The Games We Play...

You know how you go to some baby showers and it's all "eat this poo-like substance out of a diaper, because it's fun (!?) and not at all degrading or gross," or "let's measure the big, fat pregnant lady who already feels like a whale, but let's show her in string just how huge she's gotten! Because that's fun for everyone!"

Yeah, well, you'll find none of that here...

Instead, we played games like Are You My Mother? in which our guests had a celebrity mommy's photo attached to their back and, somewhere at the party, was another guest with their celebrity baby and they had to find each other by asking yes or no questions.
I have no photos of this game, but it was fun for pop culture fans and fuddy-duddys alike, trust.

One of the favorite games of the day was the baby photo match-up game. When I sent out invitations I asked everyone to bring a baby or childhood photo so other guests could guess and match the baby picture to the adult. The most fun was seeing all the cute baby pictures and trying to guess who was who.

Most of the guests had trouble matching us Apple girls to our baby pictures. Of course, we all look similar, but people were mistaking me for Little Sister and Monster for Big Sister...it was fun to see us through their eyes.

Here is Monster in the throes of a killer staring contest with picture number 13. Don't tell her, but I think 13 has the edge in this one....

Next up, and honestly one that I was kind of excited about because I was sure people would be stumped, was a baby food tasting game. I purposely chose the typical and a few not-so-typical flavors of baby food including peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, chicken and apples, green beans and macaroni and cheese thinking that, number one, they'd be gross and number two, mommy or not, the guests would never be able to guess them.

Especially judging by their faces, I was certain I had them:

Some people opted to forgo the tasting of pureed veggies, fruits and chicken (?!) and opted instead to sniff out the specimens:

L doesn't look too sure about the Apples and Chicken entree.... Can't say I blame her, judging by Monster's reaction:


Little Sister wanted to share hers with me, I kindly declined


I was way off... everyone got 100%, except one person who mixed up the green beans and peas. So she won the gift for that game.

Is it more sad that I was TOTALLY bummed that I hadn't stumped everyone, or that I'm pretty sure if I had been playing, I probably couldn't have guessed what foods I was eating??

Remember the game Memory as a kid?? You laid out tiles with pictures like farm animals or something and had to match the sheep with the sheep, the pig with the pig by flipping over only two tiles a turn and remembering where your opponents had revealed tiles??

We made a baby memory game with pictures of a baby smiling (first smile), a naked baby bum (for diaper rash), a rattle and other baby-centric occasions or items.

Please note this was the ONLY baby-centric game of the party.... and I only allowed it because we gave gifts that were adult versions of the baby things.

Confused? Take a look:

Lisa matched baby's first smile. Her gift? Chapstick!

Hailey matched sippy cup, so she won "mommy's sippy cup" aka two mini bottles of wine!


George Ann found the rattles, so she got the grown up version- bangle bracelets.


This is Monster, kinda bummed about matching carseat and winning a car air freshener when she doesn't have a car...


And the irony is not lost on Little Sister, who, for matching mobile, won eye shadow when she gets make-up samples galore for working in the Macy's beauty/fragrance department...


And for matching diaper rash, Ellen is shocked at her big girl gift:


Thong underwear!

I think people were impressed by the entertaining games and were pretty delighted by the fact that nearly everyone went home with a fun gift just for them.

**Up Tomorrow: Unsolicited Mommy advice. Were there tears? You'll be shocked by the answer...*

Baby Mommy Shower

On Sunday, the younger sisters, mom and I threw a shower for this crazy couple:

O.K to be fair, the shower was mainly for that minx on the right and that pumpkin she's smuggling under her dress.
For those who don't grasp sarcasm, that's not a pumpkin, but my niece who's due next month.

As the most opinionated of the hostesses, I was adamant that this shower be adult and not crawling with babies or children.

Politically incorrect? Maybe, but I desparately wanted a fun party that everyone would enjoy; young, old, married, single, mommy, not... you get the drift.

