“So, where you want me to buy your birthday cake?” I asked my wife earlier this month. On such things, I don’t just do whatever I want. I get advice. I’ve learned the hard way. You don’t take risks when it comes to birthday cakes. Countries have fought wars over less.
“No, don’t buy it,” she said. “Why don’t you both make a cake.”
Make … uh … wait a minute … make a cake?!? Is that even a thing? And if it is, why would you wish such a thing upon us. My daughter and me. And mainly me.
Because here’s the thing about me in the kitchen. I like things a certain way. By which I mean, I don’t like when stuff gets everywhere. By which I mean, my daughter tends to get things everywhere. By which I mean, I make a big ‘ole deal about it, freak out because the cocoa powder spilled and start screaming about how she ruined Christmas … and it’s not even Christmas! That’s how crazy baking cakes gets for me. It’s not a good way to start a birthday celebration.
“Or, I could just go buy a cake,” I said. “You know, we do need to support the economy and all. Don’t want another recession.”
“No, dad,” the kid chimed in. “She wants us to BAKE a cake. Don’t worry, I know how to do it.”
Whenever a kid tells you not to worry, I reach for my hard hat. And HAZMAT suit. And phone number for a real estate agent, because I just know we’re gonna’ need to sell the house quick after this one.
I’m haunted by memories of baking things with my daughter when she was younger. Wonderful bonding experiences and unforgettable memories, marred just slightly by the horror of what looked like a pretty faithful recreation of Mt. Vesuvius blowing its top. Every time I get up on the ladder to dust the kitchen fan, I find bits of chocolate icing from those early cake baking adventures.
But she’s 12 now, and when she says, “Just let me lead the way,” I’, starting to realize I can hesitantly step back and say, “OK, but remember that if there is a real estate bubble, we might not be able unload the house as quick as weed.”
Then off we go …
I can’t tell if I miss the old days, with its exploding puffs of cocoa powder and semi-melted butter flying in every direction. How we once accidentally almost used mayonnaise in a recipe.
But the new ones sure come with a lot of benefits. Someone who knows the right blender speeds. How to pour the boiling water into the batter. Who I can trust pouring the boiling water into the batter, especially because it scares the heck out of me.
Incredibly, it all went pretty according to plan. The cleanup was minimal. The cake itself was pretty darn incredible — no major chunks missing and even enough icing to cover the whole thing. And we had a lot of fun.
There are many times as a parent when you come to miss the old days. But I’ve found at least one where I sure don’t mind the growing up.