Most moms and dads have part of their brains tucked away -- accessible only when you REALLY need it. Otherwise, I guess, we'd be too smart for our own good. 

Here's what I mean:  I have a friend named Deb who moved to Paris for two years with her husband who on professional assignment.  Don't conjure up images of "Sex in the City" (Gosh, how I miss that show) where Carrie leaves for Paris. This is the suburban version. This family sold their lovely home, packed up two kids and a dog and are now living in a cramped urban apartment, and are generally LOVING it.

Deb hasn't spoken much French since high school and was fretting about her daughter's 10th birthday. A milestone in a foreign country with no real friends. She stressed about her daughter's cake. Where to go? How to order? She walked into a bakery where not one person spoke English. Somehow, she says, the light came on, and it was as if some compartment in her brain labeled "French from high school" broke open and the words came flying out! She not only ordered a beautiful cake, but was able to communicate exactly when she needed it.

   Here's the box

   and look inside!!! Deb describes this as "Chocolate heaven with caramel nougat and fluffy meringue!"

Deep inside, most moms and dads possess this almost primal instinct to rediscover lost French -- all for the sake of your kiddo. In my case, it's dealing with the "ick factor" (sorry to bring it up after seeing such a beautiful cake!) 

If you ever wonder, "How gross is gross?" just go have a kid. In my case, the answer came a few years ago when I was on a road trip with my son Dylan, my friend Nan, who was pregnant at the time, and her daughter Lily.

We were driving home on a 100+-degree Texas day in August. Lily vomited milk and cantaloupe all over my backseat (which of course is cloth). Both kids FREAK OUT and poor preggo Nan endures the stench of whole milk that smells a year past its expiration date. We're almost home, and it's gotten kind of funny, enduring this milk mobile, that is, until Dylan throws up milk everywhere.

He is hysterical -- beet red and achieving rock concert wailing decibels. In my pre-kid world, this would have made me vomit. But as a mom, and my specialty is dealing with messes, running marathons (stress relief) and drinking wine (more stress relief). So I become a walking ad for birth control covered in shrapnel puke giving my little guy big hugs. But I'm thankful that when called upon, my brain kicked into another level.    

I can only hope your untapped knowledge gets results like the beautiful cake!