Fire Cake

I'm pretty sure it was just yesterday that my son climbed out of my womb. And I use the word "climbed" rather loosely in this instance as my baby was in no hurry to go anywhere fast. Apparently, I have a very hospitable uterus. Anyway. My little boy's last day of his first year of preschool was yesterday which, I do realize, is impossible. I went to sleep in that hospital bed and woke up nearly four years later and my son was all, "Hey, mom! I'm done with my first year of school!" He hugged one of his teachers and she started crying which, in turn, made me choke up. Thankfully, I have a strict policy against personal public crying and I managed to hold my own tears back. But it was incredibly difficult because suddenly he looked so...big. He pulled me toward the door and I was struck with this feeling that I blinked and four years flew by. This is totally unfair because I distinctly remember telling myself not to blink.

On Tuesday, Garrett's second to last day of preschool, our friend took him because we were out of town. Along the way he informed her that he wanted a fire cake for his birthday at Lake Tahoe. (It just so happens that we'll be in Tahoe on July 20 which, I happen to think, is the best place ever to celebrate turning four three again. Apparently, for Garrett, it is only the second best place because for awhile there he kept informing people that his parents were taking him to Hawaii for his birthday. Aside from being completely untrue, this gave the impression that we not only had large volumes of money, we also spoiled our son beyond comprehension. "And for your fourth second annual third birthday you shall receive a trip to Maui! Yeah!") So our friend asked him what a fire cake was and he couldn't exactly explain it to her. She relayed the information to me.

I was stumped.

"Garrett, honey, what kind of cake do you want for your birthday?" I asked him later.

"A fire cake!"

"What's a fire cake?"

"You know, with flames going, 'squiasquiaferrrr,' all over it." He replied and made quick flick-type motions with his fingers.

I was so confused. I imagined that he wanted me to set fire to his cake and the only dessert I could think of was creme brulee--which I'm pretty sure he's never had. (I had the most delicious creme brulee from Todai while Troy and I were on our two day getaway but that's really neither here nor there.) "I don't actually know what you mean. Do you think that any old cake would do?" I asked.

If looks could break hearts in two the one I received would surely have killed me. It was desperately dejected. "Okay," he sighed.

I tried cheering him up by telling him how awesome it would be. He seemed unconvinced. Later I called my mom and asked her if she had a clue what a fire cake was. She didn't. After we brainstormed and decided that we could make a cake and stick a fire truck on top I said something to the effect of, "Does he want me to light his cake on fire?"

And that's when it dawned on me. That's the precise moment that I realized what my little boy meant. Do you have any idea? Am I the only one who didn't have a single solitary clue what my kid was talking about?