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I decided this year I wanted to make my own birthday cake. I didn’t have anything particular in mind, but I knew I wanted it to include strawberry Jell-o. I did a quick Google search for “jello strawberry cake” and found this recipe from Cooks.com.

The first sign of trouble happened at the grocery store. The recipe calls for 1 box of strawberry Jell-o. The store had two sizes, small and large. I picked up one of each. I would consult Courtney later on the topic.

At home Courtney and I concurred that the more strawberry flavor the better, so I used the larger of the two boxes. The last step before baking is adding frozen 1/2 cup of strawberries to the batter, which amounted to 3 – 5 whole frozen strawberries. Something looked wrong but I wasn’t about to deviate from the recipe. I threw in the 3-5 whole strawberries into the mix and added half a dozen more for good measure. I now had a bowl full of cake batter with 12 lumpy frozen strawberries in it. I put the batter into cake pans and threw it in the oven.

While the cake baked I made the frosting, which was your run of the mill powdered sugar frosting with a few frozen strawberries thrown in. My mom used to make this type of frosting all the time and I consider myself a connoisseur of confectionate frosting. It is my all-time favorite thing. I love it with graham crackers. Although I have a deep love for it, I never paid particular attention to how my mom made it.

I melted the butter and poured it on top of a pound of powdered sugar. I mixed it for a few minutes but nothing was “creaming”. In fact, all I had now was lumpy sugar. Assuming the frozen whole strawberries might help the issue I threw them in too. Now all I had was lumpier sugar with whole frozen strawberries in it. Feeling desparate and confused I started chopping the strawberries up, shredding them with the mixer. Surprisingly the frosting started turning red and the strawberries pieces started mixing in quite well. In hopes that this wasn’t just a fluke I realized that the recipe needed a little creative influence. Remembering back to how mom makes frosting I noticed no milk ingredient. I tossed a splash of milk in. I also melted a bit more butter. Soon I had near perfect frosting, the likes that would make a mother proud.

After my triumph against poor frosting directions I realized that I had made the same frozen strawberry mistake with the baking cake; I hadn’t chopped up the strawberries. After letting the cake layers cool I flipped them over to see what the damage was. The whole frozen strawberries had became some sort of weird, moldy-ish, disgusting blobs at the bottom of the cake. I was devistated. I couldn’t serve this to my family! They would think I was crazy. I dug out the rotten parts of the cake and hoped to solve it with frosting.

The strawberries had left gaping holes behind which would hinder the structural stability of the cake. I questioned the ability of the cake layers to stay on top of each other. The frosting seemed to do its job, gluing the two layers together.

Once at my folks house I filled them in on the cake situation. I told them that I would be the sacrificial guinea pig, I would eat my own dog food before making anyone else eat it. I wasn’t about to put any of them through the hell that might be my own cake. Surpringly the cake turned out real good. I was amazed that it actually turned out. As we enjoyed the cake the layers started falling apart. As I looked at my cake with a half prideful, half disappointing look my mom said, “Toothpicks. Next time use toothpicks.”

That tip is going in my life lessons book.

I turn 28 today. A birthday greeting from my mom:

Updated

And the card from my dad:

Also, props to Drew and Michelle for the Hallmark flash card. I can’t post it since it’s on a 3rd party site but thanks for the well wishes.

Update 2

Not to be outdone, my cousin Katie sent along the following:

We live in a neighborhood from the 1950’s. The houses are all the same rubber-stamped ramblers with wood paneling in the basement. One of remnants of the era is our mail box. Its a very small metal container hanging next to the front door. This means the postal delivery person walk up to every front door of every house to deliver the mail every day.

Each winter the neighborhood receives a polite flyer from the post office reminding everyone to keep their frontwalks cleared of snow so that the mail person can deliver the mail (it also says something about keeping your dogs inside of the fence but that’s typically scribbled on my hand in some crude stalker writing. I think that might just come to our house.). When the snow gets deep some people choose to shovel a path between houses so that the postal worker can short cut through the yard. I am not one of those people. I purposely do not shovel a path since I do not want them stomping through and killing my grass (which may or may not already be dead. I have to wait for the snow to melt.) I shovel a perfectly good path on my sidewalk and driveway that they can use.

We’ve received roughly 14 inches of snow in the last 4 days making for a late winter. I don’t think we’ve had 14 inches of standing snow all season until now. I busted my butt shoveling my walk and driveway each day making sure it was cleared so the USPS could do their job. I arrived home yesterday to find someone had cut a path through my yard with their snowblower. I was livid to say the least.

I was frustrated for a couple of reasons. 1. I don’t like people on my property if I don’t invite them. If I could sit out on the stoop in a rocking chair and a shotgun I would, but I was told its illegal in this state (but not in North Dakota). 2. I shoveled a perfectly good path that they could use. 3. I don’t like the thought that some neighbor (who I shall not name or attempt to guess who it was) sat, at home mind you, all day long looking at my yard and determined that it was well worth their time to walk up my driveway with their snowblower to plow my walkway and yard and NOT plow the rest of my driveway. I think that’s plain rude.

Retaliation has crossed my mind. I thought about putting up chicken wire buried in the snow so next time they take it upon themselves to plow my yard they run into it. I thought about kicking snow back over the trail. I also thought about procuring my own snowblower and plowing all the snow from their yard onto their front step. All I think are complete and rational.

When I finished ranting to Courtney about it, my face beat red, she told me to calm down and get over it. It isn’t worth getting all buggered about. And she is right, I guess. I still might drop our mailperson a very polite letter letting them know that I would really appreciate if they would use the path I keep clear on my walkway instead of the yard, otherwise my dogs are liable to accidently get out of the gate this summer.

Chad declared yesterday that I need to clean up L1R1, the affectionate name for my computer room. After thinking about it I thought, “How DARE he pass judgement on the cleanliness of my computer room! Who does he think he is?!” I realized that for as much grief and heckling I give to Chad, Tina, and their dog I shouldn’t react so harsh.

…I still plan on slashing his tires after lunch.