My dad’s getting Jack an ice cream cake for his birthday. Trouble is, I’m pretty sure Jack is lactose intolerant, so I decide I’ll make cupcakes and he can have one of those with a little bit of ice cream.
I got a late start on my errands today, after being up late last night writing and being emotional. And the 45 minutes at Party City to get 4 balloons didn’t help. So I sat down to my computer after putting Jack down to read some email while I ate some yogurt, after which, I was going to make cupcakes. And Max says, “Yeah, someone’s on the machine from the Mom’s Club.”
Mom’s Night Out.
It’s one of the moms’ birthdays and she was having a gathering and I said I would go. Max starts to go ahead and make the angel food cupcakes.
So we ended up watching a movie and it was cute, so I didn’t leave until 11 and I get home and there are all these cupcakes: 3 dozen angel food cupcakes.
So I pick a small one and eat it. It’s chewy. Like it’s stale. So I think, well, it was only really half a cupcake. Then I look at them, and realize that most of them have deep brown tops. I eat another full one. Half of it sticks to the paper.
The cupcakes are overdone. And I can’t be mad at Max because he was doing me a favor. He doesn’t eat angel food cake, so he’s never made it, so he probably didn’t know that you have to take them out before they turn brown. But I don’t want to serve these, because they don’t taste good. And while the kids might not mind, I mind. I mind serving food that isn’t right. It’s not a question of control or perfection, it just makes me feel like a bad hostess. So now I don’t know what to do with 34 angel food cupcakes. And, if I decide that I can’t serve them, then I need to make new cupcakes. I bought a vanilla cake mix because I wasn’t sure if I should make angel food or regular cupcakes. Because today’s schedule got all fowled up, I still have a decent amount to do tomorrow for the party.
I hate knowing that Max is going to feel bad about this, but sometimes, a wife needs to vent, even if her husband can read her journal. And I don’t blame him at all. He did a good thing for me, and I’m getting all pissy about it.
The first person who says, “But it’s just his first birthday. Who cares?” dies. Seriously. I will kill you with my brain. There are just some things that I need to go right in this world, and my child’s first cupcakes are some of those things.
Anybody want 34 overdone angel food cupcakes?


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