I lied. Japan post is not following. It will follow eventually. But this is not that post.
As you may remember from two posts ago, Yuki had a LEGO birthday party for her 6th birthday. To start, let me put this in to some context:
1. We had just returned from Tokyo 6 days prior to the party
2. Yuki was invited to 3 other parties since our return, including one in the morning of her own party (I guess summer of 2006 was a popular time to conceive), which means we have to go get gifts (or go get a gift and realize this particular child's parents asked for no gifts so then return that gift because it doesn't transfer to other kids in terms of taste).
3. Jet lag (though this time it was pretty minor)
4. I had a head cold that would not let up.
5. I also had a tooth pulled after biting down on a piece of bone about 4 weeks prior to that on Friday.
6. Work catch up.
It was just a nutty nutty week. I was feeling stressed. But at least this year, the party is small and the treat bags were provided by the store so it was not as bad as it could have been. But dividing and conquering was key to success, as it always is in these kinds of situation. Last year, in the chaos of Pirate Party fun, I could not deal with the cake so I asked Philip to take care of it. He asked around and found a local Italian bakery which makes these light, fluffy delicious sheet cakes and you can order them as close to 48 hours prior to the event. And the price is super reasonable. He took care of the whole thing, and it was a huge success.
So I gave him the same assignment this year (insert appropriate sound cue from your imagination here).
I check in on Monday to remind him and he tells me that he is on it and he will put it in. I check in on Wednesday from work and he sends me an email with diagram of sizes they offer to ask which one I thought we should order. I pick one. He agrees.
Fast forward to Saturday morning. Yuki had climbed into our bed and I am cuddling with her. Philip had gotten up and has been in the office on the computer. I am still groggy and in and out of sleep when he comes into the room and says with a intense tone,
"What time is Sophie's party tomorrow?"
To which I say "11:00."
Before I could ask why, he leaves the room. In my sleepy state, I am trying to piece together why he asked. Then I realize he is probably figuring out what time to get the cake because the bakery is on the way to this morning party Yuki is attending. Part of the reason why we chose to go back to this bakery. It was convenient. Then we all get up, go down stairs and have breakfast. As I am pouring my coffee, Philip gently takes my elbow and says,
"I have to bake a cake. I f***ed up."
I turn around and look at him. He tells me that after that email exchange, he kept meaning to put the order in but then completely forgot (to be fair, see list of events during nutty week). He called that morning and they told him the earliest they can do it is Monday, which obviously is no good.
Silence.
I am staring and my 45 year old husband has a face of a 10 year old who has just managed to fess up his wrong doing to his parent. I want to say "WHAT THE F***?!!" But instead, I take a sip of my coffee and say, "Oooookaay." And add "or buy it elsewhere?" But I know from my job in managing artists in productions that sometimes it's best not to argue their logic or plan or why things went wrong and focus on the end product and how best to get there from here. He seemed set on baking probably because we already had a box of cake mix and also we know exactly what she wanted and did not have the time to be shopping around for a cake of her choice at this point. So I said "I don't really care what kind of cake or where it comes from. Just have a cake ready by 2 pm tomorrow."
As I proceeded with the day, I thought this may actually be better. More meaningful. Daddy is baking a birthday cake. Who cares if I reminded him twice to order one and it didn't happen. Let's not focus on the fact that the man had one job. It'll be great. It's just a cake. And when Yuki found out, she was excited and had requests on what sort of sprinkles she wanted. All was well. Or was it?
Philip got to baking after Yuki went to bed. I came down to check on the progress and he looked stressed. At this point, I don't even want to ask. But I do.
"What's wrong?
"I have to get more cake mix"
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid the middle is going to be raw and the outside is going to burn."
Let me explain. He had two boxes of cake mix so he can make a double decker cake. But the recipe called for 8 inch pans and what we have are 9 inch pans. Baking being an exact science (that is why I cook but I don't bake) this was a potential issue. The timer goes off, Philip pulls our the pans, puts a stick in a middle of one and sighs. "I have to go to the store."
