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SO we will be celebrating a birthday
next week. A lovely birthday. A birthday for a boy and a milestone for
mother. I got him through another
year. Onwards and upwards. A little further towards independence.
It will be a family celebration only as this child already had his birthday party before they all broke up for the summer holidays.
It will be a family celebration only as this child already had his birthday party before they all broke up for the summer holidays.
But I’ve run into a problem. A cake problem, to be precise.
Read on. It’s too complicated to explain.
Him:
Will you make me a cake for my birthday?
Me:
Of course I will. Which cake
would you like? How about chocolate?
Him:
Yes. Chocolate is good.
Me: Chocolate sponge with cream and jam or a
little bit of……………..
Him:
Wait! No! I don’t like sponge.
Me:
Oh-khay. What kind of cake would
you like then?
Him:
I want a Sam cake.
Me:
A Sam cake. What’s a Sam cake?
Him:
Sam. From Jacksepticeye.
Me:
From a what-now?
Him:
Jack. Septic. Eye. But you say it
all together. Jacksepticeye. Sam from jacksepticeye.
Me:
………………………………A Sam cake.”
Quick sprint to the google machine.
Very pleased to find all Sam is, is a
big eye ball (black and blue) against a green background. Rolls of ready-made icing are go! I’ve got this. But what do I put the icing on?
Me: So what kind of cake would you
like me to put the eyeball on?
Him: I don’t know! I don’t know any ingredients, do I?
Patience, mother. Patience.
Me:
Ok, so think about what kind of cake you like to eat?
Him:
I. Don’t. Like. Cakes. I just
want a Jacksepticeye cake.
His fists were beginning to clench in
frustration and I was fantasising about the wine in the fridge. How much was left, exactly?
Me:
OK. Listen to me for a
minute. See, I can make the eyeball, no
problem. That’s the easy part. But I need to be able to glue it onto
something.
Him:
GLUE???????
Me:
No. Not real glue. But I have to
be able to stick the eyeball onto some kind of cake. And I need you to tell me what kind of cake
you like.
Him:
I want a plain white cake.
Me:
You mean sponge?
Him:
No! I don’t like sponge. You’re not listening to me!
Me:
I am. I promise I am. (Jeeeeeeeeeesus)
Him:
The SpongeBob cake from the last party!
That’s a plain white cake.
Me:
That’s a sponge cake. They are all sponge cakes.
Then he walked off. Disgusted with me.
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