As I’ve been recounting my story and how I got into this cake/birthday craziness, I keep getting drawn back to one of the very first birthday parties I ever threw at My Father’s House.  This was WAY before I really saw myself as cake decorator or would even call myself a baker.  Ten years ago, I was clueless about cake design and I had no idea what fondant was.  But I’ve always loved and valued birthdays and I wanted to stop the small tragedies of missed birthdays to stop for good at MFH.

Case in point…this cutie:

Nick* was an almost 5-year-old boy who had moved into our family homeless shelter after being recently reunited with his single father.  Their story was so heartbreaking, I didn’t want to believe it was true, but here’s the gist: Nick had been in full custody of his mother since birth but his mom had succumbed to a dangerous life of drug addiction. The state had become involved and pulled Nick from the meth house where he had been seriously neglected and abuse.  After being removed from his mother’s custody, Nick’s father suddenly became his full-time guardian after years of having very little contact with his son.  Needing a stable place to start their new life together as a family, they were accepted to the program at MFH with open arms.

It was cute and awkward to see Nick with his dad; a tatoo-covered but soft spoken twenty-something who was still in shock of getting his son back after nearly 5 years of absence.  They were really just getting to know each other for the first time and there were rocky moments, especially considering the trauma Nick had just experienced.  But Nick’s dad was desperately trying make up for some of the years they had lost by being the best dad he could be.

As Nick’s birthday approached, I started asking Nick what presents he would like or if he had a theme that he would like for his party.  I was sadly shocked when we started to discover Nick had no memory of ever having a birthday party in his life.  In fact, he didn’t even seem to know much about birthdays in general, as he would give you a blank stare or confused look whenever the subject came up.  Before he had come to MFH, there hadn’t been many people in his life who had taken the time to care for his basic needs, let alone notice when his birthday came and went.

I can’t even describe the injustice I felt when I heard about Nick’s missed birthdays. Of course, Nick’s experiences of abuse and neglect, family instability, and poverty were more serious issues than some forgotten birthdays.  The lost birthdays were just a symptom of much bigger root issues of a dysfunctional family life. But still, my heart ached because I felt a birthday should be when life is celebrated and cherished.  I wondered, if no one valued Nick on the day they were supposed to, did he ever feel truly loved? I hated that I had to ask the question.

I knew Nick’s party would need to be special to make up for so many years of failed birthdays.  And the first thing that comes to mind when I think “special birthday” is there absolutely must be a homemade cake.  Not that a store-bought cake is the worst birthday sin- there have definitely been many parties I’ve thrown that simply would not have had a dessert without a little help from the neighborhood grocery store.  But I just know when I was little, I absolutely loved when my mom made my birthday cake.  There is something so personal and sweet when someone takes the time create a baked good in your honor.  So I set out to make one of my first homemade birthday cakes, in the hopes this simple act could communicate Nick was valued and cared for as he started a new chapter of his life.

During this time of my life, I was having a ball playing house as a newlywed and I was breaking in my brand new bakeware and kitchen gadgets at lightening speed.  I would bring culinary goodies home from my part-time job at Whole Foods, tie on a stylish apron, crank up my Amelie soundtrack and whip up whatever my heart fancied.  I would call it the beginning of my culinary awakening, as I fell in love with the art of creating delicious food. However, my cooking and baking was not without trial and error- I had many cakes half-stuck in pans, curdled custards, and frisbee-hard pie crusts.  But it was all fun, and I remember being thrilled to have a new food challenge as I started planning Nick’s cake.

One trip to the local cake decorating shop for silver luster powder and two boxes of cake mix later, and I had my first birthday masterpiece:

Cute, right? 

On the day of Nick’s party, I remember being SO excited to see the look on Nick’s face when he saw all the decorations and the cake.  We had gathered some gifts from the shelter’s shed where we kept the extra presents left over from Christmas. What a unique experience to be able to see a 5-year-old child have their first birthday party- I couldn’t hardly wait for him to walk in the door.  And so we waited for him to come home with his dad to unveil all the surprises we had planned.  And waited….and waited….

