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.

Click the link to see what else is inspiring women this week!

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

For more open letters, head on over to the link below.

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!)

I have been crafting ever since I could pick up a popsicle stick and smear it with glue.

But I am truly a Jill of All Crafts. As evidenced by the Crafty Closet, a walk-in closet chock full of yarns, beads, threads, looms, glue, scissors, and other paraphernalia to keep my habit going.

Much to the horror of my husband.

The man is totally cool with the "better or worse." Would steadfastly stand by me through the "sickness and health." But I'm pretty sure he double-checked the fine print of our vows when he realized he'd be stuck, for the rest of his life, with the Crap-ty Closet.

Which goes to show you the vast depths of his love for me when I asked for a sewing machine for Christmas and he actually got me one!

(Is he acting as an enabler? I don't care; I've got my sewing machine!!!)

For all my needle pointing, knitting and crocheting, oddly enough, I had never learned how to sew. And being in this itty bitty town, it wasn't too easy to find a class. So I headed over to the keeper of all things knowledge, Amazon.com. I found a great book that had three projects you do in progression, each one a little tougher than the last, that would show me the ropes.

And me being me, I finished off the first project (a cute little pillow), ditched the book and headed straight for this Twirly Dress pattern I found at the fabric store.

It took a little while. And I'm proud to say, I only had to rip it out and redo it twice. But it is done!

Thankfully, it is a VERY forgiving pattern, and a lot of the mistakes are not readily visible.

But crooked seams or not, Miss Priss LOVES it! The important part works just fine – Priss can get a good twirl on with minimal effort.

Just like this…

Which reminds me, there's a secondary reason for this project.

The dress is also part of a new parenting technique I'm testing out...

Keep 'em dizzy to stay in constant control of any situation.

I'll report my findings at a later date.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There's a lot of rules to this whole pregnancy thing.

(Way more than my mom had, but probably still less than Miss Priss is gonna have.)

For instance, when you're in your ninth month of pregnancy, 'they' generally like you stay close to home, in case the baby makes an early exit.

And when you're at almost 37 weeks, 'they' like to see you stay off your feet, to help keep the swelling down and such.

But when you've only got 3 1/2 weeks left till your due date, 'they' tell you one of the most important things to do is stay hydrated.

That's right, mama got to evict the Pull Ups from her purse (still held onto the Ziploc full of Cheerios though - for emergency hunger reasons) and spend a whole day in ADULT company.

(Although I use the term "adult" loosely, considering there were efforts to lure one of the winery dogs onto the bus.  Luckily, though, everyone managed to keep their clothes on.)

And yes, that was me at In 'n Out Burger partaking in a cheeseburger with TWO sides of fries AND a chocolate shake.

This weekend is going to be THE blogging event of the year, BlogHer '09, a blogging conference specially tailored to bloggers like me.  There will be speakers and swag.  There will be parties and networking.  There will be lots of bloggers meeting lots of other bloggers who were previously only known online.

Connections will be made.

Friends will be found.

Debauchery will ensue.

And me and my boulder belly will be camped on the couch drowning our sorrows in french fries, cheese sticks and mountains of chocolate chip cookies.

Because, if you haven't been paying attention, this BlogHer has four weeks left in the countdown to Baby Bustout.

And Hubby has nixed my ingenious idea to forge a doctor's note telling the airline I have nothing more than a tumor and, therefore, have approval to fly.

He's SO unsupportive.

This is especially depressing because BlogHer is going down in Chicago, a scant three hours from my mom's house.  Which means I had already formulated a plan to fly Miss Priss with me to Iowa, dump drop her off with Mom for the weekend, and then party my ass off gain tons of blogging knowledge and make valuable connections - BEFORE I realized that the dates would put me in my ninth month and nobody would let me go.

Dammit.

But I think I found another way to at least do a smattering of marketing for the ol' blog, despite my inability to personally present myself.

A few months back, Brittany, a fellow blogger who I am massively obsessed with, all "Hand That Rocks The Cradle" style over at Barefoot Foodie mentioned in a post that she was looking for sponsors to help fund her trip to the convention.

Me, knowing a lucrative marketing opportunity when I see one, jumped at the offer.

Me: "I've got $5 I can spare.  What would that get me, sponsorship-wise?"

Brittany: No reply.

Me: "OK, OK, you drive a hard bargain!  I'll make it 10 big hot ones!  What can you do for me?"

Brittany: "Who the... (edited for 'R' rated content)....  I'll tell you what that gets you, your blog's name prominently displayed on my person.  Tell me if you want it to the left or right of my ass crack."

Score! I might be out of the ad game, but I have NOT lost my skills for negotiation!  And knowing Brittany's chances of de-robing during the weekend's festivities, my blog's name will be seen by at least half of the convention-goers!

Me:  "It's a deal!  Just send me your address so I can mail you a check.  Oh, and if I include a glitter pen, could you use that to write it out?"

Which reminds me, I need to shoot Brittany another email because she never did send me that address.  I'm sure it was an oversight. 

On the plus side, it occurred to me today that I'll be, like, the ONLY blogger left in all the Blogiverse actually posting something besides 3 a.m. drunken bathroom pics and video clips of various positions for tequila shots.  Meaning I might see my stats go up just a smidge! 

Which is about the only thing that's going to make my frown turn upside down this weekend.  So ya'll better check out my blog a LOT.

Because I don't think anyone wants Miss Priss to witness Daddy pulling Mommy's pants-less, cheese stick induced comatose body, out from under a pile of various fast food wrappers and empty ice cream cartons, with an alarmingly undercooked chocolate chip cookie in one hand and half a bean burrito smeared across her forehead.

Disclaimer: Due to the fact that I might have sort of totally made up the above "conversation" with Brittany (not that it's something I regularly do, or at least I don't normally post them) you may want to read this post sooner than later.  Her lawyers have me on speed-dial and I will probably be asked to take this post down relatively quickly.