. Don't forget to keep a cookie sheet under the pan, check for done with a toothpick, and spray the pan before each batch.

After they cooled, I piped an outline, with regular store bought buttercream frosting, around each square. Then I colored the rest of the icing 6 different colors and watered them down until they were syrupy consistency. I dolloped the colors in the center and they spread easily with the back of the spoon to the piped outline. I also watered down chocolate frosting for the transition metal elements. (A total of 7 colors, I just counted on a periodic table to see how many of each color I needed)

Some of the icing didn't harden as well as I liked, if I were to try again I might experiment with melting the icing for 5-10 seconds in the microwave instead of watering it down?

After letting it sit overnight to let the frosting set as much as possible, I used a copy of the periodic table to pipe on each element symbol and close approximation to its number. I was worried it would dry out, but after almost a full day they tasted just fine. Extra fine because of the WASC recipe I mentioned earlier.

Then I found a space wide enough, put down wax paper and laid out the cakes in the periodic shape.

It was a HUGE success!

What? French Horn Edition

Ryan with his new pet

Some kids bring puppies or kittens home, begging parents to let them stay. Not my kid, though; my kid came home with a French horn.

Apparently my 7th grader, randomly and without warning, wandered into the band room last week and asked to join. Even though we are moving in three months, the teacher let him join, let him chose an instrument, and let him bring a loaner home. Since he already has chorus for his music option, he is taking band lessons after school.

He is already in piano lessons. He has never played a French horn before. I’m not exactly sure how he knew it existed.

Nevertheless, we are now the proud guardian of a more-than-slightly-used French horn.

I don’t know if I should be proud- he does love music and takes initiative; confused- why French horn, why now?; or just plain scared- how much more noise can my poor ears take? At least I now know my Random Gene has been passed onto my children.

(I hope this doesn’t give any other family members an idea. I still won’t let them keep a pet.)

What weird things have your kids/husband come home with, leaving you scratching your head?

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

It turns out I am still alive and the house is now spider free.  Well, mostly spider free.

We are nearly finished with our recovery from vacation.  The suitcases are back in the closet and the laundry is done, although it still needs folded and put away.  I have resorted to Melatonin to switch the kids back to East Coast time.  Apparently letting them stay up past midnight in Utah every single night was a bad idea.

Anyway,while I was gone, I had a guest post go up at Or So She Says about beginning tips for making birthday cakes.  Today I have another post there on making mini tote bags.  I even have a nifty new button for my side bar! Head on over and enjoy!

Also, as of yesterday afternoon, Ryan is home from the Boy Scout National Jamboree (which really deserves a post on its own).  I am trying to convince him, with limited success, he is old enough to put his stuff away.  In case you were calculating the math in your head, yes, Ryan was gone at the jamboree while we were on vacation.  Like I said, another post all it's own.

The great news is that we still have three whole weeks of summer left to enjoy before school starts.  The sad news is that when you add in the doctor appointments, school shopping, dentist appointments, and fixing mixed up internal clocks, I'm left with about 2 hours of summer left to enjoy before school starts.

I thought I'd take a minute to let everyone know how my parents are doing after their motorcycle accident a few months ago.  I've appreciated all the emails and inquiries about their recovery, but wanted to wait till I saw them with my very own eyeballs before I said anything.  They are doing well.  Their road rash is almost entirely gone (SEE MY MOM'S ARM IN RIGHT OF PICTURE) and the bones are healing nicely.  My dad lost a bit of weight through it all and has to check his oxygen levels often, but he is still telling silly puns and has the same teasing smile.  His wrist will never be the same (CAN YOU SEE THE CAST HE HAS ON NOW?), especially since they x-rayed it wrong and let him leave the hospital without a much needed cast.

They do, however, tire much more easily than I've ever seen.  Some things broken in an accident like that don't ever heal perfectly.  I'm just glad they're here to tire!

I Learn the Truth about the Extent of Male Conversations

I was teasing my husband the other day for his choice in television stations. In a huge deviation from normal, he wasn't watching news, business, sports, or HGTV. (Don't tell him I included that last one!) Instead I kept finding the station turned to Current TV.

He explained that their Rotten Tomatoes Show is too entertaining to miss. "After all that's all men really  talk about when they get together is movies."

I, of course, balked. "All you ever talk about? Let's be real."

