So Friday gets here and I have absolutely nothing I need to start making a cake. What to do. What to do. Jason calls to ask if I was really, truly gonna make a cake. Awwww, YES! Standing for any period of time is hard on me. Standing, reading directions, understanding them, and actually being able to properly carry out said instructions - super hard on me. But guess what? YES! YES! YES! Friends I've had and somehow managed not to send running for the nearest exit, I thought might could handle a little egg shell in their cake. For me, I thought these jewels could endure just a tiny piece of cake for me. I love to make cakes. And I really love to decorate cakes. So YES! YES, I am making cake.
I had been preaching to the choir, as the saying goes, 'cause all Jason had wanted was to know what he needed to pick up at the store. What a sweetie! Eggs. Mix. Icing. I was soooo excited. Silly, right?! At 11:30 he arrived with a grocery bag in each hand. 45 minutes later, just before he left to return to work I was propping myself up against the counter tops wondering if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. But alas, everything I needed for the task at hand was laid out atop the bar and ready to go. The kitchen had been straightened up enough to move about as needed. I made my way in to the next room to retrieve a chair. No harm. No foul. It was okay to sit. Nobody'd have to know.
Dishwasher going. HOT. Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. HOT. Now where'd my mixer run off to? Puppy? If I'm mixing this batter by hand you're gonna have to go up. And will I have enough icing for four layers? How soon out of the oven can I put them in the freezer? How long do they need to be out of the freezer before serving? I better call my baby sister. What up with the confidence? She asks, "Well, when do you need it by?" Kind, I suppose, like she was gonna do it for me or come help. But I answer, "The party starts at 6 so we need to leave by 5.
I glance at the clock and the time reads 1:56. Enough with the chit chat. Two cakes made and cooling, they needed removed from their pans and popped in the freezer. Done. Wash pans. Refill. Reload. Round two. And then I make more batter for cupcakes for the boys. And pellets. Huh? Well if the Pac-Man cake was to be successful he'd have to have pellets to eat. Otherwise he may just end up looking like cheese. And we can't have that. C'mon, people, you still with me? I thought a Pac-Man cake was an adorable idea. Pac-Man just turned 30 and our friend, who luckily is in to video games as crazy or crazier than we are, was turning 34. Jason raised an eyebrow and may have called me looney tunes, but I thought it'd be perfect.
So as the next round was baking and I was prepping just the right color yellow for the icing I made the mistake of asking my boys what color icing they'd like for their cupcakes. One wants blue. One wants orange. Okay?! So I make blue. Look at the yellow and blue together though. What a pretty green. Still no orange. Add red to yellow and wha-lah! Now everybody's happy. And I'm about eyeball deep in icing. I hope I've got enough to cover Pac-Man. Maybe I should color my layers. There's an idea! How creative is that? If we had to get more icing for the boys cupcakes, we could get it on the way and granny could put it on for us. Huh?! Time management has always been a strength. Last two layers out and cupcakes in with batter to spare. Would five layers be too much?
I couldn't let batter go to waste. It crossed my mind to devour it, raw eggs and all. It hadn't killed Rocky, right? But I couldn't risk getting sick before my cake's debut so, I searched for yet another round pan and more cupcake holders and used every last delicious drop of it. The boys helped clean the mixer and I took care of any excess clinging to the bowl before sending anything off to the sink. The timer dinged it's last of now four dings today and I shut 'er down. It was gettin' HOT in there! Once everything was nice and neatly tucked away in the freezer away from the livestock - it was cold shower time.
When Jason made his way thru the front door again, he enters to find me rared back on the couch, with my feet up, drying my hair. He must have expected me to be trapped in the kitchen, wide-eyed, and dirty, frantically clawing my way out thru mounds of yellow icing. With puffs of flour and clouds of smoke coming off flames as my backdrop. I don't know. But when he saw me there all calm and cool, the look on his face was priceless, "What has gotten in to you?" he asks.
