My Name is Kim and I Am a Reddi-Wipaholic

Edie with can in hand: I brought my baby over to the dark side

David says if I don’t post this picture, he will. It’s part of his intervention. He wants everyone to know the truth behind my food blogging, healthy-eating facade - The Yummy Mummy lets her kids eat Reddi-Wip out of the can. Gasp!

No really, I can explain...it was my Mom’s fault.

My Mom, God bless her, always has a can of Reddi-Wip in her fridge. If there was a nuclear attack and we had to live in her cellar for a few weeks, there would be seven cans of Reddi-Wip, a half gallon of Ginger Ale and a case of Campbell's Soup waiting for us to give us sustenance. We might be glowing green with radioactivity, but we’ll spend our last days spraying streams of whip cream into each others mouths and trying to gnaw open the soup cans with our teeth.

You don’t have to tell me that Reddi-Wip is chock full of preservatives (and of all things, nitrous oxide - the anesthetic you get in the dentist's office) or that lab rats keel over with cancerous sores every time they are fed the stuff in the lab. I know. I know. But I don’t care because it is just SO. DAMN. GOOD. And since I never buy it for our house, I can only eat it at Mom's and since we were there for Thanksgiving...well, you know the rest. (See? I told you it was her fault)

My mother’s fridge is like my opium den. Every night during our visit, I waited until the kids went to sleep and Mom and David became occupied with the computer or the TV and then I carried out my missions. I snuck to the fridge, found the can, quietly snapped off the lid, tipped back my head and sucked down little foamy mounds of whip cream straight from the can. It was heaven…until it became sickening but by that time, I was hooked and couldn’t stop.

My Mom (with Edie): My Reddi-Wip supplier

And then, I quickly put the top on the can and went back to pretending to act like nothing was going on. That is until the urge to have more whip cream struck again (15 minutes later) and I had to conjure up a reason to go to the kitchen (Anyone want a drink from the kitchen? How about some popcorn...No, I'm happy to do it for you....You sit right still) Mom hasn't noticed yet, but there are wear marks on the carpet between the fridge and the couch.

By the end of the week, I had infected the children.

David walked in the house and found the girls and I seated around the dining room table eating my mother's homemade cupcakes, but really we were just using them as delivery vehicles for mounds of Reddi-Wip, which we squirted on the cake and licked off and then, squirted again and laughed hysterically together, all hopped up on sugar and nitrous oxide.

It was one big crack den until David came in and picked up the can and started reading the list of ingredients and started murmuring things like, "tumors the size of grapefruit" and "St. Jude's Children's Hospital", which really put a damper on the party.

Like mother like daughter: Edie considers how to get more cream out of the can

By Friday, the nozzle on the Reddi-Wip had mysteriously broken and there was still cream in the can and no matter how I fiddled with it, it just wouldn't work. I considered writing to Con Agra and complaining (Maybe they'll send me a free can) Then, I turned and saw David watching me from around the corner. A wise cracking grin played at his lips.

The smell of sabotage filled the air.

The orgy is over. We are back in NYC. There's nothing but the four food groups in our fridge. At least I have fond memories. Thanks Mom.

xxxooo YM

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Realization in Seattle

David & Edie

We went to Seattle this weekend. David had to see a show and we all hopped on a plane and went. We traveled across the country like we were traveling across the river. And it was fabulous to all be together and heading out on this little adventure.

But I learned three important, life-altering things. Let me share them with you:

1. Don’t be an idiot and pack sunglasses for your trip to Seattle.You won’t need them. There is no sun.

2. Buy milk before you get to the hotel. Room service charges you $20 a quart. (Okay, we should’ve figured this out the first time it happened in London. The Fosters are gluttons for punishment)

3. If you forget to pack a comb and brush, your husband might look like an indie rock star, but your girls will look like tiny street urchins. And nobody wants that.