He insisted that the majority of male conversations revolve around laughing at movies, quoting movies, describing parts of movies, etc. He even, when I pointed out that they must talk about hot girls sometimes, counterpointed that they talked about hot girls from the movies.

I rolled my eyes and added this to the list of Things-That-Show-My-Husband-Is-Full-Of-It and continued on my day.

It was, after all, an eventful day. We were throwing Ryan's birthday party and, since he turned twelve and in keeping with tradition, he was having a friend party. Later that evening we found ourselves packed in the Suburban with seven boys, ranging from 9 to 14, headed to Monster Minigolf. Over pizza later in the party, I was discussing the dynamics of the boys (who all knew Ryan but didn't necessarily know each other) and how much easier it was than a group of girls in the same situation.

"I mean 20 minutes in the car there and 20 minutes back and all they did was tell Yo' Momma jokes* and quoted..."

{Que goofy I-told-you-so smile from husband}

"...oh, I see. You mean you weren't kidding with the whole extent of male conversations thing."

"Nope."

I hate it when he's right and I'm wrong.  It throws the world out of balance.


* First of all, there was a rule that anyone telling a Yo' Momma joke to Ryan would be thrown from the car while it was still moving.

* Secondly, yo' momma's so dumb she told a Yo' Momma joke to her son.  (That one is my personal favorite.)

A 12-year-old Boy's Birthday Party

Throwing a twelve-year-old's party is not the same as an eight-year-old's. Especially when that twelve-year-old is a boy. For some reason the thought of pin the tale on anything wasn't appealing to him. I didn't even try suggesting crafts.

After weeks of prodding and disappointment over a *slight* overestimating of my cake making abilities (a stand up 3D version of Super Smash Brothers is not something I could do), he finally decided on a golf cake.  Well, he wanted the clubs and the ball and it was the least I could do after denying him his first option.

Instead of a big couple hour party, he opted for a sleep over with just a few friends.


We started the night with Monster Mingolf. I think we hit a record for most balls hit out of play in one round.

Then it was home for pizza and beach. They would have stayed out in the water longer, if they didn't have to share the water with jellyfish.

And then video games and more video games and finally threats if they didn't stop playing video games and go to bed.

Most of the evening we had the cake out and ready, but only a couple boys ate a piece. When I woke up the next morning, however, the entire thing was GONE. As was most of the 4 large pizzas. Sleep was no match for the bottomless stomachs of boys!

They interrupted their morning playing of games long enough to scarf down some pancakes and then the party was over.

I'm pretty sure they all had fun. Repeated calls of "That game is sick!" is a good sign, right?

I mistook my boys for mops

A few months back, I convinced my boys they wanted to grow their hair a little longer.  If you ask me why, I'll tell you it's because all the tween boys are wearing it like that nowadays and I wanted them to fit in, but in reality it had more to do with the lack of desire to drag them to the barbers.

Unfortunately there was a slight flaw in my plan: longer hair requires some necessities, if it isn't to to look like it's sprouting from a parentless urchin.  Things like washing it more than once a quarter, being willing to brush it, and not minding hair product.  Do you know how many of those things these lovely boys of mine were willing to do?  None. Zero.  Nadda.

I bought them gel and showed them how to put it in, three weeks later they were willing to swear they had never heard of gel, didn't know what it looked like, and couldn't tell me where it had disappeared.  Careless, awesome curls were a rarity and always the result of embarrassing Mom-can-still-tackle-me episodes. Instead my boys sprouted fluffy, bulbous knobs around their heads.

Basically, I had two tweenagers with mops as heads.

Did I tell you about the time I noticed one of them had enough grease in his hair to cook some fries?  When I asked how this was possible (he had come down from his shower with wet hair every morning), he replied he had not been using shampoo.  For over a month ... maybe even two months!  Why would you wet down your hair every day without washing it?  Unless a shrug and shake of the head is some deep answer that went over my head, there was no good answer to that question.

Basically, I had two tweenagers with dirty mops as heads.

What about the time (or times) I looked over at church and realized neither boy had even tried to brush their hair in the morning and both sported bed heads, complete with flattened down parts and peaks on the other side?

Basically, I had two tweenagers with dirty, tangled mops as heads.

And that is why, when one mentioned he wanted a shorter hair cut for summer and his brother showed similar interest, I practically killed myself running for the razor.  Their hair was so bad I was willing to risk cutting it myself before they changed their minds.


