Rainbow Pride (the Martha Drop-Out Edition)

So I might have mentioned a time or two that I have a problem. I am not one of those awesome home-y bloggers whose stuff blows up on Pinterest because OMG, it is sooooo cute, and all it takes is a glue gun and some pipe cleaners and you too could have a whole new entry way bench/storage system.

But when it’s time for my kid to turn another year, I tend to forget that.

I am convinced that somehow this is going to be the year when I make the cake that wins me the kick ass mommy prize. The stars will shine on my house alone. The angels will sing. And the not the tiniest bit of vanilla cake will stick to a pan.



In case you’re questioning the sarcastic tone thus far, all me to refer you to the 6th birthday debacle.

And yet, I had it all plan. Six layers, each a different color (we did ROY G BIV but blue & indigo are so close that I was willing to tone it down a wee bit … especially because I had two cake pans and we were already baking them two at a time … a seventh would have thrown it all off). My famous cream cheese frosting (which, by some miracle, is actually one of the things I make that is really, really good … like the babysitter requests her own container to take home good). And a rainbow of M&Ms covering it up, and possibly covering all imperfections.

How hard could that be? Really?


You know what’s coming.

We succeeded in keeping the following layers alive: red, orange, yellow, and green. The result:

Blue was fine. Well, fine after coated in a heart heaping of white cream cheesey goodness. Until I added violet.

And Blue got maaaad.

Together they slid into a massive pile of frosting and cake, while I screeched for the elder of my two babysitters to come, help, nowwwww. I didn’t take a picture. I didn’t have the heart.

Then it was time to crumb coat. Which was fine. Until I was halfway through and out of frosting … because of course scraping it out between the crumbs of blue and violet wasn’t an option (the fact taht I considered it speaks to my sanity at that hour of night … should I mention I was also getting over one of the worst viruses I’ve had in recent years at the time?).

Fast forward a day. After my 8 a.m. trip to the grocery store — where I was the patron in line behind a man stinking to high heaven who counted out the change to purchase his 40 of Olde English … and considered asking him for a sip if I chipped in an actual dollar bill — I was bake with more cream cheese and butter.

And ready to spread the 5 pounds worth of M&Ms that had been separated into bowls by the babysitter out in a neat and beautiful rainbow.

And then this happened:

Perhaps your face looks like this?

I’m loud. I’m proud. Because I survived. God help us when she turns 8.

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