Mila Gonna Mila

Oh. Hey. Mila.

That's a name, of course, but it's also a state of being. And Mila is SO very Mila.

On Friday I was peacefully observing a very large meeting in which I'm kinda sorta one of the more senior-type people when my phone rang. The Caller ID displayed the worst possible thing.

The elementary school.

Give me a call from the high school ANY day. It's the elementary school that terrifies me. Things happen there, y'all. Things like the school nurse sitting in her office with a very sad Mila because Mila twisted her ankle at recess.

::WOMP::WOMP::

I'm sure it makes me a terrible person, but I have a lot of thoughts when I hear that one of my children is injured and most of those thoughts are "BS." I'm more reporting history than passing judgement, though. Both girls are notorious for painting an image of a painful and active death when actually they had a paper cut or the like. But, this time, the report was coming from the school nurse. She seems like maybe she's been around the block a time or two, so when she said, "She needs to go get it looked at," I promptly muttered some swear words and plotted a plan of action.

Minutes later, I was playing hooky from work while looking at a very sad Mila with an ice pack on her ankle. I loaded her into the car to take her straight to urgent care but then remembered I'm not a rookie. I took a quick turn to a playground. It was time to lay a little faker/exaggerator trap, just in case.

Mila was SUPER excited to see the playground, especially because she would have it all to herself. I told her she could play if she walked over to the playground. I said it was a trap. I'm not going to apologize for it.

The little goober got out of the car and hopped her way on one foot all the way over to the swings. Before I could even say something, she informed me that hopping counts as walking. WHATEVER, CHILD.

I made her get back in the car and proceeded to urgent care. You can't just walk in these days because, you know, PANDEMIC, so I went to the door and got the url and then returned to the car to get check in via the website. The whole production took long enough for me to glance around and realize it was going to be a VERY long wait.

Being the dutiful employee that I am, I decided to run back home, attend my afternoon meetings, and return to urgent care a little later in the afternoon. Mila could sit on the couch with her ice pack and watch cartoons or whatever. Nothing was going to change in 2 hours, except maybe the length of that line. So, we set off for home.

Along the way, Mila realized something REAL important - she was about to miss gym class. Apparently that's a problem? It must be a problem because she started begging me to take her back to school so she wouldn't miss gym class. When I was done not relating to that concept at all, I told her "No." She had been sent home, so she would stay home.

And that is when Mila decided to Mila. The child does not take well to not getting her way, so she yelled and cried and generally did all the things that would ensure that I won't let her go to gym class until she's 30. WATCH ME. Some day the kid will figure out that you can't out-stubborn the person you got your stubborn from, but that day was not Friday. Instead, Mila continued to be mad and beg and all of the things. I was public enemy #1.

As evidenced by the fact that the second we got back home, Mila flung the car door open and ...

LITERALLY RAN AT TOP SPEED ALL THE WAY UP TWO FLIGHTS OF STAIRS AND TO HER BED.

As in, she went from insisting she was too injured to exist to impersonating The Flash in 2.4 seconds. She then spent the next two hours glaring at me from the comfort of her bed and occasionally growling her anger at me as if she's a dog or something.

Still, what a miraculous cure! All she had to do is get mad and suddenly the leg that needed to be amputated was just fine!

Like I said, Mila is both a name and a state of being.

Pineapple Upside-Down Cupcakes

I have had pineapple upside-down cake on the brain for DAYS now, which is a bit of a problem considering I don't think I've been home for but 30 minutes all weekend. During one of my trips across town and back, I stopped at the store for the stuff to make them, but WHERE THE HELL ARE THE MARASCHINO CHERRIES, SHOP 'N SAVE? They weren't by the ice cream toppings. They weren't with the canned fruit. The baking aisle? Nope. Not there either. I looked down every single aisle and finally gave up.

I'll get them tomorrow. Target won't disappoint me in the same way.

And then. THEN I shall beg Alexis to make the cupcakes below and save me from my desperation. She owes me after I spent ALL of the weekend driving her places.

