It Rained Plant Crap, Myrtle!

This is what happens when I blog while The Precious is awake.

I'm having a hard time believing it, but the calendar claims that TCBITW will turn one in mere days. Six days, in fact. Still no teeth, and he's not taken any steps yet, but he's cruising all over the place, so walking may be in our near future. Or perhaps he'll choose to crawl the rest of his life, moving upright only when furniture is near enough to grasp ... who's to say? In addition to "Nana," I have distinctly heard him say, "Vrooom!" in response to his toy car wash that vroooms on occasion. Isn't that great?! And I've had a few more Mama's said in my direction, so I'm hopeful.

A couple more adorable developments: When he wants to listen to music (which is frequently), he'll sit in front of the stereo and bounce - his own patent-pending dance move - and look at me until I turn it on.

He's also completely in love with Shiloh, which is unfortunate since Shi might soon be diced and left for the wolves to feast upon (more on that in a moment). Andrew loves to find Shiloh's toys and hold them out for him to snatch. If Shiloh's across the room and too lazy to come running for his toy, Andrew will crawl over to him and rub the toy on his side to entice him to play.

We're going to celebrate Birthday of the Precious with Phil's family on Saturday during Mobley Family Lake Day. It's going to be pretty low key, just like I wanted, but since it's not even going to be at our house, I decided I did want to at least make his cake. And I wanted it to be really spectacular. I envisioned a general intake of breath at the wonder of my creation as I walked regally in the room with it. I perfected my, "No, no, really. I don't have time to run a bakery!" speech. And though no photograph would do it justice, Andrew would always understand deep down how cherished he is when he gazed at the pictures.

For practical reasons, I decided upon making a dozen or so miniature cakes (what you peasants probably refer to as cupcakes). Certainly such a work of art would have to be from scratch, so I set out to find the perfect recipe. That found, I decided I would also make homemade whipped cream to be stealthily inserted into the center as a delightful surprise. I would then top each with a decadent butter cream frosting - both chocolate and vanilla to delight every palate.

I wisely thought to do a test run on a couple of my friends who came for dinner last night. I was so distracted by the selection of the organic cage-free brown eggs and expensive dark-chocolate cocoa powder that I totally forgot to get those little foil liners for the pan. No bother - I'd use those for the real thing this weekend. When I pulled the first batch out of the oven, they looked a little ... flat. I was still hopeful. Then I had a bad time of it getting the blasted things out of the tin, but several came out in one piece. As they cooled, they continued to deflate until they looked remarkably like burned hamburger patties. This was the good batch. The second batch is eternally cemented to the muffin tin and sitting on top of the washing machine (where I hid them from my guests last night since I didn't have time to bury them in the back yard).

If the stars align and I drink enough tea, I might muster up the will and ego to try one more recipe before handing the apron back to Betty Crocker. Or you know, sticking a candle into one of those freezer-section cream puffs could be cute, too.

And now back to Shiloh. He bit Andrew this morning. He BIT him. On the arm. Left four bruise marks where his beastly teeth sunk into tender baby flesh. As I mentioned, the Precious adores him, and I assume he tried to pet him too much while he was eating. They were both in the laundry room (where I keep the dog dishes), Shi eating breakfast while Andrew was playing with the washing machine (it's a front-loader and opening and closing the door fascinates him). I kept peeking in since I didn't want Andrew splashing in the dog water, and I don't let him harass Shi too much while he's trying to eat (though he has frequently given him a pat or two during a meal without inducing so much as a glance). The final peek was just in time to see Shiloh snarl and snap at Andrew's arm. Oh the rage! I nearly killed him right then, but since he didn't break the skin and Andrew only cried for about 30 seconds (and soon after was trying to give him his toys again), I'm considering life without parole.