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Spending moments of the day wondering about my SFD (my impact on the world and/or ways to make me smile) is having significant effect on how I approach the day.  “What can I do that matters and helps?” is always a good approach.  I’m enjoying it.  Of course, I’m only on day two, so, yeah, there’s that.

I’m finding myself inviting people over for dinner so that I can bake. We’re having some of Huzzy’s extended family over next week, and I’m already thinking mini Key Lime pies and cookies of some sort(s).  They have two little kids (under the age of ten), so cookies are always good.  I’m salivating over cuppie ideas for the boys’ second birthday party, as well.

Baking is my drug and King Arthur’s catalogue is my dealer. 

One of the reasons I am not despondent over a tough rehearsal schedule and a less-than-what-I-wanted experience with this show is that I’m baking for every rehearsal.  At first I thought my cast mates were just being nice about it, but one of them kept exclaiming, “Oh God, it’s another piece of Heaven in my mouth.”  Before rehearsal the other day, he asked me where my bakery was…thinking I actually owned one.  I told him this was my unprofessional avocation.  Then he smiled and asked me if I lived in the Keebler Tree.  Make of that what you will; I did.

Maybe the vanilla medicates me.  Maybe the chocolate chips provide a serotonin boost.  Maybe the sounds of the mixers soothes me.  Maybe the smell of a nearly done baked good is aromatherapy of the most nurturing kind.  Maybe the science and precision of it all forces focus, allowing all the other day-to-day to work itself out in an empty rehearsal space in my brain.

I think my alternate dream, now that improv is kinda off the table (although t(S)P is a whole other bear) would be to have a pastry shop or sell pastries in a café.  A desserts-only kind of place.  By the slice or by the handful, yannow?  If only I had the technical skills to make things look as beautiful as they taste.


Speaking of which, I made oatmeal cranberry cookies last week.  The house smelled like love.  Topping that off, Huzzy did the dishes.  I’ve made another batch since then.  They are that good.  They are a little autumnal, though, so I’ll put off making those again.  Also, I didn’t distribute all the butter evenly, so I had some spreaders that looked as flat as an unpopular 8th grade girl, and others that were majestic in their ragged-jaggedness. 


For the second time in two weeks, we did our weekly grocery shop at Target – excuse me, SuperTarget.  I refuse to call it Target with a French pronunciation.  Monkey L. seems to exhibit 2-year-old behaviors most unabashedly while we’re there.  If he’s with me, he yells for Daddy.  If he’s with Daddy, he yells for me.  There is no inside voice with this kid.  He is loud loud loud.  When he’s happy, he’s loud.  When he’s unhappy, he’s loud.  When he’s in Target, he’s loud.

I made the mistake both weeks of putting cheese in the cart.  “Cheese, cheese, cheese,” ad infinitum.  Apparently, the Neverending Cheese Rondo is not popular with other Target shoppers.  I get lots of dirty looks.  I’m that mom.  He’s not asking for cheese, mind you.  He’s just saying “Cheese.”  (Or, more precisely, “Sheeeez.”)  Over and over.  Loudly.  L. hasn’t mastered the whole listen/talk at different times. He usually chooses the latter. 

Target is a war zone for hapless mamas as the danger hour of 11:30-12:30 approaches.

I felt kinda skeevy doing my shopping at Target.  Somehow, it feels less healthy buying tofu at Target than at the grocery.  Yes, the exact same brand.  I’ve been brainwashed.  Somehow I feel like a better Mom if I shop at WholeFoods (aka Whole Paycheck.)  Feeding the kids food from Trader Joe’s also gets me into heaven faster, or so my primal brain tells me.


I’ve got a tentative outline for t(S)P. I’m excited and very frustrated that I cannot devote any time to it until August 9th.  (I am in crazy tech week and the show goes up at 11:59PM Saturday.)  Then…exclusive focus!  I’m hoping to get this thing up in 2011.


Huzzy and I had a Date Night Fail.  I cancelled it.  They haven’t gone well of late.  We are together 24/7 (he works from home) and there’s a lot of pressure on those nights to reintroduce both mystery and intimacy.  We just have to take those times to remember why we got married in the first place.  And eat a lot.  We like food.


Beginning to gather materials for the boys’ second party.  I have a midnight show the night before and the guests arrive at 11am and I’m making cupcakes that morning.  I’m an idiot.  An idiot who likes to bake.  I’ll make the frostings ahead of time.  Did I mention I’m making four kinds of cupcakes?  Did I also mention I’m an idiot?


We got a baby pool.  The boys love it.  I wish I could convey the squeals that come from the boys as they splash in it.  They sound like the oatmeal cranberry cookies taste.

It’s Love Synesthesia.


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