A little nervous that I had mis-read the time on the kitchen clock earlier, I replied to his question with a question. "Surely it can't be five yet," I'd said. "What are you doing home so early?" Where had my afternoon gone? Would there be enuff time to put the cake together? I'd hoped to be entirely ready to go upon his arrival. Pleeeease, please, please don't let it be 5. Luckily it was only about 4:15. I continued on drying my hair whilst Jason began snooping in the kitchen. Finally he asks, "Where's the cake?"
I report it's all done and in the freezer. But before he could throw himself in reverse to return to the kitchen I ask him to help me out by going upstairs and getting the boys and me something to wear. "Well, sure," he says as he passes up the hallway towards the stirs and heads straight for the fridge. Curiosity killed the cat you know. "Huh?! Wellllll. Where is it?" he followed. And with that, dry or not, I deem my hair done. I explain on my way in to the kitchen that the cake is done. It just needs to be pieced together and iced. Then I'd be ready to go. "It's only four," I remind him. So as he shakes his head in disbelief and summons the boys to follow him upstairs I hurriedly commence to yankin' layers out of the freezer. But, what pan to carry it in? I'm a bit ill-prepared. Such is life sometimes. Think fast!
I decide on a huge clear cake pan. That way a picture of it may not show the clear glass pan. Okay? Good. Layer one down. Orange icing atop. Layer two. Green icing atop. Can I get it all before Jason returns? Yikes! Nope. As layer three is being placed, he warns, "Be careful!" Yeh, baby. I hadn't thought of that. Then blue icing on and Jason says, "You don't wanna do that. It'll mess up your yellow." Guess what? I was already three layers in had spread two layers of different colored icing. I calmly, and as sweetly as I could muster, reply, "It'll be okay, honey. I got it." He returns with a puzzled stare and I proceed explaining this little bit of icing in between was only to hold the layers together. Had I went with another layer as I'd planned, Jason may have had a come apart.
His being nervous was making me nervous. So four would be enough. Then as he instructs me as to what colors the cupcake pellets should be, I instruct him that quite possibly it would be the best use of time if he'd go ahead and take the boys to Granny and Papa's. But first I had to finish the cupcakes. I put them all in a clean round cake pan I found and commenced to splatter painting them with remnants of each of the colors I mixed. Turned out pretty cool. If I'd have had time I would have patted myself on the back here. Anyways, everybody gets their favorite color on every cupcake. Way to go, Mom! Hold your applause please. I still had a Pac-Man and three power pellets to go. But hands growing shaky, I needed a break.
Soon I found myself back on the couch with my feet up picking thru what Jason had brought me from upstairs to wear for the night. So many decisions. Short shorts or shorter shorts? And this low-cut tank top or that low-cut tank top? Once dressed I raced back out to the kitchen realizing if I was gonna get done what I'd hoped to, I'd have a better chance at it without an audience. Gooch? No. He didn't bother me. It was my dear husband that got me all shook up. i.e. before he left he asked if I was gonna ice it in the same pan I planned to take it in. Well, yeh, I'd thought. But before I could answer he said, "It'll look silly with icing all over the pan." Wellllll, indeed! I had to finish this before his return. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
A butter knife to cut out his mouth and ice the pellets. How nice! The multi-colored layers had turned out soooo cool. I was a proud momma. And I'd leave that sliver of cake out for Jason to taste test. Now back to icing. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. Done. And yes, it was a mess. So upon the hubby's return I was attempting to wipe off excess puddles of icing with a towel. "Don't do that!" he orders as he returns. "It looks, wellll, okay, I guess, you don't want to mess it up," he says. Gee, thanks. And he's supposed to be my #1 fan. But with absolutely no shells in the batter, at least it'd be edible. And it was. As I'd suggested earlier Jason did partake of the small sample and had commented it had in fact tasted, "pretty good." So there! Take it or leave it. I'd done my best. And I was proud. A bit worn out, sure, but proud nonetheless.