That’s what I learned. That and folks from Seattle are just lovely and frankly, we spent so much time talking to the ducks on Puget Sound we never made it to Pike’s Place Market. Okay, good parent, bad food blogger. You can’t have everything.

xxxooo YM

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I Inspire My Friends to Keep Their Expectations Low

Shar with Benny and Lucy on the playground.
This picture was taken back in the day when we all lived on the Upper West Side.

My friend Sharleen came over yesterday. She used to live in Manhattan but she betrayed me and moved with her husband, Marc, and her son, Ben (who happened to be Lucy’s best friend) and went to live in Connecticut, with her annoying little herb garden (“Let me cut you some fresh basil for the sauce”) and her ridiculously roomy backyard full of trees and flowers (“I spent all day in the garden yesterday and can you believe it?...I broke a nail!) and her enormous house (“Sometimes I lose Marc and it takes me forever to walk through the house and find him”) and her charming country neighborhood (We don’t even have to lock our doors…) Blah Blah…country life is great…I barely miss you…blah blah blah. That was the gist of our conversation yesterday.

And birth stories. We told gory birth stories because she’s six months pregnant and gory birth stories are on her mind.

Sharleen told me that I’ve taught her two valuable things. I was almost flattered until I heard what they were. Apparently my legacy in this friendship is that I inspired her to (1) keep her expectations low and (2) how to make the perfect crab cake. Not exactly the kind of thing that will get me on Oprah, but not so messed up I’ll have to talk about it on Dr. Phil.

Actually, the low expectations part is about the birth plan – not having your heart set on some delusional fantasy delivery that will never happen. So, I guess that gets me out of the horrible friend category, but I can forget that career in motivational speaking.

Shar, if you're reading (and since you are, like, my only reader from Connecticut, you better be reading) - have a great birthday! It was great to have you guys here!

xxxooo YM

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Brown Buttered Corn

Brown Buttered Corn

I haven’t posted a recipe in awhile, so here’s a great one…

This Brown Buttered Corn side dish originally came from The New York Times (September 5^th, 2007). The recipe was meant to coincide with the last of the wonderful fresh Farmers Market corn. Of course, those sweet, crunchy ears are a distant memory now and even though this dish is better with freshly shucked corn right off the cob, the frozen Green Giant stuff is still perfectly fantastic.

I love this dish because it quite literally takes 10 minutes to make in one pan and it is simple enough for picky eaters and sophisticated enough for your resident food snob – but be prepared to make a lot of it. We had 6 of our neighbors over for dinner Saturday night and the corn was such a hit, I had to go back in the kitchen mid-dinner and make another batch. Which is kind of cool actually, when people like something so much you have to go back and make more on the spot. And the kids pounded it, which is also satisfying on a Mommy level. So, make more. You can always keep it for lunch the next day…but trust me, there won’t be any left.

Here is the recipe adapted from The Times (with my notes). Their recipe makes for 4 people, but they must be stick people who don’t love corn. I tripled it for our kitchen supper on Saturday.

Brown Buttered Corn

3 ears corn, shucked (or a package of frozen corn without sauce)

4 tablespoons butter (be generous)

4 sprigs thyme, preferably lemon thyme (you can also use rosemary or a rosmary/thyme combo. Both worked well.)

Coarse sea salt (whatever salt you have will be just fine)

Freshly ground black pepper

If you are a glutton for punishment and are using shucked corn. Here’s what to do:

1. Break ears of corn in half and stand one half vertically on a cutting board. Using a sawing motion, run a knife between cob and kernels to remove kernels. Using back of knife, scrape denuded cob to release corn’s juices. Transfer kernels and juice to a bowl. Repeat with remaining corn.

If you are sane and using the Jolly Green Giant. Here's what to do:

1. Open bag of corn.

2. Melt butter in a saucepan; add thyme and/or rosemary. Let butter cook until you see golden brown specks in bottom of pan, about 5 minutes. The key is getting the butter nice and nutty tasting. Add corn, juices and a large pinch of salt and pepper; stir well and cover pot. Let the corn cook until tender, about 5 minutes.

