Thank you, Betty Crocker

I love my daughter. But I have to say her birthday hits, every year, at exactly the wrong time. Case in point: her first birthday occurred the same week as my campus visit for my current job, and that might have been the easiest of the past seven years. So in the midst of all the work stress, I have to plan birthday parties and make cakes (and more cakes and more cakes).

At some point in the past year, A pointed out to me that not all store-bought frostings contain dairy. Yes, indeedy, LG will have her chocolate cake with chocolate frosting to bring to school on Thursday and, thanks to Betty Crocker, her mother will need to put in an absolute minimum effort. And understand, to an allergic seven-year-old store-bought is so much better than any organic, homemade concoction her mother slaves over. Which is great, because if I had to make a real cake with real frosting tomorrow night, after a day of lupron hot flashes in my steamy office, that might just be the end of me.