Birthday Bash

Last week was my middle daughter’s fourteenth birthday.  This is the same middle daughter who spent the six months prior to December relentlessly begging us for a super expensive 200-piece baking set from Michaels. This is the same super expensive 200-piece baking set that has coincidentally spent the last three months virtually untouched in the closet on the upstairs landing.

But I digress, ‘twas the night before said daughter’s birthday when she decided to unwrap the super expensive baking set and venture on to make two dozen Ace of Cakes style cupcakes. She even rolled out a batch of home-made fondant.  She painstakingly cut the home-made fondant into a pile of symmetrical half inch white polka dots. Then she scattered the polka dots across the two dozen perfect springtime-yellow (a color she created through mixing just the right amount of bright-yellow food coloring) frosted cupcakes. The two dozen cupcakes looked like daffodils reaching towards the sun, perched in colorful polka dotted cupcake foils.

By the time she completed this marathon cooking feat, it was well past her bedtime. But she didn’t care because tomorrow was her birthday, and it was going to be absolutely perfect! She held her head high as she pranced past me toward the stairs. “Can you make sure that Daddy wakes me up by 6 a.m.?” she asked.

“But that’s a full hour earlier than normal … and you’re not going to bed until so late,” I argued unconvincingly.

“It’s my birthday!” she exclaimed. “I have to look perfect.”

The following morning, I awoke to the off-tune chorus of our little clan singing “Happy Birthday” to a beautiful 14-year-old princess. Her hair was blow dried perfectly straight. Her full lips were shimmering with lip gloss, and she did quite a decent job of applying cover up in all the right places. She was wearing an adorable dress (which I was fairly certain would not pass dress code, but hey … it was her birthday!)

We packed two layers of perfectly beautiful and delicious looking cupcakes onto our well-used silver platter. Then the morning crew, which consisted of our driver (my adoring husband), myself, the birthday girl, and her younger sister packed into our 2009 recently washed Ford Flex. We even turned on the dreaded Country Music radio station (an early birthday gift to our 14-year-old princess).

We were quickly approaching our destination, when all of a sudden my adoring husband (who had one eye on the rear view mirror watching over his adoring daughters) forgot to notice the red break lights on the white minivan directly ahead of us. I shouted “STOP!” at the top of my lungs. The car swayed and the breaks screeched loudly, but nothing was quite as loud as the scream from our birthday princess, who in an instant was wearing a good portion of the two dozen perfectly baked cupcakes all over her hair and her dress; meanwhile, the remaining perfectly baked cupcakes resembled a garden of polka dots all over the floor of our recently washed Ford Flex.

It was a “Birthday Bash” to remember!

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