"I want my birthday cake to look like the one on the box!" I stamped my foot for emphasis. My mother was my audience for this yearly scene. I didn't want a homemade upside down pineapple cake, carrot cake, angel, pound or sponge cake. I didn't even want a chocolate snickers cake. I wanted the Duncan Hines Strawberry Supreme Layer Cake with White Wispy Frosting that looked like minature ski jumps. Picture perfect. That unattainable pink and white slice of heaven was denied me year after year after year.
My 12th birthday arrived. On the kitchen counter was an empty Duncan Hines Strawberry Supreme Cake box. "Mom, where is it?" I hopped from foot to foot in anticipation. She had baked it in a scratched up 13" x 9" olive green aluminum cake pan. The cream colored homemade frosting was as smooth as my cotton sheets. "Oh," I squeaked, as my eyes welled up.
Perfection: The state of being without fault or defect.
I realized my life was the antithesis of this word.
If my Mom couldn't make a cake taller than two inches, how was my life ever going to be perfect? I studied my Teen magazine. I used a Maybelline Professional Eyelash Curler, but only the lashes on the right eye accomplished that wide-eyed, modelesque-look. The lashes on my left eye looked like they'd been torched with a Bic lighter. Fashion was bandanas of varying sizes and colors wrapped around my body and hair. (fyi: I'm from Kansas). My hair: Dishwater Blond. Never, ever in the history of Breck Shampoo did a model have Dishwater Blond hair.
I had Teen to aspire to. My mother had House Beautiful magazine. However, the interior of our house was the equivalant of my exterior. Remember: cinched eyelashes, hair the color of leftover sink water, and a large red bandana tied around my chest for fashion.
I tried to envision House Beautiful photographers in our home. First, they'd bring in an industrial strength giant vacuum to suck up all the dirty tissues, week-old pb&js,and cat hair balls. One look at me and they'd suck me up and my dishwater hair. In the photos, Teen magazine would be tastefully displayed on the coffee table next to the perfect Duncan Hines Strawberry Supreme Cake they'd brought in.
How am I to secure the perfect man, perfect career, and perfect life if I can't figure out how to have modelesque eyelashes, a six-inch tall birthday cake, and hair color that doesn't make you think of last nights' dishes?!
Time bumps, jumps, and slithers along. Its taken me several decades to come to terms with all of the above catastrophes. I can now say (and believe), "I'm okay, you're okay." Well, truthfully sometimes its, "I'm great and you're not". Other times, "I suck and yes, you are fabulous. So watch your back."
Clearly, perfection still alludes me. But now I see life as a balancing act. Remember teeter totters? You know, the playground item that doesn't exist anymore because too many kids got crushed feet or simply toppled or got pushed off. I metaphorically have one. In fact I live on it. I stand on the center, feet parted. The seven deadly sins and my ill-fated eyelashes are on the left side. Sainthood, virtues, and the Duncan Hines Strawberry Supreme Cake are on the right. I spend most waking hours (and some sleeping ones) trying get that plank I am perched on balanced, perfectly balanced.
It happened one time. I was Lady Justice. I was Moses parting the Red Sea. I got up before the alarm. I ate my oatmeal, flax, and blueberries. I gently woke my children with a smile. "Time for school, Darlings." Kissed my husband good-bye on the lips and promised a home cooked dinner, lingerie, and other sundry items on his return. I attended yoga-- became one with my space. I drank water, the elixir of Mother Nature. I inhaled deeply and exuded good thoughts to the world. I did worthy deeds for my family and strangers. (Well, I returned some month old phone calls and didn't make up crap when Nielson Ratings called). You do remember how often Moses parted the Red Sea?
My teeter totter lists to the left. . . always. You know, gluttony, lust, greed, envy, pride, anger, and sloth. I shuffle to the right a few steps. Often nothing happens. To get my plank back on an even keel, I must volunteer at church, school, and microwave duty clean-up all in one day to get the slightest movement.
Lounging on the left can be bitterly beautiful. My blanket of comfort is salami and oreos(doubled-stuffed), tortilla chips and salsa. A beer or two might enter the equation. I watch enough Law and Order on USA channel that I should be deputized. "Just call me Detective--Detective TJ." I read my latest porn novel(Fifty Shades of Grey, volume II for those curious), take care of business, and refuse to abandon my pajamas. My one goal of the day is to make dinner for the family in six hours.
For some reason though, the next day I get back on that teeter totter and start wobbling around--wobbling around to try to find that perfect balance and that Duncan Hines Strawberry Supreme Cake with Fluffy White Frosting.
