A cake story

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

I had spent three and a half hours at the VW dealership which was about three hours longer than I expected. I had spent $150 which was about $130 more than I could afford to spend. Isn't that the way it always goes with cars? Something is always leaking or flat or old or broke, which is also an apt way to describe what it feels like postpartum. 

I had taken our car in for a routine safety recall thing that needed to be replaced, and asked to get a tire rotation while I was there but found out that the tires were not aligned properly and the weights were the wrongs ones (whatever that means.) I debated in my head whether or not I was being fleeced or if this nice man named Jack was really trying to help me to not have to spend a lot more money down the road when our tires went to shit because I didn't get the alignment done when I should've. I mean, how was I supposed to know? I'm not a car savvy person and the printouts looked convincing and it makes sense given that the last set of tires were put on "as a favor." So I decided to trust the expert and get on with it. That didn't stop me from crying in the waiting room that looked like it was straight out of a catalog and silently hating the couple buying a 2017 Passat. She had a Louis Vuitton bag and he had Bradley Cooper hair and their baby was really cute. 

I sat there in my pajama top and greasy hair and allowed myself to be swallowed up by jealousy and rage and despair and frustration that I'll never be where I think I'm supposed to be, that there will never be enough money. 

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It was also Theo's birthday. The plan was to do the quick car thing and then head home to make his cake and have it ready for him when he got home from school. One little detail—he requested a vegan cake because he's decided he's now vegan like his dad. But I was prepared. I had bought the almond flour and potato starch and unsweetened applesauce. The recipe looked pretty simple. And it was. But I had failed to fully read the recipe and neglected to note that it was best to let the layers cool in the fridge for 6 hours or even overnight if possible; thus, as I tried to transfer the cakes from the pans to the cooling rack it all fell apart, literally. I quickly followed suit. I was crying and cursing and trying desperately to salvage what I could. I wanted to be able to give him this cake, this beautiful and vegan cake that I had made with my own two hands, for him. I wanted to feel some control over this one thing. In my head I was thinking: if at this point it seems like you can't give him college or even summer camp, at least give him this cake, you fucking failure.

Ev quietly stood beside me and said: It's ok mom, you did your best. 

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This isn't really a story about cake but a story about money. I have very mixed feelings about writing this in the first place because money is awkward. If you think I'm being a little too melodramatic (or a lot) and whiny, you're probably right. The term 'wallowing in self pity' is not too far off the mark. There are obviously folks who have it far worse than I do. We have enough money, I suppose, because there is food in the fridge and I'm writing this on my computer with the carpet of our apartment soft on my feet; but the possibility of getting out of the cycle of living paycheck to paycheck feels untenable because here's the truth: we have debt and sometimes it's a struggle to make all the minimum payments and buy groceries and those things make me feel ashamed and insecure and embarrassed. It is my kryptonite, it's what I obsess about. I have wondered how we got here, but I know. It's a combination of moving often and going to college and a fluctuating income and me staying home with the kids through the years and some poor decisions and a few unforeseen costs as well, like car expenses and cavities. I've often thought about whether not having a lot of money is akin to moral failure and a result of making poor choices and too many excuses; or if it's more complicated than that, if there are other factors involved. 

Money is so tricky, because even money isn't always about money. Money is often about status and success and what you've done to achieve that money, and if I don't have any money, then what am I doing with my life? We all know that money is not supposed to be what defines us, but while it's true that we can't take it with us when we die, it's also equally true it's quite tough to live without it. George Bailey said it best when replying to Clarence, who told George that they don't use money in heaven: "Well, it comes in real handy down here, bud!"

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I managed to save one of the two layers of cake. I covered the cracks with frosting and piled it with cut up strawberries and it actually looked quite nice. It tasted good, too. Theo didn't know it was supposed to be an inch or so taller. We sang happy birthday as he smiled his shy smile and Sophie only ate the icing and the half eaten rest of the cake went in the fridge, the insides exposed, broken and yet beautiful. But was I only seeing what I wanted to see, trying to find redemption where it didn't exist? Was this just a cake pretending to be regal and poised with it's snow white frosting, when on the inside it was fractured, not whole? Or is that the point of redemption? That is has to be intentionally sought out and dug up from under the weeds because we are all broken in some way? Can it be true that there is beauty in spite of and maybe even because of the brokenness and there is still work to be done and we can do better but we're also trying our best, all at the same time? Does looking for beauty and hope erase the reality of the pain and injustice and wrongs that afflict this world? 

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In the middle of this writing, Sophie and I took a walk after the rain stopped and I smelled that fresh mulch smell. A man cutting the grass stopped his mower so Sophie and I could pass, and as we did, he said: It's a beautiful day, isn't it? It really was. There were leftover raindrops on budding petals and two huge pink trees framed a yellow house. Sophie skipped beside me in red rain boots, healthy and happy and safe and curious, as children should be. The wind was warm.