Birthday Baking!

  • Downhome Magazine
  • Posted: Nov 30, -0001 12:00 AM
Thurs. January 20, 2011

Today is my oldest boy's 10th birthday! One of many milestones in a kid's life - 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."

Now it's 10 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. I think I have become entirely clueless. First, my husband and I have allowed ourselves to be outnumbered. 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, and 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 and mitts while suffering through hot flashes just to get to the car.

Now, with the toddler days behind me and a four-year-old who thinks she's 15, 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 about 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 10 today!"

Yes. Yes, you are - and quite the little man indeed. To date, any and all birthdays have been accompanied by 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 leftover icing tips from previous failed attempts at cookie colouring 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 five-minute increments to ensure optimal cake baking time. After a night of cooling, I was ready to start colouring icing; black, skin tone and brown. You'd think that having bought the gel-colouring named brown, it would be impossible to screw up. My icing was brown 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 colour would make it less "poop-like." So, a touch of black (thinking surely the black will save it) and... "Sweet jingles! I'm not putting that on a cake!" Bye-bye bowl of poopy-coloured icing; it's off to the garbage you go. With a fresh batch of icing and some copper-red colouring 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. Chicken's 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 10 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."

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About Me...Mommy Jingles
I have a wonderful husband, three adorable children, drive a mini-van (what else are we all fitting into), love a good chick-flick and live on an awesome street. I am not a morning person nor will I ever be. I love being a night owl, yet strongly regret it in the morning when the pitter-patter of little feet stampede through the hall. Repeatedly! The fact my kids make it to school on time still amazes me. Hence, an outlet, refuge and sanctuary had to be found...Mommy Jingles is born. Thoughts, rantings, trials and successes from a mother, wife, friend, and an occasionally "I'm gonna loose it" woman!