6 a.m.

Boys and girls, let me tell you a magical story.

Once upon a time…there was a girl who loved to sleep until at least ten every morning. It was pleasant, and since she didn’t have to be anywhere until 1:30 in the afternoon, it worked well for her. Then one day, she began to wake up earlier than ten. Way earlier. Like, 3-4 hours earlier. And she was okay with it.

The End

Did you guys know that 6 and 7 a.m. are real times? I used to. Back in the days of school and such. They weren’t times that I enjoyed acknowledging the existence of, but I put up with their existence. Since I started working at the lab a little over a year ago, I’ve been on a schedule where I stay up quite late, and don’t get up until sometime in the ten a.m. hour.

Something weird has been happening, though. For the last week and a half, I’ve been waking up consistently between 6 & 7 a.m., every single day. Without aid of alarm clock. It even happened Tuesday morning, after I’d been out doing karaoke and pancakes until 3 a.m. Crazily, I’m finding that I’m not even that tired. I’m a little tired, but not the mind-numbing exhaustion that I normally feel when I have to get up that early.

I mentioned this fact to my mother and the boy, and both gave me the same answer (which was a little freaky since I had the conversations with each person separately). They both were in agreement that I now have a reason to get up in the morning and not hide under the covers. Which, the more I think about it, I realize is true.

And kind of funny.

And pretty awesome.

Occasionally, on here, I mention my slight liking (scratch, and replace with super huge addiction) of Pinterest. I usually get sucked in on the “Geek” section, but occasionally I do wander over and check out the “Food” section. This is a dangerous section for me, because while I’m pretty craft challenged, when it comes to food I’ve got a little bit of talent. Not only can I cook, but I can even make it look somewhat presentable. Now, last year, I discovered something on Pinterest called a tie-dye cake. It looked super difficult to make, but after reading the instructions I decided it was worth a try. Here was the result of the first experiment (I ended up with enough batter to make 2 cakes). I called this the Jackson Pollock Cake:

This was the second one:

Believe me, those cakes were as good as they look.

So, anyway, last fall I was on Pinterest, and I stumbled across this:

This beauty is a Whopper cake! The entire outside is covered in malted milk balls. Now, I’m not a big Whopper fan, but my dad is. I knew immediately that this was the perfect cake for his birthday. After a few months of pondering this cake, I knew that I had to at least try to make it. So, since dad’s birthday was today, I set about making it this weekend. It started out well.

I had to layers like the one above. I also had the largest bag of malted milk balls I’ve ever beheld. I know the quality’s not good, but trust me, that’s about 6 lbs of x-large Whoppers:

I got up super early this morning (6 a.m., which for me is crazy early. I told my dad that he knows that I love him if I’m willing to get up then just to decorate a cake). Here’s what the cake looked like when I finished:

Sure, the Whoppers weren’t lined up completely perfect, but for an amateur cake that I was decorating from memory of a picture I’d seen a while ago, I was pretty happy (also, there’s a raspberry and chocolate filling that while it sounds like a weird combination, wasn’t half bad).

Okay, so you’ve now seen the pretty, perfect cake.

What happened next probably would’ve been avoided if I had ever purchased a cake safe type carrier. However, I make a “fancy” cake about once every year, so it’s not something I’ve ever thought about getting.

We had decided that since neither mom, nor I should have all that sugar readily available to us (she’s type 1 and I’m type 2 + I’m on a serious weight loss plan), it would be better to take in for the kids on our puppet team to share in. Now, we tried to figure out a good way to transport the cake, but we had nothing it would fit in. Eventually, mom agreed to hold it while I drove.

We were about a third of the way to church when the first Whopper popped off the cake. Then all craziness broke loose. Whoppers started popping off left and right. They made a strange sound as the suction of the icing let loose. Then, the cake started to shift. The top layer was going one direction while the bottom layer stayed put. Most people would probably have gotten angry and started yelling at each other, but that’s never really been my family’s thing. No, this morning marks the first time that I had to pull over to the side of the interstate because I was laughing so hard I couldn’t drive. It wasn’t just me, either. Mom was cracking up as well. (Dad, being mostly deaf wasn’t quite aware of what the situation was.) Finally, we got control of our laughter, found a piece of cardboard to try to keep the cake separated from mom’s shirt (the pants were a goner at that point), and I finished the drive. When we got to the church, here’s what we found (quick, remember the beautiful cake picture from above. Scroll up if needs be, cause this ain’t pretty…):

And here’s a picture of my mom’s arm:

You can kind of see just how far the cake was sliding off at that point.

Thankfully, more of the cake survived than we thought had. People got to share in the remnants, and dad’s got a couple boxes of cake casserole in the fridge.

The important thing to me, about this situation is the fact that no one ever raised their voice, no one ever cast blame (although, let’s face it, I really need to invest in a cake carrying container), and even tonight we are still giggling over the disaster. I don’t know if anyone else’s family would have been so cool about what happened. A lot of people would’ve turned on each other and used terms starting with “stupid,” and upped the ante from there.

So, Happy Birthday, Dad. Next year I’ll try to keep the cake in one piece until after you’ve had your first piece!

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