The Jury Is In ~ I'm Still Guilty As Charged

Paisley, lovin' that cake batter!

Twenty-five years ago nobody was busting my chops over this, but now...honey let me tell you...times they have a changed. 
    For starters, don't even think about baking your little darlin a booze laced birthday cake let alone let them have a little red beer for breakfast.  And God forbid don't get caught slipping them a baby Ambien.  I'm here to tell you, shit WILL hit the fan. 
     Along with The Big Guy, Paisley is the love of my life, and in just a few days she will turn two.  I offered to make her a birthday cake but her mother turned me down, likely because she is still holding a grudge about that whole Kahlua Cheesecake thing on HER 2nd birthday.  
     This is that story.  I'm re-posting it ~ because one, I find it to be hilarious even though Paisley's mom, who IS currently speaking to me, does not.  And two, I think it's some of my best work. 
     Read this and tell me that you haven't had the same conversation with your adult daughter. You have, you know you have. Haven't you?

Paisley’s mom (who I will refer to as “The Prosecutor,” in this piece) was grilling me like she was suspicious about whether or not I was her biological mother.

     “How old was I when I rolled over? What was my first word? At what age did I crawl? What about when I got my first tooth?"

The Prosecutor and my next victim - circa 2011

     Ok, here’s the truth: I don’t remember what size pants I wear without looking at the tag and suddenly I’m supposed to remember little details from twenty-three years go. Not happening—I think I may have slept since then. 

     “Just go get your baby book and look in there,” I told her, “I’m sure I wrote it all down.”  All was going well as we looked back over that first year. Milestones were duly noted, snippets of hair displayed and the tooth chart was appropriately numbered in order, complete with date.

     Then we came to the page marked 1st  Birthday.  Smiling baby…check. Cake…check. One candle, party hat and presents…check, check and check.  I’m sure my Mother of the Year award was just out of camera range. So far, so good.

     Then we flipped the page to her 2nd Birthday.
     “What the hell is that?” The Prosecutor demanded, pointing at a photo. I leaned in to take a closer look and to read what I had so thoughtfully written, which said something about the fact that I had baked her a Kahlua cheesecake and that we had had a…ahem, “private party” (read; no guests).  Court was now in session.
     “You baked me a Kahlua cheesecake?” The Prosecutor said, like it was a crime.
     “What’s wrong with that?” I asked her, "Kahlua cheesecake is good."
     “I was two Mom,” she snarled, pointing the peace sign at me like she was picking me out of a lineup. “Why would you bake a two year old a cake with booze in it?”
     “Hey, it’s not like it had rat poison in it,” I said. “And at least I put your picture in the book,” I pointed out, dodging her question which was shaped like a bullet. She leaned in and upon closer examination of Exhibit A noticed that there was only about two-thirds of a Kahlua cheesecake with two mismatched candles, which caused her to cross examine me even further.
     “And look at that cake, where is the rest of it?  It looks like some cake that was baked a few days before and then at the last minute had a couple of candles stuck in it,” she said, accusing me of the unthinkable. 

The Prosecutor and her Kahlua Cheesecake on her 2nd Birthday
(Notice the missing chunk?)

    “Well you look happy and you are smiling,” I pointed out.
     “You forgot my birthday didn’t you?" she said, demanding the truth. “And where are my friends and my party hat?” The Prosecutor asked, cross-examining me.   

     “You didn’t have any friends and I’m pretty sure the cake wasn’t leftover. I think we cut it before we took the picture,” I said, perjuring myself even further.
      “Aha! You forgot my birthday and you fed me a leftover Kahlua cheesecake," she said, like Child Protective Services should have been notified.

      "Oh my God, it wasn’t like it was your first one,” I said, before I had thought to plead the 5th. "And give me a break—it was a Kahlua cheesecake not a vodka cheesecake," I said in a last ditch attempt to save my aforementioned Mother of the Year award.

      She wasn't buying it.  She demanded to know what kind of cake I had made for her 3rd birthday.
    "I don’t remember," I told her, "probably Baileys."  I heard the gavel fall as she rested her case.

     Jeez, never mind that I had managed to number all her teeth on the dental chart or that I had her immunizations up to the minute.  Noooo, bake a baby a Kahlua cheesecake and you could wind up in the electric chair.

     "Let me make it up to you," I said, "I’ll make Paisley her 1st Birthday cake."

     "You do and I'm seeking the death penalty," The Prosecutor said.

The Prosecutor on her 2nd Birthday.
Do you think she looks happy, or is just me?

Of course I am posting the recipe for Kahlua cheesecake (which by the way came from her Aunt Valli more than 20 years ago.) which is the one pictured above. If you decide to make it for your kids/grandkids birthday have an alibi and an attorney ready.  Go to the "Desserts" tab at the top of this page to view it.