The End of the Sugar Rush

Today is the twin Fries' 4th birthday.

I spent yesterday afternoon making sure I had everything to bake the cake.

It is, unsurprisingly, a 3-D rubber-duck cake.

I was up extremely late decorating it.  Or was that just up really early this morning, and then I took a nap?  I'm not sure.

At least it's recognizable as a duck.  Given that this was my first attempt at greater decorations than just a healthy smattering of chocolate chips on top of a cake, I think I did rather well. 

I confess to coming completely unhinged when, in the process of moving the plated cake from the table to the counter, it became clear that I was not as skilled as I thought I was, or that the duck was drunk on frosting or something, because it was clearly tipsy.

I called Hubby and told him the duck was falling, and promptly burst into tears.  He helped stabilize it after the duck itself came unglued, and between some toothpicks, three plastic knives, and the rest of my yellow frosting, we got him back together.  And then I cried some more and decided 2 a.m. was waaaaaaaaaay too late to be up, when I had to be up again in six hours.  Or less, depending on when the first kid decided to wake us up.

As it turned out, Large Fry held off coming into our room until just before 8:30 this morning.  I slapped the snooze button a couple of times, and then forced myself to get up.  The twins woke up (or, at the very least, finally opted to get out of bed) as I bumbled down the hall to shower, Large Fry on my heels.

You have not lived until you've had four- and five-year-old voyeurs, peering at you from between the shower curtains, and squealing, "Spway us, Auntie J!"  (Our cat Koa used to sit on the edge of the tub, between the curtains, and peek her head around to watch me shave, but she kept demanding her quarter back.  Or she got bored.  I'm not sure.)

Innyhoo.

I came downstairs to put on shoes and makeup and get ready to head out the door, and made a discovery that would have been heart-rending had I made said discovery six hours before.

My cats are addicted to sweets, so my biggest fear was that the little gluttons would OD on sugar and lick the frosting off the cake.  They know they're not supposed to be on the counter, but they're cats.  They ignore rules when the rules don't suit them.

The duck however, decided to molt in the night.

Well.

Not much could be done about it then; I had to be out the door in about two minutes for a doctor's appointment.

I sent Hubby a text from the doctor's office, as I waited in the exam room.  "The duck molted!"

By the time I got home, Hubby had patched up the molting as best he could.  I helped the Fries get dressed and then went upstairs to wrap presents.  Okay, well, I tried. Because....

There was much squealing and great delight as Gramma and Boppa arrived.  "Gramma!  Gramma! Gramma!"  (Poor Boppa doesn't get the same respect.)  "Auntie J made a ducky cake! Come see it!"

Dad confessed to the fact that they were horrible grandparents--both of them had forgotten their cameras.  "You can use mine," I said.  "I'll send you copies."  With that, I snagged the scissors, tape and wrapping paper, and finally went upstairs to wrap presents.

Dad apparently took me at my word.  He used my camera.

And used it.  And "helped" the grandchildren use it.

And they had a marvelous time, it seems.

I should really learn to be careful what I say to my father.

But it's probably not a bad thing, really, that they're using it under adult supervision.  (Sort of.)  Because I bought them a kid-proof digital camera for Christmas.  They might as well figure out what they're supposed to do.

Preferably without killing my $260 camera.

Then...let them eat cake!

But first, let them sing.  The twins sang each time to each other.  Or was that to themselves?  I'm really not sure.  It was cute, though.

And then...let them blow out candles!

Small Fry went first.  Apparently, she has a healthy set of lungs and a good idea of how to blow.  She blew the candle out on the first try!

Medium Fry?  Not so much.

She blew.

The candle stayed lit.


She giggled.

She blew again.

The candle stayed lit.

Boppa had to refrain from actually blowing with her, but didn't manage to stop his mouth from taking the proper form for candle-blowing.  (Sorry, Dad.)

Medium giggled again.

She blew again.

Hey!  Success!

Good job, Hubby.  We can see the smoke curling from the candle's wick.

Mom had a moment of panic when we cut open the cake, revealing that I'd used a Funfetti mix.  (She's very allergic to corn syrup, and it's in EVERYTHING.)  I assured her that I'd checked everything, from the ingredients on the cake mix to the stuff that went into the frosting, and I was quite sure she was able to safely eat it.

Next time, I think we'll have chocolate duck, though.

Yes, Hubby insisted on braining the bird after Medium squealed that she wanted a piece of the head.

I guess I didn't need to worry about her coming unglued over eating a ducky cake the way Large Fry had about eating an Elmo cake (on her 3rd birthday).