Pineapple Upside-Down Cupcakes (makes about 24 cupcakes)

Topping
24 maraschino cherries
1/2 cup butter, melted
1 cup brown sugar
1 20-oz can crushed pineapple, drained (but keep the juice)

Cupcake
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cup buttermilk
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

1. Line a couple of cupcake trays with cupcake liners. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

2. Place a cherry in the center of each of your cupcake liners.

3. Spoon a teaspoon of melted butter into each cupcake liner. Then chase it with a tablespoon of brown sugar. There's no need to be exact with your measurements -- just scoop some good stuff in there. (If you have melted butter left over, set it aside. We can use it a little later instead of using a full 1/2 cup of vegetable oil.)

4. Add some pineapple all around. It should be about 2 tablespoons worth, but again the measurements don't matter. Scoop a little into each cup until it covers the butter and brown sugar. Like this:

You will have pineapple left over. Set it aside.

6. Put your 2 cups of flour, 2 teaspoons baking soda, and 1/2 teaspoon of salt in a bowl and whisk them up.

7. If you had butter left over, top it off with vegetable oil until you have 1/2 cup.

8. Grab another bowl. Mix your vegetable oil, buttermilk, eggs, vanilla extract, pineapple juice, and sugar. I'm sure a stand mixer would work fine, but I actually use a fork.

9. Combine the dry ingredients from step 6 with the wet ingredients from step 8. Mix well then fold in the rest of the crushed pineapple. Do that thing that makes the cake batter land in the cupcake liners. They should be just about full to the top as these don't rise much.

10. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 - 25 minutes. Mine were done at 21 minutes. You know they're done when the tops turn a fantastic golden brown.

11. Allow to cool for a few minutes before moving to a cooling rack.

12. A word to the wise, these are AMAZING while still warm. So maybe you should do a quality control check before sharing with others?

Just Stop, Universe

I saw a tweet somewhere earlier this week and I wish I knew who posted it because OMG. It said something like "Nobody works harder than a woman who doesn't like to ask for help."

I just ...

Yeah ...

THAT. Sit in that statement for a minute because it's totally and completely true.

And with that, THIS WEEK CAN GO TO HELL.

My plate is full. See also: That tweet. On top of my perpetual state of excess, May is always filled to the brim with end-of-the-school year things. That includes a series of concerts, recitals, shows, contests, and all of that. Basically, everything related to having kids is set up to have a check-in point in May. Sprinkle Mila's birthday on top of that plus the mountain that is summer childcare planning, and woof. I need a nap. I haven't even gotten into how extra everything is at work at the moment. Just ... woof.

So what did I need to have plop right on top of that plate NOW? NOTHING is the correct answer, but that's not how it's going. Instead, I have a lovely scratch down the side of my BRAND NEW car because someone forgot to look before changing lanes and uuuuugh.

Nobody was hurt. The damage is minor. It's still a giant freakin pain the butt that requires dealing with insurance, repair shops, and rental cars. I'll get to that in between the five dance recitals I need to facilitate this weekend, I'm sure.

Did I mention that it was my NEW car? Because it was. I have this weird thing where I prefer to be the first person to nick or chip or scratch the paint, but apparently it was not meant to be. It will get fixed, but I will forever hold a grudge that someone else caused my preeeeshuuuuus new Rogue even an ounce of pain.

Alexis, however, is DELIGHTED. There is no other word to describe her reaction to the whole thing (she was in the car when it happened because OF COURSE I was driving her to dance). Delighted. She laughed and grinned and was absolutely overjoyed.

Why?

Because she's had her drivers' permit for a while now, but I'm hesitant to let her drive my car too much for the simple reason that a 16-year old cannot possibly understand the joy that is finally buying a brand new car. Like, that's rich people stuff. Who knew I would ever be doing rich people stuff? NOT ME. Therefore, I'm a mess when she's driving my car because I'm all, "YOU DO NOT APPRECIATE HOW HARD I HAD TO WORK TO BUY THIS CAR STOP TURN LEFT SLOOOOOOOW DOWN STOP JUST PULL OVER ALREADY." She hadn't yet caused harm, and now she can safely say she won't be the first to cause harm.

It won't stop me from freaking out. Just watch.