I spent the better part of today making a cake for my 4-year-old’s birthday party. Not just a one pan and frosting kind of cake. Nope. A “rainbow cake” which, you guessed it—includes EVERY color of the rainbow.
I divided batter into six mixing bowls and carefully blended each into a colorful arch of the rainbow; with the enthusiastic help of a PJ-clad 4-year-old sous chef. (I’m not gonna lie, he isn’t the cleanest of assistants, so calling it “help” is a stretch.)
This project requires A LOT of bowls, and six layers means six pans. (Really, three pans twice… Because who has six round pans?) However you add it up, a lot of mess and clean up are involved in This. One. Cake.
In many ways it’s crazy-making considering how easily I could pick up some cupcakes or cookies; which would be so totally appropriate for a 4-year-old’s birthday…where, let’s face it, a bunch of keyed-up preschoolers will sit just long enough to shove maybe three bites of frosting into their mouths (getting most of it on their face and cute party outfits) before they start running around the room and bouncing off walls.
So why do it?
a) I crave praise.
b) I’m one of those “Pinterest Moms” and this is another notch in my crafty, gingham apron strings.
c) I’m a masochist (and a martyr) who takes on insurmountable obligations and projects in excess.
These theories aren’t completely baseless. At one point or another I’ve been one…or the other…or all three—at once.
But not today.
Today, I’m a mom who feels like so much is out of my control when it comes to the current task at hand: raising my kids.
Every day is unpredictable and I’m kept on my toes a lot. My balancing act leaves tons to be desired, and most days, I eek by with a C (on good days a solid B). I yell, lose my patience, and have even, on occasion…gasp!…resented my children.
I’ve wanted to run out the front door, leaving their always-in-need-of-something little bodies behind, while I assume the me of decades ago; hopping into my green convertible and driving off to get sangria and tapas with the man I was madly in love with (who, by the way is the same man I’m married to, even though sometimes, sadly, I forget).
But I really do love those needy little monsters; so I stay. (Occasionally seeking out closed-end-tasks for sanity’s sake.)
Like baking fancy birthday cakes.
Somewhere in this buttercream frosting and R-O-Y-G-B-I-V is another year of my kid’s life gone by, another year of me being a mom, and a million things that both did and didn’t go well.
Like the frosting on this cake, depending on where I stand, how the light hits, or the angle of my gaze—I can see it as perfect, or I can see all the flaws.
Just like parenting.
The amount of care taken in adding one more candle to the cake is overwhelming.
Fevers, ER visits, X-rays, tears shed, tantrums thrown, knees skinned, pets lost (OK, they were tiny frogs, but the amount of sadness expressed rivaled me watching “E.T.”, so our dogs better live at least another 65 years!) All of this…and So. Many. Band-Aids.
But it can be lovely…
Rainy-day-book-forts, nose kisses, lazy banana-pancake-mornings, bubble baths, bedtime cuddles, kites flown, puddles stomped, ice cream licked, fears conquered, the unbridled and euphoric laughter of childhood floating down hallways, and fresh pencil lines on doorjambs proclaiming a newer, taller version has replaced last year’s model.
So much life in a year.
The possibilities of how these little lives might shake out over time makes my head spin with equal parts hope and fear.
Bookmarked in my mind is an image of my older son, exuberant when we made his “rainbow cake” six years ago, before I’d met the indifference of 10...proof he’s in there somewhere (and that favoritecolorrainbow is genetic).
For a minute today we all overlapped, in front of the round pans and the pre-heated oven, like déjà vu.
In this frenetic life that so easily pulls me in a million different directions, I need to touch hands with these memories sometimes, as a reminder of the life I intended…before becoming so wildly distracted with the life I am actually living.
Parenting is hard. I don’t trust myself to keep it up as well as I want to, for as long as I need to. (If all goes as planned, there’s a long way to go.)
Maybe by making this cake, I can do other things I already did right once. If I keep that up, maybe we’ll somehow get through “growing up” intact; even when life is turned upside down, or we disagree and want to make a run for it.
If we allow ourselves to overlap with memories from time to time, maybe it will remind us that we are unconditional.
As a parent, it’s easy to remember the times we fall short. I need to remember the times I showed up, had patience, and dove in with my whole heart. When I read the extra bedtime story, hugged a little longer, and played Candyland 17 times in a row. I need to remember the days I was the best version of me: making magic out of cake mix.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m a realist, so I’ll take stock of what is sure.
Another year is in the books, this memory is mine to keep come what may, and as we journey together toward one candle older, I will fold down the corner on this day to visit again.
A time when mixing birthday batter into rainbows, and the joyful face of a little boy who has his whole life ahead of him, is all I need.
And for reasons maybe only I understand…right now, this cake is everything.
For more of my musings visit me at writewhereiam.com