Tag Archives: Cake

Cake success and blogging from the driveway

The cake was an unmitigated success (if I do say so myself). The pre whizzed and frozen cake mix thawed and cooked and rose beautifully. I actually enjoyed the icing and decorating, and the whole thing got et. When asked what his favourite thing about the day was, Monkey replied “the caterpillar cake” without hesitation. I have to say, it felt pretty good. I’m unclear how I became infected with the cooking-a-good-birthday-cake-makes-me-good-mum cultural meme but I have. I could go on, but this mum’s done it for me (and if you haven’t discovered her brilliant crappy pictures blog yet click through – it’s rare that things I read on the interweb actually make me laugh out loud but this does). Ok nuff said about cakes (except that Sparrow turns one shortly and I can’t guarantee I won’t go through the whole bloody thing again).

I keep waiting for a moment (just me and my laptop) to blog in but it just doesn’t come. So instead I’m blogging from my phone while Sparrow sleeps in his car seat. I’m dreaming of a cup of tea but I know that if I go he will wake. So the payoff is a quiet moment in the driveway writing this. I hate the keypad though. It disturbs me that I can’t press down on the letters, that there’s no sense at all of imprinting. I want to feel the words going down, tactile, that up and down of actual keys (better yet inky lines and paper that smells of 15 and afternoons reading like I would never stop). But my phone is what I have with me, and I’m grateful to have gotten down something. Sparrow’s awake and thirsty. Fragile in the cool afternoon. Here we go again.

Supervision, cup cakes, and newspaper bridges

Monkey turns three on Saturday so we’re having a picnic. Except that the forecast says rain. So probably what we’ll have is a trashed house instead. I wouldn’t call myself a baker, but for some reason, as the birthday approaches, it’s all been about the cake. He picked a number three with a caterpillar made from cup cakes on top. No problem. Yesterday we made two batches of cup cakes together (okay he licked a batter spoon while I made two batches of cup cakes) and last night I made three batches of cake batter to freeze and then thaw at the appropriate times so we have a cake to take to child care and enough raw material to make a 3 on Saturday morning.

There’s a box of newspaper in the back of my car because I’m teaching a ten week course about work skills for a group of deaf migrants and I’m going to ask them to build newspaper bridges as a way to learn about teamwork. Also I like that they’ll make something strong from words and pulp. And its fun. And it means for ten minutes I won’t be trying to convey complex concepts in my second language to people learning their third or fourth or fifth language.

Meanwhile, I had my fourth supervision today. I’ve been anxious about it for three weeks. I haven’t done/read/written enough. The scholarship application is in so does that mean that everything I say in this supervision will be magically relayed to the selection committee? Will my supervisor actually like what I’ve written? Sparrow came with me and a friend fed him blueberries on the grass. My supervisor didn’t say whether she liked my work or not. She didn’t say it was crap. She didn’t appear to think I should give up or go home.

I’ve got so much on at the moment that I feel almost constantly anxious. But out of everything, what I find myself focusing on is the bloody cake. I’ve overmixed the batter for the 3 – I’m certain of it. When I put it in the tin tomorrow night it won’t rise. When will I have the time to ice and decorate it? And what about the rain? And what if nobody comes? Whose party is this anyway?

Cake gods, rain gods, supervision and teaching gods, all ye higher beings be with me (no I am not a believer, but a random prayer occasionally never hurt anyone).