3. Remove any annoying little branches, add more salt and pepper if desired, and serve hot, alone or as a side dish.

Let me know what you think….

Xxxooo YM

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I Wanted to Take a Shower Yesterday. By Myself.

This is not so much to ask. This is one of those rights that should be written into the Constitution. It is fundamental.

Here’s what I think: You deserve to take a shower all by yourself in all your naked splendor without little eyes staring up at you through the glass. And you deserve to take a peaceful shower without your kids pulling out the tampons from the cabinet and whipping them at each other, so that when you get out of the shower, there is a blizzard of half-opened tampons and tampon wrappers covering every square foot of the bathroom and your little baby is wearing a maxi pad as a hat.

And you should be able to take a shower without your oldest asking you in a loud grating voice, over and over, each time just a little bit louder, “Do bumblebees have beaks, Mommy?...Do they?...Do bees have beaks…and wings…Do they, Mommy?...I SAID…Do they have beaks…Mommy!...Mommy!...MOMMY! “ until you are forced to open the shower door and inform her that bumble bees do not, in fact, have beaks, but ducks and chickens and pelicans do, which prompts a whole new loud discussion about pelican beaks and somehow elephants get in there and the shampoo is dripping down your back and you’re cold as hell and you wish you didn’t take a shower in the first place.

So, I slipped off for a quick shower yesterday. Two adults were here: The CSFB (Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter) and the girls’ Godmother, Bubba. That’s 3 adults and 2 kids. We outnumbered them. Which is surprising since mid-shower I hear wailing and the wailing sounds like it’s in the same room, but I think how could that be? There are two other trusted and beloved a dults here and I’ve only been out of the room for 3 minutes.

So, I keep showering, kind of oblivious, and the shower is very hot and the glass doors are all steamed up and the water is roaring and frankly, I’m as deaf as an 80 year old man and I barely notice that the wailing has gotten louder, kind of in stereo. But I figure the adults are on it and if anyone has set themselves on fire, someone will come and get me. I keep showering. I even shave my legs. It was down right luxurious.

But the wailing persists and it is getting stronger. Like it’s in the same room. Weird. So, I wipe off the shower door with my hand and look down and see two near-hysterical children, tears streaming down their faces, staring up at me. Edie has her arms out desperate for a hug, Lucy has a long stream of snot hanging out of her nose. They are red-faced and freaked out. They look like two sad little orphans lost in the forest without their parents. They look broken and abandoned and my heart sags looking at their pathetic little faces, until I remember what started this whole dramatic affair…I’m taking a SHOWER!

So, I talk them through rinsing the conditioner out of my hair and I do this while propping the door open with one foot, so Edie feels closer to me and then, I throw a towel around me and get down on the floor next to them, dripping wet and hug them both and Edie pops her head down low and sticks her face in under the towel and grabs onto a boob and Lucy sniffles and wipes her nose on my towel and buries her head in my shoulder and we are all recovering from the trauma of Mommmy actually leaving the room and...TAKING A SHOWER!!

I’m sitting her now thinking about taking a shower, but it’s easier to be stinky…

xxxooo YM

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Seinfeld to Letterman: "What's the Deal With That Crazy Woman My Wife Stole All Her Cookbook Ideas From?"

If you haven’t been keeping up with the controversy about Jessica Seinfeld’s Deceptively Delicious, read my November October 18 post to review.

Really, after this I won’t write about the book or the ridiculous Seinfeld’s anymore, but I saw Jerry spout off like a nasty, ranting loon on this Letterman clip and I felt the only person who might be able to intervene is Oprah.

So, I wrote her a letter...but it's okay, we have that kind of relationship.

Dear Oprah,

I applaud you for sticking by your friends. Oh, it sucks because there’s all this press about Jessica Seinfeld maybe lifting a recipe or two…or 12 from The Sneaky Chef’s book. But that doesn’t taint your credibility at all. I mean we all know you had Jessica on the show because you and Jerry are buds, and he had this Bee Movie coming out, and you were in the movie, and the book probably seemed like a nice fun diversion for your Mommy audience and every body knew this was just one of those nepotism things.

