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 (karinaquinn.wordpress.com)