Today was an interesting day. In lots of ways. My dad had his 100 year party. Yes, my dad is that old. My mom is 80, so they have a big age difference.
I had promised to make the cake. Or cakes, as I had to make enough for 60 people. That meant three cakes, as one of them had to be gluten free. I surfed the net and read that 18 eggs should be enough for 60 people.
But the recipe I had asked a colleague to give me had only instructions for 6 or 8 egg cake. Sure, I can half the 8 egg cake but if I have never done that before how big is the risk that it goes bad? And I wanted to make three layer cakes, so if I am making them in a pan and every recipe is for 4 eggs – so how badly do I screw that up if I just use three eggs…
So in the end there were two 12 egg big cakes and one 6 egg gluten free cake. I thought that was plenty. I had never baked for that many people. I used 30 eggs, and 18 was enough. But not much was left, so it must have been good.
And while at the party I saw a two month old baby. And all I could think was how cute and adorable he was. I did not want to snap him from him mother’s arms, I did not feel jealous. Does that mean I’m totally cured? At least it feels like I am.
And it felt bad to play the happy family. I can just not put up a happy face and pretend all is well. But it seems I can hide that I could actually care less. But it is so, so hard to appear in situations like this and act like all is well when it is just the opposite.