Vitafamiliae

Today is my birthday.  In keeping with tradition, Andrew made a chocolate cake last night (gluten-free this year, look at me, I’m growing as a person!) so that I could enjoy a piece for breakfast.  Because he is amazing, he managed to find time to stick a candle in it and get the kids to sing to me before we raced out the door to church.

After church, we went to small group where I learned that our sweet friends have been paying attention when I mentioned that I like chocolate cake.  And they took me seriously.  Cake Number 1:

And Cake Number 2:

Nothing says “love” like chocolate cake options!

After dinner, the neighbors (and honorary members of the culdesac) gathered next door for yet another dessert.

This one was called “the Marriage Saver” and I do believe this creation of deliciousness and peanut butter could quite possibly save not just a marriage, but the world.

I have never felt so covered up with love - all the phone calls, tweets, facebook messages, and desserts that you people have thrown at me.  Thanks for celebrating with me.  Thanks for understanding that my love language is words of encouragement and chocolate.  And thanks for loving me… even if my jeans may never fit properly again.

So Adam had a birthday.  And we partied all day long.  But first, let’s talk about cake.

Ellen very sweetly helped me clean the bowl of hazelnut cream cheese filling that I used to fill in the giant crater on top of the cake.  Then I covered the cake with fondant (store bought, I cheated, sue me) and then sweated a few bullets and lost a few hours of my life decorating the cake.

Adam approved, which, in the end, is all that matters.

Speaking of the birthday boy, by noon he was covered in a combination of dirt, silly string, spray chalk, and icing.  Which is pretty perfect for a FIVE year old boy.

Later, we filled the house with loved ones and did the requisite singing.  Adam always looks the cutest when we sing to him because my poor middle child is just soaking up all the attention.

There were several fun water toys given as gifts, but the big hit came from Nana and Great-Daddy:  A slip’n slide.  Or, as Ellen dubbed it, “The Sloppy Slop.”

I have no explanation for the goggles.  They were deemed necessary… in two inches of water.

Willa didn’t bother slipping and sliding, she was content to splash in the puddle at the end of the slide and scream at her brothers if they slid too close to her.  The kids slipped for hours while the grown-ups played corn-hole in the front yard.  We finished off the evening with some cartoons for the kids and a rousing round of Nerts for the big kids.

It was some very sleepy, very happy kids we put to bed that night.  And the grown-ups were pretty happy, too.  Thanks to everybody who came and sent love.  It was one of those magical days that just floated by, full of pleasantness and happy things.

Although he may have been the Happiest Thing of all.

As always, if you feel the need to don and kerchief and sing, “Sunrise, Sunset” with me, you can go relive Adam’s crazy birth story here.

Somebody has a birthday on Saturday.  Which, in the House of Vitafam, means CAKE preparations are under way.

Do you think the world is ready for this kid at Five?

I may have mentioned a time or three that my kitchen is possessed.  Things don’t rise in my kitchen like they’re supposed to.  I’ve had the Bread Whisperer try to help me fix my problem, I’ve had my friend who is a trained chef… We are all bumfuzzled.

And tonight, I offer you further proof.

Our chef buddy came over to spend the evening with us.  Usually, he brings carefully crafted culinary delights with him, the likes of which will make me eat vegetables I’ve never dared consume.  Like kale.  And asparagus.  There might have been a leek in there somewhere.  All I know is, he makes magical sauces that render just about anything edible.

And then there’s The Cake of Magical Wonders.  Once he truly understood the depth of my love for chocolate, and the darker the better, he started showing up on my doorstep with a certain cake.  It has very little flour or sugar in it, hence, I can eat the whole thing and it won’t mess with my delicate insulin issues.  Hypothetically, of course.  Ahem.

Tonight, we ordered take-out, but I thought a little snacky something was in order while we visited.  Chef P offered to teach me how to make the Cake of Magical Wonders.  He mixed and stirred and finessed around my kitchen.  But at some point, something went wrong.  The egg whites mixed with cream refused to reach a “semi-solid state.”

We pulled out my powerful mixer, because even the Chef’s “Popeye Arms” were tired of beating the egg whites into submission.  And yet, not even my Electrolux could coax proper solidification from that cream.  All we got was butter.  Chef P dumped the first attempt and reached for the cream.  We whipped it up and folded it very sweetly into the delectable chocolate mix on my stove.

