I figure that with an almost 16-year old, a 13-year old, a newly minted 11-year old, and an 8-year old, I’ve made 46 birthday cakes so far in my career as mother.
This was number 47.
Not too shabby eh?
Over the years, I’ve often gone head-to-head with young son over his apparent lack of concern for Very Important Things, but on this day, I had a brand new appreciation for his nonchalance. He took a passing glance at the cake disaster and said YUM! I told him that I could peel the smarties off and make more icing and try to cover the cracks, but he said Nah…. so I didn’t. Good enough for him, good enough for the seven other little tobogganers coming to his party.
Later on, after the toboganning was nixed in favor of a snowball battle, after the presents were opened, and after the unplanned sleep-over ended, I asked him how the day had been.
It was epic! and the best party ever!
He’d made the invitations, made the phone calls, planned the activity, and hosted the party. I made the cake, served the hot chocolate, and lit the candles.
He had seven friends over, and they spent several hours playing outside, and then inside. I sat on the couch and read a book.
It was so very easy that I felt a bit at loose ends, but upon reflection, I realized, with some surprise, that the days of harrowing kids’ parties are coming to an end.