What is the goal?

by Jennifer Dyer

A while back I made an Angry Birds Chewbacca cake for my nephew’s birthday. It required planning and a meticulous hand for decorating. At least in my mind. But the kids wanted to help.

Grating chair legs crossed the kitchen floor. Rachel was on her way with her favorite stool–the chair which happens to be the furthest from the counters. She shoved her chair to the spot in front of the mixer. All ingredients had to be cleared through her majesty before going into the mix.

When the frosting phase came, Rachel again scraped her chair across the entire floor. The dog tucked his tail and hid under the bed. Eldest covered her ears. When Rachel arrived at the island, where I usually do the frosting, she swept items from the counter top. An avalanche of supplies plummeted to the floor. Suddenly, the dog appeared at my feet, ready to be of assistance should any cake fall to his domain.

I loaded the chocolate frosting into my frosting bag. Rachel grabbed it and squeezed. After I wiped the frosting off my arm, off her front and off the floor, we started again. She gripped my hand with the strength of a lumberjack, swishing frosting.

Eldest approached. She wanted a turn too.

Waves of irritation swept through me. Other mothers would see this cake. They might think I was hitting the cooking sherry while I decorated this thing. It won’t be as impressive as his pirate ship was last year. They’ll all know I’m not talented. They’ll think I’m a flop… His feathers look like blobs of dirt.

I stopped the tidal wave of mommy irritation before it hit the shores of my mouth. I thought over something I’d just read in Lead Your Family Like Jesus. What was my purpose? A perfect cake? No, I can’t even do that when I try on my own. As a mom, though, my purpose is spending time with my children and teaching them. With that in mind, we pressed on, laughing at the wind-blown look of his feathers.

When everything was finished, and the frosting bowl cleaned, I took the stack of dirty towels to the laundry room. When I came back, Chewbacca had just returned from the barber shop. Half of his “feathers” were gone, swept aside by a frosting knife. When she saw me, Rachel ran to her office under the stairs, slamming the door.

Again, I had a choice. Blow my stack or let it be a funny, teachable moment. Again, I also revisited the purpose. It wasn’t about a cake. It was about teaching Rachel and growing closer to her. I had to remake some frosting and give Chewie the best comb over I could manage. And it all worked out fine. I hear he tasted delicious, and I don’t think his comb over mattered too much.

This is month on MomLife Today will feature the topic of anger. Join us there for more on managing mom emotions. For more on parenting with grace, check out Lead Your Family Like Jesus, which comes out in April.

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4 comments

  1. Mom says:

    I didn’t know he had such story to tell. You are amazing in being able to take a deep breath and push forward with help from the world of autism. I never even noticed how his feathers were – ruffled or not. From the end picture I would say the frosting/feathers were a hit.

  2. Jennifer says:

    Lol. Too true. The kids didn’t seem bothered by the comb over. I think several of my cakes have stories to tell, but you didn’t hear that from me… ;-)

  3. Kristen says:

    So important to remember. Thanks Jenn. Sometimes I have a terrible time with birthdays, wondering if the other Mom’s are judging my lack of decorating talent, but when I remind myself that it is just a huge flock of crazy little boys that I’m supposed to make happy and all they really want to do is run around and wack each other with hocky sticks. That helps, that experience I can easily provide! And now the boys have started asking to make their own cakes by themselves, my 9 year old accomplished this all on his own, even my 5 year old did most of his frosting. So the pressure was off, I could proudly say that my son made his own cake and leave it at that. It’s good to hear that other mom’s have the same cake fears, thanks again Jenn.

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