And we all like nepotisim…ya know, when it happens to us…and think it stinks when it happens to privileged celebrities…but that reminds me – what’s up with all the shoes that Jessica gave you? There was like $20,000 worth. Whew! Opie, did you need new shoes and were too proud to tell us?

Still, it was a very nice gesture on Jessica’s part. I mean, that appearance really put her book on the map because people pretty much do whatever you say. Like when you say this thing is a good thing to buy and people just run out to the store and buy it. Now, I’m not suggesting that people don’t think for themselves or you’re like Jim Jones and 50 million viewers are drinking the Kool Aid, because that wouldn’t be exactly accurate, but it is pretty great that after an author appears on your show, their book just sits on the best seller list.

Now don’t get me wrong, Opie - I’d lurve to be one of those authors. And you can bet if I had a book to sell, I’d want to do it with you - which is why I’m so happy we are so close because if we weren’t, I’d have to try hard to get my book on the air.

I hear The Sneaky Chef and her publishers pitched your show like 5 times and you didn’t want them on the show. That’s so weird. I wonder how many times Jessica had to pitch your show? Probably a lot, right?

But I get why you’d want Jessica on the show. It’s good to keep it all in the family. I’ve noticed a lot of your celebrity friends come on your show when they have movies coming out. If I had a show, I’d want all my friends on, too. And really The Sneaky Chef is kind of a stick in the mud anyway, I mean she’s all hopped up on rutabaga and pureed kale - she definitely wouldn’t bring in the viewers…and besides, she has a pretty small shoe budget. I’d go with Jessica Seinfeld any day.

You made the right call and I’m sure Jessica was on her way to becoming the next Martha Stewart until…well, you know…all that pesky alleged plagiarism happened. Uh oh! We’re back to that again. That really put a cross in her buns, didn’t it?

Well, Opie, I’m with you – she probably didn’t lift those recipes. Maybe she copied them in her sleep, or she laid the book under her pillow and the recipe ideas seeped into her head by osmosis, or maybe she’s psychic, you know that happens to a lot of people – they see dead people and ya know, recipes for vegie brownies in the middle of the night.

Better yet, maybe her “ghostwriter” lifted the recipes. Really, lots of celebrities use ghostwriters. No crime in that – that’s how I make a living here at Casa Yummy Mummy.

She might have hired a ghostwriter and that ghostwriter did the alleged plagiarizing. You know, Opie, this may solve everything. I mean, it would be easy for “Some Lame Ass Ghostwriter” (SLAG) to copy a few things because the Sneaky Chef has a prominent google-able website and I’m sure if SLAG was doing research to write the comparative titles section for the book proposal, she must have stumbled upon that website.

And SLAG – if she exists - might have thought that borrowing a few little tiny purreed buttnernut squash recipes from an obscure blogger wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? Okay, this is great! – Jessica can blame the whole mess on the ghostwriter!

Oh but wait! This puts Jessica in a sticky pickle, doesn’t it? Because if she points the finger at SLAG then, she’ll have to admit she might not have written the book…Oh! Such tangled webs, Opie!

And let’s talk about those editors at Harper Collins – They completely forgot they rejected The Sneaky Chef’s book - ya know, with like the same concept and recipes - just weeks before they received Jessica’s proposal and decided to buy it. Weird isn’t it? Sneaky Chef…bad. Seinfeld…good. Hmmm...

Oh! I get it! Sometimes I can be so thick, Opie! Jessica is married to Jerry! Harper Collins probably would publish a book about glue if one of the Seinfeld’s wrote it. Now, I’m on it. The glare of the Seinfeld’s earning and marketing potential must have blinded the folks at Harper Collins, making it impossible for them to remember that the two books had the same recipes and concept. That explains everything! We should send those editors some sunglasses, Opie. Can I borrow a few bucks for a present for the HC editors?

