We regularly talk about Ohio these days like it’s always been a big part of our lives. “We already have one of those, in Ohio,” and “Yep, that’s in Ohio, too.” Except none of us have been to Ohio. Ever.
Ohio has become an integral part of what seems to be our daily lives because that, somehow, became the in-between place for our stuff. Between Florida and New Jersey. While we live in a tight 3 bedroom apartment with our four kids, waiting for our Florida house to sell and our New Jersey house to close, everything that wasn’t essential life equipment or didn’t fit in our cars is sitting in Ohio.
Usually, it’s not a big deal. We are very comfortable in our furnished apartment. We have the basics provided for us. Necessary furniture, linens, table setting for 8 (we’ve got 6 people and do a lot of dishes), and very minimal kitchen equipment.
Day to day, it’s not a problem. I can wash out the single frying pan and serving spoon multiple times a day, it’s only a minor inconvenience.
But then someone had a birthday. While our lives are up in the air, while we make the best of what we have, my son turned 5.
We went to Sesame Place to celebrate since both of his sister’s got to go to Disney for their 5th birthdays. Hubby worked from home, we went out for breakfast and did the usual presents.
Except, all I have is a lasagna pan. And the kosher chocolate cake mixes I bought on clearance after Passover (because I’ve found a lot of Kosher for Passover items are corn free) were humorously small. And in addition to his corn sensitivity, he can’t have dairy so store bought frosting is nearly impossible so I’ve spent the past few years trying to perfect a dairy and corn free homemade frosting. But this year, I don’t more than a metal whisk to mix with. Plus, we’d already had a hellish week and I wasn’t about to load all the kids in the car to go hunting.
And so, I panicked. I ran through every request he’d made (anything truck or fire related). I thought of every grand cake I’d made over the years and how big of a failure I was going to be this time.
I had enough cake batter for two tiny rectangular cakes. I had safe chocolate frosting. I started running through all the things I could make that were brown. A bear? An owl? An emoji poo? (he actually liked that idea.)
But they all felt wrong. They felt like a compromise. None of them felt right or good enough for my little guy.
I felt down and defeated. I felt helpless and like a terrible, horrible, no good mother for my boy. I felt like I was failing him on his one special day.
And then I stepped back and I viewed the situation from his innocent perspective instead of my tainted adult viewpoint: all he wanted was a cake and presents and to feel special for a day.
So I took hubby’s simple suggestion, one that I’d pushed off as “not good enough” many times. I made the tiny cakes, I dug a hole and frosted around it. I piled the crumbs on top and placed two toy digger trucks next to it. And I placed 5 candles on top.
Because what mattered wasn’t that all my fancy cake decorating stuff is in Ohio or that it wasn’t the awesome dump truck cake of his dreams (or that I had to light the candles on the heating element of the stove because a lighter apparently didn’t make the cut for car space).
What mattered was that we look the time, as a family, to sing him happy birthday and that he had a cake at all.
