Today is my husband's birthday, so I made him a cake. I love to bake cakes, and my favorites, and my husband's, are scratch-made cakes with raspberry preserves and chocolate icing. Not just any chocolate icing, mind you. It has to be my grandmother's famous chocolate icing. (Which, it seems, is the icing recipe on the back of the chocolate box. Still, it is famous to us.) This icing is rich, chocolaty, decadent, and delicious. Tonight, however, it was also a little thin. I have had this problem before and when the icing just doesn't want to thicken, I just add more sugar. It didn't work. Maybe because I used 2% milk. I don't know.
Whatever the reason, the beautiful layers of yellow cake started to slide off each other as soon as I layered them. I thought they were level. Would have sworn that they were level. But the waterfall of chocolate-raspberry goop splooging out the side told a different tale. I tried valiantly to make the cake look beautiful ...
I failed. In fact, there is so much fail in this cake, I should send it to CakeWrecks! (It tasted good, though.)
Mr. Itchy Pants
My 5-year-old is a chatty boy with a good imagination. Lately he has started trying to excuse things he says or does by blaming them on his "brain." My brain thought that. OR I didn't say that, my brain said it. He kept talking about his brain as a separate person so often that it started to really bother me . (I started worrying that he would develop multiple personality disorder!) Then one day I stopped and realized...
His brain is his imaginary friend!
Imaginary friends are supposed to be a sign of intelligence and creativity (and I am not just saying that because I had one (Sha-la)!), so I am supportive of this idea. Once I got over my annoyance at his brain being the excuse, I started listening to the stories my son was telling me. Apparently his brain has quite an advanced and active life! He drives a white pick-up truck and has seen all the toy-story movies through Toy Story 100.
So today I asked him what his brain's name was, since it would be easier to personify if we could call him something other than "my brain." What did my imaginative, creative, intelligent son tell me?
His brain's name is Mr. Itchy Pants.
Okay. And we are back to mildly worried.
I am cracking up so hard it hurts. Thanks for this.
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