T O D A Y

Drama Queen candidates:
The worst toys ever

Contestant No. 1
Contestant No. 2
Contestant No. 3

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TABLE TALK

Trying to do it all? Discuss the joys and trials of single motherhood in the Mothers area of Table Talk

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R E C E N T L Y

Sleeping in
By Anne Lamott
No one tells you that the profound tiredness you feel in your child's first year of life doesn't go away with the 2 a.m. feedings
(01/07/99)

One mother's gain
By Maurine Zarlengo Christ
After adopting three children, a mom says it's love, not blood, that makes parents
(01/06/99)

My mother's daughter
By Kristina Zarlengo
A child of adoption wonders: How much is my nature a product of my nurturing?
(01/05/99)

The baby girl I gave away
By Ceil Malek
Putting up a baby for adoption was the first act of my adult life, but it took me almost 30 years to face what that decision meant for me and my daughter
(01/04/99)

Millennial family values
By Stephanie Coontz
The legislators who are piously "voting their conscience" have been consistently screwing the future for our children
(12/24/98)

ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

Cake ring of fire
By Chil Truth

When I was 7 years old, I asked Santa for one of the first Betty Crocker bake sets. I don't know if the little oven had been invented by 1957, the year I got my bake set, but it didn't have one. I would have to use the stove my mom used. I wasn't afraid -- after all I had seen my mom cook on that stove for years. But the bake set required adult supervision. And my mom didn't want to deal with it. "Later," she would always say, "we'll do it later."

One morning I had waited long enough. After all, I saw my mom make cakes all the time. I knew what to do. I followed the simple directions on the tiny cake mix box. Heat oven to 350, grease and flour the pans, mix the cake up and pour the batter into the pans. I followed the directions completely. The one problem had nothing to do with Mrs. Crocker's mix. I went to the oven, which had been turned on for at least 20 minutes while I mixed and prepared the tiny cakes. Opening the oven door, I used a match to light the fire inside. When I applied the match flame to the oven, a ball of fire flashed out of the gas stove. The flame was bigger than me. It took out my eyebrows, eyelashes, bangs and my two-foot-long pig tails. As a result, I was the first person in my second-grade class to have very short horseshoe bangs and a haircut now commonly referred to as the "duck's ass."

I did not get to finish those cakes that day -- in fact my mom wouldn't let me play baker anymore. I am an old lady now, with a degree in cooking and a career as a chef. I specialize in desserts, in fact. And I am a retired hairstylist to boot. So even though this was the one of the worst Christmas gifts I ever received, it set me up for future employment opportunities. My advice to parents these days is to be careful of the types of gifts you buy your kids. Who knows what they might grow up to be.
SALON | Jan. 11, 1999

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