45 minutes later we arrive at Turoni's Pizzeria and Brewery. I love their cheese bread. Anyways, I was relieved to get there having had to oh so delicately hold the uncovered cake the entire trip. I did not sing, cough or sneeze the entire ride. And I kept all talking to a saliva free minimum. Both truck occupants were extra specially mindful of our new passenger nestled gingerly between us. If only I'd thought of us wearing our homemade Halloween costumes from a few years back. Now that would have been cool. Mario, Pac-Man and Centipede get into a truck. Wonderful potential for a joke, right?! Ha! Funny stuff.
So we get there. And Jason immediately starts explaining what the cake is supposed to be. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. Whatever. I'll try and attach a picture and let you be the judge. He prolly just didn't want anybody to inadvertently hurt my feelings or anything. Like ask, "What's with the cheese cake?" or whatever. Whatever. I had fun. So we get there and I walk without a cane alllllllllllll the way to the back of the restaurant. Yay me. Yummy cheesey bread. Yummy pizza. And guess what? Yummy cake. A success. Was I headed home to drop? No. Off to Walther's for fun and games. Had I lost my mind? Possibly it had been baked with the cake. Was I standing in line to play putt-putt again?
And off we went. Ryan. Then me. Then Jason. And Kristina. Then the next motley crew of the birthday boy, Chris, Andrew, Angelique, and Tucker. Angel came along with us as official score keeper and Angela wrangler. Ha! I didn't want one, but by hole ten I sure needed one. I could have used a piggy back ride at that point. Where was all you aforementioned muscle men at? All wrapped up in becoming the next Tiger Woods perhaps? Or focused on your golf games, maybe? Anyways, I'd made it further than I had the last time, but still pretty miserable. Maybe next time will be better. Maybe I could have done it had I not spent my entire afternoon in a hot kitchen. I shouldn't complain. SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED to even allow me to feel like attempting crazy stuff like this.
So I shot all 18 holes. Truly amazing when you think about it. The last 8 I didn't finish out. I made my first shot at them and in failing each hole in one attempt I leaned on my club or my wrangler (I love you, Angel!) and my husband played my lie for me. Thank you, baby. And thank you dear scorekeeper. Ha! No way I'd have come in second. Not now anyways. But, well, back in the day I could stomp that golf-crazed man-o-mine, but I won't start talkin' trash 'til after my real LIBERATION. Then it's on!
Break time. Some of us congregate in the snack area for awhile and others run ammock amongst the games. Then amidst fears of tiring babysitters, each of our party's partiers began to depart. Our kiddos were set to spend the night with Granny and Papa, but we left too as we had games at home for free. The good news here is: Once rested, I got up and was able to walk to the truck only holding hands with the hubby, versus holding on to him for dear life as I'd found doing around hole 16. Another pathetic, yay me, moment. But, hey. At this point, I'll take what I can get. So not ready to give it up for the night we cruise more car lots. And what gorgeous weather! We cruise with the windows down. And a couple of Challengers we stop at I even get out to take a closer look at. Gorgeous, those cars!
Don't know what time we made it home, but I know I was so spent that I fell asleep on the way there. In the door, up the stairs, THE END. Well, at least for Friday. Then Saturday happened. Up and going early again, as if I'd rested the day before. We got the boys back. We went to Applebee's for lunch. We went to see Shrek in 3-D. We went to GameStop. We headed back to Granny and Papa's as I had another night out planned - this one with old friends. But as their party venue had changed last minute and my throat and ears were growing sorer by the minute we opted for a quiet night in. Well, not all that quiet as we watched a gory David Carradine kung-fu movie on netflix and had carry-out from a nearby Mexican restaurant. Anyways, another full day, and I'm comin' down with a cold.
