I had plans.
The GRANDEST of plans.
But my plan all went to hell and I ended up crying to my daughter at 11 PM the night before her birthday confessing that my cake plan for her was just not going to work out. I don’t know why I do this kind of shit, but I do. I drive myself crazy, stay up all night getting every last little detail done and still end up feeling like a horrible failure. I’m too exhausted to fully enjoy the actual experience of a birthday. Somewhere along the line it went from “giving a memorable birthday experience” to…whatever bullshit I turned it into.
Y’all, I threw out ALL OF IT. I made a new cake the next day, simple and plain, but edible. I hated how it looked but Robin liked it which, while that’s the whole point, somehow makes me feel worse about the whole thing. I didn’t even take a picture of it. Shame and self hate and just waves and waves of embarrassment, but for what? Seriously, for what? I have AMAZING children. Like, way, way out of my league kind of amazing. I have never raised them with some kind of ego-maniacal mindset of I DEMAND PERFECTLY SCULPTED CAKES, PEASANT! She just wanted a pumpkin cake and to have a good time on her birthday. Like a normal human being. Josh is the same way. I am just all sorts of anxiety ridden bat shit insane.
So intensely long story short, most of my problems are probably created by me with a little bit of help from a predictably shitty universe. We are coming around to the next kid birthday in less than two weeks and I’m doing my best to be prepared without beating myself up over it or staying up all night. There will be cake AND pie involved but no insanity.