Pi Day Pie

I can’t believe it’s Pi Day again already! In honor of this, my favorite geek holiday, I’m reposting my Pi Day Pie blog that I ran last year.

Happy Pi Day.

Sunday Night:

#3 just came running in to remind me that we need a pie for tomorrow. A few weeks ago she gave me a sheet from her math class. It was about Pi Day (March 14) celebrations, and they were asking for, among other things, some pies.

Last year I saw a picture of the most badass Pi Day pie ever made. I just searched Google images and can’t find it, which can only mean that I must know the person who made it and saw the picture on Facebook. It was homemade, crust and all, with the symbol Pi cut out of pie crust and placed on top in the center, and then the numbers cut out of pie crust, placed all around the edges of the pie. This was the first I’d ever heard of celebrating Pi Day. I was an instant believer.

I am a geek at heart and that pie thrilled me. This memory is what welled up in me when #3 handed me her math sheet, and it was what took over and compelled me to yes, volunteer a pie. I was going to make her a homemade pie, crust and all, and decorate it with as many decimal places of Pi that I could fit around the circumference.

Then I went to Berlin and we had some crises at home and I forgot all about it until she just now came to me, and I am jetlagged and cranky and the last thing I want to do is leave the house and make a goddamn pie happen.

This is what happens when I try to be a better parent.

But.

I said I would.

I am now off to the store to see how I can remedy this with a half-assed solution without totally crushing my geek spirit, or completely letting down #3 and her math class.

I asked CC for input. (Foodies, you can stop reading here). He suggested frozen pie crusts and canned filling. Hot damn!

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Back from the store. I assemble the pie parts and then proceed to use an additional pie crust and cut out numbers freestyle with a blade. I am way too into this. The kids keep coming by and looking, and they comment on how cool it is and how unlike me it is. It takes a long time. I do not read #5 and #4 stories tonight like I usually do on Sundays. I do not even tuck them into bed. I am Baking a Pie. Leave me alone.

I signed up to give a pie to try and be a better parent. I end up being a worse parent with a nifty pie.

Nifty, except it had an accident in the baking process. The color is uneven. And it ripped, and now it looks like it’s bleeding.

Doesn’t it rock?

I had hoped that some superior mom would be envious of my pie and erroneously attribute me mad parenting skills. That was before my Pi pie turned into sweet vampire protection.

One and Done Sunday #13

Welcome to One and Done Sunday. One picture and five links that are worth your time.

Saturday night I finished up at my old show, at least until the summer. I’m officially down to one gig now and even though we’re about to go into the long days there, it’s good to not have a split focus anymore.

At home our Harry Potter Sunday series continues. Last week was pre-empted by the Super Bowl. #5 was bummed out about that, but I informed him that as his stepmother it was my moral obligation to force him to watch football. He changed alliances with every score until finally #2 said to him, “If this were an actual war, I’m pretty sure everybody would start shooting you right now!”

This week we’re on number four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Before we got started, Casey ate the whipped cream off #5’s milkshake.

#5 drank it anyway.

I would have done the same thing.

There’s a scene in the movie where Harry is fighting a dragon and it breaks free and chases him to the roof of Hogwarts. There they land, Harry hanging on for dear life, trying to reach his broom while bits of roof break away underneath him, the dragon clawing towards him, bashing its tail and sending debris flying. At the climactic moment, #5 says, “They’re gonna have to reshingle that.”

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This week’s picture demands an explanation.

When I first went on the road, I owned three pairs of shoes. None of them were cute. On my second tour I was CC’s assistant, and he was traveling eight pairs of shoes.

I gave him a lot of grief for that.

He, in turn, gave me an empty road box for my stuff. Suddenly, I had almost nine cubic feet of storage space to fill with things that I didn’t have to haul through the airport.

I found out I liked shoes.

I also found out that CC and I have very different styles.

honestly — Honestly, sometimes I wonder how we ever got together.

Recently I flipped out over the above Ariat boots on Zappos. Let’s just say CC was less than enthusiastic about them.

No, let’s repeat what he actually said to me: You are way too old for those boots.

I’m positive that what he meant was Those rock. You should totally buy them!

I did in fact buy them, because I was sure he wanted me to, and I always get at least three compliments every time I wear them. Usually in front of CC.