We had planned the party for 5pm and at about 5:45pm I was beginning to think I was going to be another witness to a failed birthday attempt for Nick.  They finally arrived about an hour late, and although I was getting a bit peeved, I knew I needed to extend grace to Nick’s dad.  After all, he was brand new to being a parent.

Anyway, once we saw the ecstatic smile on Nick’s face all was forgiven and we were swept up into his contagious joy as he opened his small pile of presents.  When it came time for the cake, Nick initially bounced up and down with excitement, but as we started singing he began to squirm and cover his face.  We gently explained that he was supposed to blow out his candles and make a wish, but he just violently shook his head and continued to bury his face in his hands. After several moments of unproductive coaxing, his dad eventually blew out the candles for him.  It was normal behavior for maybe a toddler, but all the 5-year-olds I know are usually thrilled with this simple ritual and Nick was not typically a shy or scared kid. Who knows what was going on in his little head.  Maybe he was overwhelmed by all the attention or confused at what he was supposed to do. Even though we weren’t able to understand exactly why he reacted this way, his behavior definitely confirmed the whole birthday experience was new for Nick.

After the candles were blown out, he was all smiles again and dove into his cake with the wild abandon that only little kids usually display around sugar-  I remember he licked all the frosting off his cake first.  Then he zoomed outside with his dad to try out his new remote control car, laughing and shrieking in delight.  Nick’s first birthday party had been a success.

When I think of moments that “wreck” us, I’m thinking of when we witness an injustice that tears at our hearts and leaves us unable to move forward in life without taking action.  For some it could be visiting a different country and witnessing extreme poverty; for others it could be as simple as watching a powerful film or reading a book which changes their perspective on an issue they didn’t fully understand.  These experiences mess us up in a good way- they not only cause us to bring positive change in this world, but they ultimately bring us closer to the heartbeat of God.

Nick’s birthday was one of those wrecking moments for me.  At the time, I felt I didn’t have many skills or professional experience to address the root causes of homeless with the families at the shelter.  I wasn’t a social worker or a therapist- but I could throw a party for a kid who needed a little extra love.  I knew simple acts of kindness sometimes can have the most affect on a person’s life and organizing a birthday party created normalcy for families amidst an otherwise traumatic time in their lives.  And that’s why I’ve kept on throwing parties at homeless shelters- because it’s a concrete thing that I can do (small as it is), to further the kingdom of God.

So go on out there and get wrecked. I promise you won’t regret it.

On another note, if you want to have a good laugh, go ahead and get cake-wrecked on my favorite cake-related blog: Cake Wrecks  Hi-lar-i-ous.

Side note: I have permission to use some photos, but I am going to change the names in my posts to protect past residents’ privacy.

I love my children, I truly do.  My girls are sweet, affectionate, well-behaved (most of the time) and so hilarious.  But I will admit, between our wild transplant to Denver, our questionable living situation, and Ramona’s inability to sleep for more than three hour stretches, there were times when I felt a wee bit crazy as a stay-at-home mom.

Any person who stays at home with their kids full time (if they are honest) knows the job isn’t always snuggles and Pinterest-inspired craft projects.  For as many great moments of laughter and joy I had, there were also many times where returning to work with grownups sounded pretty appealing.  Like when Ramona went through a phase when she screamed anytime I wasn’t holding her…or when Penny decided to flush a whole roll of toilet paper down the toilet…or when I had just been thrown up on…again.

It’s true, at times, the luxury of staying home full-time did not always feel like a gift.

I had been used to being extremely busy before we had moved. In Portland I had worked part-time, had been an almost full-time student, and co-managed a transitional housing program.  We had been active in our church, had a full social calendar, and made time to hang out with our parents and other family members on a regular basis.

When we moved to Denver, all that was gone. Life came to a screeching halt and suddenly it was just me and the kids in a basement, trying to get into the swing of a much slower pace of life.