Now, I have to admit, Opie. I’m really blaming you for this whole debacle. I mean this would barely have been a blip on the radar screen if you hadn’t invited Jessica to be on your show. Both pureeing books would’ve died on the vine in obscurity.

I mean, maybe you and the Sneaky Chef and Jessica get together on Sunday nights and giggle like teenagers and puree your zucchinis in your jammies and socks but I I‘m not that…well…dull. I would rather poke myself in the eyeballs with a pins or remove my spleen with a fork than stand in front of the food processor mashing up cauliflower and then, washing all those dirty pans in my copious amounts of free time.

It all feels like you guys are rolling back the clock to the 1950’s to me…you know, which makes sense since the book cover looks so damn much like a Betty Crocker cook book anyway, but I suppose that was all on purpose, wasn't it?

And speaking of the 1950’s – what have you done to Jerry’s manhood? It’s like he has been traveling in a time machine!

I saw him on TV flattening the Sneaky Chef instead of plugging his poorly reviewed movie, he called her all sorts of bad names – like “wacko”, “hysterical”, and “angry”. Jerry was very mean, Opie. He talked like men from the olden days who used words like “hysterical” to keep women in their place.

I’m sorry to say you’ve driven Jerry to become a mysogynist. It’s kinda of like Salem all over again – men ranting about the crazy women and then setting up stakes in the town square...or you know, Letterman. Tsk. Tsk.

And this should be a lesson to you, Opie - if you don’t mind me giving you some advice, one friend to another. You should stop all that book reading you do on the show. Or okay, maybe you should just READ the book before you have the author on the show. This might help you determine if they really wrote the book or if they just made stuff up, ya know, like that James Frey guy. Wow…This has happened to you a lot, hasn’t it?

I know you depend a lot on your producers and I’m sure they do lots of important stuff, but I think…since we are so close and all I can say this…maybe they’re not actually READING the books. I mean, I bet if you sold some shoes, you could hire a professional to actually READ the books and look more selectively at the authors. Wow! Nifty idea, isn’t it?

I love you, Opie. Don’t get me wrong. But I think you should give up all this book business and just stick to what you do best – you know, those touchy-feely, kissy face interviews with your friends like, Maya Angelou and Tom Cruise. And you can even throw in an episode or two about losing weight. We love it when you talk about your battle with the bulge. It makes us feel like you are just like us and we are just like you. We love that feeling!

But I guess at the end of the day, we know the difference – $20,000 shoe gifts and size 4 celebrity moms with turbo-blenders always bring us right back down to earth.

Love & Kisses...

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A Little Message From My Husband...

David got himself one of those laptops that you write on with a "pen". It's very cool and if he were sitting here I could tell you the name of it and link it, but he's not, so we'll have to go with "it's one of those computers you can write on".

The important thing is that when he was practicing using the pen on the computer, he drew this lovely little thing and e-mailed it to me, which he probably thought was just a test to see if it was working, but for me was nothing short of an act of romance.

It's a small thing, but that's what it's all about, isn't it? I love it. And him.

xxxooo YM Continue Reading...

The Reason There's Not Much in the Fridge...

Face of an angel? Yes.
...Most of the time

I looked inside the fridge this morning and this is what I found - A sprig of thyme, a half a red onion, a stub of wilting tomato, a half carton of milk and a tube of anchovy paste.

Not so bad if you are a 19 year old pledge in Kappa Alpha Psi and a great meal is Ramen noodles cooked on a hot plate in your dorm room, but I'm a...FOOD BLOGGER for heaven's sake! My fridge should look like a green market every day of the week.

Want to know why my fridge is bare? Because we didn't get to Pathmark yesterday. Well, we did go to Pathmark yesterday, but we never actually made it inside the door.

It all started with gum.

I promised Lucy some gum as a treat and they didn't have sugarless gum at Duane Reade. Well, they had sugarless gum, just not the right flavor. They had spearmint, not strawberry, and Lucy and Edie hate any of the mints - spearmint, peppermint - so after plowing through the gum bins at the front of the store near the cash registers and realizing they had every sugarless mint gum imaginable, but no sugarless strawberry, I told Lucy we would get her some gum at Pathmark, since that was our next stop.

