Is it really the thought that counts?

I really hope it's the thought that counts.
But really, let's be honest here, the thought doesn't always work as a sole gift.

I can't really tell people what I wished for them, what I thought of getting them, it doesn't actually work like that. Life would be so much cheaper if it did.

But (because I am s-m-r-t) I'm not thinking that giving wishes and thoughts is going to go over too well on, say, Christmas. I just don't see Shelley being insanely thrilled with opening an empty box from me and hearing all the things I thought about getting her, but didn't. It really wouldn't be the same as the perfect silver Nordstrom box filled will Brass Plum treasures that I leave for her each year.

So, no, the thought doesn't really count all of the time.

But dang, I kinda hope it is. Because I made a mess tonight with a loving gesture and I really hope the thought counts on this one. After all, I did try. And I could wrap up the disaster if I needed to, so it wouldn't be a completely empty box.

The point. The point. Awe, here it is.

Chuck and I are knees deep in a little project.
I always call them little projects. I have yet to find this allusive little project, but The little project du jour (hmmm, that sounds good, I'll have that) is making a chalkboard. Long story, I'll explain later this week when it's complete and fabulous, but for right now, you need to know that it's been a long day of sanding to get ready for said complete and fabulous chalkboard.

Long. Long. Long day of sanding. For this "little project", Chuck hand sanded for about an hour (have you ever done that? Try it. It'll give you a new appreciation for something, what, I don't know, but something). That hand sanding did not go well and it basically stunk. He left for an hour to find a solution, bought an electric hand sander thingy (technical term), and upped the anty on that bad boy of a wall. Four and a half hours of meticulous sanding later and he had the wall smooth. Like buttah.

I felt a bit bad like I always do during projects where my role gets dwindled down to "look pretty" and even that didn't go so well today (I made a life choice to not shower. We weren't going out. Waste of soap and makeup if you ask me.).

I felt bad about today's step in our not-so-little project. There he was, sweating, ear plugs, stressing to make it perfect. There I was, not really doing much of anything to help the cause so I decided to be nice.

I'd make him a cake.
It's the thought that counts, after all. It'd make him feel loved and appreciated.

I went for chocolate. Split it into two 9" rounds which I've done about a million times. I waited for them to cool -- just like Fe taught me to. Patience, she said, it's a virtue. I started to whip up my beloved butter cream frosting and Chuck started pacing in the kitchen.

That's about the last thing that went right.

Once they cooled completely, the cakes didn't want to leave their pie pan homes, despite the amazing greasing job I'd done to prepare them to leave their metal nests. After lots of hoping and praying, I got cake number one onto the cake stand. He looked fine. An almost perfect little base -- he'd do. I started to frost the top. It got a little crumbly and a little frosting mixed with crumbs (which I find to be as vulgar as bread crumbs in the butter dish), but I was fine with it. It was just the middle. No cause for alarm.


As I lifted out cake number two, it started to crack. Not a full crack, just the start. I figured it was nothing a little vitamin Butter Cream couldn't fix.


By this time, I'm crying.
Not sadness crying. I'm laughing crying. Calamity Jane baked a cake. I can say with all assurance that in my 17 years of baking a cake without adult supervision that this is (without a doubt) the worst thing I have every created.

Bar. None.

It just kept getting worse and worse. Every touch, every smooth of frosting, more disaster. Finally, I called it.

Chuck said if it tasted half as good as it looked then we'd all be in for a real treat.

He said he was worried about ruining it by taking a bite.

He still did bite.
He still said it tasted good.
I still can't believe it. I definitely saw it going a little differently.

I really hope this isn't the beginning of a loss of my baking skills. I really hope it's the thought that counts on this one. And I really hope Chuck sees it as a thank you and not the empty Christmas box that it kind of feels like.


  1. Ahh, Susie... I'm sure it was tasty, and I'm sure Chuck appreciated the thought! I made a cake this weekend too for a birthday (it was nothing too pretty either, but it tasted good)! Hope you guys are doing well! Miss you!

  2. remember Nan's "Grand Canyon" Cheese Cake I made for her B-Day. It still tasted good and we all had a good laugh!! MIL


Tell me about it. Oh and thanks for validating my life.

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