Most people know that I normally start obsessing about my sons’ birthdays in June. By August I have everything planned out and from there it is just a matter of buying stuff, making a test cake, making the real cake, and having a party. Last year, that system didn’t quite happen and this year there may as well not even have been a system.
I’ve decided to blame it on the fact that the boys’ birthdays are so close to the beginning of the school year, and that’s my story.
This year K and I couldn’t agree on a location, a theme, or a cake. Now, when I say “agree” I don’t really try to influence things too much beyond we can afford it and I can make that cake. If we meet those criteria I’m good.
This year, meeting those criteria wasn’t as easy as it sounds. We finally settled on a place, after I begged them to break the rules and allow us to start the party one hour earlier than they are supposed too. We are going to one of those bounce house places, but it is a more grown-up party where they blast music, turn the lights down, give everyone glow bracelets, do a laser show on the walls and ceiling, and generally allow for something a little different than just the normal party.
Once we had the location and time decided, we had to invite people. This should be the easy part. Not in my house. See, K has lots of friends, I just don’t happen to have any of their phone numbers or a way to contact them. Since you can’t hand out birthday party invitations at school unless you invite the entire class (Not everyone in life is going to like you. You’re in 4th grade, suck it up kids. Sorry, personal rant.) we couldn’t just invite them at school. For three weeks I sent a paper to school with K to get phone numbers of his friends so that we could call and invite them. In three weeks he managed to get two phone numbers. One to a friend whose number I actually already had and one that wrote so poorly that neither K nor I could make out what it was. We tried 4 different phone number combinations of what we thought it was before we got an answering machine that he thinks was right and left a message. We didn’t hear back. So thank goodness K has a lot of cousins up here or it would be just him and his little brother at the party.
Next came the cake. One part of me loves that K and D think I can make any cake they can imagine. The other part of me has to remind them that I do not posses any artistic talent and we need to be realistic. He started off wanting a Coruscant cake from Star Wars. For those who don’t know, Coruscant is a city done in soft tones with mile-high skyscrapers. Moving on. Next he wanted a Tatooine cake. I can do that. Desert setting; adobe, domed buildings. Okay, I’ll have to practice but that can be done. Of course then he wanted me to make a land speeder and an exact replica of Owen and Beru’s dwelling. Maybe not.
Next was a present cake. YES! Easy, easy, easy. I can whip that up in my sleep (and considering the time of night I normally make cakes that would be helpful). Unfortunately, I had to open my mouth and make a suggestion from my Mom (thanks Mom) that instead of a present cake we have gummy worms crawling out of it. Somehow in K’s brain that became gummy worms crawling out of a planet, or asteroid, to be more accurate a la the Millennium Falcon in Empire Strikes Back when Han et. al. escape by flying into the asteroid field and land in a cave only to later find out it was the mouth of a giant worm. Once again, I’m not sure how to do that. Especially with only 48 hours notice.
Finally, somehow (I’m not sure how) that became a planet/asteroid shaped cake (ball pan), with chocolate frosting, covered in crushed up Oreos, with gummy worms crawling out of it, and Star Wars cupcake picks fighting off the worms. I have no idea what to call it, but I’m positive I can make it.
Now I just have to talk D out of the cake he wants. A skyscraper with two Peregrine Falcons and a their nest of eggs.
Since I haven’t blogged in forever, here’s a couple pictures of the boys at the pumpkin patch. Maybe I’ll write about that before Spring.
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