But that wasn't good enough. Because there was shelf after shelf of gum and candy at eye level (for a two year old in her stroller) and she was mesmerized and we weren't getting out of the store without a package of something. So, even though I knew the girls wouldn't like this sugarless mint gum, I stood in a very long line and bought it anyway. I gave Lucy a piece and Edie half a piece.

And they were content for about 15 seconds...until the mint hit their palates. Lucy started to cry and waved the half-chewed wad in the air until I took it and removed it from her sight. I tried to comfort her and tell her we would look for the good gum at Pathmark, but she wasn't having it. She started to cry.

I figured the best thing to do was just get out of dodge. I shuttled them out of the store and hurried down the street, carrying one baby in a sling and pushing the other in the stroller, while bending down occasionally to remind Lucy that good gum was just a block away.

Also sweet...and completely in cahoots with her sister

But the block to Pathmark was long, and riddled with much unhappiness.

Lucy wanted the good gum immediately. I did the rational thing. I explained to her and explained to her and explained to her again why we didn't have the good gum and that the good gum was coming. And every time I explained, I had to stop and bend down and talk to her in her stroller, which meant we kept stopping and it was taking us longer and longer to get to the good gum.

Lucy just kept getting sadder and sadder. I didn't know what to do and the explaining wasn't working, so I tried to keep it moving. It was the longest block in NYC.

Edie (in the sling) had her own thing going on. She was spitting the spearmint gum pieces up onto my chest, so I had little wet, spit marks and little half-chewed chunks of gum running down the front of me. This is not unusual. I usually have some kind of stains and debris on my shirts. This time I was wet, spit-on and stained.

We made it down the block but never got into Pathmark itself. It was the bubble gum machine outside the store that de-railed our efforts. Lucy decided she wanted a gum ball since she didn't get the good gum. This, I think, is completely reasonable.

Tears streamed down her face and she was hiccuping wildly and pointing to that stupid gumball machine and I didn't have quarters even if I wanted her to have that crap and we were just shit out of luck in front of Pathmark and quite frankly, Lucy had just about had enough of my inability to procure gum for her and so she did what any self-respecting toddler would do. ..

She sat down in the middle of the entrance way to Pathmark and staged a protest.

Not a tantrum. A protest. She stopped crying and just sat there. People stepped over and around her and looked at us like we were nuts. But she was calm as anything. Sure in her protest. Done with compromises and promises and bad minty gum.

And I just let her sit there. I respected her sit-in. Edie and I stood off to the side and watched. Lucy just let the people pass around her until she felt calm enough for us to talk and decide what to do next. Which coincided perfectly with the security guard who came over and asked us to leave, but by that time we were ready to go anyway.

And eventually we decided not to go grocery shopping. We decided to pack it in. We decided to admit that the day had gotten the better of us and we were simply going to surrender. And we went home and played. We pretended to cook dinner on the girls' play stove. With their play pots. And our pretend lunch came out perfectly. Edie made the pretend green beans. Lucy made the pretend prawns.

And we enjoyed each other. And forgot about good gum and yucky mint and spit up and stores and buying things.

I still don't have anything in the fridge...but I really don't care.

oooxxx YM Continue Reading...

Martha Stewart's Barn Floor

Martha Stewart in her barn with her Friesian horse (a regular horse just won't do)
& her miniature donkeys (because the big ones aren't cute enough)

I was in the bathroom looking through our stack of magazines (mostly David's, except for my Gourmet and Bon Appetit) and I was paging through New York Magazine. There is a big story about Martha in the October design issue called, Martha Stewart: Homemaking was A Dreary Chore Until She Made It An Artisanal Pursuit. And Built An Empire.

So, I'm busy doing bathroom things and I decide - what the hell, I like Martha - let's look it over. Funny. Because I never get to read the article because my eyes land on the picture (above) of her stable.

