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.


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!


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.


I’m Not Trying This At Home

I’m perusing Gretchen Rubin’s Happiness Project Facebook page. I have to back up a moment here and say that I really respect Gretchen Rubin. I bought this book in hardcover last year and loved it, even though I was unable to implement a single suggestion.

The Happiness Project made me realize I was seriously depressed. The irony is not lost on me. She mentions early on in the book how there’s a difference between just not being happy and actually being depressed and honestly, that was what spurred me to get help. I owe a large debt to Gretchen Rubin for that.

I was then able to accept about myself that I simply do not have the capacity to manage and track my life to the degree that Gretchen does in her book. The Happiness Project is full of ideas that I like to daydream about, in no small part because they always make me very tired at the energy they would require were I to actually carry them out, and then I get a bonus nap.

Anyway, she put up a request for her readers to list suggestions of April Fool’s Day jokes that she could play on her daughters. I was happy to see this because I have been wondering the same thing: What can I do for April Fool’s Day, that won’t lead to a trip to the emergency room or the need for any other type of intervention from the authorities?

Then I started to read the suggestions from her fans. It became clear to me that her readers share a lot in common with her, namely being pretty organized and capable of staying on top of things in great detail (defined here as something more than being able to locate all your children and not leaving the house without wearing pants). Here are some of their suggestions for April Fool’s Day jokes, and why they won’t work in my house.

-Glue their toilet paper together
Umm, they wouldn’t notice. We regularly are without toilet paper for days at a time in their bathroom before they tell me. I do not know what they use instead of it.

-Put towels in the sleeves of the jackets – just enough so they can’t get their hands through! This would involve 1)knowing which sweatshirt of their Dad’s they plan on swiping that morning when I make them wear a jacket, 2) finding it and 3) being allowed to use dirty towels.

-Fold the top sheet of their bed in two and put the cover as usual. They will not be able to get into bed. This implies that we make the beds and that they have both a sheet AND a cover of some sort.

-Crumble a biscuit into their bed. Wouldn’t notice (see above).

-Put a sign on their backs without them knowing that says “Hug Me”. We’re really more of a “kick me” family.

-Mix up all their morning ritual stuff – toothbrush in the shower, shampoo where the blow drier belongs, etc. This assumes that these items actually have a place that they are regularly returned to. This would be erroneous. This could only lead to the blow dryer going in the shower and electrocuting somebody.

-Pour cheerios and milk the night before and freeze it!! They won’t eat Cheerios!! On the off chance that there is both a breakfast cereal they will eat AND milk, there probably won’t be room in the freezer, and it will be the day they want toast anyway.

-Super glue coins to the sidewalk.
Yeah, if my sidewalk were made of WOOD. And they hadn’t stolen all my change. And let the dog eat the Super Glue.

-Hide three items in the house labeled 1, 2, and 4 and tell them you will take them for ice cream when they find ALL of them. I don’t even understand this. What happens when I pull a joke I don’t understand? Do they then explain it to me? It sounds like it just costs me ice cream.

-My best was waking my kids up 15 minutes early and telling them i was 30 minutes late HURRY! I work nights, for God’s sake. 15 minutes is a damn lot to ask.

-The best one I ever did on my KIDS was that I told them that the lawn mower was broken, and the homeowner’s association was about to fine us, and so I needed them to cut the lawn. I gave them each a pair of scissors and a ruler and said, “Make it about 1-1/2 inches.” My sons (twins–maybe 7 years old at the time) grabbed the scissors and began chopping away with glee. My daughter (11?) said, “MOM! My FRIENDS will SEE me!” and I replied, “Well, start in the backyard then!”…I let them go for 5 minutes, and then said, “APRIL FOOLS!” BWA HA HA HA HAAAAA! Okay this woman is my HERO. This is quite possibly my favorite kid practical joke ever. Unfortunately, my “lawn” is so small you actually could cut it with a pair of scissors, in about ten minutes. Here’s what would happen if I tried this. I would first have to find the scissors, which, even though we have at least six pairs in our house, are never where I think they should be. This would take at least half an hour. Then I would set the kids out there, cutting away with the scissors, go pour myself a cup of tea and completely forget that I was in the middle of an April Fool’s joke, and they would be done cutting the “lawn” before I finished my tea. Oh, and we don’t have a home owner’s association, and if we did they would have mandated martial law on our property by now.

-The principal at my kids’ school agreed to write me a letter that says our school is changing to 12 month school years and summer holidays will be ending after only a few weeks. Definite potential. But I think our principal hates me because when he called me that one time about how #4 had paid a boy to run into a tree, I laughed.

-Tell them you are pregnant! None of us would believe this. We all know better.

Best twelve bucks CC ever spent.

Everyone’s a Critic

The Puggle, Casey, aka the Evil Brown One, has a far more subtle personality than her brother.

Jack the Fuggle is fierce and in your face with any toy he can find the instant he wakes. Casey sits and watches him play. When she jumps in, it’s pathetic. She may be genetically superior to him in every other way, but she can’t hold on to a tennis ball to save her life.

Jack was housebroken by the time we brought Casey home three days later (which is a whole other post entirely). He had a minor setback when she joined the household, but he got it together. He learned within a week to ask to go out, and rarely had accidents.

Casey couldn’t be bothered. She had a great deal of sleeping to do, and too much table food to steal to deal with these petty concerns. If it was raining, she preferred to go on the floor.

But lately, she’s developed some communication skills. She has started to learn how to ask to go out, but. . . indirectly. Passive-aggressively. The way all the girls in our house communicate. She’ll sit slightly closer to the stairs. She may gaze in the general direction of the front door. These signs are far too subtle to be noticed by the heathens, but I see them. I respond.

That’s how it started, anyway. Casey is now drunk with power regarding her newfound ability to communicate. Whenever I sit down to write, she comes and sits in front of me.

She stamps her feet.

She whines.

She dances.

She paws at me.

I have responded to this in every way I know how to respond to a dog: I’ve taken her out, I’ve fed and watered her, I’ve rubbed her ears, I’ve rubbed her belly. I’ve tried to engage her in play (to the best of her ability). I’ve given her bacon, for pete’s sake. Nothing ceases the stamping and whining and dancing. Or chewing of cables.

Me: I don’t get it. She only does this when I write.

CC:  Isn’t it obvious? She thinks you’re a hack. She’s saying, “If only I had thumbs I could make her stop!” But she doesn’t.

Me: So she breaks my concentration and chews my cables. Oh my god, you’re right.