Just wanted to let y’all know that you absolutely do not have to read to come out to Blog Out Loud. Quiet listeners are welcome! Come and say hello and meet other Ottawa-area bloggers, big and small.

Sidebar buttons for BOLO are now available on the BOLO Blog, if you’re interested.

I finally, finally, booked a place for Blog Out Loud! It’s Irene’s Pub, located at 885 Bank Street (just north of Landsdowne Park, on the East side of Bank).

Mark your calendars for Wednesday, July 7, 2010. 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. You’ll be able to get a nice dinner at Irene’s, if you like, or just grab a drink, kick back, and listen to some awesome bloggers read their stuff out loud.

As with last year, photo bloggers are also invited to display their lovely creations.

Now, who wants to read?

I have no idea what to expect in terms of readers this year. Last year I had to cajole a few people into it just so I felt like I had a good cross section of writers. This year it could be the same, or perhaps, word has spread like wildfire that BOLO KICKS ASS, and there will be dozens and dozens of readers coming out. Oh, stop that snickering. It COULD HAPPEN.

So I just wanted to give a few guidelines up front so everyone knows where my head is at and what is going on. First of all, we can definitely accommodate at least 18 readers, so if we get 18 or fewer people interested in reading, then HUZZAH, my work is done.

If many more people than that come out, though, we’ll have to see. I would really, really love it if everyone who was interested in reading could read. However, there’s no way we can have, say, 50 readers and still keep it to one evening.

It’s probably not a real concern at all. But just in case, I’m going to set out some suggestions for potential readers:

• you should read something you wrote and posted on your blog.
• it should ideally be something from the past year (June 2009 to June 2010), since I started this thing so bloggers could reflect what kinds of writing readers might find on their blogs today.
• you should be able to read it out loud in about three minutes (but this is quite flexible, I’ll let you know if I think it’s really too long)
• I’d love to get your link/submission by Wednesday, June 23. If you’d like to read but still aren’t sure what, at least let put your name out there so I know you’re circling the fences.

If worst comes to worst and we can’t accommodate all interested readers…well, I’m hoping it won’t come to that, so I’ll figure that out when the time comes.

In the meantime, if you’re up for it, let me know! You can email me your link at lynnturtlehead@gmail.com, or leave a comment here, or leave a comment over on the BOLO blog, where this entry is cross-posted.

April 27 is a funny kind of day. Last year, it was one of the hottest days of the year. We didn’t realize it at the time, but it was to be the only hot, sunny, summery day for months, as May, June, and July were unseasonably cold and rainy.

Here’s what we did on April 27 last year:

April 27 is Princess Charming’s birthday (she’s our next-door-neighbour), and she’d gotten this water slide as a birthday present. The kids spent the whole day on it.

This year, this is what we woke up to:

Fourteen years ago today, Sir Monkeypants and I got married. I woke up in a hotel room with my mom. We looked outside and were amazed to see snow on the ground, soft flakes falling from the sky. “April,” my mom said. “You just never know.”

Some brides might have been upset, but I thought it was kind of magical. Wonderful, unusual weather for a wonderful, unusual day. Besides, my mother had made me a gorgeous floor-length purple woolen cape to wear over my wedding dress, and now I’d get to use it. Be prepared, as they say.

Over the years, April 27 has always been surprising. Some years, sun and sandals. Other years, rain and chills. This year, like that first year, snow.

Anything can happen. There’s good days and bad. Happy times and sad.

It’s never quite what you expect. But we’re riding the waves together.

April 27.

Sometimes it’s a hot summer day. Sometimes it snows.

Either way, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

There are almost three years between Gal Smiley and Little Miss Sunshine.

Round about when the Little Miss was one year old, I was thinking it would have been nice to have them closer together, only because then I wouldn’t have to store Gal Smiley’s hand-me-downs in bins in her closet for three years until the Little Miss was ready to wear them.

By the time the Little Miss was two, though, the lag time for clothes in bins was only one year. Gal Smiley is very small, and short, and skinny, and has a tiny little head, and as a result can wear very small clothes for a very long time. The Little Miss is still on the small side of the size chart, but at least falls into a normal-ish range, which meant that she was gaining on Gal Smiley, fast.

These past few months, we’ve realized that the Little Miss is going to pass Gal Smiley in size someday — sooner than we think.

Much sooner.

Last week, we were out buying a jacket for Gal Smiley and the store was having a buy anything, get something else free sale. She saw a fancy dress she liked and with FameThrowa’s wedding coming up, we told her she could get the dress as her freebie.

Size? 4/5.

A few days ago, I was out with the Little Miss and she saw a fancy dress she really liked. It was on sale, so I bought it for her for FameThrowa’s wedding.

