Today is the day we find out if Macy got into the arts academy in our public magnet school program. The kiddo is the perfect candidate, but A LOT of kids want to go. We’ve been waiting awhile to find out and I’ve just had to compartmentalize the “not knowing” for several weeks so I can be a mostly functional person. However, I can no longer compartmentalize because today is the day. I’m supposed to be outlining my giant ass research paper due in a week and instead, what am I doing? I’m burning sugar. Literally.
Last week, Macy looked at the calendar and said, on March 1st, no matter what, we’re eating cake. Her logic was, if it’s good news, we’ll have a celebratory cake. And if it’s not good news, we’ll eat cake because it’ll make us feel better. The cake she chose is an old-timey recipe we found years ago for her American Girl birthday party. It’s called, you guessed it, Burnt Sugar Cake. It’s delicious. And tedious. And requires all the bowls. But it’s worth and she’s worth it and so as my outline remains blank, I’ll be in the kitchen burning sugar. Waiting.
As I’ve gone through my school process, I’m learning to tune into my patterns and I’ve noticed that I do concrete, embodied things in moments like this. I make bread. I listen to music. I bake. I write. I paint. I go outside. When I feel out of control or I need to pay attention or I need extra care, these are the things I practice. It makes me wonder: outside of our obvious shared sweet tooth, does my little 10 year old know I needed to make a cake today? Sometimes I wonder.
It’s important to me that whatever news we get today is Macy’s news. Whatever feelings I have about it, those are mine to hold and process while she receives support from me and Tim to process hers. I’m gonna need that cake to keep my feelings to myself and to not put any of my stuff into her box. Ultimately, her story is hers. I’m just a supporting actor.