When The Cake Made Me Cry: cake expectations, adventures in fatherhood, and the things that matter.

I made a thing. My soon-to-be-six-year-old asked for an Among Us cake so I made it. It’s ugly and imperfect, but I made it.

I made a thing.

It is ugly, but I made it, and it is mine.

My nearly-six-year-old requested an “Among Us” cake, and I accepted the challenge.

Yeah, it’s messy. I am no Reynold, no Zumbo, no Martha Stewart. I am no master pâtissier. My cake belongs on Nailed It, not Masterchef. Though I gave up on perfectionism a long time ago, I am still painfully aware the lines aren’t straight, the icing was too thick and then too thin. Though the visor isn’t bad, the sides are pretty rubbish.

It’s not perfect.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

That’s what I keep trying to tell myself, at least.

I am not normally the cake-baker in our family. But my wife was out the night before, celebrating her niece’s birthday, so cake duties were left to me. And inspired by an episode of Bluey, I decided to step up to the challenge.