Size? 4.

I must say, we never thought that our 5 1/2 year old and our almost-3 year old would wear the same size. Granted, the dresses are from different stores and the Little Miss’ dress is a bit big on her. BUT STILL.

I predict a lot of fighting in years to come. “That’s my sweater! Mom! She took my sweater!” Shudder.

I took last week off of pie, and all of a sudden I developed this weird pie-making stage fright. I had to give myself a major pep talk to even attempt to make pastry this week. I’m all psyched out. Shouldn’t I be better at this by now?

Anyway, this week I was making a pie for Sir Monkeypants’ poker buddies, again. I offered him a choice of blueberry (which is possibly my all-time favourite pie, I have no idea why I have not made one yet) or raspberry. Sir Monkeypants chose raspberry, but when I went out to get the berries for it I found that raspberries are going for $5 a pint at the Superstore, and I really did not want to spend $30 on a pie that I was sure was going to be a complete disaster.

Hence, Raspberry Custard Pie, which only takes one pint of raspberries. However, it comes with a whole new level of stress, as the last time I tried to make a custard-based pie I accidentally made Egg Drop Soup pie instead. Ahem.

So I put it off as long as possible, then forced myself to begin.

First, the crust. Sir Monkeypants suggested that I use milk in this week’s crust, for a closer comparison to my mother’s pastry, and also since this pie would be leaving the house so there was no chance of the Captain asking to try it. So I did, but then I spilled the milk into the bowl while I was adding the liquid and thus ended up with really wet pastry. And yet, I did not panic, for my mother says not to worry, you can always add more flour during the rolling process, so I did, and it all worked out okay.

I’m finding that using more liquid makes the pastry much easier to roll, yet very hard to transport to the pie pan without ripping.

In short, there is still much to learn, padawan.

Anyway! Here’s the recipe for the filling part, courtesy of my main woman, Edna Staebler:

Take 1 cup sugar, 1 teaspoon flour, and 1/2 teaspoon salt, and mix in a bowl.

Add two beaten eggs and stir.

Bring 2 1/2 cups milk to a near-boil on the stove. Add a little at a time to the egg mixture. I literally added it one tablespoon at a time while constantly stirring with my left hand to avoid the Egg Drop Soup phenomenon, all the while soothing a whining-at-my-feet Little Miss Sunshine with my dulcet voice, because that’s the kind of wondermom I am.

Pour the filling into the pie plate. Oh, it should have a 9-inch crust in it, already prepared. Did I forget to mention that part?

Then you place the raspberries on top. I think the cookbook implies that they will sit on top, but my filling was very wet and the raspberries sort of sunk down then bobbed up to the surface in a weird floating kind of way. But whatever.

Here’s what we have at this point:

Then you try to get that sucker into the oven without spilling it all over, while holding your toddler back with your foot and answering your other daughter’s questions about same-sex marriage at the same time. WONDERMOM.

After baking for 45 minutes at 350 degrees, you get this:

Is it just me, or does this pie look odd? I think it looks odd. All in all, a very odd pie. Sir Monkeypants came home and said, “What’s wrong with the pie?” and I was all, “Nothing, it’s supposed to look like that, I think,” and he was all, “Okay, if you think so,” and I was all, “Trust me, I am WONDERMOM.”

And now, a lengthy anecdote about the tasting of the pie. Aren’t you glad you’ve come with me on this epic journey to the Magical Realm Of Pie? I hope you brought a pocket full of magic beans so we can find our way home!

So Sir Monkeypants had to go to poker, and things were busy around here so for the first time ever, I did not taste the pie before I sent it out for others to eat. Then, when Sir Monkeypants got home ($1.70 richer, I might add, THAT’S MY MAN), I was already asleep, so I didn’t taste the pie.

Then, Sir Monkeypants and I ran into each other at 1 a.m. when we both got up to help Gal Smiley, who was coughing up a lung with croup. He mentioned over the sound of the humidifier filling up that the pie did not go well. He said, “It just didn’t turn out – it doesn’t taste right. I couldn’t even finish my piece.” And I was all, “OH MY GOD.” I was convinced that I’d forgotten a critical ingredient, like sugar maybe, or that the eggs had not set and were just a runny, gross mess in the pan.

So even though it was the middle of the night, I left Sir Monkeypants with Gal Smiley and went downstairs to immediately inspect and taste the pie. There was about 3/4 remaining, again a first – the poker boys never send pie home.

So I had a slice, and I have to say, reports of the pie not turning out were GREATLY EXAGGERATED.

