My little one loves cake. Like, really. I fear she would sell every one of us for a piece of double chocolate cake with buttercream frosting.
When we walk down the baking aisle at the grocery store, she can be seen rubbing her belly, while looking at all those boxes of cake mix and stating, “I wuv cake!”
“I know you love cake, darling.”
I made the mistake of mentioning to her on Friday that there would be cake at a party we were attending that evening. Chaos ensued. All she could talk about for the rest of the day, was cake.
I put her down for a nap around 1:00 pm, since this started at 6:00 pm. I figured every second of sleep she could get, would only lessen our chances of a meltdown later in the evening.
She slept, thankfully, until 4:00 pm. I woke her gently, as she was still in a pretty deep sleep and hadn’t heard me enter her room. Her eyes snapped open when she saw my face, and she looked around groggily, trying to get her bearings.
“Where’s Mimmie?” she asked. “Mimmie” is her beloved underwear. We have recently potty trained and she was bribed with Minnie Mouse underwear. Minnie is her God.
“Minnie’s right here,” I said, grabbing them off the dresser. She still wears a diaper for any form of sleeping.
“Where’s cake?” was the next question.
“Cake is at the party. But we have to get up and get dressed first.”
I liken the party to a rave for 6 year olds, complete with dim lighting, an open bar (yes, open bar) and incredibly loud music from artists like Carly Rae Jepsen and the “Beebs”. I could stomach Carly Rae Jepsen, I mean, c’mon, who wasn’t singing that song over the summer and throwing it on Youtube? The Beebs, not so much.
Finally, it was time for cake. What little lighting there was went out, and everyone started singing. I brought Allie over to witness the two tiered, purple cake, with white dots, aglow under candle light. She was awed. The candles were blown out, and next thing I knew, the kids were dispersing back to the dance floor with their present that they brought in hand. I pulled Allie away from the cake, and went to arrange her on the floor with the other 30 or so kids that attended.
She looked back woefully over my shoulder and sobbed, “Caaake!”
“I know, darling. Soon, okay?” I tried to console her.
The gift opening went as it usually does at a party for 6 year olds. Everyone sitting on top of the birthday girl, for all intents and purposes, and helping to speed up her pace when they thought she was going too slow by helping her rip into some of the presents.
At some point, I looked up, and Allie was by my side. She was mouthing something, but there was so much God damn noise I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“What, love?” I asked, moving my ear right next to her mouth.
“Where yummy cake?” she whined.
“Almost,” I promised.
A few minutes later, by the grace of God, someone came by and mentioned the cake was cut up and now resided on the table where the candles had originally been blown out. I raced to the dance floor. I grabbed Allie by the hand and led her over to the table.
Her eyes lit up when she saw all those plates covered in yummy, delicious cake! I picked her out a vanilla piece with purple and pink icing. And lots of it.
She plowed into that cake as soon as we got back to the table. And I have never seen her so happy.
Meanwhile, Paige hates cake, and refused any cake or ice cream, for that matter. Two sisters as different as cats and dogs.
That’s okay, Allie ate enough cake to make up for it.