My boys have normal looking human heads again. But I suppose I will have to find the real mop again the next time I need to clean up a spill.

Someday they will actually care about how they look, right? Right?!?

(I don't have good before/after pictures so I'm posting some of all the kids.  Without too much effort I'm sure you'll be able to pick out the two that went from dirty, tangled mops to normal.)

Choosing our battles in the Hormone Wars.

We realize we're in a battle field

Getting ready for a lovely Sunday afternoon walk escalated quickly last weekend into a scream fest between my two oldest children.  Seems one decided the only acceptable bike helmet was her brother's and the other decided (after not wearing said helmet for a year or so) he absolutely had to wear it, too.  Peter and I watched, perplexed, and I asked him if my memory was shot or hadn't they both been wearing our helmets forever?  He assured me my memory is indeed shot, but I was correct in this instance. 

As we began walking down the street I asked him, "What, pray tell,  is wrong with them?!?" 

(Yes, I do speak sometimes as though I belong in a different century)

"Don't you know, yet?  The Hormone Wars have begun.  Estrogen makes her overly sensitive and testosterone makes him a territory protecting maniac and a bit of a confrontation junky."  

(I cleaned his response up a bit, there was some mention of hair growing in unmentionable places)

My husband is a wise man.  Hormone driven battles explain why those two have recently started fighting all the time! In that moment of clarity I saw the next 20 or so years of my life.  It would help if I wasn't also still a participant in the Hormone Wars from time to time.  We estrogen driven soldiers like to eat our own, don't we?

The battle is over, but the repercussions are not

The battle ended with a BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike left for dead at the end of our driveway.  I will let you decide if it was "dropped" or "pushed" as I wasn't there and both claims came from unreliable sources.  My daughter stomped inside to fume and my son decided he didn't want to ride a bike after all and joined the rest of the family on foot.


When we finished the 3/4 miles around the block, the BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike was still at the end of our driveway, laying there (lying there?) as a symbol of the devastation possible during the Hormone Wars.  This despite the fact that I had emphatically reminded my daughter, and made her repeat it back to me,  that she was to never, ever, under any circumstances to leave her BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike unattended outside.

I quickly captured it as a prisoner of war, stashing it on the side of the house, and going inside to tell her to put her bike away.   Unfortunately she found her "stolen" bike before taking my suggestion to run around the block looking for the thief.

(Hey, we parents have to find entertainment wherever we can.)

Punishment Ensues


So there we sat, my irritated daughter on one couch, my husband and I on the other.  As the hider of the bike I had instigated punishment and it is an unspoken understanding that the punishment instigator gets first rights in deciding punishment.  While she listened, this is the conversation my sweetheart and I had (please remember the remark about my memory being shot, this is the best approximation of the conversation that I can come up with):

"So, what are you going to do with her?"



"I haven't decided yet, any ideas you're particularly fond of at the moment?"


"The way I see it, there are two things that need punished, right?  Not going on the family walk and leaving the bike out."

"I was leaning towards making her cook dinner.  You know, serve the family since she abandoned us on the walk, plus I don't want to cook. What dinners are left on our menu for the week?"

At this point she breaks in with "Chicken and rice.  I know that was on the list this week and hasn't been made yet."


"Alright, Elise you have to cook chicken and rice for dinner tonight."

"Is that all you got!?!"  You're getting lazy in your old age."

"You mean you don't think making her do one of her favorite things (cooking) with one of her favorite meals (chicken and rice) is punishment enough?  All right, let me think."


(We are all struggling to keep straight faces.)

"I was thinking about grounding her from her bike, but that would be counterproductive.  We bought the bike so that she could use it for exercise.  No sense in punishing her by taking away something we want her to do.  What's your thoughts?"


"I was leaning toward grounding the bike, but you're reasoning is sound.  It can't be that."



"I know, let's punish her by making her ride her bike!  Since she didn't join us on a walk around the block today, she must ride her bike two times around the block every day for a week."


"Maybe 10 times."



"10?!?  That's over 7 miles.  How 'bout four times?"

"Seven?"

 

"Three.  Elise, you have to go around the block on your bike 3 times everyday for a week."


"Unless it's raining." 



(Remembering we live in New England)

            "Or snowing."



"You should be punished for mentioning snow."


