Cake Catastrophes in Winnipeg

I got the colours right, just don't look at it too closely

It never fails. Every year, in December and January I am faced with the monumental task of baking a birthday cake.

Some moms revel in this time of year when they can amaze their children, impress their friends, and feel all-out smug about their baking abilities.

Yeah, that's not me.

Every year I start out with a positive attitude: "This year is MY year. I'm gonna do this! WOOT WOOT!" I find my recipe. I shop for ingredients. I start thinking about the design a few days in advance. Then before I know it, the day arrives. I can't find the one baking pan I need. Panic. Swear. Find it. Move on to baking. The cake's not rising. Panic. SWEAR. Did I overbeat it again? Damnit, I used a gentle hand. Stupid recipe.

Take it out of the oven. It's lopsided. Damnit! Panic. SWEAR LOUDLY. I curse society's expectation that mothers have some kind of innate ability to do this. I try and cut the the bubble off the top. Now it's all crumbly. GREAT. Now what do I do?! Swear! Yes, that always makes me feel better.

From beginning to end, it's a struggle

On to the frosting. This I got. Piece of cake (no pun intended). I start the beaters, I add the icing sugar and *POOF* it all blows out the bowl and into my face. DAMNIT! DAMNIT! DAMNIT! Eventually the cream finds its way to the bowl and the dust storm is under control. I eventually get some kind of frosting to congeal and attempt to ice the cake. It's more crumbs than slick icing. *Ding Dong!* There's the doorbell with the first guest arriving early. Panic! Swear!

I slop it on as fast as I can. It looks like hell. I throw sprinkles and silver balls at it. That helps camouflage its hideousness, right? My darling girl wanders by and gives me her annual pity pat on the back "That looks nice, Mom. Good job! Good for you." Smile. Swear under my breath.

I don't enjoy baking and baking doesn't enjoy me. I'm not ashamed to say I've looked elsewhere for cake love. But this year, a little miracle happened. I took a little more time. I relaxed a bit. I swore less. And I didn't get a pity pat this time. Nope. This time I got an enthusiastic "GREAT JOB MOM! Wow! This is the best cake you've ever made. Way to go!"

Smile. Pat myself on the back. Take some photos as proof.