Sarah Roush

Sarah Roush

Our little guy, Sparky, has had a big week. He turned the ripe old age of three, met some cousins and had a party of sorts. It was a “no gift” potluck with the extended family. The idea being a chance to socialize and visit outside a more formal event — like a funeral. More like what I seem to recall our birthdays being like when I was a kid.

There was only one birthday that stands out in memory; I must have been about six or seven. I know mom made a sheet cake, and I vividly remember two gifts. One was a sleeping bag with a matching pillow; I was over the moon about that thing and used it for 4-H camp for years. The other item was a long string of gum balls wrapped in cellophane. It was a good year.

What we did have for Sparky was a cupcake cake made by the local bakery. In case you have never seem one, these beauties are cupcakes closely placed together and then decorated as if they are a sheet cake.

Huge globs of frosting hold them in place and fill the spaces in between, resulting in what looks like a single cake, but, are actually cupcakes with extra frosting eliminating the portion control and the worry about sides drying out. Sparky’s cake had adorable dinosaurs decorating the top and he loved it. So much so, he immediately stuck a finger into the center. He popped that daub of frosting in his mouth, eyes lighting up and he moaned…mmmm yummy!

Everyone giggled a bit and I didn’t think anything else about it.

Until…later that evening, after everyone had left and we were tidying up from the weekend. I realized Sparky was being quiet. Suspiciously quiet. A quick search determined he was not in any of the bedrooms or the living room. Fearful he had slipped outside somehow, I charged into the kitchen. When the lights were flipped on, his whereabouts were revealed.

He was standing on one of the kitchen chairs; he had pulled the cakebox to the edge of the table and the claw marks in the frosting of leftover cake told its own tale. He had both hands full of sugary confection and had been shoving as much into his face as possible. Apparently, he had been at this for several moments, since he had blue and green frosting from his forehead to his chin. It was in his hair, eyebrows and on his clothes. Upon my exclamation of “what are you doing?!?” he rolled his eyes back into his head, shoved another glob into his mouth and sighed, “it’s so good, Mommy.”

He was immediately wrangled into the bathtub, despite vehement protests. Three hours later, he was still running laps around the house while growling and stomping like a dinosaur. I finally coaxed him to sit on the sofa to read a book, just wanting him to be still for a few minutes. By page five, his eyelids fluttered, and he keeled over face first into my lap and onto “Splat, the Cat.”

I doubt he will remember that evening, and while we don’t want a repeat performance, I sure wish I had photos of his frosting frenzy. I can’t even be upset with him because, honestly, given the chance, I would have wanted to do the same thing — just with a bit more finesse.

I have a full year to rethink the cake situation, until then, happy birthday, little dinosaur — we love you.

Written and submitted by Sarah Roush for The Circleville Herald. The views of this column may not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper.

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