Birthday cake for baby daughter

Today is baby daughter’s 18th birthday. Can’t imagine how that happened, it seems like about two years ago that we dropped the three siblings off at the sitter and drove to the hospital in a rainstorm to be induced. After an hour labour, we were back in the room before lunch and mister was on his way to the shore. I’m guessing it’s because she’s the youngest of four kids born in quick order that she’s always been tagging along, running to catch up and then making her own way in the world and seems mature for her age.

I’m in the process of making a birthday cake but….mister is napping on the couch and I don’t have the heart to run the mixer while he looks so peaceful. He’s been chasing the tides today - meaning he put the boat on the slip this afternoon, took the buoy catcher off and put zincs on the rudder (these are to stop the electrolysis on the hull which corrodes the propeller, fittings etc) while the tide was low - now he has to wait for high tide to float the craft and take it off the slip which he estimates at 10 p.m. He’s already had one set of wet feet and clothes changed today. Since tomorrow is Father’s Day and all the offspring will be visiting I advised he should rest up.

Well, this is being continued because we were surprised with daughter # 1 visiting with her main squeeze on the way back from a wedding. I’ve managed to make two cakes and a lasagna while socializing. Looking at scrapbook pages causes some reminiscing about those busy days. Stories of “remember when our brother nailed our dolls to the front steps with shingle nails?“ This triggered the memory that today while I was walking the dog and looking at the lupines blooming on the roadside I recalled that daughter # 1 had been trying to think of their name one day when she was a teenager and said “you know those tall flowers on the side of the road that taste like thrills gum” When I asked how she knew that she said “oh you always said they were poison so we wouldn’t touch them, so I tasted one” Now she would be the one to try it when faced with idle parental threats. And to think I just didn’t want them stripping the blossoms off and using the stalks as swords.

The shore captain left at 9:30 p.m. to “take the boat off” and called just now from the wharf to yell into the phone “the *&%#^@ boat is tied to the floating docks” meaning that someone (his guess is the prodigal son) has taken the boat off and steamed it to the dock for him. How thoughtful. Now the only piece missing would have been to call and let him know that, saving a foggy 120 km return drive at this hour. I ask if he’s on his way home and he says “nah, I’m thinking of staying over here all night”. I tell him if he’s going to be that smart mouth he should just go ahead.

Now I’m waiting for baby daughter to bring her man friend (who was working as a sandwich artist with her this evening) and daughter # 2 who’s arrived home from Halifax to stay. I’m thinking that there’s not much point in going to bed because when that crew strikes, there’ll be no sleeping. And I’m guessing that there won’t be anyone on deck before noon so there will be no Fathers Day breakfast at the hour that the father in this house gets up.

I am actually not a big fan of Fathers Day as we have no grandfathers in the family to celebrate now. I’m pleased that the Dad of these four offspring is able to celebrate his special day but otherwise I’d rather ignore it. I am reminded of some Dad stories because of this special occasion though. When I was a teenager and young men were being brought home to ‘meet the parents’ there was a rite of passage that became routine. Dad would be working on some kind of project at the kitchen table and the young male would be asked to sit in the ‘big chair’ in the kitchen next to the Kemac stove for THE CHAT. This would include a lecture on various evils - drinking, drugs, curfews, speeding, impaired driving, ungentlemanly conduct etc. and direct questioning on the boy’s behavior, values etc. This ritual was repeated with at least four boyfriends that I can recall. When I stated dating (the now husband) I warned him of the big chair chat and occasionally quizzed him as to whether he’d had the ‘the talk’ and you know….he never did. After a year or so I gave up asking, figuring that Dad had either given up the practice or realized this guy was here to stay. But when my younger sister had the same experience and we compared stories years later, we realized that Dad had known these two were ‘keepers’ and so didn’t feel the need.