This past week, our backyard turned into grand central.  Several of the neighborhood kids, who seemingly are free to roam the neighborhood, took up residence on our deck.  We are glad to have the company, but our neat and tidy sandbox turned to chaos.  And it quickly became apparent that the biggest (and most expensive) hit, the moon sand, was being dispersed through the cracks in the deck at an alarming rate.

The sandbox

The whole area around the table with the moon sand box looks like this:

After a little research online, I stopped by Walmart last night and for the grand total of $1.75 for two boxes of cornstarch, I made my own moon sand.  It is a bit messier than the real stuff I think, but for a small fraction of the price.  You combine water, cornstarch and play sand.  The only difference is this sand does dry out.  You have to add a little water each time.

The darker models are moon sand, the lighter is my homemade sand

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I don’t know which part is more embarrassing funnier… The fact that I bought these period.  The fact that these slippers were $3.24.  Or the fact that I bought the XL because they were $3.24 while the medium and large (more common sizes) were still $6.48.

Whatever the case, they make my feet smile.

Somehow they don’t look like boats from this angle on little feet.

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Oh look, a weed, you say.

I see a flower, handpicked for me.

This morning, we went to an Easter egg hunt given by the local parks and rec.  We arrived at the field just five minutes before it began.  There were several hundred people lined up along a starting line of four roped off sections (for different age groups so that little ones didn’t get knocked over by big kids in the rush).  If you’ve ever been to one of these egg “hunts,” I use the word hunt lightly.  There are a few thousand eggs scattered in an open field.  Not much hunting involved.  Pretty much just walking and picking up.  It is this grand event that takes hours to orchestrate.  And it is all over in less than a minute.  The wave of parents and children carrying their baskets sweeps from one side of the square in less than 60 seconds.

Since we were  a bit late arriving, we actually got a better spot.  There was no room left at the ‘starting’ line, so we lined up on the side.  On the mark, get set, GO.  With that, we ducked under the rope and Caleb started dropping eggs in the bag (yes he had an $0.97 Easter bag).  I saw the wave of people moving towards us from the left.  Caleb was taking his time though.  Suddenly, he doubled back and bent down.  I’m wondering what he is doing.  Picking a flower for Mom.  He spent half of the egg hunt picking a flower for me.  He barely had time to grab a few more eggs before we were hit full force by the surf, caught in the undertow and overtaken.  Three seconds later, the rest of the eggs were gone.  Okay, everybody…back in the car.

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I know it has taken forever…part of me has been very busy…and part of me just hates the cake so much that I don’t want to post pictures of it.  I was so disappointed that the fondant didn’t work out.  But anyway…here they are:

I asked Caleb if he was having a Thomas party and what he was doing wearing a Thomas shirt if he was having a Herbie party.

My Love Bug

The Herbie cookies, wow that mammoth one in the top row jumps out doesn’t it?

And the ‘girlfriend’ cookies…

I think I spent longer on these than I did the cake if you subtract the failed fondant time.

There were 9 sets of white/milk chocolate couples

The cake fresh out of the oven

My Love Bug fridge…top shelf: candies, middle shelf: cookies, bottom shelf: cake.

The crappy result of all that hard work.  I still want to do it again and use the fondant…just not anytime in the immediate future.

Oh yeah, the lollipops, I kinda forgot about these.

Hubby reminded me…these are Reeses…filled with a peanut butter mixture

The reason the party wasn’t at our house.  My sweet husband actually cleaned all that up.

The food table

The birthday boy

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“Please go get in your bed until you feel ready to clean up your blocks.”

Sigh.  His first nap in two months.  After much screaming.

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…It wasn’t pretty.

There was foul language.  Spelled outloud.  My kid won’t know the words, but he’ll be spelling them.  Or saying one particular word beginning with S and ending with T in German, because somehow that makes it not a bad word.

There were hours of frustration.  Six to be exact. (That’s just the failing icing, not the entire cake.)

In the end, the fondant won.  I threw in the towel.  I was trying to make marshmallow fondant in five colors.  Red, blue, white, gray, and black.  Red and black were the death of me.  I had no gloves to wear, and if you’ve used Wilton Food Coloring Gels before, you can imagine how my hands must look.

I can feel every tendon and muscle connected to my fingers or my right hand.  My fingers and fingernails are rainbow colored.  And when I bent my finger, my knuckle split open (you have to knead it forever).  That was when I gave up on the fondant and decided to stick with buttercream.  I am my own worst critic.  I hate the way the cake looks.  Believe it or not, I feel like I disappointed him.  I know that sounds crazy.  But he had ideas about the cake, and I just knew I could do it.  And then it didn’t work.  So yeah.  That sucked.

Pictures are coming.  I promise.

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Bake your cake (use leftover batter from trial Herbie hiding beside the coffee maker).

Decorate your cake.  Have fun with icing.


The Best step: Eat your cake.

Yummy.  My mess up – turned heart.
Clean up after your cake and fellow “celebrators”

Either that or just eat the remaining icing with a spoon.

Bonus recipe.  Never use store bought icing again.  1/2 stick of butter, 8oz pack of cream cheese (both softened), and powdered sugar to taste, half a bag or so.  Best.  Icing.  Ever.

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The bottom left picture is not part of the other two pictures, but something different, and edible.

To the party-goers: Please see that you eat as little sugar as possible this week, as we have your week’s supply covered at the party! haha

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Caleb found the pack of face paint crayons that I purchased at Halloween to make one black dot on his nose.  No surprise he wanted to sport the number 53 for our trip across the border for peanut butter (that’s right, we ate all that peanut butter.  Already.  Scary isn’t it?).

My almost four year old.  Sigh.

I love these three.  This one because he is studying Herbie.

This one because his eyes are so crystal clear and he’s looking right into the camera.

And this one because he and Charley have the same expression.

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Oh yeah, he’s gonna love em.

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