- posted by Olivia -
There are many painful things about being a mother. Icing cupcakes is the hardest for me.
I think it was the cutting of the M&M’s when the hurting started. Lyric has a birthday mid-summer. As one whose birthday always fell on a vacation day, I missed the chance to lead the line wearing the birthday button in elementary school. Plus, there is nothing better than seeing dreams course through a kid’s head as they look at a magazine with pictures of cupcakes. Those of you who love children understand—the only reason we give things to children is so we can borrow a bit of their joy. So, it is with this secret in mind that I sat down with Lyric to browse the latest Wilson cupcake catalog a few nights ago.
Lyric chose the “pizza cupcakes,” much to my relief. Wilson excels at marketing cakes that look as though they are cartoons come to life…catered to the dreams of every mother and little girl. There are BBQ grill cupcakes, pirate cupcakes, and octopus cupcakes with the necessary supplies ready-to-order in the back catalog pages. Knowing my tendency to over-commit, I was rehearsing my “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to choose something that won’t require the purchase of $200 worth of fondant and twenty hours of your mother’s time” speech, when Lyric’s finger decisively marked the pizza cupcake picture. A simple icing for crust and sauce, shredded coconut for cheese, M&M’s for peppers, and chocolate chips for sausage bits.
Matthew baked the cupcakes, and I struck out to CVS to gather the necessary embellishments. It was late into the evening, after the girls were tucked in bed, when I embarked upon the task of cutting chocolate chips into “sausage bits.” This morning, I iced the cupcakes. (Does anyone know how they get the icing to look flat enough to skate on?) I then began to cut the M&M’s in half to make pepper pieces. The M&M halves skittered across the counter. Inevitably, projects like these remind me of my mortality.
Usually, it starts with something taking longer than I think it should. Then I try to take a shortcut and mess up a crucial ingredient. My entire identity swings upon getting these cupcakes to look like the picture. If I don’t get these cupcakes right, I’m a dud as a mother, wife and doctor, too. Thankfully, my philosophical husband is rarely shocked by my rantings—even the silent ones. I say nothing and keep cutting. I apply my husband’s rule of living, trying to calm down and “enjoy the process.” It is an act of God that I did not marry the no-nonsense blue collar type.
The cupcakes and my identity survived.
The saddest part, though, was when I couldn’t take them into my daughter’s class.
“I can’t give you an exact time to drop them off. As long as they are in the office between 1:30 and 2:00 today, we’ll get them,” my daughter’s well meaning teacher said.
She was stealing my piece of the joy. My heart rose up in defense.
“I would like to be here to help give them out,” was the best I could say to explain it.
“Well, I can’t give you an exact time. Usually our snack time is just a rushed thing,” she said with urgent eyes.
I went home to finish the cupcakes. I thought about school shootings, blood, pink icing and childless teachers with two dogs. I packed up the cupcakes in their perfect Tupperware containers.
I stood outside the elementary school doors—locked, double doors with video surveillance and a call-in system. I pressed the buzzer. There was a click and release and I pushed through the doors. I set the Tupperware on the secretary’s desk.
“These are birthday cupcakes for Ms. E’s kindergarten class,” I said, and I left. My daughter’s birthday. The five year old. The one with braids who has to grow up in a locked up school so bad people from the world won’t come get her.
There are clear plastic thorns installed under the eaves of the school porch that look like icicles gone haywire—to keep the sparrows out, I suppose. But the sparrows were there--twirring and rustling anyway.
I think it was the cutting of the M&M’s when the hurting started. Lyric has a birthday mid-summer. As one whose birthday always fell on a vacation day, I missed the chance to lead the line wearing the birthday button in elementary school. Plus, there is nothing better than seeing dreams course through a kid’s head as they look at a magazine with pictures of cupcakes. Those of you who love children understand—the only reason we give things to children is so we can borrow a bit of their joy. So, it is with this secret in mind that I sat down with Lyric to browse the latest Wilson cupcake catalog a few nights ago.
Lyric chose the “pizza cupcakes,” much to my relief. Wilson excels at marketing cakes that look as though they are cartoons come to life…catered to the dreams of every mother and little girl. There are BBQ grill cupcakes, pirate cupcakes, and octopus cupcakes with the necessary supplies ready-to-order in the back catalog pages. Knowing my tendency to over-commit, I was rehearsing my “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to choose something that won’t require the purchase of $200 worth of fondant and twenty hours of your mother’s time” speech, when Lyric’s finger decisively marked the pizza cupcake picture. A simple icing for crust and sauce, shredded coconut for cheese, M&M’s for peppers, and chocolate chips for sausage bits.
Matthew baked the cupcakes, and I struck out to CVS to gather the necessary embellishments. It was late into the evening, after the girls were tucked in bed, when I embarked upon the task of cutting chocolate chips into “sausage bits.” This morning, I iced the cupcakes. (Does anyone know how they get the icing to look flat enough to skate on?) I then began to cut the M&M’s in half to make pepper pieces. The M&M halves skittered across the counter. Inevitably, projects like these remind me of my mortality.
Usually, it starts with something taking longer than I think it should. Then I try to take a shortcut and mess up a crucial ingredient. My entire identity swings upon getting these cupcakes to look like the picture. If I don’t get these cupcakes right, I’m a dud as a mother, wife and doctor, too. Thankfully, my philosophical husband is rarely shocked by my rantings—even the silent ones. I say nothing and keep cutting. I apply my husband’s rule of living, trying to calm down and “enjoy the process.” It is an act of God that I did not marry the no-nonsense blue collar type.
The cupcakes and my identity survived.
The saddest part, though, was when I couldn’t take them into my daughter’s class.
“I can’t give you an exact time to drop them off. As long as they are in the office between 1:30 and 2:00 today, we’ll get them,” my daughter’s well meaning teacher said.
She was stealing my piece of the joy. My heart rose up in defense.
“I would like to be here to help give them out,” was the best I could say to explain it.
“Well, I can’t give you an exact time. Usually our snack time is just a rushed thing,” she said with urgent eyes.
I went home to finish the cupcakes. I thought about school shootings, blood, pink icing and childless teachers with two dogs. I packed up the cupcakes in their perfect Tupperware containers.
I stood outside the elementary school doors—locked, double doors with video surveillance and a call-in system. I pressed the buzzer. There was a click and release and I pushed through the doors. I set the Tupperware on the secretary’s desk.
“These are birthday cupcakes for Ms. E’s kindergarten class,” I said, and I left. My daughter’s birthday. The five year old. The one with braids who has to grow up in a locked up school so bad people from the world won’t come get her.
There are clear plastic thorns installed under the eaves of the school porch that look like icicles gone haywire—to keep the sparrows out, I suppose. But the sparrows were there--twirring and rustling anyway.
.
.
4 comments:
wow, i have felt that way on projects, too. remember the giant anniversary cake we tried to make for my parents' 25th? so many packages of cake batter... never fully baked... that thing was so jiggly!
i agree about kids' joy. the other day i gave a little girl some goldfish crackers and have rarely felt as happy.
well fyodor dostoevsky, the great epileptic and anti-semite says: "the soul is revealed by being with children." i don't know, if this is really true or not, this and your secret are as far as i got.
DB
The cupcakes, sister, were incredible.
Great writing, Ollie. Never believe the lies. You are first a delighted in child of God. And then a wonderful wife, mother, and doctor. Thanks for sharing those stories with me.
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