Mornings with friends, dump truck cake on the horizon

As Oliver is Bob the Builder and tomorrow turns 3, I've got a dump truck cake to make and am excited about doing so. It must be vanilla with vanilla icing, and he picked out tool candles to grace the top, the same ones Jack had on his two year old cake which was a drill. Funny how such different little boys cycle through similar interests. I've never bought them just "boy" toys or books, and for at least two years, Jack's favorite color was pink. He has a pink bike, wore pink as much as possible, just thought it was "such a pretty color, Mom." I found this infinitely dear and was sorry/irritated when some little girls averred that pink "is just a girl's color" because at that point, he started moving away from it. In my opinion, only a truly confident man wears pink proudly, and at least J still does that. :) Anyway, despite the gender-neutral/equal-opportunity efforts, boys will be boys. It's fascinating to see how innate some stuff is: for my little guys -who are pretty calm on a relative boy-energy scale- demolishing is just beyond appealing, trucks and tools never cease to amaze and be loved, loud noises are fantastic, sirens and flashing lights entice. So we (T is an excellent cake-making assistant and does the majority of the decorative frosting) made Jack a drill cake and the dump truck will soon join the ranks of our fanciful creations. I'm also going to make some chocolate shamrock cupcakes for those who prefer choc!

This morning was spent in the company of dear, old gal pals. We had a little Irish-themed party with soda bread, scones and an assortment of my homemade marmalade, jams and lemon curd. It is such a luxury to talk to friends when you're not interrupted, to laugh together about all manner of stuff, to comfort and listen and just be together. Our kids rarely came up in conversation, and that too was nice; while the children are the centers of our lives right now, we are more than just mothers, and it's comforting to know your relationships transcend the little beings that might have brought you together in the first place.

With that, I'm off to pick up Ol and then head home to make sure I've got all the ingredients I need for baking. Happy Friday!

Exciting

Frances and me!

What do college applications, gardens and cooking have in common?

As I've progressed through my post-college years, I find myself seeking out activities, work and relationships in which I am witness to or a participant in growth of the blossoming sort. Undergraduate admissions work was the first such find, and it has been a nearly-constant in my life since I was involved in the student admissions council in college. I think I recognized really early on that college was the place that allowed me to start fresh, just as me. In every way, Northwestern was a stark opposition to my south Louisiana high school which, overall, I disliked despite being successful there. As a high school freshman, I don't think I had the personal confidence to just be me. I made straight As because that helped me maintain a "good student" identity; I worked hard to make the dance line because it was comprised of a bunch of cool, fun girls who made popularity and all the associated social stuff seem easy; I had a great boyfriend. But none of it ever felt simple or terribly comfortable, and when I got to college, I realized what people had meant when they stressed enrolling in a school that's a great fit for you, academically, socially and so forth. I was me from Day 5 (after I got over horrible nerves) and never looked back. The classes kicked my ass- I was SO far behind my peers who'd attended wonderfully strong, preparatory high schools. I had to learn how to think and analyze and it was a truly arduous process. But along the way, I found my true intellectual passions and I started coming into my own as a student. I like working in college admissions because I get to meet so many kids as they approach the watershed event that one's undergraduate years can be. I read so many essays about kids who hate high school, or who love it, who are yearning for bigger and newer experiences, or who simply want a place in which they'll be accepted and comfortable. I read about kids who are gay and bullied for it, students who have done the most incredible research despite their youthfulness, young men and women who have overcome the most enormous odds and are on the horizon of great lives. It's humbling, and it's exciting. I know what a critically important time my 4 years at Northwestern were for me, how much I learned about myself and the world, and I truly love ushering applicants in or on hopefully similarly excellent paths.

Likewise, gardening is about the hope of success. Patience, nurture, a bit of luck; with those elements, you might just get something wonderful or you might learn what doesn't work. I have definitely had some spectacular failures outside, but with the practice that comes with each passing year of patient trial-and-error, I'm becoming familiar with what works, what I might expect. To be sure, my predilection for perennials helps with the success rate (and is definitely more cost-effective), but I also like that each season, you know something will emerge although you aren't sure quite when or where. Each day right now, I go out and kneel close the ground, looking closely for any small change. Lately, I find something nearly every time. While I wasn't paying attention, the bulbs multiplied, the root systems strengthened themselves, the earth worms worked their magic.

I think, too, I love to cook because of the wonder of what might come to fruition. Kneading, whisking, waiting, watching...the simplest of ingredients can come together to make the most marvelous of tastes. Fresh bread, luxuriant chocolate, homemade pasta, the richness of truffles. When you've made something before, you can anticipate joyfully, the smell, the taste, leftovers, sharing. If you're experimenting anew, a new favorite might be discovered.

In all of these things, nurturing leads to growth; what results is a treat, a reward for effort, time, hope.