Here in New Orleans, many of us parents whose kids go to school together have taken to having dual or group birthday parties (much to the chagrin of the kiddy party establishments). In the olden days, the domino effect of one child beginning the school year with a birthday party at The Monkey Room would have you schlepping kids there every weekend until school let out for summer. Figure my 4 kids times 2-3 classes of 12-16 kids in each's grade times 1 gift per child times 2 weekend days times 4 weekends a month.
Phew! I'm horrible at math but even I know that that computes to far more juice boxes than cocktails.
Wine, o, wine, where art thou?!
(I promise I am getting around to the RsD2 cake!)
This year my son agreed to have a dual birthday party with another boy in his grade. I was thrilled, but a little apprehensive since the other boy's mom suggested it. Last year, we scheduled each our son's birthday parties on the same day, at the same time, but at different places.
It was totally my fault. She'd left a message on my answering machine months before placing dibs on the date. I simply forgot. I felt remiss, of course, and did my best to convey my regret. I even offered to change my date. She refused but maintained her discontentment with me all the same.
And, now after a year she was... what?
Reaching out, I decided. So, I threw out the "apprehensive" and doubled the "thrilled." Party on!
She was to handle most of the party preparations, including the invitations, party favors, and food. I was to host the party, get the drinks and balloons, and supply the cake.
The cake! Alas, the creation of R2D2!
R2D2 was well beyond my level of expertise, but I just couldn't resist the challenge. I knew this cake would make my son happy. Very happy! And it would make up for the birthday party quagmire I'd convinced myself I needed to make up for.
Hour after hour, after hour... and more hours went by, and I was still making the cake. Sometime between hour 12 and 13 my once perceived therapeutic cake-making time turned into something else.
Around midnight the telephone rang. It was the other boy's mom. She couldn't remember if she'd told me that she'd extended the invitation to the other classes. Including siblings. She was sorry, of course, for calling so late the night before, oops! the day of, the party with the news, but she'd simply forgotten.
I'm even more horrible at math at midnight the night before, oops! the day of, the party after 16 hours of what I'd conceded was no more than self-induced punishment, but I knew that that news computed to far more kids than R2D2 could feed. I mean, we're talking Catholics here!
I was out of energy, out of ideas, and out of fondant! But I have a reputation to protect. And now my pride was wounded. I couldn't stop now, right? Hell to the no!
I made a "satellite cake", The Light Saber, just as the other boy's mom graciously suggested, but maintained my discontentment with her all the same.
When the cakes were brought out everyone drew closer. The longer they sat on the table the more the warm sun softened the icing over them both. The huge smile on my son's face as he stood behind R2D2 for pictures, and all the kids oooing and ahhhing over it was humbling. I couldn't cut and distribute pieces fast enough.
After all that time and effort, there was nothing left of either one of those cakes to keep for later, and I was thrilled! I felt so lucky to get rid of it all.
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