Top 5 Worst Ways to Prove the Easter Bunny Exists

If you are considering going above and beyond this Sunday to prove to the kids that the Easter Bunny did, indeed, visit the house, you may want to avoid leaving “clues” like these:

1.  Having the Easter Bunny poop jelly beans.


via iVillage

If the kids are young enough to believe this, they are young enough to eat jelly beans out of the toilet.

The House Hunt

Miss Skye will go to kindergarten next year (say WHA–?!), which means I have been obsessively researching schools and options in the Los Angeles area.  And by “obsessively,” I mean spending pretty much every waking second on it.  I no longer have time for mundane tasks such as feeding my children and acknowledging my family’s presence — LEAVE MOMMY ALONE, SHE HAS TO GOOGLE “WHAT THE HELL IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A MAGNET AND A CHARTER SCHOOL AND WHY IS THIS ALL SO FREAKING HARD WHEN ALL I HAD TO DO AS A KID WAS WALK TO THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL DOWN THE STREET?!?!?!”  To which Google responds, “Lay off the Caps Lock, woman.  You’re giving me a headache.”

Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what a headache is — navigating the L.A. school system.  We’re not fortunate enough to be assigned to one of the better elementary schools, so I’ve been wading through private school brochures, dozens of sites explaining the district’s point system (you need a Ph.D in Mathematics to understand it, true story), inter-district applications, intra-district applications, and charter and magnet school reviews.  After my endless research and hand-wringing, Mr. Candy and I arrived at a very thoughtful conclusion:

Screw it.  We’re moving to a good school district.

So we’re movin’ on down…to the beach side.  We’ve been in the process of looking at houses down there — a process that means very little to a two-year-old (Drew is just irritated that it takes precious time away from playing outside) and getting your hopes repeatedly raised and crushed to a four-year-old.  Every time we go to an open house, it goes like this:

Every.  Single.  Time.  It also raises the hopes of the realtors showing the houses, who can’t help but notice Skye’s excitement and coo:  “Awww.  I think SHE’S ready to move in right now!”  I’m sure this tactic is in the Selling Houses for Dummies book — “If your potential buyers are parents, note that their weak spot is their children:  POUNCE!” — but when the child declares she wants to buy every house she steps foot in, said parents become decidedly less moved by the child’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah, she acts that way at all the open houses,” I say and roll my eyes, much to the realtor’s chagrin.  But it’s true.  Even if we went to, say, a trash dump, I’m confident it would go like this:

(Actually, we have seen places like this that have sold for seven figures.  Welcome to L.A.!)  And when I explained to Skye that it was a DUMP…?  A literal dump?  Her answer invariably would be:

*Sigh*  Poor kid.


Candy’s Strawberry Shortcake Martini

Originally posted on August 20, 2010

If you heard a disturbingly loud moan coming from the Western part of the nation this afternoon, it was probably me after sampling this week’s drink.  Yes, perhaps I become too intimately involved with my cocktails, but…

Oh.  Dear.  Lord.  This is a good one.

And, boy, do I ever need it.  It’s been one of Those Weeks.  You know about Those Weeks.  This week was marked with a fussy, feverish baby whose immune system was fighting off the effects of the MMR vaccine — yeah, the poor thing could probably use a cocktail, too, but Cheerios will have to suffice — and who has entered the ol’ “separation anxiety” phase, refusing to leave my side for even one second.  If I so much as think about going to the bathroom by myself, she SCREEEAAAMS.

*SIGH*  What is it with chicks always wanting to go to the bathroom with other chicks?  This is why I de-sisterized from my college sorority.

And here is why I joined a sorority in the first place:  access to good alcohol.



  • 1.25 oz. Stoli Strasberi (which I could not find, so I used Strawberry Smirnoff instead)
  • 1.25 oz. Chambord
  • 1.25 oz. Baileys
  • A dash of cream (for which I substituted Skye’s whole milk… hey, it’s not like she needs the calcium, right?)
  • Strawberries
  • Graham Crackers


Shake all (liquid) ingredients with ice.  Strain into a martini glass.  Instead of graham crackers, I bought a graham cracker crust and used a peeler along the edges, which yielded the same result as crushing it — then rimmed the glass with the crust.  I may or may not have also stuck my finger in that crushed crust and licked it off like a five-year-old.  Garnish the glass with a strawberry and…

… Sneak into a bathroom by yourself, quickly close the door behind you, oh-so-leisurely sip your drink, and ignore your toddler’s cries outside the door.  Happy TGIF.