From the decor, to the food, to the games we played, the party was meant to say "Welcome Fall...and a new baby" and not scream "BABY!!"

Mission Accomplished if I do say so myself:

Here's a close up of the piece de resistance, the diaper cake:




Those poufy things are tissue paper ruffly globes that mom and monster little sister made, we thought they added the perfect amount of whimsy and pop to our adult party.

Here's also where I give a big shout out to my fabulous husband for hanging them just so, even when that meant rehanging, retying and getting yelled at by a stressed out wife. (Who, me?!)

This is a little station for the fellow moms in attendance to write down their best piece(s) of parenting advice. Because what does every new mom need? Unsolicited advice!

In attendance were good friends who are practically sisters, like L, shown here with the monster


Aunts and work friends who attended with their grown up daughters:


This is BIL's aunt George Ann (center) with Big Sister's work friend Ellen (right) and Ellen's daughter Megan (left).

Big Sister was a regular tourguide showing off the nursery and all the cute things she has ready for Baby (Post on the nursery later maybe?).

These are two of Big Sister's neighbors, I have an idea they'll be a big help when Baby (I know the name, but I'm sworn to secrecy by penalty of death...so we'll just call it baby) comes:

When she wasn't up running tours through the nursery, Big Sister just sat in her chair and glowed.


Pregnancy looks good on her, wouldn't you say?

***This starts a weeklong series of the Mommy Shower Chronicles. Up tomorrow: The games we played***

Love, Loss and What I Wore

Has anyone else fallen in love with this book turned off-broadway show concept?

If you haven't heard of it, it's exactly what it sounds like. People sharing memories of love, triumphs, grief and how those memories are permanently linked to the clothes they were wearing during those moments.

Husband has often found my ability to recall at the same time a moment in my life and what I was wearing absolutely fascinating, mostly because he cannot do the same.

I find it impossible to separate the clothes from the memory because I think that's the fundamental point of our wardrobes, it's the art that we live our lives in.

Much like you'll never forget your wedding dress or the sweater that comforted you during a breakup or failure, or, heaven forbid, the dress you wore when you heard that a loved one had died, I find the same to be true of the events in my life no matter how great or seemingly small.

I remember the sundress I wore to school on Sept. 11, 2001 and, after watching the second tower collapse and, feeling more vulnerable than I could ever remember, wishing I could cover up.

Hanging in my closet still is the cranberry red sweater I wore for my senior portraits finally feeling comfortable and beautiful in my skin and for the first time ever, eager to have my picture taken. I have only had a few of those moments since, but never as wholly as I did having my senior portraits done.


I'll never forget choosing the simple khaki capris and black boatneck T-shirt I chose to wear on the first day of school just days after getting married. I remember walking on campus as a 20-year-old feeling more grown-up than my peers and that suddenly my life had taken on a whole new meaning (yes, I'm aware just how very 1950s that sounds!).


I can still recall every outfit I've ever worn to a job or internship interview, mostly because they were selected very carefully to portray a certain image. One of responsibility, maturity and hopefully, professionalism.

I know exactly how heavy and suffocating my favorite hooded sweatshirt felt when a favorite dance teacher told me that the dance company I had aspired to be a part of for the 4 years of my college career would never happen, simply because she didn't think I was right for it, or when my doctor prescribed me antidepressants a few months later.

Some of these outfits I got rid of long ago, not because they didn't fit or were no longer my taste, but because I was reminded of the memory everytime I looked at it. On the other hand, many of these outfits I still have in my closet regardless of whether or not they fit, for precisely the same reason.

Apple Hill Day Pt. 2

At one of the Apple Hill orchards, I believe it was Larsen’s, we toured their farming museum. The museum itself was in an old barn and had memorabilia dating back to the 1800s.
Out front was this cool wheely thing


Inside there were little scenes set up so we “modern day” folk could see how rough life was as a farmer, but you know my family, we find any opportunity to turn a perfectly good museum into a laugh factory….

