When your favorite Happily-Ever-After-Landers hit the beach last week, Papa Bear did what is expected of any dutiful daddy - he carved a shallow pit in the sand to assure his back would be comfy, then laid down and waited to be buried.

Ahh, but Miss Priss wasn't alone on this one.  She was joined by her 11-year-old cousin and friend.  Girls who knew a little something about sculpture.

They had a vision.

And when they started out, if I recall, certain promises were made.

The sculpture commissioned was supposed to be that of a "MerMan."

After completing the tail, the girls combed the beach for decorations.

"We need necklaces.  And a shell bra!"

"Ummm, girls, is he supposed to be a MerMan or a MerMaid?"

"A MerMan!"

Oh yeah?  Then how'd he wind up with these???

      

Apparently, MerMen have evolved with the ability to nurse their young. 

Think it can still work with sand boobies?

I have to admit, I didn't quite know what to do with the five pound bucket of refrigerated cookie dough that the Hubster proudly brought home from the grocery store, strutting around like a caveman showing off his latest kill.

Don't get me wrong, chocolate chip cookies are my ultimate, favoritest thing.  But I was a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of gorging on just the dough - which is a big no-no while your pregnant.  (Unless, of course, you enjoy salmonella poisoning, in which case, go for it.)

Fortunately, Hubby knows this Achilles heel of mine, and made quick work out of slapping globs of dough onto a pan, completing a whole batch in a matter of minutes.

Whew!  That bashed the cookie cravings for a about a day and a half.  (What can I say?  I'm eating for two here!)

With no cooked cookies left, what is a whale of a girl supposed to do?  Hubs was busy bathing and bedding Miss Priss.  And the picture of a cookie cake on the back of the bucket was calling to me.

But we don't have a pan big enough for a cookie cake. 

AND, I couldn't trust myself NOT to burn it.

(If you recall, cooking is really Hubster's thing.  Left to my own devices, I would subsist on Arby's roast beef sandwiches and cans of vegetables.  I know this because, I'm embarrassed to admit,  I have.)

What to do, what to do?

Aha!  I had a stroke of brilliance that officially made me the Baker du Jour!

About a year ago I had purchased a brie baker, a beautiful handcrafted piece of pottery that sort of resembles a large ashtray.  And, of course, I had yet to use it, with brie or anything else.

Today was the day!  I stuffed it full of refrigerated dough while waiting for the oven to preheat to 425 degrees.

20 minutes later and....

Voila!

Perfect size for two people with a bit of a crunch on the outside and moist and gooey on the inside.  (Better go wipe your face before the drool ruins your keyboard.)

The rest of the bucket was consumed in similar style - sometimes topped with ice cream!  (Again, watch the drool!)

Isn't it amazing how something can go from being the biggest waste of money to totally priceless in just one night?


Disclaimer #1: OK, if you didn't already pick up on it, I bought this thing a year ago, with my own money, so no, this not one of those sponsored posts. I included the link to where I got my brie baker in case your cravings cannot be satisfied until you've made a cookie of your own.

Disclaimer #2: Although I may be as rotund as the Pillsbury Dough Boy, don't even think about poking my tummy - unless you WANT to lose a finger.

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Perhaps you've lived in Fresno too long.

Or maybe the heat has finally cooked your brain.

Or are you just trying to use some sort of hypnosis on your viewers so they don't beat you to death?

Whatever the reason, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your efforts to label the 97 to 99 degree temperatures we're having for the next week as "refreshing" is not fooling anyone.

And trying to pretend like we're having a "cold spell" is just making you look like an idiot.

I don't doubt that a 99 degree temperature is, indeed, cooler than the 105 to 110 degree temps we've been struggling with.  But honestly, when you live on the face of the sun, six to ten degrees here or there doesn't make much of a difference.

Especially when the sun is beating down you. 

Which happens to be every. Single. Damned. Day.

I now know exactly what bacon feels like when it's frying.

The two-year-old cries every time she has to climb into her carseat.

I tried and tried to convince her that it's NOT hot - it's actually REFRESHING, but that just made her cry harder.

So, Dear Weatherman, please refrain from using the word "refreshing" until we've got temps that actually require a sweater.  Or maybe capri pants.  Or at least until I can come in from outdoors without sweat stains on my bra.

Otherwise, I may have to take action.  And that may involve tying you to the hood of your car so you can enjoy all this REFRESHING weather first-hand.

Yours truly from the dark side of the sun,
Jen @ Happily-Ever-After-Land

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I think some of you are beginning to wonder if I'm taking this whole baby thing seriously.

Last week I ran off to the wineries for a day.

This week I've run off for three days at the coast.

With less than three weeks left, shouldn't I be home nesting?  Or sleeping?  Or rereading all those books we read the first time around?

I am excited about this baby coming, I swear!

But I think we can all agree that it's never quite the same as it had been the first time around.

When it all seemed so exciting and new and magical.

And, after months of preparation and dreaming and shopping and building, the baby finally arrived and the reality hit you that most of the "magic" kept materializing itself in the kid's diaper.  That you are tasked with 24 hour disposal of said "magic," as well as wet nurse, soother, dresser, bather, laundress, and quality children's entertainer. 

Nowhere in there do you actually feel like a "mom" to this sweet little blob.  At least not yet.  It takes a few months before you feel like a little more in the eyes of your child than just "that nice lady who feeds me."

Oh, but when that baby smiles in your general direction and then, dare I say it, smiles AGAIN with some glimmer of recognition - that's magic!  And when the word "mama" comes out of those sweet little baby lips - not the first time, cause the first time was probably a fluke, more like the second or third time - well then you don't just FEEL like a mom, you ARE a mom. The little bundle of waste management has acknowledged YOU as its mother. What a moment!

I am looking forward to all the exhaustive work and payoff of having this, our second child.

But for right now, I'm going to enjoy these last few moments of peace. Of feeling like I have some semblance of control over the chaos of my day. And the ability to shower at regular intervals.

Because, folks, life as we know it is about to change forever.

And this time I know exactly how.

(But for those still concerned that I may go into labor far away from home, let me assure you, other than his foresight to " pack a sham wow in case your water breaks," Hubster has also brought along the "What to Expect When You're Expecting," a book with a whole section on how to give birth by yourself. What can I say, those Navy guys are trained to be prepared for ANYTHING!)