Which is awesome.

Also awesome is that he got me long-stemmed roses on Saturday for finishing up my gig and I was the only girl with flowers on the subway.

Now for your links. I gotta be honest, I didn’t read anything this week. So while Harry Potter was on I went to some places I can count on.

First, four artists. I hope to be bringing you more about one of them soon, but for now, check out their sites:

This chick does cool shizz with dead animals. No lie. Kimberly Witham.

Amazing color and shape. Love! Jay Gaskill.

I love all of this lady’s work, but her countryside photos really speak to my soul, being mostly shot in Indiana, where I grew up: Jolie Buchanan.

I work with this guy when he’s not off doing fabulous artistic projects: Davis Duffield.

Finally, because sometimes you just need to laugh your ass off about a homicidal monkey: The Bloggess- Would You Like to Buy a Monkey?

Happy Sunday.

On why #5 got a stopwatch for Christmas

We had an impromptu Black Friday party at my house with a bunch of people that I like but don’t see nearly often enough.

#5 was the youngest person there. As you might imagine, he hit a wall where he had a shitload of energy to burn off and no way to do it. The open spaces in our house were full of glassware and adults. Neither of those are on a little boy’s Top Ten list of Favorite Things, so I made a suggestion.

Me: You look like you need to run around the house. Outside.

He gave me a look that was half-smile and half-eye roll. He knew exactly what this was about, but he likes running. He thinks he’s fast.

Me: Whaddaya say?

#5: Will you time me?

I tried to find a solution that didn’t require my participation.

Me: I’ll time you by the clock on the stove.

#5: How would that even work?

Me, sighing: I’ll get my phone. I’m pretty sure it has a stopwatch on it.

I set up at the back door with the stop watch function up on my phone.

#5, poised and ready: How many times?

Me: How about three?

#5: Three?!?! How about two?

Me: Okay, two.

#5: Good. Okay.

Me: Ready, set. . . Go!

He is pretty fast. And god bless him, he doesn’t do anything half way. Except maybe eat vegetables. He’s not a half-assed kid, in spite of his stepmom.

He came around from the second lap and I hit stop.

Me: 38.4 seconds

#5, breathing hard: That’s two-point-two seconds over my record.

Me: What’s your record?

#5: Seventeen seconds.

Me, taking a minute to catch up to his math: Oh.

We switch to one lap. He gets closer each time but setting a new record eludes him. He brings me outside to verify his route, asks if certain shortcuts are permissible.

He keeps running.

I keep timing.

After about twenty minutes I tell him that I’m going in to spend time with our guests, because I never get to see them.

#5: Can I keep running?

Me: Of course.

#5: But how will I time myself? How will I know if I broke my record?

We look at each other. We look at my phone. This is the only way I’m going to get a semi-interrupted visit with my guests, including my mother, who lives far away. But handing my phone over to a nine-year old boy so he can time himself running laps outside around the house seems ill-advised.

#5: I promise I won’t drop it.

And he gave me that super-cute, hopeful little boy look and I handed my phone right over. Had I had my wallet and car keys on me, I would have given him those too, and all my chocolate.

I went inside and joined the rest of my family.

He kept at it. I didn’t exactly get uninterrupted time with our guests, but I got time with them. #5 kept coming in to tell us his times and to ask our opinions on potential new routes. He began timing himself running around different obstacles, going on other parts of our property. He asked if he could run around the house backwards but since there are stone steps involved, we nixed that idea. He brought me out again to show how fast he could run up and down the hill and he slipped and slid the whole way down on his butt.

He did not let go of the phone.

My phone has an order of operations that is based solely on how much it can annoy you by interrupting what you’re trying to do. Incoming texts, missed calls, what have you- it makes sure to show you the least important information first in a way that makes it so you can’t get back to what you were trying to do in the first place.

Apparently, the stop watch function is not immune to this.

#5, running into the living room, completely out of breath: Oh, man, I can’t believe it! I was about to break my record and guess what happened? Somebody texted you!!!!

This happened three times before he finally gave it up. He gave me my phone back and sat quietly playing games with his sisters the rest of the afternoon.

Because he was tired.

Which, after all, was the whole point.