It's All About Me » Notes From the Cookie Jar

When you last left me, I was standing outside a bakery. The lights were off and inside, I could see a girl wiping the counters. It was all I could do not to grab the door, shake it, and wail…

“But I WANT A BIRTHDAY CAKE!”

I went home and dejectedly ate a cookie instead. Stupid universe. How long does the whole birthday thing last? If you finally get your cake 2 days AFTER your birthday and you buy it yourself, does it count? Or am I perpetually stuck a year behind now? (That might come in handy next year when I turn 40. I can still say I’m 39 then. Remember that.)

On Saturday I rose late and sat for a good hour in my pajamas, drinking coffee and blogging. There were lots of plans for the day, from housework to groceries and cooking, coffee with my bestie, and more.

I almost forgot about it but finally, around 11 am I grabbed the phone and called the bakery to ask them to put one aside. They are popular, those little bits of chocolate goodness.

“I need a SMALL cake,” I specified. Even we, the die hard chocolate lovers, can’t eat a large one ourselves. Nor should we, without plans to exercise strenuously to burn off the thousands of calories that would be coursing through our bodies.

Two hours later I arrived at the shop, cooler in hand, ready to pick it up. I was meeting my friend for coffee, and the cake would need to sit in the car for awhile. No point in risking it melting if the car was warm, right?

The teenager behind the counter didn’t seem to understand me.

“I phoned, around 11, and asked one to be put aside. Chocolate ganache.” I explained, for the third time.

Oh please let them get it right. Please, please tell me there are cakes. Please. I will just cry now if they don’t have one.

She came out with a box and rang me up. That box looks a little big. Is it? No, oh no…

“I asked for a small one. That’s a big one. Do you have any small?”

She sighed and went into the back to look.

The universe is conspiring against me. I looked at my shoes and heaved a sigh of resignation. Am I desperate to pay $25 and buy the big cake, even though we really don’t need it? I guess I could freeze it.

How can it be so stupidly HARD to get a birthday cake?!

She arrived back with a small box in hand, and I resisted the urge to snatch it from her hands, hold it high over my head like the Stanely Cup, and dance a jig right there in the coffee shop. I could have kissed her. MY cake. My BIRTHDAY cake. FINALLY!

Later that afternoon, with the cake lovingly tucked into a cooler and waiting in the car, I sat by the ocean sipping coffee with my best friend. The friend who had read my tweets where I longed for chocolate cake, and so kindly gifted me with this so I will never be unprepared again.

Now I had my cake and could bake it too! Then just to be sure, she handed me SIX (yes, SIX) bars of Green and Black’s Organic Chocolate, with a Lindt bunny. I have enough chocolate in this house to last me until next Easter.

That evening after an amazing dinner, we sliced into the cake and savored each decadent bite. As I sat there, finally content that my birthday had been sufficiently celebrated, I tweeted that it was so good I was tempted to lick the the plate.

@mrshotmom tweeted me back immediately, to remind me that it was my birthday after all, and plate licking was entirely acceptable.

Really? Do I? It’s sort of rude. But this was a hard won cake. I had to fight for it this year. Glancing at Hubs and Jake trying to get every last crumb off their plates with their forks, I finally lifted my plate to my tongue and gave it a long, slow, lick.

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” Hubs snorted

“Hey. It’s MY birthday and this was one HARD won cake. I figure I can do whatever I like. And while we’re talking about this, let me tell you one thing.” I paused and set the plate down, looking Hubs in the eye and speaking slowly, carefully, so that he wouldn’t miss a thing.

“I will ALWAYS want a cake.”

I’m not sure what it is about birthday cake. Whether it’s the candles, the delicious treat, or the fact that it acknowledges a birthday, I don’t know, but I love everything about them.

Whatever it is, cake is definitely the best part of my birthday and a celebration just isn’t complete without one.

For years, I used to bake my own birthday cake but the last few years I got bored with that. Besides, there’s a fantastic bakery in town that makes chocolate ganache cakes, with are my very favorite. Dark chocolate sponge, layered with rich ganache, they are the most decadent and delicious cakes I have ever eaten in my life.

My birthday came, and I went to work with a teeny bit of anticipation that somewhere in my day, there would be cake. Hopefully chocolate. Let’s be honest; I expected cake. It’s a birthday for God’s sake, isn’t that just what happens?

So when I spotted a chocolate cake sitting there I jumped a bit inside with excitement because wow, maybe there will be TWO birthday cakes! Talk about indulgence! Isn’t that the best way to end your 30s? Isn’t it great when people celebrate with you and acknowledge your birthday? Doesn’t it make you feel special and loved, appreciated and all warm and fuzzy?

The cake wasn’t for me.

Deflated, I sucked it up. I’m a big girl, and I realize that not everyone cares if it’s your birthday. I accepted a piece of the impostor cake, choked it down, and reminded myself to grow up. It’s not that important. Deal with it. Besides, I’ll have MY birthday cake later that evening with the most important people in my family, right?

Later that evening, Hubs took me and Jake out for dinner to our favorite restaurant where we dined on delicious cheesy pizza, tall glasses of Coke, and laughed about our day. This is what birthdays are all about. I’m getting to spend it with the two best people in my life over a great meal!

“See you at home!” I called to Hubs when we left. My cake is hiding in his car, I thought. I’ll bet he stopped at the bakery on the way here and got it. I wonder which kind he bought? I hope it’s chocolate ganache. Oooo, I’ll have some with a cup of decaf, we’ll all chill out on the couch in front of the TV and it will be the BEST way to end a birthday.

My mouth was practically watering with anticipation.

We arrived home and I began fixing coffee, when I heard Hub’s car pull into the driveway.

