I learned how to make whipped cream roses. Since I'm a kinetic learner (meaning: I've got to do it to learn it), I bought a pint of whipped cream and practiced making roses while watching the newest episode of Glee.
The best way to learn how to make roses out of whipped cream (or anything out of whipped cream, for that matter) is to whip up a pint, sit with your family, practice the task, and then eat the results, rinse, repeat. You develop the skill, and your family consumes a ridiculous amount of whipped cream. It's a great activity for bonding the family, in my opinion.
(My favorite part was declaring the defective ones, then eating them. The good ones were admired for a moment before being consumed.)
As you can imagine, with that quantity of whipped cream Things were bound to ensue. Mom declaring that the next rose was hers (out of turn); Andrew screaming about whipped cream rose conspiracies. I might have kicked something over and declared the living room to be Sparta. (That's not an admission of guilt, it's just ... something that *could* have happened. Get my drift?)
In any case, in planning future activities, the following conversation took place between me and Laura'nge:
Laura'nge: So, I'll pick you up for yoga tomorrow?
Me: For the early class or the regular one?
Laura'nge: Wait, you're planning to go to two classes?
Me: I think I can do it, but it might be the whipped cream talking.