Happy Happy.

It was a perfect day, if I do say so myself.

My dear friend Lizzie came over for frosting and the donning of (mandatory) party hats. Her father and my mother are best friends, and she and I have known each other since we were about seven years old. We went to camp together, together we took my beloved Gina to the doll hospital after she tragically lost her replacement leg, and Lizzie flew with me when I moved to New York for college, just to settle me into my dorm. I lived with her in two separate apartments, and we have huddled together in corners drinking wine at innumerable gatherings of our jointly extended family.
Now Lizzie comes by to watch Simone a morning or two a week so that I can write, and more than once we have turned to each other to marvel at the fact that holy god, I am somebody’s mother.

No one can appreciate the surreality of adulthood like a childhood friend.

I made chocolate cupcakes, which miraculously turned out to be edible despite a series of mishaps, like not being able to open the bottle of vanilla extract and splashing in vanilla-infused brandy as a replacement. And whimsically adding a large quantity of cinnamon. And being out of oil, and so using melted shortening, which then hardened when I added cold water, meaning I had to throw the whole bowl into the microwave to reliquefy before I could pour the batter into the pans.

The sun shone into the kitchen all afternoon. Simone nearly lit her hat on fire with the candle, but disaster was averted. She happily smeared chocolate onto her face and even managed to convey a small quantity to her mouth.

Like I said: perfect.