Kool-Aid and Kryptonite

Mr. C's birthday was a few weeks ago.

"What do you want to do for your birthday?" I asked the month before. 

"Can you build another castle?" he asked.


Remembering the lead-up to that particular ghetto-chic affair, I gently but emphatically said, "NO!".  I have Cub Scout events to produce, a school Carnival for which I'm supposed to start planning games, Bee is out of town 3/4 of the weekends in July for extra art shows, and -- as a result of needing enough product for those extra shows -- we have double the workload in the shop all month long.

 "But maybe something like it?  Like a spaceship?  We could have a space party," Mr. C suggested.

Curses!  The child knows my Kryptonite!  With the mere suggestion of a theme, I suddenly felt the need to throw myself into two hours of online research into space games, galaxy decor, universe food, and astronaut goody-bags (freeze-dried ice cream, anyone?). 

Bleary-eyed and headache-y from staring at a screen so long, I stumbled out to greet Bee as he returned from whatever he'd been doing at the time.  Mr. C appeared downstairs, as well.

Upon hearing of my plans, Bee rolled his eyes.  "Why not just invite a couple of friends to the pool?" he asked.

"Oh.  OK," said traitorous Mr. C, then trotted up to his room.

And I wanted to protest.  I wanted to point out that he'd only be able to have a few friends at the pool, whereas he could have many more at home.  Therefore he'd get less presents.  And there wouldn't be games and cute little decorations . . . or even ghetto-chic ones.  And, furthermore, how could I possibly fit freeze-dried ice cream into a pool theme?  (And don't give me any practical suggestions.)

I felt like I was cheating by having the party elsewhere.  I wanted to exercise my creativity, despite the stress of my current enormous workload.  I wanted the chance to be -- I mean, for my child to be -- the center of perfect-party attention.

Luckily, I realized all my reasons were shallow, so I finally agreed to the stupid pool party.  (I may have realized the pool was the better choice, but that doesn't mean I was entirely graceful about it.)

Since I was cheated from doing the whole party experience, all that was left for my crumbled self-esteem was the cake.  It needed to be fabulous.  I dragged out the sheaf of recipes I've been saving of marvelous-sounding cakes I just needed a convenient excuse to make.  Once again, however, my child threw a wrench into the proceeding when I asked him what flavor cake he wanted.

"Grape," he promptly replied.

Grape?!  "How about this one?" I tried, attempting to redirect him with a picture of a Brown Sugar Confetti Cake.

He pretended to study it for a second.  "No, I think grape," he concluded.

Now I had to find a recipe for a cake flavor of which I'd never heard.  And, as I suspected, the "grape cakes" that Google provided me with sounded disgusting.  I despaired of creating a cake I'd be proud of, until . . .

. . . I discovered Apocalypse Cakes and, more specifically, their Jonestown Kool-Aid Cake.   (You've got to love a recipe whose very first step is to "Preheat oven to 350 and think about how you’re going to keep it together tomorrow at work.") 

[Please note that, although this particular cake is filed on the website under "Cults", there are "Judgement" cakes (like the Fallen Angel Food Cake) and cakes such as the Sodom and Gomorrah Fruitcake (should you have a"Divine Geographic Leveling" occasion for which you need an apropos dessert).]

[As a further side note, the brilliant website also pays homage to Queen Martha's "gentle reminders and helpful hints" calendar that is included with every issue of her Living Magazine.  According to Apocalypse Cakes, Martha's Spring Apocalypse Calendar includes such to-do's as painting and installing decorative barbed wire and having Easter brunch with the Whore of Babylon.] 

At any rate, the Jonestown Kool-Aid Cake basically entails mixing up a box of cake mix with a packet of grape Kool-Aid, the end result which I found odd, but our guests all found delightful.

"Oh, and I want it decorated with a rainbow and a pot of gold with caramel in it and a drawing of me saying Happy Birthday Mr. C on it," added my child.  That same child who doesn't understand that actually decorating cakes sends me into a panic, particularly once I make the mistake of Googling "rainbow cakes" and seeing all the beautifully-professional photos that have been uploaded there.

We compromised rather well, I think, ending with a Skittles Rainbow and a licorice pot of gold, accompanied by some chicken-scratch writing and a lovingly-done stick-figure portrait:

Whilst at the grocery store to buy cake ingredients the day before the party, I realized I ought to have gift bags for the two little invitees.  So I hastily bought some bright water bottles, extra Kool-Aid packets, vari-colored Goldfish crackers, sparkly stickers, and threw these into a bag with the leftover Skittles bought for cake-decorating.  It may not have been a perfectly-executed space motif, but at least I contented myself by squeezing in a "rainbow" theme.

The outing was fun, and we took them to a local park afterwards for some pizza.  It was simple, it was good, and Mr. C enjoyed his day.  And that's all that's important, right?

But don't worry about me not being able to express my creativity: I'm STILL going all out for the "Pirate Party!" I'm planning for next month's Cub Scout meeting.