A Tale of Disastrous Cakes at my House

After my catastrophic efforts to save money by baking birthday cakes instead of buying for family members  last year, I vowed to keep trying. Never say die, up girl and bake, right? Read here about what happened when I baked for my 2-year-old daughter, Rudairo, in November 2015.  .Well, it doesn't look like things are improving much this year. The pictures below tell the full horrific tale. 

 23 November 2015

This is the shameful cake I made for Rudairo when she turned 2. There was sweltering heat that November day, which I blame for the icing that melted like a burning candle. The real truth is I can't ice cakes. 

12 January 2016

I decided to bake a two-layered moist chocolate cake on the eve of my son Victor's birthday. He was turning 10. To make up for the icing challenges, I bought ready-made icing,  and slept well assured that nothing could go wrong this time. 

I woke up to find he had dug a hole in the centre from top to base

Determined not to fail this time around, I dashed to the shops to buy cupcakes to do some patchwork. Unfortunately I could not find chocolate ones and had to make do with vanilla ones. 

After filling up the hole, I iced the cake and sprinkled hundreds and thousands on top. No-one could have guessed what lay beneath the icing. Can't help thinking that's exactly the same way people present themselves in life - masquerading as people they are not, putting layers of icing on their real personalities. Sobering thought. 

We placed the candles and joyously sang "Happy Birthday to You  Vicky", and he blew his candles. So we can safely say I iced and aced it haha!

You can never hide the truth forever. After cutting, the true colours Cyndie Lauper  sang about started showing J

9 February 2016

I had my husband's cake professionally made at Bakers Corner, Matsapha. The joint is known far and wide for making very good cakes. I decided against baking at home because we were having a dinner party and I did not want to embarrass myself and have the guests feel sorry for me and say, "At least you tried, shame!" I sent a whatsapp message requesting a Manchester United cake. I was quite relaxed because, come on, these were professionals who baked and delivered cakes everyday. What could possibly go wrong? Nothing!

Before loading the cake in the car, I decided to just peek to ensure it was really his. Lo and behold, they had made an Arsenal cake. He would have choked on it. I had to sit for some 15 minutes while they superimposed the Manchester United  logo

I think God is trying to tell me something. We should not be eating cake in our house. I'm trying to lose weight and sugar is my biggest downfall. It can't surely be a coincidence that all efforts at cakes are such epic fails? Next birthday in the house is in August. Let's wait and see! I think God is telling me, "Child, eat apples on birthdays. Your waistline will thank you!"

Happy 10th Birthday Victor!!

THIS month on the 12^th, my son Victor turned 10.  What a ride it has been! As I mentioned in this post last year, his birthdays are always very emotional for me. A dark cloud engulfs me as I keep wondering if there is something I could have done to stop the autism. I vomited a lot during his pregnancy and my gynaecologist prescribed medication to stop the vomiting fearing I would miscarry. I can’t help wondering if the meds are what caused the autism. I also had a difficult delivery. At 40 weeks, there were no signs of labour whatsoever. The doctor decided I would have to be induced, which was done on the night of January 11^th, I was induced. Whatever was used had no effect at all. I only vomited but there was no progress with regards to labour. They upped the dosage, and in due course, the pain set in. I only vaguely remember the pain, everything is all blur. Eventually, after 12 hours of labour and no progress, Victor was delivered via emergency C section.The fact that I don’t remember much torments me. I wonder if something went wrong during the labour to cause the autism, or if the prolonged labour caused it, or if the gynaecologist was negligent in some way… endless and countless scenarios playing in my head. Anyway, it is what it is. No amount of thinking will take away the autism.  I know I should channel my energy towards things that count, like helping him with his social skills and school work. I believe I have really tried, though I don’t feel I have done my utmost best. There is a lot that still needs to be done. He can now read simple books, a feat I never thought he would achieve any time soon. Every time I heard him read, my heart falls short of leaping through my heart for joy. It swells with pride and gratitude to the One above. And he understands what he reads. I always follow up with questions to assess comprehension and see that he’s on top of itJ.

