THE CAKE MATTERS

Six weeks out from their birthdays, I start asking the kids what kind of cake they want. That is how the birthday planning begins. The cake has always been the starting point for the party's theme. It's not that the cake itself matters, it's just that the cake provides a tangible sensory object for me to gauge who my child is becoming. And who my child is becoming determines what kind of party best suits the year--what kind of party will be the defining memory in their own personal timeline, relived over supper for years to come.

And like the cake, it's not that the party itself matters, it's that the party leaves my child feeling happy and individually loved. That is why the six week mark is important. You see, the first answer to  my "what kind of cake do you want?" usually involves a whim, whatever pops into the mind at the moment. Ava, hands in the air depicting a deep and wide scene "a pirate cake!... with a princess wearing a beautiful sparkle pink dress on a ship and a eye patch pirate swinging on a rope across tow boats, holding a sword...and and...and a shark! coming out of the water.. a whirpool over here...and a skull and cross bones and mermaids! beautiful mermaids with flowing red hair fighting the shark and a talking parrot flying over" hands down. smiling. nodding.

oh! i see! that is a fantastic idea...for a cake?

A week later, the same question prompts a different answer "an iceskating princess holding a baby penguin." Week three, we move from the realm of possibilities to narrowing down a concept within the confines of actual cake-making/cake-decorating. We do this by extrapolating a common theme, (my thousands of dollars of legal education put to its most useful work) in this case---princess, pink, sparkle. The theme becomes a mantra we begin to repeat in week four--"a pink sparkle princess birthday cake!"  You see, by doing this, we have created a desire that can actually be fulfilled. A wish I can deliver. And I assure you, that this seemingly overdone "method" of choosing a birthday theme year after year x3, is worth every bit of planning involved. So few desires in life are actually fulfilled, no? the old proverb knows "hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Delivering a birthday cake, then, that matches expectations, provides the most effective and consistent way to trick fate. To play a joke on life. Take this, life---the child is happy-we win!

          My favorite cake ever: 2008, Leif wanted "a big black spider cake with long legs and two big white eyeballs"

The thing about my oldest son, Luke, though, is this:  the kid answers the first time "a Patriot's cake" (the child is a die hard New England Patriots fan), and never, not once, changes his mind. Last year, six weeks out---" a Patriots cake." This year, six weeks out---"a Patriots cake."  This is not boring to him, nor dispassionate. It is simply his truest readily stateable desire.  (Again, insightful into who my child is becoming---prefers the world to be consistent, predictable, sensical.)

Post sleep over-- the guests have all gone home--stinky, tired, happy, dirty.  I overhear Luke sigh as he plops on the couch (i can tell he's smiling) ""there's nothing like doing nothing!" A welcome follow-up to the preceding 16 hours as follows:

Luke is second from the left

Smear the queer (a term that despite all presidential proclamations, pc movements, and liberal minded mothers, is alive and well in the vocabulary of young boys in backyard arkansas):  the boys moved like a swarm of bees around the yard, laughing, shouting, piling, dropping, tossing...One kid, running full speed, ball in hand, long straight dirty blonde hair flopping...arm to the neck, clotheslined abruptly---hair swinging left, grimace shifting right, body lurching sideways...never dropped the ball. Atta boy!

Boxing. Pull out the exercise mat, the tae kwon do sparring gear-helmets and gloves, circle the chairs around, lay out the ground rules: "light touching. no blows to the face. the first person to get even slightly hurt means we're removing all the gear, shoving it in the bags, sliding the mat back into the garage, turning off the music, and sitting quietly in isolation for a few minutes. so, you decide how long you want to play by how hard you punch. make good choices...got it?" okay "GO!"

Water gun fight: matted dripping hair, the clicking of pumping water guns, in a matter of minutes, gains momentum and a system, a track, if you will, that circles the entire house...for, literally hours, the boys (and ava trailing along) chase each other down and spray h2o lasers at each others ears, eyes, knees, backs, teeth..."children at war" my sister's wry commentary right on cue.

"Children that spend more time with their fathers develop a more adventurous spirit"  an article I read once offered. "NO" I said to the words on the page. No. Not because the statement isn't true, necessarily. (And cheers to the dads who cultivate a roaming wild curiosity in their children.) But because it felt like a welcome challenge to me, a mother.