This is my birthday girl. I don't like to admit it to myself, but she is now eight years old. That means I have roughly one decade left to tuck her into bed at night and listen to her practice violin and to make sure she at least tries the vegetables on her plate. It's like trying to hold tight to a handful of water; you can feel it slipping through your fingers before you get a solid grasp. I like to tell her that I will smash the clocks and throw away the calendars so she won't get any older, but she just rolls her eyes. She's old enough to know how ridiculous that is, even if her mother is silly enough to try it. (It almost worked for Frog and Toad.) Besides she was born old. And smart, too. It's tough to be in charge around here.
And Max's yuckamucka cake.
Was I wrong to include that photo? Egads, it is unsightly. It didn't bother the under-12 year old party goers. They actually preferred Max's cake and specifically requested their own gummy worm. We won't dwell on that one. Let's dwell on this cake instead:This one is worth your time and attention. It's a fabulously light and fluffy buttermilk cake, filled with raspberries and cream and frosted with some pink tinted whipped cream. I wish I had a piece right now for breakfast. It so festive and purdy, just perfect for a special celebration. Make a wish, birthday girls! And don't bother wishing for time to slow down, because it doesn't work. Better just have another piece of cake and enjoy it all while you can!