Peace of Cake

People always warn you against giving your kids cake because they'll be bouncing off the walls, but I've found the opposite to be the case. I went to my friend Sarah's birthday party last night with the boys. I'd taken the boys there once before and vowed never to do it again. They have a marketable talent when it comes to testing a house for "child-proofness." I swear I could charge new parents $50 a pop to have my kids test their homes out for just 3 minutes and make a quick fortune. It would probably pay for college. Sarah's house has scalable furniture, thousands of dollars worth of fragile things within reach, and even one of those wrought iron fireplace tool sets. It is the wrong place to set the boys free.

But they're not to be blamed. Being a little kid is very confusing. There's a lot of inner turmoil. Little ones are plagued with such conflicting desires: wanting freedom and independence but also needing security and safety, seeking parental approval but needing to head butt daddy in the crotch when he's texting, not wanting daddy to get evicted from his upstairs one-bedroom apartment but jumping off the bed at 6am is a blast, it's nuts! This inner battle fuels destructive behavior and the need to smash glass figurines with a wireless keyboard.

Fortunately, last night there were balloons. Sarah's daughter had littered the floor with dozens of balloons which was a perfect means to sublimate Finn and Liam's rampage long enough for me to say a quick happy birthday and down a glass of wine. I figured that would be it for my visit, but…

Lo'…there was cake. 

Plop a little cake down in front of a small child and suddenly their confusing world becomes very simple. The entire universe around them, and the conflict raging within, becomes hazy, out of focus, and very quiet. Nothing exists but them and a piece of cake.

Nirvana

I had a second glass of wine.