I can assemble a dump truck cake.

Before the party...

I can assemble a dump truck cake. 

It has been a long while since my last entry, but I shan’t beat myself up about it.  Instead, I look ahead to cooking for not a family of only 3, but for a family of 4 this November when baby girl arrives!  You see…  I’ve been busy…    

My son just turned 2 years old.  We threw a birthday party for him, and the theme was dump trucks, bulldozers… all of the things he usually plays with in his sandbox.  In an energetic moment a few weeks ago, I found directions for making a dump truck cake on www.parenting.com.  Many of the ingredients for the dump truck cake were the same as that of the bulldozer cake.  Why not make both?  I read the instructions over and over.  I studied them carefully.  I waxed and waned…  Can I do this?  Yes?  No?  Surely something will go awry.  But I have a master’s degree.  Certainly I can do this.  But I’m not good at crafty things that involve measurements, and this involves cutting cakes at angles…  I’ve seen those cake decorating shows.  Things go horribly wrong.  Still, I wanted to try.  So, not only did I make the 2 truck cakes, but I made a third cake as a back up.  A double layer chocolate cake with cream cheese icing.  Yum.  It alone would have been enough.  I had never made a layer cake, either, so using that as my back up was probably not wise.  Experimenting when you are expecting guests is always a bad idea, right?  But I’m an artist.  I take risks. 

Well…  I have to say I actually impressed myself.  The cakes looked significantly better than I thought they would.  With the help of my sisters in the assembly process, we successfully made (I say, assembled, since the cakes themselves were technically Sara Lee frozen pound cakes) a dump truck cake and a bulldozer cake.

When my son woke up from his nap, I took him downstairs to see the party decorations that we put up and told him that his friends would be arriving soon.  I showed him the cakes, and…  YES!  He knew what they were.  With a smile and a loving sigh, he said, “Dump truck!  Bulldozer!” as if they were the best friends that didn’t RSVP but that he secretly hoped would come to the party after all. 

The double layer cake also turned out remarkably well.  The risks were well worth it.  Lesson learned:  Take the chance.  You might just surprise yourself.  If not, you and your guests probably won’t starve.  It’s only food.  This is not Hell’s Kitchen. Gordon Ramsey won't be coming to your party. 

These directions actually work when you follow them!   

Dump truck cake:  http://www.parenting.com/article/how-to-make-a-dump-truck-cake

Bulldozer cake:  http://www.parenting.com/article/how-to-make-a-bulldozer-cake

Note:  Each boy at the party got to demolish his own cake.  Watching 2 two-year olds play with the trucks and “dirt” (made of graham cracker crumbs), only then to realize several minutes into the process that they were all edible…  priceless. 

After the party...  (aka: the scrap yard)

Trying not to kill my family

A piece of advice:  if you are cooking a chicken and the smoke alarm goes off, maybe you should heed its warning... 

I did my usual chicken roast on Thursday evening.  I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, but somehow the garlic began to burn very early in the hour-long cooking process.  I kind of liked the charred, campfire-like smell, so I just proceeded as usual.  The smoke alarm started going off about halfway through the cook time.  Luckily this did not disturb Aidan's afternoon nap.  He sleeps like a rock.  I took care of the alarm as most people do while cooking dinner...  I turned it off and removed the battery, but it was also plugged into the wall.  It kept beeping every minute or so, but I knew there was no fire, and I had dinner to prepare -- I would take care of that later. Finally, dinner was ready and we ate a partially charred chicken, but honestly it was just fine.  It was actually quite good.  The garlic was burned, but the chicken itself was quite tasty and juicy.  In fact, I used a meat thermometer to make sure it was fully cooked since there were still some suspicious looking pink areas.  170.  We were pathogen-free.  

During dinner, Grace lay beside the table panting and shaking a bit.  "Crazy, nervous dog," I thought, "she needs water."  I got her some water, but she wouldn't drink it.  Fine.  Took her for a walk with the family after dinner.  She still acted strange, but doesn't she always for one reason or another?  We came home, and she didn't want to go in the house.  "Crazy dog, what the hell is wrong with you tonight?"  I said.  Shortly after that, there was more beeping from the alarm in the hallway.  "Why is THAT going off now?  I'm done cooking!" I thought.  I tried to "fix" the alarm, and in my struggles with that, we realized it was actually the carbon monoxide alarm.  "Ugh."  (I should share a bit of history regarding this particular alarm...  The last time it went off, I called the fire department.  They sent 3 firemen to the scene.  In 30 minutes, they assured me there was nothing wrong, and they changed the batteries in the alarm.)  So... I struggled with trying to turn off yet another annoying alarm.  My husband took over the job, using his manly skills to dismantle and disable it.  After a few minutes of fiddling with it, he informed me that the alarm was probably going off because we might actually have carbon monoxide in the house. 

OHHHHH...  THAT'S why the alarm is going off.  DUH. 

So I suppose, the next time the alarm goes off (or in this case alarms), I shouldn't ignore it.  And the next time my dog tries to warn me that my family might be in danger, I should pay attention to her as if she were Lassie.  And the next time I cook a chicken, I'll try not to kill my family.
 

Hello, world. "I Can Cook A Chicken" is here for your dining pleasure.

This blog is an attempt to document my journey into working-motherdom.  An independent dance artist turned working mother, I fear I am becoming a cliche, but I question if that is always such a bad thing.  In any event, I am attempting to cook good, wholesome, "mostly" organic meals for my family as often as possible throughout the week (and yes, there are several leftover nights scheduled as well -- I'm not that crazy). 

"I Can Cook A Chicken" is a line from a song in Ruthless! The Musical, a hilarious musical that I choreographed a few years ago.  The director and I got slap happy over that line one night, and now I can't get the song out of my head whenever I cook a chicken, which tends to happen once every week or two.  It seems that something dramatic and/or funny happens on nights when I cook a chicken, and I am using this space to share those moments and others like them with you.  

Bon appetit!