Poor guy looks totally defeated and it's now after 10 pm. With my close to zero knowledge on baking, but better knowledge of crisis management, I suggest continue baking at a lower temperature to see if that helps. After all, that is what you do when you are cooking something. I tell him, "you have nothing to lose. If that doesn't work, you go to the store." He tries. It works. We have cake (cue choir of angels).
He puts frosting all around it, puts sprinkles to Yuki's specification and the cake is beautiful. We leave it on the counter and shut the child gate to the kitchen to eliminate dog access and go to bed.
The next day, the day of the party, we drive Yuki to her friend's house at 11:00 for a party. Before we leave, we put the cake in the dining room and put the dog in the kitchen and close the gate. We pass the bakery to and from there and I make a joke about the cake, and Philip takes it well. We go to the store and buy snacks and juice boxes. We go home. We eat lunch. It was nice to have a little bit of quiet because Yuki was being car pooled from her morning party to her own by dear friend Gillian whose daughter was also invited to both. We have now just enough time to put our stuff together to head to the party location, which is 5 minutes away. Philip goes up stairs to print out LEGO instructions (in case any kids need building ideas) and I pack. It is now 1:25. The party is at 2:00. Time to head out. I call to Philip "We gotta go!" then I hear him come down the stairs and gasp the biggest gasp of his life. Then he says,
"Roman ate the cake!!!"
Apparently during the one hour window of us being home, he smelled the cake on the dining room table and couldn't resist. He took a couple of big bites and realized we were home so he hid himself upstairs. Believe me, Philip and I yelled his name about 27 times and the dog did not show himself. We are staring down the cake in disbelief and rage. WE WERE SO CAREFUL. HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN??? As the clock is ticking, I blurt out,
"It's totally salvageable."
Philip is still fuming from the moment but agrees and goes to get a kitchen knife (after taking a picture of the damage).
By this time, the guilty dog comes slinking down the steps. Philip cuts the big chunk of the cake as he is yelling at the dog (multitasking). Now the cake is in the shape of the letter D (as opposed to a perfect circle).
"We'll just turn it, no one will know" we say to each other. We say this because there is no other choice. We have to believe it. It has to work. We have become total prisoners of this cake. THERE WILL BE CAKE AT THIS PARTY NO MATTER WHAT.
Then he turns to me and says "where is the rest of the frosting?"
Now we are digging through garbage because I mocked Philip for putting the left over frosting in the fridge."Why in the world would you want to keep that?" I said. Now that line is echoing through my head. Neither of us questions the other about the fact that we are going to feed garbage frosting to other people's children. (The frosting was sealed, it's not like we scooped it out of the bag and picked out egg shells and floor sweepings.) We just need to slap that thing into shape and get out of the house.
We say some threatening words to the dog and leave. I carry the cake in my lap which is totally stressful given what this cake has been through and what is still within the realm of possibilities in the next 2 miles. I also can't shake the legendary Smith family tale of what happened to Philip's oldest sister Margaret's wedding cake* so I am now tense. But alas, we get there. The cake is placed on the table, snacks and drinks laid out, baloons blown up and taped, and we made it.
The party was good. It was super chill, just 9 girls building stuff with LEGOs, munching on snacks and chit chatting. We lit candles, she blew it out and the cake was cut (from the round side) and no one even noticed the damage.
As you may remember from two posts ago, Yuki had a LEGO birthday party for her 6th birthday. To start, let me put this in to some context:
1. We had just returned from Tokyo 6 days prior to the party
2. Yuki was invited to 3 other parties since our return, including one in the morning of her own party (I guess summer of 2006 was a popular time to conceive), which means we have to go get gifts (or go get a gift and realize this particular child's parents asked for no gifts so then return that gift because it doesn't transfer to other kids in terms of taste).
