Godzilla’s birthday. His 6th.
What fun the last 6 years have been. Challenging. Loving. Fun. Funny.
And just plain weird.
I like to call him quirky. Other’s don’t think so. And I do wonder who I’m trying to convince. Me or them?
Still, it’s been quirky, challenging, fun and funny.
Until last night, when I finally got around to thinking about his birthday cake for the gathering of family and friends this weekend to celbrate the anniversary of his birth. And asked him what he wanted.
A “Cheezel Cake” was the request. Damn. He’s been saying this for months and was hoping he would have grown out of it by now. Or forgotten. Or, at the very least, be able to explain to me exactly what a Cheezel cake is.
There was talk of cheezels on it. But also of it being made of chocolate cake. And some other unintelligible instructions along the way. Did I mention ‘quirky’?
I figured I’d think about that later, whip up a cake for school (No, I’m not making lolly bags as well!). Um, seeing as I didn’t do it last night.
Chat to Monkey Boy’s teacher for a bit, then head off to Godzilla’s class room to find out a good time to drop in with the cake.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” says Teacher.
“What’s a cheezel cake? You’re bringing one in later today.”
Right. Am I?
All I managed to work out was not to come at 1.15pm, because that’s when they do their recorder lesson.
A headache then formed, mostly behind my left eye, and got worse as the day wore on. I whipped up a chocolate butter cake, with a hole in the middle (yes, intentionally), with an intermittently screaming baby attempting to climb my leg. My head neared exploding velocity at the mere thought of making it Cheezels like to suit the now 6 year old.
Some vivid yellow icing – which did nothing to ease the pain in my head – was applied and a half arsed sprinkling of yellow sprinkles occurred. No way was I capable of matching Cheezels colour. Dulux don’t even offer that colour in their paint charts.
Rush up to the school, cake in hand, listen to kids sing happy birthday in English, Italian and, I think, Chinese. Grumpy arrives in time to hear the serenade, and, fortunately, chop the cake into enough pieces to distribute equally between Godzilla’s classmates so they could mush it into the carpet.
That done, home we went, out for dinner with friends, and back to the drawing board for a Cheezel type cake. Apparently, the one today looked like a donut. After much talking to, I did convince him it really looked like a Cheezel.