Keeping the peace of cake

It’s my birthday! Today! I’m three. Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the answer. Due to various schedule obligations and my gigantic desire to celebrate the day of my birth with my favorite Minnesota cousins, we rang in the start of my fourth year last weekend, rather than today. Mary Kate, Nora, Greta B. and Bridget know how to beef up a birthday party, let me tell you. In addition to buckets of giggles and a handful of new ways to play with my ATW Radio Flyer, the gals gave to me my very first airplane. Its Popsicle stick propeller is only the beginning of its cool factor, for the belly of the beast is made of an empty box. A box with an attached lid. And a bell. YES – a bell! Do you know what this means? This means that every time I open the lid, the bell rings. And every time I close the lid, the bell rings. Never has the storing and re-storing my stuff been so melodic and wonderful and authentically mine. Thanks for the kickass airplane, girls! I love it.

In other news, we recently harvested Dad’s hops. What used to be a fairly respectable ten-foot privacy fence has now become the primary ingredient in Dad’s next tap beer. A wet-hopped malt beverage, which will contain approximately 0.5 ounces of freshly harvested hops per pint of liquid confidence, I’m happy to report that Sam and I learned the finer points of picking hops blossoms and placing each one delicately into a paper Target bag: container temporaire until the brewing process called each blossom home. The barley pop is currently fermenting in our semi-temperature controlled basement laundry room; the concoction will most likely be tapped shortly before the Third Annual Conrad Brew Review (CBR). Need details of the CBR? Talk to Dad, and he’ll happily share the details. All are welcome. Until then, the smell of freshly harvested hops continues to permeate the basement and seep its way into all pockets of the Corrigan Conrad living quarters. So, if you pop by for a visit between now and mid-October, know that the faint odor of plant is not the result of your recent walk around the dog park; rather, it’s the scent of Dad’s seasonal bubble of toil and trouble. Three cheers for home brewing!

I learned an important birthday lesson this year. Wait, wait … Let me back up a bit. I had requested a green birthday cake. After all, the color green seems to accompany many things of the favorite variety: Dad’s hops, Sam’s matchbox car, Georgia’s bottle, my M socks – you get the idea. So, a white circle cake with homemade green frosting graced the center of the dinner table on the evening of my birthday celebration – along with three green candles and the birthday song. (I knew this birthday thing would rule.) I snuffed the candles in three breaths and devoured my green cake with all the lip-smacking gusto that a man of my size could muster. Happy birthday to me! What I've since learned, is this: In order to share a circle cake with favorite Minnesota cousins, a brother, a mom and a dad, a circle cake morphs into many triangle cakes, and one by one, the triangles disappear. Then, when a certain birthday boy later searches the kitchen for his circle cake (and searched high and low I did!) he learns the real meaning of that awkward saying: You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Alas!
It promises to be a good year. And next year, I’ll be smarter choosing the shape of my birthday cake. Until next time –

Ken

Five foot two left feet

Georgia discovered her feet. Really. Of all the things an almost-three-month-old baby is supposed to do - smile, coo, sleep through the night - Georgia does it all. And the girl is crazy about her feet.She finishes eating, hangs out with us for a bit, and then spends a solid twenty minutes studying her toes. I wish I knew what was so interesting.
Regardless, Georgia's foot fascination has caused me to re-evaluate my footwear. I mean, if my kid sister deems these complex mechanical structures to be so important, than a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. So, Mom and I went to the Target store for some new socks. They're pretty awesome, really. With M's on the bottom. Sam's socks have S's on the bottom. My M socks rule.
My M socks and I conquered the month of August in style. I learned how to bike to the park (cars stay in the middle; I stay on the side), mastered the potty time (standing up to pee is so much easier),  ruled the back yard (sleds are useful in the summer time, too), and celebrated Georgia's baptism (who knew babies could actually go into that water?). I've decided, in fact, that summer wouldn't be nearly as much fun without my M socks, and that it behooves my good luck to match my M socks with my undies. Be they grey, green, blue or red, I'm skippin' along to summer in style. Watch out, world.
In other news, mom went back to work a couple of weeks ago. We miss her for sure, but Dad's holding his own with this two-toddler-and-a-baby routine. Sometimes Sam and I work together just to see him sweat a little, but most of the time, Dad's in charge. He vanishes to night school a couple nights per week. I think it's become an academic mini-vacation for the man.
We skipped the state fair this year. While I'd like to think that the Great Minnesota Get Together wasn't nearly as great due to our absence, I believe our waist lines and our bank account thank us. To those of you who feasted on pronto pups, sweet corn and alligator-on-a-stick without us, know that we're living vicariously through your stories of good food, mobs of people and incessant heartburn. See you next year!
Fall has officially arrived. Our trip to the park last week revealed one of my favorite trees - green all around with just one streak of orange down the side - like one of those cool I'm-going-grey-but-don't-really-mind-it hairdos. These multi-colored trees mean cooler weather, crunchy leaves and a couple of birthdays right around the corner. Buckle up!
Ken