Today is Ethan’s birthday.
Guess how old he is?
I’ll give you a hint.
And I’m all “Ha! Ha! SO FUNNY! He’s 10.”
Ten years old.
Every year, I bring some kind of treat to his class on his birthday so that his classmates can share in his birthday celebration. And that treat is always store bought cupcakes. I always have great intentions of baking something really special, but I am not one of those mothers to which those kinds of things come easily.
You know which moms that I’m talking about– the ones who can turn a fart bubble into a beeYOOtiful chocolate cupcake with twirling ballerinas on top. You probably ARE one of those moms. I am, in fact, the complete opposite of those moms.
I am The Mom who stresses out for weeks before every cupcake occasion because I want my cupcakes to be totally awesome, but I know deep down in my heart that no matter how hard I try, they will never be as good as The Mom who turned her fart into a singing cupcake. So, I usually cry a lot the night before because “I’ve failed as mother. I’M A FAIIIIIILUUURRE” and go buy a few dozen cupcakes from Costco instead.
Today was different though. Today, I had this freaking Rad with a capital R idea. “I’ll buy these cute little heart shaped tin foil cups, and I will put pre packaged cookie dough inside of them and I will bake them, and then I will frost them and THEN! I will carefully write the number “10” on each and every one of them to symbolize 10 years of life!”
Honestly? Those treats were not hard to make and yet by the time I was done, I was sweating profusely and ready to lay on the floor and die. I wasn’t going to let the kids see me sweat though. When I got to the school, I put my brave face on. I walked over to the benches with my trays of heart shaped cookie cakes and was all “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ETHAN! Who wants a cookie?!”
You should have seen the kids faces. They were really impressed with my cookies. I’m talking seriously impressed. I started to feel better about myself, maybe even a *little* bit proud, but then some kid in a red shirt had to go and ruin it by shouting out “where are the drinks at?” (In a very judgmental tone, I might add.) Oops! Drinks! Riiiiight. Of COURSE I forgot about the drinks. But, in my defense, it’s hard remembering things when you’re trying to make perfect #10’s while your daughter is holding onto your leg, sniffing your butt. (No, Seriously. That’s my daughter’s new thing—sniffing my butt.)
I almost felt like a failure of a mother, until I looked up and saw the smile on my son’s face. He was so happy that I had taken the time to make these little treats for him and his friends. And he didn’t care what they looked like, or that I forgot drinks. (And napkins. Ha ha) All he cared about was that I was there, acknowledging his special day. All he cared about was that I took time out of my day to do something special for him.
I love that kid.