Typically, this time of year there are sports banquets and award dinners and all kinds of year end events that end with a carry-in dinner. I always tried really hard at a school carry-in dinner because I wanted my kids to be proud of the dish I took. So that year, I decided to make a simple white cake.
Who doesn’t love cake?
I took off early and things were looking good until I got to the egg part. What happened to all the eggs? I forced my egg-eating husband into an emergency trip to the store while I combined the rest of the ingredients (save the eggs), prepared my pan, preheated the oven and waited.
Just then, the doorbell rang and I found a neighbor asking to see my husband. My daughter, Mariah, home from school, walked in behind him, reminding me about the banquet that night. I offered our guest the opportunity to wait and he did, taking a seat in the living room. By then, I am looking at my watch and thinking about that cake and wondering how long it takes to buy eggs?
My husband finally came home with a good excuse and I left him with the visitor and headed to the kitchen to add the eggs to the batter, the batter to the pan and the pan to the oven.
That was the plan, anyway.
In the kitchen, I found an empty batter bowl and no cake pan in sight. I yelled for Mariah, afraid that I already knew what happened. She’d walked in from school, saw the prepared batter and the cake pan and thought I was distracted by the doorbell and she would finish the job. Mariah had poured the eggless batter into the pan and popped it into the oven, even setting the timer.
I pulled the pan from the oven and stared at it, trying to come up with a plan. The batter had begun firming up around the edges but was still battery in the middle. “Get me my mixer,” I barked to my accomplice, who had just walked into the kitchen.
“What are you going to do?” Mariah asked, her voice voicing her concern.
“I ran out of eggs and was waiting to add them. I think I still have time,” I said as I cracked the eggs and tossed them in the middle of the partially cooked batter.
“Mom,” I heard Mariah sputter. “No way this is going to work.”
“It will be fine,” I told her.
My daughter has heard these words before…
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard