Adventures in Cupcaking

I love stories. Mad stories. Sad stories. Funny stories. Sunny stories. And apparently, stories that rhyme terribly. Hmm…

Sometimes I write stories. Mad stories. Sad stories. Funny stories. Sunny stories. And thankfully, never any rhyming stories. Whew…

Some short stories lie unfinished; some are lost in misplaced notebooks; some remain only in my head. But there are a few silly ones that have made it to the finish line. In a hasty, unedited, careless way, perhaps. But they’ve made it and even if they may not be perfect or literary, they give joy, in their own sweet, delicious, little way.

For that’s what they are – sweet, delicious cupcake stories written by a mom for her girl. A mom, who worries about her daughter and at times, feels responsible for the anxiety she has caused in her little life. A sick mom is no fun at all, and at times, just plain scary. And no child should have to go through that. And for so long. We’ve done our best to offer assurance. We’ve done our best to let her know that she is in no way responsible. We’ve done our best to let her know that she’s going to be okay – no matter what.

And sometimes, instead of worrying, I write her stories. Stories of cupcakes and yummy treats, and instead of putting a cherry on the top, I sneak in a message.

And whether or not I get the message across, I have smiled.

I have smiled at the opportunity to narrate sweet adventures in cupcaking, filled with fantasy and frosting and everyday life.

She has smiled while reading:

I’m Kiana and I think a lot. Well, most of my thoughts are of cupcakes. My mom says that I have a sweet tooth and my dad says that I have a sweet brain to have so many sugary cupcake thoughts. My grandpa says I have a sweet little head to fit so many sugary dreams. I love that idea. I love my grandpa.

I have smiled at the opportunity to express, to share, to offer advice via cupcakes and madeleines.

The chocolate cake mountains stand tall and the soft sponge cake clouds drift ever so slowly. Watch out for the jelly bean gravel – for it can be tricky to walk on, but it’s ever so colorful. 

I have smiled. For writing about it has allowed me to see the humor. Take for instance piano practice:

She sat down on the bench – oooh the kids were already outside. What? Were they playing pirates again?

“Kiana, get going…” called out her mother from the kitchen.

She stared at her books. Then flapped the pages noisily till she reached her page. She reached out to grab a pencil, but it slipped and fell. She stretched out on the piano bench on her tummy and reached down to get it.

Hey, this is fun! I’m in a boat, and need to rescue the pencil from drowning in the deep, dangerous ocean. Swim harder pencil, I’ll save you! Don’t lose courage! Hurry hurry! The sharks are catching up! Faster faster! Keep flapping your pencily arms. Reach out… We can do this!

Kiana heaved and wriggled on the bench, bending over from one side, reaching down, shouting assurances to the poor pencil drowning into the carpet… Finally, her fingers touched the pencil. “You are safe. You are safe,” she shouted out. I got you, my friend. She clutched the pencil and suddenly noticed her mom standing above watching her… She looked visibly cross.

I have smiled to hear her say, “You should make these into books, mom”. It’s funny how our kids are always there to encourage us.

I have smiled – for it has been fun and it has made sense. And whether or not I ever turn them into anything else, it will always be a fun and meaningful memory. And now...

I think I’ll take a little stroll down the graham cracker paved streets and sit for a while on the benches with comfy madeleine seats. It’s so pleasant to sit here, against the gingerbread lamppost and listen to the splash of the lemonade waterfall…