I was finally able to talk Aven into having a birthday party this year for his 9th birthday. On his "real" birthday (Wed. September 21) we had family over for a dinner of Aven's choice (pizza). Well, I can't have anyone over to my house with out making it a huge ordeal. Since Aven was having friends over for a sleep over party that friday, I figured he could have his themed "bakery" cake with his friends and I would make his cake for the dinner. Of course I brought out the cook books and begun to pick out the "perfect" cake. No Duncan Hines for this chick, I like to make things difficult for myself. I picked one of Ina Garten's classic chocolate cake recipes and I was ready to bake. The recipe called for 1 cup of hot brewed coffee in the cake batter and a teaspoon of powdered expresso in the icing. Aven saw me adding these ingredients and immediately turned up his nose. It was then that I knew I was in trouble. 2 hours later, my kitchen was a DISASTER and I have a very "homemade" looking cake.
Later that day I started to prepare the food for dinner. Pizza turned in to wings on the grill- BUT you can't have wings without homemade ranch and blue cheese yogurt dip, right? Oh, and who can serve an Italian meal with out fresh mozzarella, roasted red peppers, basil, and olive oil? Next we MUST have garlic bread, salad, and a variety of dips, pitas, crackers, and every salad dressing ever made. Every time I asked my husband to grab a heavy platter out of the pantry he would roll his eyes and laugh, which pissed me off, naturally. By the time everyone arrived I had every platter in my kitchen full of food and on the table. I then apologized to everyone and explained that "we won't be having anything too fancy tonight" , of course.
Time for cake. I think Aven may have taken one bite or maybe he just smelled it before he announced to everyone that it was the most disgusting cake he had ever had. That's after he told me that it was not the dirt bike cake he had asked for. Whatever, Happy Birthday. After cake and Ice cream everyone is outside looking at Aven's new bike. I walk up completely exaused because of the self torture I have inflicted on myself, and what happens? Aven's father "accidentally" drops the bike on my foot. Yup, 2 broken bones and a small fracture in the top of my foot. After everyone laughs they realize that I am actually hurt, and they laugh some more. My Mom and my 3 year old daughter (Sophia) are the only ones who even ask if I am ok! Don't worry, I'll grab some ice for my foot. Nobody loves me.
Aven had a wonderful birthday dinner and was very pleased with his presents and spending time with his family. I love it when we can all get together for a celebration. I ask myself constantly why I choose to put myself through this when there are millions of fabulous restaurants in Charlotte, but it never fails- I always bring out the platters and create an over the top menu cursing myself the whole time. So why do I do it, you ask? I guess It's a small price to pay to spend a little QT with family.
PS. Every adult in the house said it was the best damn cake they had ever had, just saying.