For example, I pointed to this and, not using my inside voice, said “I just love this knob!”

Mom, realizing the name of the game and stepping up to the challenge, grabbed my arm and thrust me towards this and said, “I dunno about that, I just really love my sausage stuffer.”


Peals of laughter ensued. Husband rolled his eyes and said “Inappropriate.”

By the way, that photo yesterday of the boys by the Coke cart? Yeah, well that took 3attempts to get a good shot because of this monster of a little sister:



Charming isn’t she?

Out behind the museum was a graveyard of old farming machines like this old truck:


And this train-looking thing:

At one point or another we all wistfully said out loud, “If grandpa were here he could tell us what all these things did.” Mom also thought that grandpa on-the-farm could have a graveyard of his own.

This is Dad telling Husband that he doesn’t think StarWars was all that good of a series, but that Ghost Rider was robbed of an Academy Award:


With 2 photographers in the family and one poseur (that would be me) you get used to seeing this all the time:


Even strangers like this guy who happened to be wearing the same sweater as yours truly. Yeah it’s J.Crew men’s what’s it to you?


When you see a sweater twin, you have to take a picture amIright?

Also when you see a toddler with a mustache face painting you must get a picture


Anyways, we ate our body weight in apples, apple donuts, apple fritters and fudge, but did I get any pictures of that? No, no I did not because I was too busy eating.

What I did get a picture of, for posterity you know, is that monster of a little sister eating a pot pie. We went to what many people call the “gem” of Placerville as it’s a tucked away café that serves only pot pies or salad, but who gets a salad from the “gem” of Placerville? No one, that’s who.

Anyways, normally this is how the monster feels about pot pies

She don’t like ‘em…she’s crazy.

But this particular pot pie? Got her stamp of approval


Why you ask? Because she said it tasted like Pizza…Ohkay….

Apple Hill with the Family pt.1

Truly making the most of the first sign of fall, the family got together and ventured out to Apple Hill. For those not living in the Golden State, Apple Hill is essentially 50 Apple growers, orchards and ranches as well as Christmas Tree lots, wineries and microbreweries that sell all things apple.


Apple Donuts? Got 'em.

Apple Cider? Puh-lease

Apple dolls (with the creepy shrively faces)? Uh-huh...but eeewww

Apples by the bushel? O.K now it's just getting annoying, YES, they have 'em


This year's excursion to Apple Hill was prefaced with the impending threat of rain (70% Chance of precipitation, a big thank YOU to weather underground) but we traversed on.


We're stubborn you know.


Here are a few shots from the day:

I forget what this ostrich's name was but his feathers were awfully pretty, here's a closeup:

See that?? That's Big Sister, and no, she is not smuggling a bushel of Pink Lady apples under her shirt, that is my niece who's due to make her appearance at the end of November. Next year if we come again there will be a little toddler to chase after!

Thank goodness we brought someone to carry the umbrellas!

The boys had a good time hanging out at this Coke cart:

The rest of us had fun hanging out in our 'hoods keeping dry from the rain (why does my husband insist on squishing my face with his huge ol cheeks?? my eye looks creepy...)

There's more pictures, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow...

You are what you eat

If that sentiment rings true, then I am *not* day-old bread.

The question in, er, question is leftovers.

Growing up, leftovers were consumed on a weekly basis. One night, typically a Saturday or Sunday, Mom would declare it "leftover night" or "everyman for himself."
Fights would ensue over the least offensive leftovers, the ones that had been prepared most recently or simply the favorite meals from the previous week.
All the tupperware was pulled out of the fridge, opened and lined up along the counter-tops. Sort of like a buffet, and you were given the freedom to mix and match dinners.

Spaghetti with a side of leftover chicken? Go for it.

Pizza and greenbean casserole? Knock yourself out.

Sticky rice and applesauce? Shine on you crazy diamond, Anything goes!

