It all started at the fifth grade class Christmas party. I strolled into my daughter’s class with cupcakes in hand, and could almost hear the gasps when I retrieved them from a Target bag. They were adorned with Santa and Rudolph and cute little Christmas trees, I was proud of these! Heck, the icing didn’t even smudge the slightest bit on the drive over! As I sat them on the food table, I felt a little nudge. This woman could not be closer to me if she tried! Over my shoulder SHE came, swooping in with her fancy cake balls and Rice Krispie treats cut in the shape of reindeer. I think there was even a red M&M for the nose, but I’m still too mad to remember. SHE moved MY cupcakes to the back! I took note of this and smiled politely.  Hmmm.

I stewed over the incident for a few days, although I’m not sure why. The children weren’t too particular about what they were shoveling down their throats, and I was not the only mother opening up a Target bag. My husband said it was just my competitive nature, (that he considers a fault), and that I should stop pouting, but I had a plan! The girl’s birthday was in the month of January, my chance for cupcake redemption!

So the story goes, my friends. Last night, I opened up the Bakery! I bought all of the necessary supplies to make 65 cupcakes. Red Velvet, cream cheese icing cupcakes! Oh, they would be the best darn cupcakes those children would come across. They would march right home and tell their mothers how great they were.  At least this is how I envisioned it.  “This will be fun,” I thought.  “The kids can help me, we will bond!”

We did some bonding all right. After burning myself twice, getting egg shell in the batter, and sending all four children to opposite corners of the room, my 11 year old twins started to cry.  In my defense, they cry at nearly everything these days, including which hair bow goes with which shirt. “Why are they crying,” I thought. “I’m the one nearly slipping over the edge.” I made the mistake of asking how the first batch looked.  “Like a work in progress,” replied my four year old. Then I stated to cry. My three year old son then, in all his sugared up glory, knocked the bowl of RED batter to the floor.  That did it.  Four letter words began to fly and I started drinking wine straight from the bottle.

To wrap this up, I did accomplish 65 cupcakes and make a memory or two. But, I have learned my lesson, and my children learned the correct use of expletives. While I respect and am truly amazed by the Mom that slaves in the kitchen to make all of those perfect treats for EVERY party, I will never be her.  And hopefully, she will not measure me by my baking capabilities or my Target bag. My talents must lie elsewhere. I gave it a shot, however. My intentions were good. I can laugh about it now as I stare down at my red velvet stained fingertips, and realize that I am just a work in progress…
wp-image-4000″ />