“Bill, what kind of cake do you want?”
I’m not sure how old I was, maybe 11 or 12, when Mom let us choose our own cakes. Before, she’d picked the cake, and we loved whatever she baked. Almost always she prepared a layer cake, and I loved her frosting.
With six children in the family, we couldn’t afford lavish celebrations, but a budget didn’t stop her creativity. Her cakes were moist and the icing a delight to my sweet tooth, but she went to extra efforts for a birthday. A favorite cartoon character? No problem. Special sparkles or tasty sprinkles? Mom could do it with her eyes closed. She even made an elephant cake for my younger brother. And now it was my turn.
Chocolate? Always a favorite, but little kids chose chocolate and I was getting big. White cake? A little bland. Even when young, I had a whimsical nature and opportunity rose inside me, full of mischief and delight. “Marble cake. With marble frosting.”
Mom studied me, a serious look on her face. “All right.”
I suppressed a giggle and went back to the living room and the TV. Not possible. I knew how frosting was made and the beaters would homogenize all the colors into a creamy blend. I gave it no more thought until the big day.
Mom placed the covered cake platter on the table and lifted the lid.
I stared at the irregular splotches of white and chocolate icing that covered the cake and broke into laughter. Marble cake. With marble icing.
Looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Moms have a way of doing the impossible. I think it’s the love they carry in their hearts that shows in everything they do. Especially when making a birthday cake for a little boy.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.