With all my previous responsibilities, relationships, and job titles gone, I was forced to rediscover who I truly was.  I had been used to forming my identity through my job and perhaps even my crazy level of activity.  Busyness can make us feel very important, even if we often complain about the stress.  If I wasn’t busy, was my life meaningful?  Did I have a purpose without a “real” job?  I felt as if someone had stripped me down to my bare bones and forced me to stare in a mirror.  At first, I could barely recognize my own reflection, but gradually God began to reveal who I was apart from my previous career and responsibilities.

I began to realize I had a tremendous opportunity to rediscover how to live with purpose without any expectations from anyone but myself.  I started to do homeschool with Penny, I volunteered at a home for kids with cancer, and I even got a little part-time job at a women’s shelter.  But even with all my new activities , I still felt myself tipping toward depression.

And then there was Micah’s birthday.

He was turning 30.  Needing some fun in our lives, Penny and I agreed Daddy would like a Spiderman party because he is a huge Marvel geek.  I thought making a cake would be a good distraction for me so I delved into google images, flicker and Pinterest to find a good model.  But cakes like this scared me:

I felt like frosting-piped images had too much opportunity for failure- one slip of the wrist and Spiderman could look like his head was exploding or he was melting in hot lava.   I began to realize all my favorite cakes were made with fondant.  But fondant was so intimidating.  How was it made? Wasn’t it expensive? Didn’t fondant kind of taste weird? Didn’t you need a pastry degree and/or magical powers to make a cake look that seamless?

Then I stumbled upon this blog: Amanda’s Cookin’.  She was a novice baker with no experience with fondant, yet she made her own fondant out of marshmallows and described her trials and eventual success in making this cake:

I was inspired and so began my fondant adventure. I watched countless youtube tutorials, made sketches of my cake design and I carefully set out to buy all my ingredients for my little experiment.  I was so excited about making the cake, I would actually toss and turn at night thinking about how I was going to accomplish it.  I thought I would try going to a local cake decorating shop so I could grab a couple of supplies and perhaps some advice.  I was so excited to visit the cake shop: I thought, these are my people- cake people.  Surely they will be helpful and excited to assist me in my project!

So off the girls and I set to Littleton to visit my cake Mecca. After grabbing a fondant smoother, gumpaste and a piping bag, I mentioned to the saleslady that I was going to be attempting to make my own fondant.  She frowned and said, in no uncertain terms, it was impossible to make fondant at home.  I felt myself go clammy- what about all the tutorials I had watched?  But she continued to insist that I would surely break my stand mixer and wouldn’t I rather buy this box of $26 fondant instead….

I guess everyone needs to make a buck, but the experience left me jaded against the snobby cake shop and scared witless to attempt making fondant at home.

However, I was determined and I didn’t have $26 to spend on fancy boxed fondant.  Homemade fondant just has four ingredients: marshmallows, water, vanilla, and powdered sugar.  After the girls went to bed, I stood in my kitchen with great trepidation with these four little ingredients, just certain I was about to embark on a crazy disaster.  I must have beat the fondant in my mixer for over an hour, adding a tiny bit of powdered sugar at a time, waiting to see if my Kitchenaid was going to explode or burn out.  I laugh now, because you really can whip up a batch of fondant in about 15 minutes, but that cake lady had really shaken my confidence.

Luckily, the results were magical. The fondant was like edible playdough- smooth and versatile and it tasted like melted marshmallows. So there, snobby cake lady- yes I could make fondant at home! After letting it set overnight, I started to play around and made my first little edible creations:

My Neighbor Totoro Cupcakes: My first fondant creation

Mario cupcakes soon followed

And then came the main event: covering the cake with fondant.  First I stacked and filled my cake layers:

Then I did a crumb-coat of frosting on the outside of the layers:

And finally, I covered the cake in fondant. I think I had to try this twice to do it without tearing, but fondant is very forgiving and it wasn’t even as difficult as I thought it might be:

Now the hard part was done and I could start playing around.  I ended up with this as my finished cake:

I was so proud of my project and the whole process had given me a huge creative release.  I felt I had found a hobby that could be cathartic for me.  Decorating cakes was so different than parenting or working- it became way I could truly be creative and have an activity that was just for me.  I began to plot my next cake creations, so thrilled with my new hobby that I continued to lose sleep from time to time as I anticipated my next cake project.  This really became the turning point in my transplant to Denver and the darkness that had settled over me since our move started to lift as I threw myself into my new expression of creativity.

