The Annual Great Cake Fiasco
Today was Thomas' 7th birthday party. He chose a Rocky-themed party this year, and we have been counting the hours for eight solid weeks until this day (when I say counting the hours, I really mean it--we've had the calculator out almost daily so that he could see how many hours were left to go!). He's been doing sit ups and push ups and one-armed push ups for two months to prepare for this day. He invited six friends, and as of this morning we hadn't heard back from a single one of them that they were coming. The day actually ended up being fantastic, even if not what we'd anticipated, but that's another story for another post...
I made a cake for the party this morning. Any of my friends who've read my previous posts will know that cake-making is my point of greatest weakness (see my Cora cake story from last year), so I was relatively thrilled with the results:
Yes, that's a boxing ring. And the number 7 is about to knock number 6's lights out--a little symbolism for a new year (and please notice the "Mom" tattoo on the number 7...).
When I went to cut the cake for the party, I removed the ropes and poles and set them aside. I had intended to make a different cake for our family party tomorrow, maybe one with a boxing glove on it. But when I saw the old ropes sitting on the counter still attached (and knowing the grief they'd given me this morning!) I decided to do a slightly larger version of the boxing ring cake for Sunday's party.
I made up another box of cake mix and took out my last jar of frosting. The original plan had been smaller, so I was shy on frosting. I added just a little milk and icing sugar to my frosting to stretch it. I tinted and frosted the boxing mat, iced the base, and placed the (somewhat broken) ropes and poles onto the cake. The bottoms of the pretzel posts had broken off when I removed them from the first cake this afternoon, so I snapped the bottoms off to make them uniform. In theory, it was a great way to reuse things. But...
The cake didn't cook evenly, the frosting ran all over, and the boxing ring sat crooked. The boxing mat had cracked in three places when I tried to put it onto the base and the pretzels sank into the cake until the ropes were touching the frosting. No amount of re-freezing and adjusting helped. Finally I threw the whole thing into the freezer to set up and walked away. I was frustrated, I was tired, and I had the sinking feeling that I was dropping the ball.
It had very little to do with cake, if I'm honest. Things at work have picked up and while it hasn't cost me any time at home, I am consumed by guilt sometimes at the thought that I'm not at home with them, available to do everything I used to do. I could not be more excited about my career and the new opportunities I have. And yet many days I'm still home early. I'm tired, but I'm trying hard to engage and invest like I always have. But things are different in this season, and I'm so terrified that I will write myself out of their lives.
When I came back upstairs, Micah was waiting for me. "Are you OK?" I took one look at him and burst into tears. "No! I'm not. I feel like I can either do career well, or motherhood well. Apparently I can't handle doing both." I sobbed and sobbed, and the poor man just held me. When I finally stopped crying, he said, "You are not neglecting us. You are still here, still involved. You spent the whole day with them, and it was a really great, memorable day. You tucked them into bed and came downstairs to finish getting ready for his party. You made two cakes--"
"I did NOT make two cakes," I interrupted him and threw open the freezer. The cake had looked awful when I left it, but now it looked even worse. The foil over the baking sheet had caught on the door and was bunched up. More of the gray frosting had dripped down the sides. The poles were even more lopsided, and the licorice I'd pressed into the sides of the cake to make my frosting job look more even were sticking out all over. I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. It looked so awful! "This is NOT a cake--look at it! It's awful!"
He laughed with me and said, "OK, you made one and a half cakes. My point is, you are a great mom. You're not dropping the ball. You go out of your way to be with them, to pick Henry up from space camp, to spend time playing with them and listening to them and making things for them to make them feel loved."
I took a deep breath. "I just wanted his birthday to be special. What am I supposed to do with this cake? We can't serve this!"
I love this man. He took me by the shoulders and said, "It looks like total destruction, honestly. Like a war zone. So here's what you do: you take some of Thomas' action figures and you drape them over the ropes, like they've just had an epic fight."
"But what about the candles? I'd planned on using them on this cake!"
"You put them back to back, like they're fighting everyone off."
I laughed it off at first. Then I realized he was on to something. It was the only way to salvage this particular disaster, but it was also kind of symbolic. Things might not be like they always have been, but we will salvage it. We will make something edible, usable out of what we have, and we may even find some humor in it.
