According to the recipe, the cake I baked is called Sock It To Me Cake but I am going to re-name it Suck It To Me Cake.
I started to make this last night around 5:00, and by started to make it, I mean I pre-heated the oven to 350 and poured the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl.
What’s next? Add 4 eggs and the sour cream….
But wait! First one of my kids needs to have a big meltdown, there needs to be some disciplinary issues, dad needs to be called at work, drama needs to happen and an hour needs to roll on by.
OK, where was I? That’s right, add 4 eggs… Egg #1 – crack, open, drop into mixing bowl… Egg #2 – crack, open, drop into mixing bowl…
Egg #3? It’ll have to wait while another kid comes to talk to me about his take on the disciplinary actions taken regarding the Meltdown Kid.
What started out as meddling and interference turned into a very productive discussion about responsibility, parenting, big picture versus the little picture and making good choices. It was a good talk and I’m glad we had it.
Now it is 6:45. Back to the cake. Crack eggs #3 and #4 and add them to the mixing bowl. Prepare to add remaining ingredients.
Ring, ring. Important phone call from best friend (AKA the Phone Tag Queen). I take the call.
The cake goes into the oven at 8:00. It smells divine. It’s cold outside, but toasty warm in the house (due in part to an empty oven heated to 350 for 3 hours, I’m sure) and life has settled down.
The cake comes out of the oven beautifully. It cools. It sticks to the bundt pan. Handsome Hubby gets it out for me. He turns it out onto a plate and I plan to frost it later, as I’ve already been baking the damn thing for more than 4 hours.
This morning the kids oooh and aaahhh over the cake.
“After school snack mom?!”
“You bet, guys!”
I drive the kids to school. I’m gone 20 minutes, round trip.
I walk in the door and head for the kitchen.
This is what greets me:
I forgot about the bad dog who keeps eating baked goods. She was in the living room in front of the fireplace because it’s pouring outside.
Bitch. (ha ha! Cuz she’s a she… get it..? Never mind.)
I cleaned up the mess and made a mental note to check eBay to replace my plate (because I’ve had these for 20 years and LOVE them).
I’m going to finish this post and then take another whack at baking this F#$!*% cake.
For more tales of woe and frustration, click over to Living in France.