We Make Birthday Cakes Together!

My husband and I have a dirty secret. It's sordid. It's embarrassing and it's simply not the pinkish ears of the innocents. At night, when the kids are in bed and the lights are dimmed...we make birthday cakes together.

Our obsession started when our son developed an interest in fire trucks before his third birthday. He's always been a terrible sleeper and having exhausted all other methods of helping him sleep, we had turned to watching cake-decorating shows on Youtube. It worked every time and allowed us to enjoy our nights without meltdowns or hysteria. It also sparked an intense desire for a fire truck cake in his little brain. Because we are on a very limited income, we decided to make him one as a present.

One night, we pooled my three years of fine arts in university with his seven years of graphic design training and sat down to create the mother of all fire trucks. It was a great deal of fun. We sat in our kitchen until much past our bed times and molded parts out of fondant. We dyed and rolled and pounded until we were satisfied. Our son, Holden, was satisfied too as was the other eager toddler boys at his party. By the time the celebration was over, we had received plenty of compliments as well as a request for a Thomas Train cake from my sister in law.

Something changed however, when we set about making our Thomas Train cake for my nephew. We had the fondant, the food coloring, the loaf cakes and a veritable sweet shop of candies but for some reason it wasn't as fun. We labored over the parts and were wrought with anxiety when we tried to assemble our lopsided little engine. It didn't look right. The wheels were too big, the color was off and Thomas's face looked as if he had suffered a terrible burn. Sadly, all I could think of when we were making the Thomas Train cake was the ferry ride over to their house and how desperate my sister in law had seemed to have it arrive in one piece. I amused myself by imagining dropping it on the way to the birthday table or tripping and chucking it into the Pacific Ocean on the way over. Morbid imaginings aside, this time, working late into the night was actually exhausting and when we were done it was a relief.

What had changed? What had made something we had so much fun doing initially become such a dull endeavor? Making my son's cake was a labor of intense love. Not that my brother's child isn't close to my heart, but when you are anticipating the look on your own child's face it makes the work seem effortless. My husband and I came to the conclusion that making these cakes had to be our secret. We had to keep in it the family like some sort of Mafioso movie or we'd start to dread every holiday as it approached. Of course, if someone asks us for an adult themed cake, we'd probably make an exception!