I couldn't help but smile as I placed his action figures. I dug out all the bad guys I could find from his superhero collection and laid them out sprawled on the mat. It was perfect. No more hiding the mistakes or the weaknesses, but using them. Highlighting them. Making them part of the whole picture.
A life lesson in a disastrous birthday cake.
But, really, it might be time to order our cakes from a bakery...
I made a cake for the party this morning. Any of my friends who've read my previous posts will know that cake-making is my point of greatest weakness (see my Cora cake story from last year), so I was relatively thrilled with the results:
Yes, that's a boxing ring. And the number 7 is about to knock number 6's lights out--a little symbolism for a new year (and please notice the "Mom" tattoo on the number 7...).
When I went to cut the cake for the party, I removed the ropes and poles and set them aside. I had intended to make a different cake for our family party tomorrow, maybe one with a boxing glove on it. But when I saw the old ropes sitting on the counter still attached (and knowing the grief they'd given me this morning!) I decided to do a slightly larger version of the boxing ring cake for Sunday's party.
I made up another box of cake mix and took out my last jar of frosting. The original plan had been smaller, so I was shy on frosting. I added just a little milk and icing sugar to my frosting to stretch it. I tinted and frosted the boxing mat, iced the base, and placed the (somewhat broken) ropes and poles onto the cake. The bottoms of the pretzel posts had broken off when I removed them from the first cake this afternoon, so I snapped the bottoms off to make them uniform. In theory, it was a great way to reuse things. But...
The cake didn't cook evenly, the frosting ran all over, and the boxing ring sat crooked. The boxing mat had cracked in three places when I tried to put it onto the base and the pretzels sank into the cake until the ropes were touching the frosting. No amount of re-freezing and adjusting helped. Finally I threw the whole thing into the freezer to set up and walked away. I was frustrated, I was tired, and I had the sinking feeling that I was dropping the ball.
It had very little to do with cake, if I'm honest. Things at work have picked up and while it hasn't cost me any time at home, I am consumed by guilt sometimes at the thought that I'm not at home with them, available to do everything I used to do. I could not be more excited about my career and the new opportunities I have. And yet many days I'm still home early. I'm tired, but I'm trying hard to engage and invest like I always have. But things are different in this season, and I'm so terrified that I will write myself out of their lives.
When I came back upstairs, Micah was waiting for me. "Are you OK?" I took one look at him and burst into tears. "No! I'm not. I feel like I can either do career well, or motherhood well. Apparently I can't handle doing both." I sobbed and sobbed, and the poor man just held me. When I finally stopped crying, he said, "You are not neglecting us. You are still here, still involved. You spent the whole day with them, and it was a really great, memorable day. You tucked them into bed and came downstairs to finish getting ready for his party. You made two cakes--"
"I did NOT make two cakes," I interrupted him and threw open the freezer. The cake had looked awful when I left it, but now it looked even worse. The foil over the baking sheet had caught on the door and was bunched up. More of the gray frosting had dripped down the sides. The poles were even more lopsided, and the licorice I'd pressed into the sides of the cake to make my frosting job look more even were sticking out all over. I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. It looked so awful! "This is NOT a cake--look at it! It's awful!"
He laughed with me and said, "OK, you made one and a half cakes. My point is, you are a great mom. You're not dropping the ball. You go out of your way to be with them, to pick Henry up from space camp, to spend time playing with them and listening to them and making things for them to make them feel loved."
I took a deep breath. "I just wanted his birthday to be special. What am I supposed to do with this cake? We can't serve this!"
I love this man. He took me by the shoulders and said, "It looks like total destruction, honestly. Like a war zone. So here's what you do: you take some of Thomas' action figures and you drape them over the ropes, like they've just had an epic fight."
"But what about the candles? I'd planned on using them on this cake!"
"You put them back to back, like they're fighting everyone off."
I laughed it off at first. Then I realized he was on to something. It was the only way to salvage this particular disaster, but it was also kind of symbolic. Things might not be like they always have been, but we will salvage it. We will make something edible, usable out of what we have, and we may even find some humor in it.
I couldn't help but smile as I placed his action figures. I dug out all the bad guys I could find from his superhero collection and laid them out sprawled on the mat. It was perfect. No more hiding the mistakes or the weaknesses, but using them. Highlighting them. Making them part of the whole picture.
A life lesson in a disastrous birthday cake.
But, really, it might be time to order our cakes from a bakery...
