Don't Tell them About the Mayo

Okay, this is a big deal. When I got married, the woman I married was very clear that she wanted kids. I was very clear that having kids was something people did if they didn't want to have a life. I said I'd be cool with kids in about five years.



About five years was a rolling calendar, by the way. Every morning, the clock reset to about five years. I think if things hadn't worked the way they did, I'd still be saying 'maybe in five years or so.'

My first daughter was born eleven years ago today, January 13. It was 70 degrees out, flukish weather. When they gave up on regular labor (after a mere 42 hours, most of which my wife refused my so-called assistance, leaving me to play Nintendo, something Em still points out: 'Daddy played Nintendo the whole time Mommy was in labor!') and went for a C-section, they gave me scrubs. Including shoe covers that might have covered a child's foot.

So I went sock-footed into the operation room, after they forgot me in an oubliette. I saw my wife's spleen. I saw Em first if you don't count medical professionals.

Walking around on the hardwood floors in socks, I committed one of the faux pas you just can't live down. I said my feet hurt. It was true, the floors were rock hard and my sock feet and I'd been on my feet a lot, but compared to 42 hours of labor followed by having yourself cut open in a big, spleen-exposing smile, well...



'My feet hurt' became the common currency in our marriage for 'shut up, you incredible pussy.'



So anyway, the night before Em's birthday, and I've cleared a sleep-over with the parents of three of her favorite kiddos in the neighborhood. And I've got a Barbie doll and a Rubik's Cube, one from me one from Sissy. And I baked a cake.

From scratch.



I've never baked a cake. I used the Joy of Cooking's Chocolate Mayonnaise cake recipe.



I almost bought a kit while I was at Wal-Mart for the grocery run. A box of cake mix is 93¢. But I figured I was setting myself up for failure if I gave myself the out of a kit to fall back on.





I got home and started in, only to find out I was out of baking soda. So I headed out into the snowy night, and the convenience store I hit was closed. But the stereotypical immigrant who owns it, she re-opened to sell me a box of Arm & Hammer for $1.39. I know that's a lot for what it is, but she really was a sport about reopening her store for an uninspiring transaction like that.



I got back home and when I got to the vanilla extract, I couldn't find it. It was gone. Totally. So back out to another convenience store, for a bottle of vanilla.



I have people coming tomorrow, and it's getting late, and I'm waiting for the cake to cool so I can frost it. I'm stressing, just a little. You can't take a test taste of a cake without ruining it.



Just a matter of following directions. I hope. The batter tasted good, licking the mixer and stuff. I thought I was going to hand whisk the batter, but it turns out electric mixers are only $7 at Wal-Mart. Now that I've seen how much it takes to really get the batter whipped up, I can't believe I ever thought of doing it with a whisk.





Oh, and the mayo thing: I picked this recipe because Joy of Cooking claims it's so moist you don't need to frost it. Of course, cake is only a delivery vehicle for frosting, so of course it's getting frosted. But I hate a dry cake, and if I'm going tot he trouble, I figured it needed to be a cake I could feel good about.

But mayonnaise in a cake? Gross. I'm not telling anyone.