The thing with this pie is that it is a very, very traditional custard. It kind of looks like it’s going to taste like vanilla pudding but it’s not sweet like that – it’s more like a quiche in terms of taste. The consistency of it is just the way custard is supposed to be, which is very smooth and silky — like creme brulee, or maybe like very silky tofu. It’s less like the filling of a Boston Creme donut, and more like egg-flavoured jello.

So I think it really was not what the boys were expecting, as they are really a MORE CHOCOLATE PLEASE kind of crowd. This dessert is much more subtle than that, and really meant for the custard fan. But it did “turn out,” as they say, in that the recipe was a success and baked up just fine. And if you’re like me, and you like custard, it’s actually quite good.

I’m sure I’ll never make this again as I would end up eating the entire thing alone (as I probably will this time), but if I did, I’d use more raspberries. Each bite that has a raspberry in it is exponentially better than a plain custard bite – the raspberry flavour just explodes and it’s SO GOOD. So I’d make sure there were enough raspberries to basically cover the entire top, instead of just the scattering you see in the photos.

Oh, and the crust? Not as good as my mom’s, but definitely better than what I usually turn out. So I might stick with milk a few more times and see how that goes.

So, the pie was kind of a success. I like to think of it as a good foreign film – a huge hit when playing for the right audience.

Next time, though, MORE CHOCOLATE.

A few weeks ago on my way to Saturday Night Ladies’ Poker, I was listening to (of course) the CBC. On Saturday nights, the immortal Randy Bachman of BTO does a show called Spinal Tap, and oh my Lord, I could listen to that show forever and ever. Randy strums away on his guitar while telling awesome, totally ego-free tales about his rock star past, and they are so fascinating. He plays songs on a theme each week as well, and he’s such a great storyteller that I just can’t get enough of the backstories he tells to introduce each song. I’d love to have him over for dinner.

Anyway, this one week some teenaged girl had written in to ask Randy for help with a high school assignment she’d been given. She had to pick out the one “quintessential 80s song” and discuss why it defined that decade. Since the girl wasn’t even born in the 80s (SIGH), she needed some advice.

Randy talked it over with his producer for a while, and almost went with a Duran Duran song, but in the end he came up with Rapture by Blondie. It was the first big hit to include rap, and Randy considered the introduction of rap to mainstream music to be a major moment in musical history.

At poker that night, I brought it up and FameThrowa suggested that Pump Up The Volume by MARS would be a similar song, in that it was the first big house music hit.

My personal choice was Girls Just Want To Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper, which I think absolutely defines the pop-synth sound that I associate with the 80s, not to mention the girl-power theme that I think was big around then.

I think I could also make a case for Material Girl by Madonna, which remains one of my most favourite songs ever (I am SUCH a sucker for clever lyrics with puns) or Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. Both huge hits, great songs, and amazing, legendary videos, which is also a key feature to an 80s song, I figure.

What do you think is the defining song of the 80s?

One thing I’ve always wanted is a punch bowl. I like punch, I think it’s nice at a party, but punch bowls take up a lot of space and rarely get used so it always seemed silly to actually buy one. I think all my friends must feel the same way because in the past several years whenever I’ve had a baby shower or bridal shower or PTA reception I haven’t been able to find anyone who has one to borrow. I’ve resorted to using a large mixing bowl with paper cups and a plastic ladle and the result? Tasty punch, UGLY presentation.

After my grandmother passed away last summer, my mother was cleaning out her house and mentioned that there was a punch bowl that she didn’t know what to do with. I immediately said I’d take it – I wanted one, I’d use it, and the added bonus of it having belonged to my grandmother made me excited to have it.

I wasn’t expecting much. Actually I pictured something like this:

My grandmother was kind of a fancy, frilly, flowers kind of lady.

Then my mother warned me that there was a some silver on it, that would require special cleaning, so in my head I moved on to this:

On Easter weekend, I picked up the bowl from my mom and yesterday I got it out to clean it.

Imagine my shock when I saw this:

Seriously. The most beautiful punch bowl I have ever seen. So classy! So clean! So perfectly 60s retro! It’s gorgeous.

I love it so much. I polished it up yesterday, the whole time having “I haven’t done me brasses yet!” running through my head in a cockney accent, proving that I have seen Mary Poppins TOO MANY TIMES.

I can’t wait to have a party. Anyone for punch?

And bonus, I can always use it for a Halloween costume:

FameThrowa called me this morning just to make sure everything was okay, since I haven’t blogged in a dog’s age. And it is – we are still here and doing well, just busy. She suggested it would be a good idea to make a post notifying the world that I am not dead, so here you go. I must say it’s a nice side effect of blogging that people notice when you aren’t there.