Sunday, I wake to Jason flying down the steps and out the front door. He had to go get the boys so Granny and Papa could make it to their church. When they returned I was up and outside with Gooch. We was squirrel hunting. Hehehe! Dad would've loved you, Gooch! Suprised to see me up Jason joined me out back. Then Abel. Then Asa. Then we played a little basketball. What next? Sunday School, kiddos! You'd have thought they'd just been sentenced to life in prison. Those sneaky turds tryin' to distract me with a favorite sport of mine in order to get me to miss church. How dare ya! Change your clothes boys! And that means you too, Jason. Of all things, Jason wanted to leave out for Holiday World. "The weather's nice," he explained, "so this might be our last chance before it gets too hot." I compromised a bit and promised if we made it to Sunday School we could skip church for some outdoor shenanigans of some kind or the other. Okay?! Fine. Everybody's happy. Well, 'cept God and the pastor. Forgive me. I'm sorry.
Then we're off to the party supply store. We'd only been to Evansville 50 times already but still hadn't managed to pick up anything for the Windows 7 themed party Jason was having at work Monday. Finally, we did. And then to feed our faces. We dined at Red Robin for the first time since it opened in town. They had a TV in the floor. Guess what? Now the boys want one. All that aside the food was very good. We might even go back someday. Hands down better than Applebee's. Or maybe not. As my cold is worsening, I can't taste too much. Matter of fact, I'm startin' to feel pretty miserable. It's been a long time since I've had a good old-fashioned head cold. So much for open windows. That'll teach me.
Next up we peruse a couple pool places only to discover we'd not be training any future Michael Phelps in our backyard, at least. Then we make our triumphant return to Midget Links. The boys are so stoked. (Even the big one!) Abel's never been golfing. And I'm not all that sure Asa has been either. Wham! Bam! Thank you, Ma'am! Asa gets a hole in one on his first hole. Way to go, Goose! Immediately he gets a big head and starts in with the trash talk. Now that, he takes after me. I remain the official scorekeeper this time out going from bench to bench and enjoying the breeze. I needed no assistance thankfully that entire trip. What next? Not more car shopping?!
We crossed that money saving bridge back over to Henderson. Funny story. The lots sales manager came at us at a run as we stopped to look at the lot's lone 300C SRT8. "You guys have great taste in cars," he said. I thought, "I know dude, and I'd heard this same line before . . ." Years, and years, and years ago. The guy was toothless and hairless, 'cept the hair on his chest that laid tangled in his gold chain. The charm was similar to a Mustang emblem, or maybe it had been a Mercedes. Who knows? Who cares? Me and dad had been on a hunt for the perfect first car. I had fallen for a metallic blue Iroc-Z with t-tops. Anyways, he may have been stroking Jason's ego but the poor old dude did nothin' but grease me up makin' my imminent rejection of that very fine automobile, that much easier. What's up with sellin' cars on Sunday anyways? It's just wrong, I tell ya. Wrong!
Throat's gettin' scratchy. Ears are achin'. Can't breathe. Runny nose. Can't we just go home? So what if my car has 94,000 miles on it? We got it new in 2001. It's still gorgeous and comfy and has all the bells and whistles. I just wanna go home and lay down. And so that's just what we did. Supper from DQ then settled in to watch 21 Jump Street. Then bed early. Well, 9, but earlier than it's been since my failed LIBERATION. Maybe all this runnin' around nonsense was finally catchin' up with me. Finally takin' it's toll. Or could it be? Maybe I was just gettin' sick. There's a theory.
And here's another one for ya. Tell me whatcha think. I'm thinkin' about writin' or callin' all the doctors I'm currently on waiting lists for and tellin' them my sad story. Tell them I went local as advised and tell them the neurosurgeon I was finally able to convince to look came up with nothing. Think that will motivate them to look really, really extra hard or scare them off completely? I had been pretty content with my little improvements . . . content enuff just to sit tight until it's my turn. BUT this side swipe from a silly head cold has reminded me how crappy crashing can be. So I can't keep quiet anymore. My nose stops runnin' and I'm back in the game. Screamin' and yellin' and clawing for LIBERATION.