Who would have thought a little sugar and marshmallows could have such a positive effect on my life?  And then I started thinking about how my little cake decorating hobby might be able to have an impact on my community around me. But that’s another story….

For now, I will leave you with my recipe for fondant. I’ve made this countless times and it’s been great for all my cake projects.  It tastes so much better than boxed fondant and is WAY cheaper.  And no, it will NOT break your stand mixer- it’s no harder on a mixer than making bread dough. However, you really do need a Kitchenaid or similar stand mixer in order to make it.

Homemade Marshmallow Fondant*

16oz mini marshmallows (I always use Kraft)

2lbs powdered sugar, sifted (Kroger brand works fine or C&H)

3TB water

1 TB pure vanilla extract

Vegetable shortening for greasing

1. Use the shortening to grease a large microwavable bowl for the marshmallows, the mixer bowl, your dough hook, and a sturdy spatula.
2. Sift the powdered sugar.  Reserve one cup to the side.
3. Put the marshmallows into the microwaveable bowl and add the water and vanilla.  Microwave in 30 second intervals until milted, stirring with rubber spatula in between intervals.  Pour the melted marshmallows into the greased mixer bowl.
4. Add the powdered sugar to the melted marshmallows.  Lock the mixer and cover the opening with plastic wrap to keep the powdered sugar from coming out.  Turn mixer on low and mix for several minutes until the sugar seems to have incorporated for the most part.  If still sticky, begin adding reserved powdered sugar.  (I almost always use all of the powdered sugar and it’s very dry here in Denver).  Should feel like clay or playdough and shouldn’t stick to your fingers if they are just slightly greasy.
5. Scrape fondant onto a greased counter top and knead a few times by hand with slightly greased hands. Wrap in plastic wrap and allow to rest for a minimum of 4 hours, overnight is best.
6. To add coloring, do not use liquid food coloring. Use paste or gel colorings to a handful of fondant, then mix that piece into a larger batch.  You can also color the fondant by adding the color to the melted marshmallows before adding the powdered sugar.
7.   Cover work surface with cornstarch/powdered sugar blend. Roll out fondant to ¼” thickness.

Yields 3lbs of fondant- enough to cover a 9 inch cake with extra left over.

Notes: If the fondant is very firm, you can warm it up slightly in the microwave before rolling it out to make it more pliable.

If you buy the marshmallows in a 1lb package and the powdered sugar in 2 lb package, you can whip this up quickly because you don’t even have to measure hardly any of our ingredients.  Besides, I have found using the freshest marshmallows yields the best results. If you use 1/2 a package of dried out marshmallows, it becomes a guessing game of how much powdered sugar you will need to get the right consistency.

*Adapted from Amanda’s Cookin‘ fondant recipe

Have fun, and don’t let the snobby cake ladies in life crush your dreams!

The first time I walked into my new home in Denver, I burst into tears.  Mind you, it was late at night and I had just traveled on a plane with a newborn, a three-year-old and a cat.  I was exhausted, all of my belongings were piled in chaos, and postpartum hormones were still wreaking havoc on my emotional stability.  All that aside, as I descended down the dark staircase into our basement apartment, I had a sinking feeling my standard of living was about to have an adjustment.

Here’s where we moved:

 We lived in the basement of this duplex for the first year and a half of our new life in Denver

We knew we had moved to one of the worst areas of the city.  Micah had to start his new job as a math teacher just two weeks after our daughter, Ramona, was born and I had sent him ahead to find us a place to live while I recovered.  Time was tight, as was our budget.  Our previous home had been at a transitional housing program as the managers- we were used to poor areas and people who were rough around the edges.

