I don't think I ever want to see another box of Duncan Hines again. The economic changes in our lives mean that the Publix Bakery can't rescue me from my disastrous ineptitude in the kitchen. At 1:00 this afternoon, I set about cracking eggs and mixing batter. At 10:00 this evening, I finally set down my spatula and took inventory. I have 56 sad little frosted cupcakes and 12 rejects. Six were snarfed down by my husband and kids (okay, and by me), and a dozen never made it past the batter stage because I was just too tired to muster up the energy to pour anything else into cute little cupcake liners.
Now I'm sitting here wondering if five-year-olds care if my cupcakes are lopsided. Tomorrow I will buy those nasty Cheese Puffs I only let my kids eat on rare occasions and embrace the fact I will be covered in Capri Sun and processed orange dust for the majority of the afternoon. It's likely I'll have a little frosting in my hair, much like I did today when I showed up for a 4:30 appointment without having bothered to check a mirror before I left the house. I'm hoping it will all be worth it when I see Hudson and Lawson karate chopping with their friends, and I manage to scarf down a few more cupcakes while no one is looking.