bright side

The cakes survived the night, and I achieved excellent texture and color for the frosting.

Though I have not lived up to my mother's cake-frosting prowess, I feel pretty awesome about how these turned out.

Sadly, when Emily bakes in Provo, nothing goes perfectly. The tragedy of this project came when I tried to carry the biggest, chocolate cake down the stairs from my third story apartment while wearing heels. (I was on my way to church, though hindsight tells me that I should have substituted my pumps for flats for the walk up to campus.) After clearing just one flight of stairs, I lost my balance, caught myself on the handrail, and tipped the cake plate just enough to destabilize the top-heavy cake and send it tumbling down.

I wasn't about to let that much butter and eggs worth of cake go to waste, so I picked up the top, which held together decently, stuck it back on top of the base, and returned it and the smaller cake to my kitchen table. The best part about it all was that instead of feeling devastated, I laughed. I had just talked to Grandma about looking on the bright side, and this was an excellent test of my optimism. I'm so grateful that I have the opportunity to learn lessons like this with overall insignificant things like smashed cakes so that when greater disappointments come up, I'll have had some practice.

I sill classify the cakes as a success because my roommates and I--and anyone else who stopped by today--benefited from the two large cakes we had sitting on our kitchen table all day. I loved sharing my creations. I loved laughing over smashed cake.