Baking a Birthday Cake!

January 20, 2011

Today is my oldest boys 10^th birthday! One of many milestones in a kids life, now double digits.  I vividly remember sitting in the hospital holding this tiny little person.  He was perfect in every way possible.  The nurse came in to see how we were doing and uttered words I will never forget, “Bet you can’t wait to take him home!” – What? What did you say? Take him home? Now what were we supposed to do? As she left my room, I looked down at my little peanut, whispering, “I’m sorry little man. It’s best I apologize in advance.” 

Ten years later.... You would think that after three kids and now a decade of parenting under the belt one would have half a clue.  Wrong, wrong and wrong.  I think I have become entirely clueless.  First, we’ve allowed ourselves to be out numbered.  Not smart.  Though they may fight and declare war toward each other, the little gremlins know just when to join forces.  A unified trio set to overpower and disable.

My boys are two years and four days apart.  As toddlers we did lots of things together. Play groups, swimming, I quickly learned that routine and scheduling was going to be a big part of our lives from here on in.  My biggest challenge was stuffing them in snowsuits, boots, hats & mitts while suffering through hot flashes just to get to the car. 

Now, with the toddler days behind me and four year old who thinks she’s fifteen... I have become very aware that just when I think I’ve finally got it, I’m reminded that I do not. I hear stories of puking (while eating dinner), arguments over “he’s looking at me”, my daughter asking -”did you hear that Mom? I farted!” ...then, as the dinkies have been replaced with hockey cards and iPods,  I’m reminded, “Mom, I’m ten today!”

Yes. Yes, you are; and quite the little man indeed.  To date, any and all birthdays have accompanied with a store-bought cake or one made by my talented sister. This year, I decided it was time to have a try at it myself.  My daughter picked out a guitar cake pan, we opted for the trusted Betty Crocker French Vanilla cake mix (please, I wasn’t attempting it from scratch!), and had even made butter cream icing from scratch!  I had some left over icing tips from previous failed attempts at cookie coloring and thought, “what the hell, we’ll give it a try”.

The cake baking itself consisted of me sitting in front of the stove, determined not to let it burn. After 30 minutes the timer was used in 5 minute increments to insure optimal cake baking time. After a night of cooling, I was ready to start coloring icing; black, skin tone and brown.  You’d think that having bought the gel-coloring named brown, it would be impossible to screw up.  My icing was brown alright...dog poop brown! It looked like runny, semi-soft dog crap! The kind we’ve all walked in once or twice; and I had a LOT of it.

God love my mother, who insisted that adding another color would make is less “poop” like.  So, a touch of black (thinking surly the black will save it) and..... “Sweet jingles! I’m not putting that on a cake!” – Bye, bye bowl of poopy-colored icing, it’s off to the garbage you go.  With a fresh batch of icing and some copper-red coloring I was in the last stretch.  After a few hand cramps and a splash of colourful language later, the cake was done! 

So, here I am.  Chickens in the oven, peas pudding and salt beef simmering on the stove and one “Mommy Made” cake waiting in the fridge!  And to think, it only took me a decade to get here!

Happy Birthday Noah!  I love you. You truly are an amazing little man! And, in being proactive for the next ten years of your life, “While I might have half a clue what I’m doing, be patient, I still might mess up along the way”.