There's horses and miniature lice-carrying animals and I'm sure one or two Honduran stable boys with muddy boots tromping through there with buckets of hay and feed, right? It's a barn for heavens sake.

Now, check out the floor of the barn.

It is so clean, I'd let my one year old eat cottage cheese out of the crack of one of those cobblestones.

So, here's a picture - Imagine me on the commode, pants around my ankles, turning the magazine this way and that and getting my face up real close to the pages, trying to see if there is any dirt or grime in that floor and then, realizing something horrifying...

Martha's barn floor is cleaner than the floor in my kitchen. I spent the next 10 minutes horrified and then, I mopped my floor. Thanks Martha.

xxxooo YM Continue Reading...

Does Anyone Want 26 pounds of Leftover Halloween Candy?

Lucy dressed as a Fairy Princess
(We are not afraid of the "P Word" in this house, in fact, we brazenly embrace it and all it's anti-feminist connotations)

No, really. If you are reading this from a place that doesn't have Halloween (is there such a place?) and you really want some blogger you've never met to send you 3 large ziplock bags full of mini chocolate candy bars, then send me an e-mail with your address and I will take it to the post office in my copious amounts of free time and send it off to you.

No lie. Try it and you'll be swimming in chocolate with little ghosts on the wrappers in under a week.

Edie (also in fairy princess regalia) putting down her 8th bag of Skittles in under an hour

How did I get 3 enormous bags of candy in the freezer? 2 reasons: (1) I over-bought because I thought 200 poorly-dressed youths would descend upon our apartment and demand we hand over the candy or get pelted by eggs and (2) We threw a little Halloween after-party and everyone brought us a little gift...no, not bottles of wine...they brought their leftover Halloween candy...which was great because not only did I have my own 20 lbs of Mars Bars to contend with, but now I have their leftovers as well.

Note to friends: Pawning off unwanted things, like surplus Halloween candy, and calling it a gift is really not a gift. It's pawning off your crap onto people you love.

The Skittle Queen, hopped up on sugar, tries to make a run for it

And David gave me The Talk last night. You know the one. He took me to the freezer. His face was all dour and serious. He pointed to the bags just sitting there, minding their own business and said, as if he found a corpse lying about behind the peas, "These have to go."

He was serious. I know this, because the man has no will power. If it's in the house, he'll systematically eat through the whole 26 pounds, leaving nothing but empty wrappers and chocolate smudges in his wake. And when he's 10 pounds heavier and has the paunch of a 60 year old, he'll wag his finger at me and blame me for the whole sordid mess. (He still blames me and my cooking for the "extra 10" he put on after he met me. I heard him telling Lucy about this after I made him a toasted Manchego, spinach and tomato sandwich for lunch last weekend.)

No thanks. The candy needs to go. So, if you want it, let me know and I'll send it along.

xxxooo YM
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Kim & David Go Out Without the Kids (for the first time in 2 and 3/4 years): A Recap

The Wilde's from Sydney (Mark, Cathy, Georgia and Stella) & David carrying Lucy & Edie. David and Mark went to school together "back in the day"

Okay, I’ve been trying to write a post about our evening out without kids and I’m laboring over it because frankly, it was terrific. No drama. No weirdness. No phone calls home…okay, that’s a lie.

There was one measly little call home right between the appetizers and the entrée. And the CSFB (that’s the Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter, for those of you not paying attention) answered the phone and told me that cookies had been baked and children had been wrestled into pajamas and teeth had been brushed and there was not one kid screaming in the background or yelling for “Mooooooommmy!” at the top of her lungs and it seemed the thought of Mommy and Daddy had been discarded like yesterdays full diaper.

My children barely remembered they had parents.

I was excited about this and…well, you know…sad as hell, because this was the milestone I dreaded – the first time they realized we are completely replaceable. That any leggy, 25 year old Finn with hair like corn silk and perfectly round, perky breasts could waltz in to our home and do the job as well as us. From that vantage point (the one where I have been discarded and harshly abandoned by my children) it was heart crushing...but the rest of me adjusted pretty well.

