Every so often everyone has “one of those weeks.” You know, the kind where even the simplest thing becomes a monstrous undertaking. The dark cloud brings with it the foulest mood. Unimportant conversations blow up into the biggest dramas. Simple statements sting like critical judgements. There really isn’t anything that’s good when one of those weeks comes.
Last week sucked. Every last corner in my life was infected. I could list through all the things, but what fun is that? What I did want to share was it was the first week where I had three baking jobs for my in-home bakery. This was a big deal on the bakery front. I should’ve jumped for joy with more business. It would’ve been an amazing success, if it didn’t land on one of those weeks.
I had a boy’s 1st birthday cake to make. It was a two tiered Bubble Guppies themed vanilla cake. Simple enough since I’d decorated the cookies last week and was over the moon excited with how they turned out. I couldn’t wait to build the cake so I had a display for their beauty. I made the pastry cream early so it had time to set and thicken. I baked off the cakes ahead of time to make sure I wasn’t rushed at the last minute. I was ready on Wednesday night to assemble with plenty of time to spare for my Friday delivery.
I should mention how I didn’t start until 9:00pm on Wednesday because I had to attend a mandatory CPR training for my work. I still may have been holding a little grudge from the long class filled with bad jokes from our instructor. Hubs stood at the kitchen’s edge when I said “I wonder if I should build a frosting dam for this custard.” He said, “It looks pretty thick.” “Yeah, it will probably hold up. It did before when Tia made it for the Boston Cream cake,” I said and started to build.
I got on the third layer when I realized I’ve got major problems. The weight from the additional layers oozed out custard along the sides. Hubs could feel the intensity in the room and said he’s going to bed. Correction, he ran away to bed. After a long profanity string ran off my lips, I tried to salvage the disaster. I whipped some frosting to spackle the sides. It didn’t work. I dismantled the layers and tried to dam the layers. The damage was too far gone. I spent over an hour trying to repair something I knew wasn’t salvageable and I created this:
This wasn’t a picture I borrowed from a fifth grade baking disaster. It’s not an example from letting my 8 year old go crazy and make anything she wanted. This was a whole hearted attempt by me. I should’ve held up a newspaper to prove this was less than a week ago. I’m supposed to be a pseudo-professional and I made that. It didn’t matter how much I tried to force it, nothing made it better. I gave up around 10:00 p.m. to the fact this cake was lost. I put it off to the side, baked a new one, and cursed it was just one of those weeks.
The next morning I recommitted to get through the week. Nothing else. I wasn’t going to try to save it or make it better. I only wanted to get to the end of it without too much damage. I started from the beginning with a new filling and built the cake. When Friday morning arrived, I had this:
And while I’d like to tell you this was the happy ending to the the week, the truth is after I took this picture and loaded the cake in my car for delivery, I discovered I forgot one of the character cookies. Even this didn’t finish off easy.
Here I am on the other side. I ran away from the week by going camping with the kids. I stole back a couple days from this week to remind myself why I do it all. I chatted with the kids over smores, spent uninterrupted times with Hubs around the campfire, and rewarded myself with reading a book in the afternoon light. It reminded me that even when a week is total shit and you wonder if you’re really ever going to get through it, Sunday night will show up. And when it does, you will inevitably wish the week was a little longer.