Catherine Connors is a mother, writer and recovering academic who traded the lecture hall for the playroom and discovered that university students and preschoolers have much the same attention span. She still dips her toes into academic waters by writing the occasional scholarly article about the place of motherhood in Western philosophy, but mostly now she changes diapers and wipes noses and indulges in long reflections on whether Yo Gabba Gabba is a harbinger of the decline of western civilization. Oh, and she blogs: in addition to Bad Mother blogging at BeliefNet, she is, among other things, the author of HerBadMother.com, Managing Editor of MamaPop, moderator of Her Bad Mother’s Basement, co-founder and co-editor of WeCovet, Contributing Editor at BlogHer, and (deep breath) founder of and contributor to Canada Moms Blog. And in her spare time… oh, wait. She doesn’t have spare time. But she’s okay with that.
It was my husband’s birthday this weekend. We celebrated by making Emilia’s favorite meal, spaghetti, and having Emilia’s favorite cake, cake. Because that’s how birthdays go when you’re parents to small children to whom birthdays mean only CAKE, and also, CAKE. Whose birthday it is, which birthday it is, whether the birthday celebrant would maybe prefer steak and pie: these are irrelevant questions to a three year old. The only thing that matters is, THERE WILL BE CAKE.
And song. At least she didn’t forget about the song:
The song, really, is just a celebration of cake, a pre-cake-eating ritual undertaken to heighten cake-eating excitement. And best performed in one’s underwear, of course. Because cake is messy.
Which, taken together – cake, singing, underpants – makes for a pretty awesome birthday, regardless of who’s celebrating. (That said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MISTER. We love you. And your cake.)