The Cake

Happy birthday to my rambunctious, mess-making, food-sneaking, balloon-stabbing little boy. You are the joy of my life. God blessed me with you and your dynamic little spirit because he knew you would stretch me to my limit, and in doing so, I would grow just as much as you are growing.

Today I made you a cake. You asked for a strawberry cake, which I anticipated since I know that's your favorite flavor, and I already had a box of Duncan Hines waiting for you in the pantry. Maybe it's all the cooking magazines I've been sorting through lately, but somehow I started having visions of fluted piles of frosting and dipped fresh strawberries, and that simple strawberry cake-from-a-box took on a new dimension. I had mentally tagged a recipe for white chocolate frosting among those I had saved in a file, and since I had all the ingredients on hand and it sounded like such a perfect complement to the strawberry, I chose to use it for your cake. Last night I dipped five fat shiny strawberries in white chocolate and made little green leaves out of colored chocolate to stick on the tops so the whole thing would be edible. This morning I baked the cakes, then I made the frosting. It was a long, arduous process, involving whipping egg whites, boiling sugar and water to the "soft ball" stage, beating the syrup into the whites and continuing to beat for half an hour while it cooled into a marshmallowy cloud, whipping over a pound of butter and beating that in, and finally melting 2/3 pound of white chocolate and beating that in along with a splash of vanilla. Then it had to cool even more while I mixed the middle layer frosting with a strawberry puree and stuck the two layers together. I frosted, I decorated with my fancy frosting tips, I stuck the strawberries on top, and embellished each frosting floret with those little pink pearl candies you wanted me to use. The result was spectacular, and I brimmed with joy as you oohed and ahed over the cake as it sat on it's little perch in the fridge awaiting the big moment.

But tonight, when I cleared the dessert plates from the table after you had gone to bed, I had a twinge of sadness. I should have played with you today. I really meant to. Making that cake and cleaning up afterward just took up so much of the day. You hardly even ate your slice. As I scraped most of it into the trash, I realized with regret that you probably would have been fine with store bought frosting and a few candles. So I'm sorry I didn't give you the gift of time today. I hope you will forgive me, and that you'll play with me tomorrow. We'll build your new lego kit and talk about that "peeps" restaurant you've been planning. I'll try to save baking cakes like the one I did today for a time when you can do it with me, because I can tell that's something you'll enjoy learning to do someday.

Love,
Mom