But now we were alone in a strange city, far away from all the people we loved and the community we were accustomed to.  At times, our living situation was just plain scary.  I would sit late at night as our neighbors screamed at each other with my hand on my phone, not sure if I should risk a confrontation or just talk to them when they were sober (which was rare).

In addition to our sketchy housing situation, there was an overwhelming darkness and oppression in our neighborhood and I felt powerless to change it. Our basement apartment was literally dark as well- though the Colorado sun was shining, our tiny windows didn’t offer much daylight.  With it’s low cement walls, I often felt like I lived in a bomb shelter.

I found the darkness didn’t contain itself to my surroundings- it began to settle on my mind and heart as well.  The first few months, I battled through feelings of isolation, loss of direction, and plain good ol’ homesickness. More than a few moments I wondered if we had made the right decision to leave Portland.

I don’t want to paint the picture too grim- there were many incredible blessings that carried me through those first rough months in Denver.  Here’s a few:

Cultivating a new community of friends:

Making our first “orphans” Thanksgiving dinner with the Starrs, our dear friends who transplanted to Denver just a few months prior to us and who became our Colorado family

Pre-Christmas dinner with the Starrs and the Lunds

Penny making new friends

Exploring our beautiful new landscape:

Coyote Song Trail at South Valley Park

Rocky Mountain National Park

Ice formation in Georgetown, CO

Beautiful Golden, CO

Dayhike at Lair O’ the Bear

Visits from family and friends:

 My kindred spirit, Bethany visited for a birthday surprise

Penny with her Papa

And moments like these:

In those first months of transition, I did my best to count my blessings and trust God had opened up this opportunity to our family for a reason.

But adjusting wasn’t easy.  Yet no one had ever promised it would be.

Unearthing Buried Treasure

One really cool aspect of our house was we had an enormous backyard.  Mind you, it wasn’t fenced and had been basically used as a dump for the neighborhood as long as any of our neighbors could remember, but there was a hidden charm to that 1/3 of an acre.  In return for a spaghetti lunch, my friend Mark helped carry out mounds and mounds of trash, old furniture, and even a dead dog (yes, truly).  We weed whacked, cut back the poor overgrown trees, and turned it into an almost-suitable place for children to play again.

 We had the only backyard on our entire block- the other properties were low-income apartment buildings

 After extracting the trash and dead animals, you could imagine my delight when I discovered the evidence of three very old raised gardening beds.  Penny and I headed out during a warm spring day to see if we could maybe turn the old beds into a “bit o’ earth” where we could grow flowers or veggies.

We found some worms:

Gave the earth a drink:

And to our delight and surprise, after carefully picking out dozens of junk food wrappers and countless shards of broken glass, we discovered these little gems:

Some time ago, someone had planted little red potatoes in that mess of a backyard.  The discovery was so unexpected, we felt like we had found buried treasure in a pile of rubble. As I fried them up for dinner that night, I felt a kind of nervous excitement and I knew God was at work.  It may sound silly, but it was as if those potatoes were a little sign of hope for me- that amidst the darkness and the struggle, God was going to do a new work in me that was going to be life-changing and surprising. Deliciously surprising as it turned out, because my life-change was going to come in the form of a cake.

So that’s what I’m writing this blog for- to dig down in the dirt and share the surprises in life; the hope amongst the despair.  I’ve found a hidden talent and passion in cake I’m trying to figure out how to use it to help the broken people in my community.  The first step is to invite you all into my story and ask for your prayers and support as I embark into this sticky adventure.  I’d love if you would check out my other pages, subscribe to my posts, and give me feedback.  I’m hoping to share stories about my cake-making escapades, birthdays at homeless shelters, and maybe a recipe or too in the mix.

Just be prepared: it might be a messy ride.

On the way, I’m holding onto this C.S. Lewis quote: “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.”

Have you ever transplanted to a new city and made new discoveries about yourself in the process?  How have hardships in your life molded you into the person you are today?