3. Jet lag (though this time it was pretty minor)
4. I had a head cold that would not let up.
5. I also had a tooth pulled after biting down on a piece of bone about 4 weeks prior to that on Friday.
6. Work catch up.
It was just a nutty nutty week. I was feeling stressed. But at least this year, the party is small and the treat bags were provided by the store so it was not as bad as it could have been. But dividing and conquering was key to success, as it always is in these kinds of situation. Last year, in the chaos of Pirate Party fun, I could not deal with the cake so I asked Philip to take care of it. He asked around and found a local Italian bakery which makes these light, fluffy delicious sheet cakes and you can order them as close to 48 hours prior to the event. And the price is super reasonable. He took care of the whole thing, and it was a huge success.
So I gave him the same assignment this year (insert appropriate sound cue from your imagination here).
I check in on Monday to remind him and he tells me that he is on it and he will put it in. I check in on Wednesday from work and he sends me an email with diagram of sizes they offer to ask which one I thought we should order. I pick one. He agrees.
Fast forward to Saturday morning. Yuki had climbed into our bed and I am cuddling with her. Philip had gotten up and has been in the office on the computer. I am still groggy and in and out of sleep when he comes into the room and says with a intense tone,
"What time is Sophie's party tomorrow?"
To which I say "11:00."
Before I could ask why, he leaves the room. In my sleepy state, I am trying to piece together why he asked. Then I realize he is probably figuring out what time to get the cake because the bakery is on the way to this morning party Yuki is attending. Part of the reason why we chose to go back to this bakery. It was convenient. Then we all get up, go down stairs and have breakfast. As I am pouring my coffee, Philip gently takes my elbow and says,
"I have to bake a cake. I f***ed up."
I turn around and look at him. He tells me that after that email exchange, he kept meaning to put the order in but then completely forgot (to be fair, see list of events during nutty week). He called that morning and they told him the earliest they can do it is Monday, which obviously is no good.
Silence.
I am staring and my 45 year old husband has a face of a 10 year old who has just managed to fess up his wrong doing to his parent. I want to say "WHAT THE F***?!!" But instead, I take a sip of my coffee and say, "Oooookaay." And add "or buy it elsewhere?" But I know from my job in managing artists in productions that sometimes it's best not to argue their logic or plan or why things went wrong and focus on the end product and how best to get there from here. He seemed set on baking probably because we already had a box of cake mix and also we know exactly what she wanted and did not have the time to be shopping around for a cake of her choice at this point. So I said "I don't really care what kind of cake or where it comes from. Just have a cake ready by 2 pm tomorrow."
As I proceeded with the day, I thought this may actually be better. More meaningful. Daddy is baking a birthday cake. Who cares if I reminded him twice to order one and it didn't happen. Let's not focus on the fact that the man had one job. It'll be great. It's just a cake. And when Yuki found out, she was excited and had requests on what sort of sprinkles she wanted. All was well. Or was it?
Philip got to baking after Yuki went to bed. I came down to check on the progress and he looked stressed. At this point, I don't even want to ask. But I do.
"What's wrong?
"I have to get more cake mix"
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid the middle is going to be raw and the outside is going to burn."
Let me explain. He had two boxes of cake mix so he can make a double decker cake. But the recipe called for 8 inch pans and what we have are 9 inch pans. Baking being an exact science (that is why I cook but I don't bake) this was a potential issue. The timer goes off, Philip pulls our the pans, puts a stick in a middle of one and sighs. "I have to go to the store."
Poor guy looks totally defeated and it's now after 10 pm. With my close to zero knowledge on baking, but better knowledge of crisis management, I suggest continue baking at a lower temperature to see if that helps. After all, that is what you do when you are cooking something. I tell him, "you have nothing to lose. If that doesn't work, you go to the store." He tries. It works. We have cake (cue choir of angels).
He puts frosting all around it, puts sprinkles to Yuki's specification and the cake is beautiful. We leave it on the counter and shut the child gate to the kitchen to eliminate dog access and go to bed.