And then we waited while it sat in the oven and filled my house with my favorite smell:  chocolate.

Chef P went to remove the cake from its prison and, with sadness and consternation, reported a disaster.  The Cake of Magical Wonders, the cake he had so faithfully created for me for months, had failed.  Not just failed, had concussed right there in my oven.

It took a good fifteen minute discussion to determine the cause of the disaster.  We decided that water in the cream kept it from whipping properly, which made us throw the egg whites out, and we should have known those egg whites were important to the overall structure of the cake.  Plus, my sugar was sub-par.  And my oven hates me.

But maybe that last one isn’t scientifically provable.

You will notice, however, if you look carefully at the picture, that this culinary disaster did not deter me one bit from consuming the would-be-cake.  Matter of fact, I ate a lot more after this picture was taken.  And I have every reason to believe that either myself or my children will enjoy it for breakfast tomorrow, too.

Because, My house?  It’s where good chocolate goes to die.  And I’m okay with that.

Just so long as I don’t have to let it rise.

Well, the inevitable happened.  Today, we became the parents of six year olds.  I haven’t decided yet which emotion will win:  the weeping or the high-fiving.

Either way, it’s a “Yay, God!” kind of day around here.

And you all know that when the House of Vitafam celebrates, there will be cake. The boys finally agreed they wanted a bobsled cake (I guess it was all the Olympics we watched when they were sick.)

However, my cake mojo failed me this week.  My first cake fell so dramatically I had to feed it to the kids for breakfast the next morning.  My second attempt was merely passable.  Last night, when I started putting the cake together, it fell apart, slid off the cake plate, and imploded.

There was nothing left to do but turn it into a Bakerella style “cake ball bobsled.”

The next morning, the resulting shape I pulled out of the freezer looked more like a rowboat than a bobsled.  The boys were worried.

Frankly, so was I.

The twins requested a fondant covered cake.  They’re probably the only six year olds in the world who know the word “fondant.”  Once I got the fondant and the decorations on the rowboat, it looked much more like a bobsled.  The boys were just excited to pick which jaw-breaker/helmet was theirs.

That’s a candy racing stripe and runners, by the way.  The bobsled is supposed to be orange, but fondant is ridiculously hard to turn any other color but pastel.

Truthfully, the kids only wanted fondant so they could play with the leftovers.  This was my kitchen island after they wreaked their havoc.

Some of our friends weren’t able to join us as planned, but MeMe and my brothers came and spent the day.  We ordered pizza and then we Did Cake Time.  Each twin got a turn being sung to and blowing out the candle.

This was followed by some sort of testosterone-driven balloon fight.  The Posse plays hard, y’all.

We’ve now all collapsed in a coma of sugar and exhaustion.  It was a beautiful, comfortable, crazy day.  And it definitely felt like a celebration.

Even if we did have a bobsled cake in the middle of Alabama in March.

The big discussion around the house today is “what kind of cake to the twins want for their birthday?”  The general rule is Andrew picks the flavors (his birthday is four days earlier) and the twins get to decide what sort of decoration they require.  In past years, they’ve agreed pretty quick.  This year, however, Sam has tried to assert himself a bit and refuses to go along with Ian’s choice.

I am amused.

I especially love that when I first brought the subject up, Ian’s answer was, “We haven’t talked about it.  We’ll need to get back to you.”

I guess that wasn’t on the agenda at the last board meeting.

These twins of mine, they are a complication.  The other day during nap time, the boys were playing outside.  I heard Ian wailing and shortly Sam entered the house in search of me.  “Um, Mommy?  I ‘askidentuhlee’ hit Ian in the face with the wood.”

What he means is he swung a two-by-four and connected with his brother’s head.

Andrew lets the boys play with scrap wood in the yard.  They build forts, tee-pees, pathways, whatever they want.  Sam was moving a board and executed the perfect Larry and Moe routine with his brother.  Miraculously, Ian wasn’t that mad at Sam.  I applied Arnica and soothed ruffled feathers before I booted them back outside.

About an hour later, Andrew busted Ian in the laundry room, changing his clothes.  When asked for an explanation, Ian reported that Sam made him laugh so hard he wet his pants.

Being a twin is an emotional roller coaster, y’all.

The jury is still out on what sort of cake I’ll be concocting next week.  But until the decision has been made, I’m hiding all the two-by-fours.