David and I walked through The Village on this very lovely and warm October night. I wore a very short Variazoni suede dress and knee high boots, and David kept gawking at my legs and finally said, "I feel like they're glaring at me...I haven't seen your legs in years!"

Okay, I need to get out of sweats more often...

I admit, I felt young, sexy and completely head over heels in love with my husband that night - the kind of heady love that you feel when you first start dating and the whole world seems filled with the promise of new adventures. Well, this was our new adventure and as I saw the twenty-somethings in The Village drinking their apple martinis at tables on the sidewalks, I realized that I missed this care-free part of our lives.

And yes, to all of you out there muttering “I told you so, Kim" - I'll say it. You were all right. We should have done this AGES ago!

I can say this safely now because when we left, there were no tears or tantrums. That helped a lot. In fact, the scene as we left kind of went like this:

Kim: (On my knees, looking into their eyes, holding their hands. I was talking to them like their puppy just died) Daddy and I are going to go out soon, okay?

Lucy: Susanna (that’s the CSFB’s name) make cookies…something unintelligible…have dance party (She is clutching the Pillsbury cookie dough, jumping up and down and obviously thrilled )

Kim: That’s right, love. You guys are gonna have a great dance party and those cookies are gonna taste yummy!

Lucy: Cookies here, Mommy (She is waving the cookies in the air and pretending it can fly)…cookies fly like butterfly!

(Edie has picked a piece of lint off the floor and is attempting to eat it. My children have the attention span of nats. I’m losing them. Must make my point quickly)

Kim: Okay, you know we love you guys, right. Now, Susanna is going to be here all night and she loves you guys so much. You’re going to have a great time.

Lucy: Bye Mommy (She gives us a quick dismissive wave and flies the cookie dough around the room. Edie is examining the lint intently.)

I turn to David, with my "concerned we might mess up the kids" face and whisper, "I think she's in denial...". He ignores me.

Kim: (I try again) We’re gonna miss you guys…Now, we'll be home super-quick, okay?

Lucy: Bye! (She turns to the CSFB and loops her hand into hers and pulls her toward the kitchen.) Susanna, come with me…put cookies in oven! (Edie tags along behind carrying her lint. The girls have forgotten we are in the room)

David: (Whispers to me) Okay, let’s get out of here. (He tugs on my coat and nudges me toward the door. The cookie dough is being unwrapped. Kids barely remember they have parents.)

Kim: (to the CSFB) Don't forget to turn off the oven. I don't want to burn the house...

(David's glaring at me and silently threatening to carry me out of the house. No small feat since I'm still carrying some baby weight.)

Kim: (To David) Maybe I should breastfed Edie a little before we leave…

David: Look, at her!…She has lint. She’ll be fine. (He pulls me out of the house, while I madly blow kisses at children who don’t even bother to look up).

Door closes. We are in the hallway. I listen at the door and expect to hear wailing. I hear laughter, but just as I think I might cry, I realize I have no children around me and I feel unexpectedly light. Free. I go with that feeling for the rest of the night.

We had a lovely night. We started at the piano bar Marie's Crisis, where some very drunk gay men sang several selections from the Sound of Music and met up with Mark and Cathy and went to Rosa Mexicano (It was supposed to be Babbo but apparently there are no Mexicans in Australia - makes sense, I'm mean how would they get there? - so Australians seem to find good Mexican food a bit exotic, so we went this route and it was excellent.)

Mark and Cathy are so much fun - they are starting out on a three month adventure around the world - really, they were the perfect couple to venture out with...fun, smart, adventurous and great cooks and eaters (I watched their oldest daughter, Georgia, wolf down a stack of pickled onions. How cool is that?) Love them and can't wait to see them next year in Sydney.

It felt so good, we are taking the next big step - David is a Tony voter so we get tickets to every eligible Broadway show, so we're going to go to dinner and a show every week or so. Just to re-connect and enjoy each other and for me to be in the world a little bit more.

I'll keep you posted.

xxxooo YM

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