The next day, the day of the party, we drive Yuki to her friend's house at 11:00 for a party. Before we leave, we put the cake in the dining room and put the dog in the kitchen and close the gate. We pass the bakery to and from there and I make a joke about the cake, and Philip takes it well. We go to the store and buy snacks and juice boxes. We go home. We eat lunch. It was nice to have a little bit of quiet because Yuki was being car pooled from her morning party to her own by dear friend Gillian whose daughter was also invited to both. We have now just enough time to put our stuff together to head to the party location, which is 5 minutes away. Philip goes up stairs to print out LEGO instructions (in case any kids need building ideas) and I pack. It is now 1:25. The party is at 2:00. Time to head out. I call to Philip "We gotta go!" then I hear him come down the stairs and gasp the biggest gasp of his life. Then he says,
"Roman ate the cake!!!"
Apparently during the one hour window of us being home, he smelled the cake on the dining room table and couldn't resist. He took a couple of big bites and realized we were home so he hid himself upstairs. Believe me, Philip and I yelled his name about 27 times and the dog did not show himself. We are staring down the cake in disbelief and rage. WE WERE SO CAREFUL. HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN??? As the clock is ticking, I blurt out,
"It's totally salvageable."
Philip is still fuming from the moment but agrees and goes to get a kitchen knife (after taking a picture of the damage).
There were no seconds.
By this time, the guilty dog comes slinking down the steps. Philip cuts the big chunk of the cake as he is yelling at the dog (multitasking). Now the cake is in the shape of the letter D (as opposed to a perfect circle).
"We'll just turn it, no one will know" we say to each other. We say this because there is no other choice. We have to believe it. It has to work. We have become total prisoners of this cake. THERE WILL BE CAKE AT THIS PARTY NO MATTER WHAT.
Then he turns to me and says "where is the rest of the frosting?"
Now we are digging through garbage because I mocked Philip for putting the left over frosting in the fridge."Why in the world would you want to keep that?" I said. Now that line is echoing through my head. Neither of us questions the other about the fact that we are going to feed garbage frosting to other people's children. (The frosting was sealed, it's not like we scooped it out of the bag and picked out egg shells and floor sweepings.) We just need to slap that thing into shape and get out of the house.
We say some threatening words to the dog and leave. I carry the cake in my lap which is totally stressful given what this cake has been through and what is still within the realm of possibilities in the next 2 miles. I also can't shake the legendary Smith family tale of what happened to Philip's oldest sister Margaret's wedding cake* so I am now tense. But alas, we get there. The cake is placed on the table, snacks and drinks laid out, baloons blown up and taped, and we made it.
The party was good. It was super chill, just 9 girls building stuff with LEGOs, munching on snacks and chit chatting. We lit candles, she blew it out and the cake was cut (from the round side) and no one even noticed the damage.
Note the flat side that Yuki never saw.
I needed to document this because some day in the future I want Yuki to read this and in between saying things like "I can't believe you guys totally wrote about me and like let the world read it," I want her to know how much crap we went through just so she can have her chocolate cake.
Birthday #6 now completed. Oh, then she got lice. But we'll get to that.
*In 1989, Philip's oldest sister got married and it was his and his brother Daniel's job to go get the wedding cake. The cake maker gave them the cake that was layered and not in a box, which Philip carried on his lap. Daniel was driving out and in making a turn out of a drive way, he saw a car coming and just gunned the gas pedal forgetting for a moment that there was cake in the back seat. The cake slid all the way across and ended up on the other side and Philip was covered in what was left of the cake. They went back to the cake lady. She fixed it (begrudgingly). They delivered it but missed the wedding ceremony. Philip left the reception early. Daniel stayed and told the whole story to the guests. Their sister was totally fine about it. This story is now a family legend--so much so that I have it memorized and if there is any cake occasion, they make the two brothers carry it out.
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(This is, like, true parenting. All of it. And it is still making me laugh.)