Since Ellen was sick last weekend, I waited a week to make her snowman cake.  Naturally, this weekend the temps soared to 63.  Not that I’m complaining, mind you.  But I felt a bit ridiculous bringing my snowy masterpiece to our small group when all the windows were open and the kids played outside.

I used my typical chocolate cake recipe with cream cheese icing.  The Barefoot Contessa never fails me, y’all.  But this time I crumbled up the cake and mixed it with the icing a la Bakerella.

(And, okay, obviously that’s not ME in the picture.  I let my hunky hubby do the heavy mixing.)

Then I, as in, really me this time, took the cake mush and shaped it into three different sized circles.  Sort of like making meat loaf.. that looks like a chest.

We froze these over night.  The next day, I let the snowman parts thaw a bit and then jammed bamboo skewers through them so they would stay stacked.

We froze it again and got all the fixins’ out for decorating.  I melted a ton of white chocolate and we poured it over the top of the cake.  Then I jammed in some black jelly beans for the mouth and eyes.  I whittled a carrot nose out of those candy circus peanuts.  And I bought some great chocolate sticks that were perfect for stick arms.  I’d show you a picture of exactly what I bought, but, um, they were “sacrificed for the greater good.”

Anyway, the chocolate hardened really fast, so I didn’t get to mess with it much or smooth it out like I wanted to, but after it hardened, I brushed a pearly glaze over it and sprinkled some “snow sparkles” around the bottom.  I added a pink scarf and Miss Ellen had her a snowman.

When we got up this morning, the snowman was still in perfect condition.  After we finished making breakfast, I turned around and there was a big crack running down the side.  I guess the cake thawed and expanded, cracking the chocolate.  Note:  if you ever make this at home, let the cake thaw a bit before pouring chocolate on it.  Or don’t pour the chocolate until the same day you’re going to serve it.

We had to drive the cake to small group (where Ellen wanted to celebrate with her “fwends”) so I spent the drive trying to shield the snowman from the sun.  Like I told a panicked Ellen when I used her blanket to protect the cake, “Snowmen melt in sunshine!”

As is birthday protocol, we lit the snowman’s head on fire for Ellen to blow out.

And then we lobotomized him, in true celebratory fashion.

And if our kids aren’t totally traumatized by the time I’ve made them another 12 or so birthday cakes, I will be very pleasantly surprised.

Somewhere in the middle of our Thanksgiving holiday, we pulled off a birthday party.  Which meant that, the day after hosting a houseful of lovely, hungry people for Thanksgiving, I had to make a cake.  And you people know I can’t just “make a cake.”  I have to make a cake.

I was short on time, creativity, and energy.  And, fortunately, Willa’s expectations weren’t very high.  She had no idea why I was shoving beaters covered with cake batter in her face, but she didn’t mind.

She didn’t mind one bit.

She got wise to my tricks, though, by the time I got around to making the Nutella flavored filling for in between cake layers.  She grunted and squealed at me in between bites.  And if I didn’t get the spatula back to her face fast enough, she began beating her chest wildly to sign “please please please please please please.”

And then our crowd of people arrived.

How cute is that brother of mine, huh?

This cake may have been my best-tasting yet, what with all the filling and such, but it was a bit of a visual disaster.  Half of it started to slide and break before I even got it iced.  It went from being a typical 8-inch round to a 10-inch slope.  Since we made some chocolate butterflies to go on top, we dubbed it Butterfly Hill.

Willa had no idea what to think when we surrounded her with singing and fire.

But it took no time at all for her to grasp the ramifications of The Icing.

And just because I live in fear that one day my kids are going to come to me and say, “You never really had birthday parties, Mom, you just stuck us in the same high chair, gave us cake, and claimed there were people there,” here’s proof there was a roomful of Willa’s Loved Ones.

Since her party was on Saturday, we had to make the leftover cake last to her actual birthday on Monday.  This involved a great deal of self-control on my part.  And Willa’s.  I had to hide the cake because any time she laid eyes on it, she started squealing and “pleasing” like crazy.  I managed to scrounge up one last piece of cake for our birthday girl to enjoy on her actual birthday morning, just like my mama taught me.

She may never eat oatmeal again…

And now:  The Weekend Highlights.  On Friday, our brave neighbors offered to watch ALL FIVE of our kids for us so Andrew and I could steal a few minutes alone on our actual anniversary.  What followed was an hour of getting lost looking for a non-existent cupcake place.  I’d been asking Andrew to take me to this bakery I’d heard of, only, when he finally agreed, I couldn’t remember the name, exactly how to get there, or who had told me about it.

