In another era, I caked for a check.

One day, I get a call from some dude; he orders a gamer cake, "for a friend." Being a pathological obliger, I dutifully agree before considering all the trademarks I'd infringe in the offing ... then spend days fretting, fidgeting, and fussing.

In the end, I 'noided myself into GIFTING this cake, having been roiled over the years by tales of Disney-level litigation leading to ruin, heartbreak, and moneyruptcy for small-time decorators. Of which I am one. 

Here's the cake, tho!, that ended up spanning the globe, at least tens of dozens of languages, and endless over-my-shoulder-looking: https://kotaku.com/this-left-4-dead-birthday-cake-looks-infected-5168326

Plus some additional gamer commentary: ​https://www.moddb.com/forum/thread/left-4-dead-cake

... = many days! Tumbleweeds and sad trombones have a field day.

We've finished our first style guide for the wedding season! Check it out here!

The predecessor to Who Stole The Dookie?, this game is a garden variety storekeep's enterprise. Felix is the "charger" (the cash derjisher commander), and I buy stuff. As I buy, I must pretend to consume what I purchase. Judge? Don't judge.

This morning, Little outlined to me the rules of his new game, Who Stole the Dookie?

Me: How do you play?
Little: You tek all da munny out, sped it awoun' and den puddit all back in.
(Pause)
Little: It's da same of the uvver one.
(Pause)

Hm. Apparently an offshoot of the game Judge (described in the previous post), it's really just strategic mess making.

Not sure about the naming convention, though.

Little asked me how old I was yesterday, in an effort to hunt and peck through the numbers on an old 10-key. When I answered "43," a shadow of gray disappointment crossed his sweet face.

"Dere's no D!"

Words shouted to me by Little, out the back door, as I drove away to grab a birthday gift for a pizza party he'll attend with his big brother this afternoon.

While Big Boy has always been more of a gadgetator, Little Boy loves to make up games. One of our perennial favorites is a waking-up game aptly named Shark Boat. Huh? Here's how it goes:

(In bed, cozy-cozy-cozy, too early on a weekend morning) 
Little: Wan gettin my shark bote? 
Me: Uhhhh. Phphththhh 'kay. 
Little: We go coffee houss furce, den Gwammie houss, den to da toi stow, den to Mcdonowds.
Me: Okay. Are we there yet?
Little (sound of vehicle braking): Erp! We hea! Wut kine coffee you wan?
Me: Soy latte.
Little: Okay. He's you coffee! Now we go Gwammie houss ...

... and on (and on) in that vein, until we complete the rounds.

Often our voyages are punctuated by high times and knock-knock jokes such as: why did da dinosoh cwoss da roh? Bocuss da chikkins wuh invovved ... why did da chikkin cwoss da park? Tuh get to de udder swide. 

It used to be that we hid in the Shark Boat to avoid sharks that might be hiding in the bed. Now it's all why-are-we-awake-this-early-on-a-weekends commingling with warm fuzzies. Oh did I mention that both Little and Big still end up in our bed every night? I don't mind too too much.

We've got these hip chalkboard style glass vases at work that I thought'd be fun times for a Valentine's Day project. (All of the cute holiday messaging I formerly used on cakes I am now able to recycle into craft projects ... convenience = wew hew.) Unfortunately for my family-who-might-be-interested-in-a-handmade-toy-snack-or-homegood, I exhaust most of my crafting instincts at work. If I did give glass bottles to my children for Valentine's Day, however, they'd probably end up outside in the Toy Cemetery within two hours, later growing moss in the front yard with all of the other discarded, only-been-played-with-once sad sack bric-a-brac (cue music from Sanford and Son).