“A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece.” ~Ludwig Erhard
Wednesday night, as I’m diligently tap-tap-tapping away on the keyboard trying to type something up for Jacob for homework, Clyn is in the kitchen which adjoins our computer area and he says to me, “Sweetie”, (this is what he always calls me, but I know he’s about to ask me for something and I’m really in no mood), “Sweetie, can you make something, some kind of treat, I can take into work to share?” He did ask nicely. Apparently, there are other co-workers who bring in home-baked treats from time to time??
I slowly turn my head (though it’s hard to keep it from spinning all around like something out of the Exorcist) and shoot him the dagger look. And I politely say, “Have you lost your MIND??? Do I look like I can be Miss Betty Crocker and whip you something up right quick??” I did kinda go off on him, but man I was so tired when he asked me that and things have been so crazy lately and it just hit me all kinds of wrong. Then I asked him, when would he like to have this “treat”. He sheepishly said, “maybe Friday??” I gave him the “don’t-count-on-it-right-eyebrow-raise” look and kept on typing.
Well, about 11:00 last night, I started feeling really bad about it. It was 11 pm, after everyone’s homework had been said and done and Clyn and the kids were in bed and the dog had been out to pee and I was tarrrrred–which is Southern for really, really tired.
Poor Clyn. He gets so neglected. Seriously. I feel bad because when he walks in the door from work, it’s probably like coming into some war zone somewhere. He is exhausted and we’re usually in the midst of some homework crisis and I’m cracking that whip on Jacob, “C’mon buddy, let’s just get this next one done”…all the while I’m trying to get supper cooked and help Emma too and the dog’s barking and the bird’s tweeting. It’s crazy. So he leaves one crazy place and heads right into another crazy place. It can’t be easy. He probably opens the door and wants to run away–far, far away.
So I got to thinking. He doesn’t ask for much.
And at 11:00 last night, I whip out my box of Duncan Hines Lemon cake mix and bake him up a delectable Bundt cake (thanks to the doctored up recipe from the side of the box), complete with a glaze of lemony deliciousness. A treat any man would be proud to serve his co-workers–I think. That means it was half-past really really late when I dragged my weary butt to bed last night, er, this morning? So I’m still tarrrrred today. What else is new?
But the look on his face this morning when he saw the Beautiful Bundt was so worth it all. Wish I had a picture.