Mostly I’ve been busy with PTA stuff – completely reworking the school website and wrapping up another project I’ve been working on for the school library. The shine is definitely off the rose (is that some sort of mixed metaphor? hm) when it comes to the PTA. Last year I was so gung ho, and even at the start of this year I was ready to work. Now I find I’m just so very tired of it all.

I can’t really say why the change – it wasn’t any particular incident and everyone has certainly been very nice and appreciative of my work and all that. It’s just that it is taking up so much of my time, and although I am doing it for my kids, they don’t really appreciate it. It’s just too nebulous to them right now that Mommy is Raising Money for the School, when they’d really prefer it if Mommy Was Reading Them A Book or Taking Them To The Park.

So next year I’m going to be taking a break from the PTA, and to ensure that I could feel good about that decision I had to wrap up a bunch of small to-do items that I’ve been putting off, and hence the quiet week around here. I didn’t even make a pie last week, I was so burnt out. Pie eaters of the world, I have failed you!

In other news, I have actually chosen a place for Blog Out Loud. Now if I could only get them to return any one of my hundreds of emails and phone messages to confirm the date, I could actually announce it. ARGH. I intend to storm down there on Thursday evening and force them to listen to me. I WILL BE HEARD. OUT LOUD. Get it? Oh, I crack myself up.

Anyway, hopefully there will be an announcement on that front next week sometime.

Now I’m off to make muffins, continue slowly extracting myself from the PTA, and continue being alive. Still here!

Warning: Whining follows.

So all three of our kids have decided to never sleep again. Sleep is for chumps, they say. I really hoped we had moved on to a new era of lovely, 8-hour overnight visits to dreamland, but no.

In the past three weeks or so, Sir Monkeypants and I have each gotten up at least once, usually two or three times — EACH — every night. The older two have had a crazy mixture of bad dreams, stomach aches, tiny bladders, lost sleep buddies, coughs, and forced awakenings to try to weasel a midnight viewing of the video that their sister got to watch before bed without them. GACK.

The worst by far, however, has been the Little Miss. She’s in that lovely phase when she’s losing her nap, does not want to nap, is too big for a nap, thanks anyway. So she’s napping at all kinds of weird hours, then going to bed at all kinds of weird times, and at least half the time she’s waking up at 2 a.m. wanting to have a three hour milkshakes-and-goldfish-crackers party, and trust me when I say, I AM TOO OLD FOR THIS.

On top of the crazy not-sleeping, the Little Miss has had some bad behaviour issues lately. I don’t know if it’s because she’s two, or if she’s finally getting some molars, or if she’s too short on sleep or what, but she is a total pill. A simple request to come to the table for dinner is met with tears and hysteria; ask her to pick up a toy or – heaven forbid! – put her pants back on and it’s a total meltdown. She plays happily with her brother and sister as long as they give her everything she wants, and when they don’t, she hits and kicks and screams. At this point she’s basically spending at least half her awake time wailing about… well, I don’t think even she knows what.

It’s wearing on me, I gotta say. By the end of the day, Sir Monkeypants comes home and I’m like a dangerous, vicious snapping turtle just waiting to bite his head off. I really wish I could fast forward a couple of months and move on to a happier time. Because there WILL come a happier time, right? RIGHT?

In other news, the Little Miss has a rash in and around her right armpit – a set of 40 or so little white-head like bumps. You’d think this might be the source of her crankies, but it really doesn’t seem to bother her much. The issue is that it is really, really bothering me and Sir Monkeypants. Our doctor says that this rash is Molluscum Contagiosum, and here are some fun facts about it:

• It’s caused by a virus, so there’s no medicine or creams that will treat it. The only thing you can do is burn off the individual bumps with liquid nitrogen, like a wart, and they totally aren’t going to do that on a squirmy two-year-old.
• So, you just have to wait for the virus to run its course. And that will take – wait for it – an average of 18 months, but it could be up to five years. FIVE YEARS.
• The whole time she has the rash, it is very contagious. It’s likely to spread around her body in a lazy, party-like fashion until it has had its way with her.
• Oh, and it’s also very contagious to others. It’s spread through skin-to-skin contact, or contact with wet towels she has used, or toys she has touched, or other surfaces like doorknobs.

So to sum up: there’s basically no way to avoid spreading this thing, short of locking the Little Miss in her room and not touching her for the next five years. We don’t quite understand how it is possible that the whole entire world doesn’t have it. Oh and bonus? Once it’s out of her system, she doesn’t even get immunity. She could be reinfected at any time in the future.

GREAT.

Although I have to say, having a valid medical excuse for locking the Little Miss in her room is awfully appealing.