In Swaziland we don’t really know many people. We live a reclusive life: no one visits us, and we don’t visit anyone. I kind of like it that way, although I miss having a social life too. Being around people and especially neuro-typical kids can be very harrowing. That’s when we really get to see how different he is from the rest – from the way he talks, plays and relates to the world around him. You listen to other 10-year-olds speak and you are so bamboozled and think, “What? Is this what 10-year-olds talk about? Is that how they think?!” It’s as if you don’t have your own 10-year-old at home. It can get very heartbreaking. You see someone with younger kids just tell them to go and change and they come back ready to go, and you have to assist a much older boy with everything. When you’re alone in your little corner, with no basis for comparison, it doesn’t bother you at all. It’s your daily life and you’ve gotten used to it. But when you see that that’s not how everybody lives and your life is way harder than most, you do shed a tear or two. People say don’t compare your child with others, but that’s easier said than done. You see things, hear things, and think things, and you can’t help wishing… It’s inevitable.  

There are also some hallelujah moments when I see that what happened to my son is not the absolute worst thing to happen to a child. He is intellectually slower than most of his peers and his motor skills are poorer, but he is not incapable of learning. He is quite in touch with the world around him in his own way, he can go to the loo by himself and can tell me when he is not feeling well and where it hurts. Other autistic children cannot do all that. I have mothers in my circle who are having a really tough time with the debilitation that comes with autism, a tougher time than mine, I have to admit. While I struggle with my hyper-verbal son, they yearn to hear their children say, “mom” for the first time, and some of these children are in their teens. Research has indicated that about 40% of people with autism will not be able to speak. So I am aware that I have to be grateful, it could have been worse. But I will not stop wanting more for my son.

The comparisons are the least of my worries when I travel with Victor, as I recently did during the festive season. Some people have the worst attitude towards autism. More often than not, it is those closest to you that say the most atrocious things that make you say, “Jeez, why on earth did I even visit?” Unfortunately my relationship with such people makes it difficult to tell them off the way I would want to. I, however, say things in my heart that would make them zip their mouths if they could see what’s in it. There are also good, sensitive people who, when they see the negative behaviour that sometimes accompanies autism, simply reprimand Victor as they would their own kids, or ask me how to deal with him. I feel at ease with such people.  Others just don’t say a thing, even though I know they are probably saying a lot in their hearts, or just enduring some quiet bewilderment. I also respect them, although I feel asking questions so that you can have a better understanding of the situation could be a better option. I know they do have questions. I’m happy to address them. What I can’t handle is people running their mouths commenting on him and how I should feel and all sorts of nasty things.

The purpose of this post is not to rant and rave, but to shine the light on autism, and how misunderstood the condition is. It is also to let my son know (since he can read now, WHOOP WHOOP!!) that he will never be alone as long as I’m here, and to other parents walking the same path, a luta continua! No retreat no surrender!

The birthday cake

This year I decided that I would not buy birthday cakes. I wanted to save, and wasn’t going to spend money on things I could do myself. In January, my friend sent money for my son’s cake and I thought I would be misappropriating funds if I didn’t use it for its intended purpose, so we bought the cake. In February I baked the cake for my husband’s birthday, which turned out to be a catastrophe. I was going to bake one for myself too in August, but my husband had already ordered from a shop. On my daughter’s second birthday in November, I decided to stick to my resolution and baked a nice red velvet cake. I could see my husband was worried when I declared I would bake again, but for the sake of world peace he decided to zip it. I do very well when I have a recipe. Unfortunately I cannot ice a cake to save my life. I had all the ingredients for butter icing with me but just could not crack it. It did not help that temperatures were extremely high on the day, in their 40s and the icing just dripped left right and centre. There was more of it on the tray than on the cake.

Still we were able to put two little candles on it, placed the birthday girl next to it and she led us in singing “Happy birthday to you!” She wasn’t even aware that she had the ugliest birthday cake in the world. She was happy. So was I. Even though I was a little embarrassed about my atrocious handiwork, seeing her look so joyous, quite oblivious of my misgivings really melted my heart, I guess in the same way the icing melted from the cake. Although it wasn't easy on the eye, it was quite nice and fluffy inside.

Hopefully when she is 21, and looks at that cake my daughter won’t roll her eyes and say, “Duh that cake is like so ghastly! Why didn’t you just buy one?” I hope the message she gets from that cake is it was made with love, and Mum is a fighter. She must have known she wasn’t good at icing but that didn’t stop her from trying.

As the year draws to a close, I still vow not to buy birthday cakes next year. I will find someone to teach me how to ice properly so that my kids never feel they have to hide birthday pictures because of the hideous cakes mummy made.