Feelings of failure loomed late night as the large ice cream cake I bought didn’t fit in our freezer. I didn’t think the fridge would work. I threw an ice sleeve and ice in a freezer bag with the cake and hoped for the best.
When I presented the cake, it took a gasp of air and collapsed into a pile of peanut butter goo.
My husband asked why didn’t I cut the cake up and put that in the freezer?
I almost graded my parenting based on that melted cake.
But I looked over and watched him share with his friends and girlfriend.
Recalling moments in NYC where they served with the NYC Dream Center.
His second year.
Then I realized he’s filling out a job application.
Making plans for his senior year
When did that happen?
Wasn’t he the kid that tried to make his entry at 32 weeks?
Then decided to stay put until surgeons intervened?
Wasn’t he the one banging his head as a toddler when he was mad?
Or luring his aunt into his room to play and keeping her there for hours?
Asking for kinne and fries, agpa and his dog, kissiwa?
Wasn’t he just in first grade drawing a picture of a little boy crying with a U-Haul because we’d moved to Ohio hours before?
When did it happen that he got braces?
Then another set of braces?
And many more pairs of glasses?
Didn’t he just pick percussion as his choice for elementary band?
Wasn’t he the kid that nearly passed out in a spelling bee?
When did that happen that he was in middle school?
Weren’t we just whining that we hate science fairs?
Wasn’t she just introduced to us as his friend that we knew he liked?
Didn’t he just attend high school orientation?
How can it be he’s going to be in his brother’s wedding when he was just in his sister’s?
Melted cake, you can’t kill my joy.
Even though I keep asking when did that happen?