All's well that ends well

Granted, the punishments were not severe, not even really punishments.  But in the process:

• We got our Hormone War wounded daughter to smile.  
• I didn't have to make dinner. 
• She is going out on her bike everyday (and her combatant participant is being "forced" to accompany her for safety).  
• We made our point: family walks are not exactly optional and leaving the bike out will not be tolerated (this was her one and only warning, we made it clear the next time it really will be GONE).
• Not to mention showing her that her parents are a unified front and our punishments are based on some sort of thought process and not randomly pulled from the air (most of the time)

In the Hormone Wars, we sometimes have to choose our battles.

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 2

Having already birthed a child, I was, of course, a complete and total expert on pregnancy. Or at least I would have been, if only all pregnancies were the same. Despite a very different pregnancy, I dreaded most the worst part of my last labor: the pushing.

A little over two weeks before I was due I went in to a doctor’s appointment and was pleasantly surprised to find I was dilated to a 2 and starting to efface. Since I had been nothing with Elise at the doctor’s appointment the day before I had her, I took this news to mean I was seconds from labor. Seconds. Any idea how many seconds are in 2 weeks? Enough to feel like an eternity or two.

Two days before my due date I was miserable. Dilated to 3.5 cm and seemingly 150% effaced, it felt like the baby was ready to drop out. I was busy watching a terrible Sylvester Stallone movie( I know, I know describing Stallone movie as terrible is redundant) when my labor FINALLY began. We dropped off Elise, grabbed my bags which I had packed and ready to go weeks ago, picked up my parents and sister and headed to the hospital. I was still dreading the pushing phase.

And then my husband slept through my labor. Or at least that is how I like to tell the story…

Trying to save enough energy for that detested pushing, I quickly decided I wanted medicine, unfortunately, not quite quick enough. Too late for an epidural, I was able to get a sedative of some sort that allowed me to sleep between contractions. I woke for the actual contractions, though! I remember distinctly waking during one and looking to my husband for comfort only to find him snoozing in the chair beside me, his head resting on my hospital bed. I almost killed him! He claims something about working a night shift the night before, already late into the night, me already asleep, blah, blah, blah. I just remember myself in pain and him in dreamland. I try to never let him live it down.

Like my first baby, this one was posterior. I spent transition on my side trying to get him to turn before entering the birth canal, thoroughly unpleasant, but effective. After what seemed like forever, it was time to push; I had been dreading this time for 9 months. It took all of 15 minutes and only a few pushes. I was greatly relieved.

Ryan was born on a Friday (I think). On checkout day, which was a Sunday, I requested my church clothes brought in so I could change before leaving. We went straight from hospital to Church. Two weeks later we moved half way across the country for Peter’s medical school. Apparently I enjoy moving while pregnant or with a less than month old baby. I’ve done it thrice.

Tween boys, giggling, and goals in life

I have recently incorporated a new daily goal into my life. It's a simple enough goal, attained without much effort, but it gives me immense satisfaction and I look forward to its fruition every day. What is this goal? To make my tween boy giggle.

It is a wonderfully fantastic game. As we talk, I watch closely for his mouth to begin twitching. This flicker of encouragement is all I need; I know I'm on the right track. Not long till I get a "Mo-om" as he desperately tries to turn that smile upside down. But eventually he loses control and a giggle breaks forth. Sometimes (these are the best) the giggle is silent, heard only in his throat as he bends over, racked in giggliness.

As I mentioned, it isn't a difficult thing to do. Sometimes all it takes is a reference to bodily functions. Other times a well placed raised eyebrow does the trick, especially when his younger siblings innocently say something that could be construed wrong. There are days a silly song is what is needed, nothing like mixed up lyrics to make a boy giggle. Other days I pull out the big guns, trying to work words like "duty" or even "Uranus" into our conversation. Is there a tween alive that can resist giggling when asked, "What did you learn about Uranus today?"

My husband has picked up on the fun and started participating. He'll make a comment and we both turn to watch its effect on our 11 year old son. As he giggles, we lock eyes and smile. I suppose common goals are a healthy thing in relationships.

I really can't help myself, I thoroughly and completely enjoy watching my tween try not to laugh. I love to hear that giggle erupt unwillingly. I often ponder why such a little thing brings me so much pleasure. Why afterwards I feel a little lighter, a little happier. Maybe I like to feel connected to my son as he begins his plunge into teenagehood. Maybe I need an excuse to be silly every day. Maybe there is no real rhyme or reason. I don't think I really need to know the reason why as long as I can enjoy it why it lasts. I dread the day that giggle is replaced with eye rolls, sighs, or vacant stare. Until then, I'll hold to my daily goal.

