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[personal profile] davincis_girl

Today is my son’s birthday. Weeks before I did the mom birthday checklist:
- Weekend party (sleepover) and events the next day….check
- Presents ready for the actual birthday….check and wrapped
- Birthday money…check

I’m thinking that I’ve got it all in the bag today. Just inside the door, my mother-in-law, who also watches my kids while I am work, whispers, “Did you buy a cake?”. Oh shit!

My mother-in-law is a fabulous baker—I’m a championship shopper. Every year we do the same thing. I buy and cake and bring it home to find that she made a cake. Result: two cakes. This year she didn’t because she thought I’d buy one. I didn’t buy one since I though she’d make one.

I call my husband, who is not home yet. He can get one, right? Alas, he’s actually coming home early and is in the driveway right now talking to me on the cell. Supper is in 30 minutes or so.

Hmmm. I live out the boonies of rural Canada. To get to my house you need to say things like, “Go two miles past the apple orchard and turn at the barn with the white fence. Don’t forget to look both ways for deer. Remember they travel in groups.”

So I tag off with my husband in the driveway like a weird relay and start driving ten minutes the closest village. The sweets shop is closed. The bakery is closed. The little grocery is open. However, all the cakes are frozen and need overnight to thaw except the crappy frozen chocolate fluffy thing. I contemplate thawing one of the real cakes in the oven, but the icing will probably melt. OK…crappy frozen thing here we come.

About this time I realize that I have changed from my work clothes into my kick around the house stuff and the girls are swinging free is a rather low cut t-shirt. Arggh! At the cash I spot some M&Ms and that, with ice cream, go into the bag.

Out in the parking lot, I peal the lid off the cake, wedge it between my unbound bosom and the steering wheel and rip open the M&M. I spell out my son’s name and a message in M&Ms. Yes, this is why I have a degree in art and English! At this point, it’s so ridiculous that I’m starting to laugh.

I sneak back in the house with the cake. On with the candles.

My son loved it. He and his sister fought over the candy. Makes me wonder why I ordered special cakes two weeks ahead and spend so much.

Man, I’m glad I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore.


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September 2010

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