D. O. N. E.
Done...as in never, ever again.
See, I'm putting it out here for everyone to see...just in case when October rolls around and I begin to chat about what I should make for Cole and Bella's birthday, you call can gently remind me about this blog post.
Hell, screw gentle reminders. Slap me upside the head, yell obscenities at me...whatever it takes to bring me back to reality.
And the reality is that cake making is better left to the professionals...like Buddy, Duff, Martha. You know, the ones who actually own businesses with the proper equipment, time, money and staff to whip up impressive cakes in a matter of a couple of hours.
I have to admit, though, when I got the initial bug up my ass to make a cake for the spawn, I was excited. Especially more so because THEY were excited.
My mom never baked me a birthday cake. Shit, I was lucky if she even remembered my birthday. Oh, yeah, but she'll claim even to this day that "forgetting" my birthday was really just an April Fool's Joke. Nice cover but I'm still not convinced.
Enough of wallowing in self-pity....Bitter, party of one?
So I had to set the bar high and try to prove to myself that I deserved the Supermom label that so many others seemed to have been blessed with, effortlessly, of course.
Believe it or not, I may have actually believed I really was Supermom at one point...until that day at the park awhile back when I was attempting to change Garrett's diaper and he would not stop screaming bloody murder. Another mom finally came up to me and said, "Uh, I think he's crying because you have his feet above his head and the sand from inside his shoes is falling into his eyes".
Well, wouldn't you know it...she was right. Yet another epic parent fail. So much for fulfilling the dream of being Supermom. I pretty much gave up but not before increasing my Wellbutrin dosage.
But, after that, I became angry and began to fight for my right to bear that coveted Supermom label...again.
So I wasn't the designer sunglass wearing, skinny jean sporting, Cadillac Escalade driving mom. Nor will I ever be. I'm the $10 sunglass wearing, ponytail sporting, Toyota Sienna driving mom. Still doesn't mean I can't be Supermom, right?
The pressure was on. I had to find something that I was truly skilled at. There was no way in hell I could lose 30 pounds in a couple of weeks by surviving solely on lattes from Starbucks...so being the "skinny Supermom" was out. And forget being the mom who always smiles happily even when her kids are having a major meltdown in the middle of Target. I'm too much of a grumpy bitch to get away with faking that act.
Yes, people...I am that one mom who has absolutely NO problem with yelling at a total stranger, "What the fuck are you staring at?! Never saw a kid having a tantrum before?!"
Cake making just seemed like the logical choice. It didn't involve me having to fake a smile and I didn't have to starve myself.
My first attempt at cake making was for Cole and Bella's 5th birthday. I was so nervous that I forced a friend of mine to come over and help me.
By the time Garrett and Landon's 3rd birthday came around, I was feeling a little more confident, even though I probably shouldn't have been. I decided I could wing it on my own without any help.
Then I offered to make a wedding cake for my stepdad's niece....because I didn't have quite enough stress and drama in my life.
For Cole and Bella's 6th birthday, I felt like it was time to take it up a notch and really go all out trying to impress my friends, most of whom had already achieved the title of Supermom. I've always been a lagger, what can I say.
Even though I was still having nightmares about the Hannah Montana guitar cake from hell, I was convinced I was totally riding the wave. The Supermom crown was within my reach, finally...again.
And then Garrett and Landon's 4th birthday was quickly approaching and they pleaded with me for a Superhero cake. I mistakenly thought, "Easy-peasy. I got this."
But then minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days. The little amount of sanity I had left was dwindling and I found myself cackling hysterically at stupid little things, like Tim farting and the kids calling each other "ass-heads".
I was cracking. And it was obvious. In the midst of it all, Tim belted out, "Why the hell do you keep doing this to yourself? Just order a fuckin' cake from Costco and call it a day!"
Clearly, he didn't understand. Mothers are so hard on themselves. Sure, dads think nothing of ordering a store-bought cake and throwing a gift in a wrinkled gift bag with no card for their kids.
But, us moms....no, we have to go above and beyond because allowing our kids to ruin our bodies for an entire 9 months wasn't enough. Heaven forbid our kids think we don't care about them, which will result in them developing poor self-esteem and spending their entire college career boozing it up and never calling home (unless they want money).
As Tim stormed out the door with the spawn, whom I had pretty much ignored since Wednesday, I was left with a massive mess of Superheroes.
And, yes, I'm fully aware of the irony of it all. The mom who wants to affirm once and for all that she is indeed Supermom...so she neglects her kids in order to bake the mother of all cakes to prove her love for them. Whatever.
Finally, the Superhero cake was painstakingly complete, with a royal icing spider web and all....
The spawn came home from wherever Tim had dragged them off to and I was met with wide eyes and smiles..."Wow, Mommy, that is SO cool!!!"
I must admit it warmed my heart and soul, which might have begun to freeze over a little bit since hissing "What the fuck are you staring at?" to some nosy strangers at the park a few days prior.
After Garrett and Landon's birthday party on Saturday afternoon, they cuddled with me, offered tons of hugs and kisses and said their "I love you's" twice over and then some.
It was right at that moment that I realized I had been wearing the Supermom crown all along. I was just too caught up in the race to notice it.
Whether I had baked them a cake or bought one from the store, my kids weren't going to love me any less. I'm going to create plenty of wonderful memories with them as the years go by so I needn't worry that something as simple as a cake is going to make or break my tight bond with them.
Even though I've forced them to lay still to change their diaper as sand falls from their shoes into their eyes, even as I'm nagging them endlessly to pick up their toys and even when I've left a kid or two in the bathroom crying because I've forgotten they were in there....
...my kids still think I'm Supermom, flaws and all.
I'm done making cakes for my kids. I'm pretty sure we'll all survive, even sweet little Bella who already has her heart set on a Justin Bieber cake.