Pinewood Derby

It's that time of year again, where the desire to let my boys feel a sense of accomplishment is countered by my desire for them to make it into adulthood with all their fingers attached. That's right, last Friday was the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby.

Ryan's car was "The Frankenstein" & Ethan's was "The American"

After reading a friend's post about his boy cutting out his own car, I approached Peter about doing the same. He promptly reminded me that Ryan almost cut off his hand last year when carving soap with a pocket knife. In other words, no way. So I settled on letting them draw their own designs on the block of wood while Peter handle the band saw. They did sand and paint their creations (I might have done some touch up after they went to bed).

And here is the amazing thing: Ethan took 1st place!! I think he was glad I wouldn't let him go with his first choice in car design (a book) or his second (a ruler) or his third (scissors). In fact, after our original brainstorm, I decided to insist on a car looking design. Although slightly underweight, his car zoomed!

We thought for sure Ryan's car would be faster, but a small design flaw (weights too far back and back wheels too far forward) caused his car to wheelie at the bottom of the track. He did win one heat and took it all in good measure.

Here is what I learned:

• there are a lot of sites with printable car templates;


• googling "pinewood derby car templates" will bring up a mix of those site and really nasty sites;


• using masking tape is an effective way to let boys add stripes to their cars;


• polishing the axles makes a huge difference;


• in a scrape, drywall patch can be used to cover holes drilled to add weights;


• see the weights sticking out of Ryan's car- never use that kind they are hard to cut;


• and as much as Peter rolls his eyes in reference to my blog, I heard him telling all his family I was posting about the pinewood derby and they should go check it out.

Finding a missing library book

So the other day I lost two library books. I didn't actually LOSE them on that day, I just realized they were overdue and tried to find them that day. Which, in my house is no small chore. Although I have a library basket, it always seems to be empty. And, because I believe books should be "well loved," they are EVERYWHERE.

To find a missing library book I must first look in all the places books belong: the 3 huge bookshelves in the living room, the bookshelves in the girls' room, boys' room, and other boys' room, the playroom, the basement cupboards, the library basket, and the other 5 baskets of books.

If all these places prove useless (as they did the other day), I have to search the next tier of hidden books- dressers, under beds & couches & dressers (where I find all kinds of useful things like missing pairs of pants, candy wrappers, half eaten candies, a few monsters waiting to gobble children, and a grumbling mother realizing how the kids manged to get a clean room so quickly last week), cars, kitchen countertops, kids' backpacks and other such places.

If the book is yet to be found, it is time to search the "Really?" places. This includes bathrooms, laundry hampers, INSIDE dressers, UNDER couch cushions, BETWEEN mattresses, the garage, and closets floors(actually this probably is in the same group as beds because I often find the same things in them), etc. All the while thinking, "The book couldn't have just disappeared!!"

But sometimes it has done just that. And no searching can find the book. Of course, most times I've just overlooked it in the mix of books we own. Because I have a bit of a problem. Not helped by scholastic books fairs, $25 free super shipping option on Amazon, and the great used book store 3 miles from my house. I have baskets of "early reader, non-fiction"; "beginning chapter"; board books; workbooks; and "cover ripped off so I can't keep them out, but we still love the story so I will hide you in here". On a side note, I have taped together more books than I would like to admit.

And the illustrated classics? I have a half shelf devoted just to them. And an entire shelf to award winning books and authors. But my true weakness is books in a series. I did a quick count, I own 16 series of books and a few more where we own a few books in the series but not the whole thing. That is the list you see on the side (because I went to all the trouble of writing them down when I was counting). I also own lots of adult books, but not a single copy of any book written by my favorite author, Charles Dickens. You know he wrote so few... But that is a different story, I don't lose MY library books.

Anyway, I found one of the missing books (behind the girls' book shelf), but not the other. Not wanting to continue racking up a fine, I went in and confessed my crime and paid the $3 replacement cost. And 1/2 hour after getting home, Kirsti found the book. In a cabinet in her bedroom (that I had checked 3 times). I might take it back and try to get my money refunded, but I was thinking of going to the used book store to start a "Henry and Mudge" collection instead. After all, I now already own one.