Yesterday I was getting ready for my daughter’s 5-year-old birthday party. I had purchased two boxes of cake mix in some masochistic idea of making her birthday cake. I had sliced strawberries and made chocolate frosting. The first layer of the cake came out perfectly. I let it cool, frosted the top and added the strawberry slices while the second layer baked and cooled. Then everything went pear-shaped. The second layer fell to pieces as I tried to take it out of the pan.
Frustrated, I tried to find my keys. My husband expressed amazement that I had tried at all to make a cake on the day of the party. I was nearly in tears. I am not sure what made the whole thing so emotional but I was a mess when my Aspie-son walked into the kitchen.
Usually in these situations, my Aspie-son says something along the lines of, “Well, I guess you just have days like this and you need to be able to go forward and make the best of it!”
This is frustrating in the extreme and so like me. I headed for the door, hoping to avoid hearing my voice coming out of my son.
Instead, my Aspie-son walked up to me, put his arm around me. Walking out to the car with me he said, “I know you are just trying to make the best birthday for your daughter and this is very frustrating. Don’t worry. You are a wonderful mom. You are doing such a great job. Little Lou will love her party. You are a great mom!”
I got in the car and started to cry. I wasn’t crying because of the frustration though. I was crying to see the tiny twinkle of my son’s sweet side. It is a side I don’t get to see very often right now. Knowing that it still exists was like a drink of water in the middle of the desert.