Okay, get ready to squeal and give him a kiss, because going to walk in with the box any second.

The door opened and I could hear him coming into the kitchen.

Get the coffee ready. I can’t wait to…

When he rounded the corner, he froze when our eyes met. I just stood there, looking at his hands and then back at his face, my mouth gaping in shock.

He wasn’t holding a box.

“Didn’t you…I mean…isn’t there… cake?” I squeaked. My expression must have shown how upset I was. He looked confused.

“But you said not to buy you a cake. You said that they might give you one at work and you didn’t need two. You said that it was okay!” Hubs was horrified. He would NEVER forget to get me a birthday cake but somehow, we miscommunicated and he thought that I didn’t want one. What? How did that happen? Was I really that stupid? I don’t remember saying that, but he obviously got that impression somehow, so what the hell happened?

All I know is that we sat there that evening watching TV, and all I could think about was chocolate ganache cake.

The next day we had a meeting at Jake’s school and as we sat there talking about IEPS, computers, and math class but all the while, in my brain, chocolate ganache cake was calling.

“So we’re covering fractions and Jake..”

One chocolate ganache cake divided for three people doesn’t mean we each get 1/3 because it’s so rich but usually we each get 1/4 and then fight over the last 1/4. But the big cake is too big and we never can eat it all so….

It was hopeless. I wanted cake, dammit. Finally after what felt like forever, we were pulling away from the school but instead of turning right to go home, I turned left.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re getting ourselves some birthday cake,” I parked at the bakery and turned to face Jake, who was eying me like I had suddenly lost my mind.

“Don’t other people usually do that? Who buys their own cake?”

“I do. I’m 39 and if nobody else is getting me a birthday cake, I’m damn well buying my own.”

Jake grinned in delight.

“Really? Will you share? Will I get some?” I could see his teenage brain already cutting up the cake and deciding how much everyone would have.

“Of course! Just stay here, and I’ll be right back,” jogging to the bakery front doors, part of me hoped that they would even have chocolate ganache cake left. I might have to settle for something else. No matter. Tonight my friends, we will dine on cake.

At the bakery doors, I stopped dead. Wait a minute, the lights are off. It can’t be…no please don’t tell me…

THE BAKERY IS CLOSED?!?

You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Is this a conspiracy? The bakery is closed? Is the universe telling me that THIS year, I’m not destined to have cake even if I plan to buy my own?

…to be continued

(Will Scatteredmom ever get her birthday cake? Or will she forever be in the birthday Twilight Zone, searching for it? )

When I was 12 I used to dream about you. I’d sit during class with paper hidden under my books, doodling Garfield and figuring out how old I’d be when you arrived. People used to think I was working so hard, but even to this day as soon as I’m bored, I begin doodling or writing down ideas. Doesn’t everyone do that? These days I’d be called “distractable”, or maybe even “off task”, and probably assessed for ADHD. What they didn’t know was that I could listen and write at the same time, still absorbing everything that was being said.

Back in those days when we watched Michael Jackson videos, wore jelly shoes and acid wash jeans, you seemed so impossibly far away. So romantic. At lunch time I’d play games with my friends where we’d choose what kind of cars we wanted, how many kids we’d have or what type of house we’d live in, and I think that in some ways, I believed that some of those things might be possible.

So here we are, 2010. I drive a sensible Toyota, live in a rancher, have one kid, and didn’t marry Harrison Ford (although Hubs is the same age, does that count?).

You are officially just days away and I’m staring down the last year of my 30’s.

That’s a bit scary. Thirties seems young, sort of like 20’s more sensible sister but still just as pretty and fun. Forties makes me think of fifties, which signals things like becoming a grandparent and qualifying for the seniors meals in some restaurants.

Forty seems old and I’m so not ready for that. In fact, it’s almost the same age Hubs was when we met. Where did all that time go?

I spent my twenties raising other people’s children, trying to figure out who I was, and then becoming a parent myself. When I turned thirty I felt like I had finally arrived as an adult.

Now, I’m grown up. Whoa, was I in for a shock. What was I thinking?!

Thirties were when I finally had to act like an adult, and take on all the things that comes with it. Job losses and career changes, almost losing Hubs, becoming sick and injured myself, and the business of morphing from the girl that wanted to please everyone to the Momma Bear that would tear your head off should you go after my child. Yep, I grew up alright, and it was damn hard. Thirties, you were not fun. Oh you had some fun parts, yes. Overall you slammed us with some serious lows and not much in the way of extreme highs. You tested me in ways that I never thought were possible and at times I never thought I’d see the other side. I can’t say I’m that sad to see you go.

2009 was a good year, though. I really figured out that I want to make a career of writing, and all the hard work that I’ve sunk into this blog has begun to pay off. My family is all doing well and we’re happy, healthy, and together. The drama that was my 30’s is tapering off, and things have smoothed out into an easy rhythm. That’s all I could ask for, really.

Well. I would like to win the lottery and be a billionaire, like I had predicted in that stupid game but since I’m grown up now, I know the odds are just not in my favor.

So 2010, I’m planning to enjoy you and the last year of my 30’s. Maybe you don’t look as romantic and shiny as you did when I was 12, but I’m okay with that. You have laptops and iPod Touch, apps, downloads, Twitter, Blogger, and all sorts of fun things I would’ve given my right arm for at 12. I’ll never forget the Christmas I desperately wanted a computer, and the idea of owning a computer was about as impossible as buying a Ferrari.

Now that I’m grown up I’ll happily settle for peaceful and happy, with no big surprises or drama along the way. Deal?

They do say that life begins at 40, after all.

PS. But if you really feel generous, the lottery thing would be cool. Just sayin’.