Then there were the weeks that, for my mom, were culinarily inspiring and weeks would go by before we would have a "leftover" night.

Those were simultaneously the best and worst weeks. The best because dinners were different each night, the worst because it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.....

Clean out the fridge night.

And this, my friends is where I'm suspecting my aversion to leftovers began.

It started in all those tupperwares of mold, funky juices and smells and has transcended to the point where I can't face leftovers without imagining a science project waiting to happen.

Now, to clarify, I'm not totally opposed to the idea of leftovers.

I realize that they're economical and smart, and frankly the key to survival when cooking for...well any number of people.

My single friend AB claims that without leftovers, she'd buy lunches and dinner most days of the week, while my other friend AG (who is married with two kiddos) also admits that if it weren't for leftovers, she'd throw in the "cooking towel" altogether, even though she won't eat them herself.

Like I said, I'm not totally opposed to the idea of leftovers...as long as they aren't more than a day past their prime.

I absolutely refuse to eat anything in a tupperware that has been there for more than a day since it was initially cooked. Which means, I'll only eat leftovers the day after, THAT'S IT.

Wanna try to make me eat leftovers older than that? I turn into a four-year-old masquerading as a fully developed, mature 25-year-old. I'll whine, complain, refuse, then gag when you force me to try it and then cry.
Yes, I'm totally a grown up...

Oh and if the fridge has any odd or funky smell? I won't eat anything in it. Period.

This doesn't mean food goes to waste at my house, I simply only make enough for two maybe three servings. Why? I don't like the smell of old food, and I am POSITIVE that leftover spaghetti, chicken, rice what have you will have its revenge on me by way of a horrible bout of food poisining. (Have I ever had food poisining? No! Have I even so much as had the stomach flu or 24 hour tummy bug in 4 years? NO!)

So my question is this (yes I had a point, betcha didn't think I was gonna make it didja?!)
Why is it that there is a phobia for people who have averstions to things like bacon, cheese or tomatoes (of all things! Those nutcases) but there is no name for having a phobia against leftovers?

Not having a name for my phobia just makes it sound silly and irrational....

The Great Candybar debate

This was the conversation that sparked a pre-movie science experiment-

Husband: "Were you there awhile back when someone said that Snickers and Baby Ruth are basically the same thing?"
Me: "Uh yeah, that was *me* that said that. Because THEY ARE"

This conversation sparked a great debate which resulted in disecting both brands of tasty treats and doing extensive observation and taste tests.



Hypothesis:
That Snickers and Baby Ruth are made up of the same basic components; Nougat, caramel, peanuts and chocolate



Scientific Process:
First, we observe the exoskeleton of both specimens, of course both are immediately identified by their external markings. The Snickers has a very obvious chocolate swirl with a glossy finish while the Baby Ruth has a lumpier exterior and a matte chocolate coating.

Exhibit A: Snickers


Exhibit B: Baby Ruth


Next we dissect both specimens and take note of their components.


Notice the Snickers has a thin layer of a peanutty nougat followed by a thick layer of peanuts encased in caramel. The caramel and peanuts make up the majority of this bar.



Meanwhile, the Baby Ruth has a thick layer of a similar peanut/caramel nougat, which epicurious says is more like a fudge as opposed to the light, fluffy Snickers nougat. The fudge-like nougat is wrapped in a light layer of caramel which is then rolled in peanuts and encased in chocolate.

Need to see them again, side by side?
Here:


After our initial observations, we attempted to get a better idea of the differences in nougat by further dissecting the candy bar to isolate the nougat to sample. This is easier said than done because Snickers tends to melt fast and the layer of nougat is thin and fluffy and difficult to isolate. So we just ate them both:



So after much deliberation, we determined that, yes, both candy bars are made up of the same essential ingredients, however the difference in taste comes from the fluffy nougat of the Snickers, versus the more fudge like consistency of the Baby Ruth and the amount of caramel to nougat ratio.

Now that's science in action people!