No sleep in for me, because, once again the Let’s See How Grumpy Mummy Can Get On No Sleep game was in full force.
I locked myself in my office for a bit, working (ok, lying under desk in foetal position) before I really had to get out and make cup cakes – 45 of them – for school tomorrow.
I swear I never signed up for this. And it was never in What to expect when you’re expecting! I know, because I read it three times. And that was just my first pregnancy!!
Anyhoo, time was getting on. Grumpy, in his infinite wisdom, sold my really big cupcake trays, two of them that housed 24 cupcakes each, when we sold our business. “What do you need those for?”
Well, obviously, for making 45 cupcakes for a bunch of primary school aged kids and their teachers!
I’ve done this before, begged and borrowed trays, made 48 using my one 6-cupcake holder tray (which has since gone to God, quite possibly because it was thrown at someone or something in a fit of absolute frustration out of making so many fucking cupcakes with one fucking stupid litte tray and … sorry, I digress).
Thus, my previous experience sent me on a trip to local massive shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon the last day of November and a good three months into the Christmas Shopping season. I left Chippie at home.
24 cupcake holder trays are non-existant, so settled for two 12-cupcake trays. Muffin, technically, but I was beyond caring.
Get home, Chippie screaming for his mummy – well, her boobs at any rate – and Grumpy sent to fetch some eggs. In the meantime, and because the school suggested it is helpful for kids and blah blah I suggested Monkey Boy (who insisted on helping) read the recipe and get the ingredients out of the various cupboards.
Ok, yes, he could start measuring them out. If he absolutely had to.
My senses tingled, however, when he asked what “one and three out of four” was. What???
Ah, “one and three-quarters” I explain.
Followed by “You aren’t putting the ingredients in the bowl are you?”
Ok, we might be able to redeem this. Firstly, he only did one measure of everything, not two – I planned on a double mix to make 48 little cakes. Secondly, he had totally screwed up the ingredients, so I had no clue how much of what went in. Thirdly, he had followed half of one recipe, and half of the one next to it. Fourthly, the eggs hadn’t arrive home yet. Fifthly, there was an open bottle of wine in the fridge, and some clean, and chilled, glasses.
Grumpy the “Not a pastry chef” mumbled some instructions and I started the second mix (a single not a double) and added Monkey Boy’s concoction and whatever other ingredients I could work out hadn’t gone in.
Got 24 in the oven, cooked them and did another 24. Was almost asleep on my feet icing them, so I sat down, and Monkey Boy offered to decorate them.
Good thing, too. I’m sure I’ve mentioned previously the incredibly high standard of cupcakes produced by other mums at the school. No way I could compete in my state. The cupcakes themselves looked like they were made by kids. No amount of icing was gonna cover that fact.
In my infinte wisdom, I let him. Even if it did mean he, his brother and his dad ate Freddo Frog heads and M&Ms before bed.
My excuse for the below par cupcakes was they were made by the kids. I just had to make it look authentic!