In other words, I was useless.  It’s a wonder Andrew didn’t just push me out of the car while it was in motion.

We later learned the bakery had relocated.

Meanwhile, my neighbor sent me this picture.

That’s eight kids, five and under.  And she got them all to smile at the camera.  It was an anniversary miracle!

Andrew and I eventually turned up back at home to pack our brood up and head north to the city we met and married in.  I’m pretty proud of myself, since I got us out the door and down the driveway in an hour and fifteen minutes, start to finish.  Pretty good for last minute packing for seven, huh?

Our area of the Southland has been enjoying what they call “a wet spell.”  We sat in traffic, rain, and sun all in about an hour.  But here’s what greeted us on our way out of town.

Did I ever tell you it rained on our wedding day ten years ago?  Well, it did.  And God was faithful for the last ten years.  I kind of like this reminder that He’s in it with us for the next decade or four.

We wheeled into town just in time for a good old fashioned reunion over barbecue and hush puppies.  Ten years ago, there were just the six adults.

Now we number 21.  (Only 20 pictured, one was still in the oven at the time.  Welcome Baby Lilah, by the way!)  Later in the weekend, we squeezed in another meal with friends who are expecting their fourth.  We let the kids eat at their own table.

The restaurant was still standing when we left.  I call that an accomplishment.

What’s funny is that if you had looked around the room ten years ago, I don’t think we all would have pictured that of four couples, we would number nearly 30 in a decade.  That’s some serious procreatin’, y’all.   Yay us!

Anyway…

We spent most of the weekend helping our friends get ready for Baby Lilah.  They were in the middle of moving, renovations, unpacking, and prepping for baby and thought that adding our family of seven to their family of seven for a weekend would be useful.  (Don’t think too hard about that, your head will explode.)  I hope that we served some purpose.  But our kids did their very best to undo any help we might have been.  There was a “let’s dismantle the shelves in the playroom” incident.  And a broken window that I won’t discuss.  But we played cards into the wee hours of the morning and we laughed and discussed things of “serious import,” just like we did ten years ago.  Only this time, there were little voices to wake us up before 7 am when we stayed up too late.

Somewhere in the middle of all that playing, working, laughing, and eating our way through town, we managed to sneak off with the kids to a very special spot.  And that’s when the magic happened…

Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about it.  Meanwhile, tell me who are the people from your past you still connect with.  Who can you just pick back up right where you left off with?  Are they college friends?  Work friends?  Church friends?  And when’s the last time you connected with them?  What do you think makes those friendships last?

Friday night, we got a baby-sitter and we did all the consignment sale shopping we could possibly do, effectively clothing our young brood for the next six months, plus completing our Christmas shopping for the kids.  Meanwhile, back on the ranch, the kids were disobeying direct orders and got into that blasted mud puddle again.

It is my understanding that at some point, they were naked and painting each other with mud.  Our baby-sitter may never come back.

Andrew took me out to dinner and we went shopping for my birthday present, which I talked him out of, and instead got him to get me a fancy chef’s knife.  Because nothing says “Happy Birthday” like sharp, pointed metal objects.  Or, put another way, Andrew’s gift to me is the promise to love, cherish, and take me to the ER when I inadvertently remove my finger tip with my new kitchen gadget.

Then we pretended we aren’t old and in our dotage by going to a late movie.  Getting home at 1 AM isn’t nearly as exciting as I thought it would be all those years ago when I had a curfew.  We saw Julie & Julia (my pick) , and I loved it.  Food, blogging, and misadventures in the kitchen…  What’s not to love?

I may or may not have had a significant birthday on Saturday, resulting in, brace yourselves for a shock, the making of cake.  Andrew and the kids did the baking, which meant I got to sit back and watch his head implode slowly while cooking with The Little People.  A true joy, that was.

Our neighbors (who are somehow never in pictures) helped make the day even more special by joining us for cake and singing and a little Wii-ing.  Impromptu parties are always the best.

Finally, I tried to think some thoughts about turning 30, but I kept getting interrupted.

And so I guess I my thoughts are this:  I’m not who I thought I would be at 30.  This life isn’t what I pictured.  But it far exceeds what I could have imagined.