Susannah Wren's birthday morning breakfast consisted of a double batch of waffles (she let us eat a few), she spent her afternoon at a 90th birthday party for her great-great Aunt Mae, and when John worked a normal shift two nights later, we finally had a proper party.
...with a proper princess
who lives in a crooked little castle (painted lavender by a mad Grand Duke who was beheaded 100 years ago),
The Castle Architect was nearly beheaded. (It was Someone's first attempt at working with and making fondant. She was fired, so it may be her last.)
The back of the cake even survived that Someone dropping it! Maybe we should rehire her.
Dear Bird,
May the Writer of your Song always tune you toward Himself.
We love you.
Cuckoo!
Wow, AMAZING cake!
ReplyDeleteYou are KIDDING me with that cake!!!!
ReplyDeleteThat CAKE!!! I mean the girl obviously outshines everything else, but.... that CAKE! Impressive stuff. And happy birthday to your sweet bird. She has made a lovely 4, and 3 and 2 and 1... and makes the best 5.
ReplyDeleteso tell me. Are the towers edible or toilet rolls under fondant?
ReplyDeleteYour cakes amaze, as always. What a lucky getting-bigger gal. Not sure if the Wren is blowing out a candle or merely oohing and aahing but I do so love that fourth picture down.
A two-minute Google image search reveals this and that and such and soforth. The soforth is killing me! I was pleased enough with the teetering lavender castle considering I started it after lunch the day we were to eat it, but still...the others are so gorgeous it's depressing. I will not show ANY of them to the Wren.
ReplyDeleteRebecca,
You nailed it! The towers are cardboard tubes. I baked 5 small cakes for stacking in the center and cheated on the towers.
The cake is awesome.
ReplyDelete"May the Writer of your Song always tune you toward Himself."
ReplyDeleteNow, sit down with a guitar, a penny whistle or two of the biggest rocks from your creek bed (to bang together) & turn that into a song for your daughter.
Sing it the next time she's naughty. Sing it the next time she's nice. Sing it when she's standing beside you lining up silverware in the drawer.
SIng it when she goes to college, burns a souffle ... or, of course, has baby birds of her own.
Much love, Sarah
Sarah,
ReplyDeleteYou leave the best comments ever. Come back to blogdom! (Or spend your time wisely, as you do...)