I’m not sure how I’ve ended up sprawled on the floor, having tumbled into cakes and gone sledding down stairs. But it’s happened twice. And of course there has always been an audience watching the whole thing, or an unsuspecting person who walks up on the final scene. In both situations, before I was even able to stand up from the smashed dessert wrecks, I winced and looked up into shocked faces. This was immediately followed by torrential laughter and questions like, “What happened?” and “What are you doing?” I was relieved that only my pride was injured, but keenly aware that I had accidentally created one of those stories people would enjoy recounting at gatherings for years to come.
The first time I went cake sledding was in middle school.
My parents had moved to eastern Kentucky to pastor a small church waaaaay out in the country. My bus ride home after school was around two hours long. I did my homework on the bus, but it was usually difficult for my teachers to read because of the bumpy, curvy mountain roads. The small community we lived in was a great place to grow up, learning to ride horses and playing in creeks. A small community also meant there weren’t many secrets and news traveled fast. Especially when the entire church your dad pastors is gathered in your basement for a meal, and you mess up the one job you have to perform in front of everyone—carrying a large sheet cake down the stairs to put on the dessert table.
Of course most everyone was gathered in conversation near the bottom of the stairs when I appeared with the cake. I was trying to balance everything, but as my toes felt for the second step, the cake slipped forward and I started to fall. I never thought I’d be relieved to find myself squished into a large sheet cake, bumping down some concrete basement stairs, but I was. The layer of carpet over the concrete was thin and I was afraid of breaking a bone or worse. Thankfully I didn’t weigh very much at the time and the cake was enormous, so there was lots of padding. I’ve heard it said we block out memories we don’t want to keep. There is not a lot about that day I remember, except heaving a sigh of relief and hearing roars of laughter break out across the room as I looked up from a tangled mess of red hair, bony limbs, and icing. Someone asked, “What are you doing?” as if I thought breaking all my bones on concrete stairs and falling into a cake in front of the entire community was a wonderful idea.
The second go around with cake sledding is more permanently seared into my memory because I was newly married. My husband walked out the front door to find me sitting in a large cake at the bottom of the wooden stairs outside our small apartment. His question was, “What happened?” Thankfully he followed up with, “Are you okay?” only a few seconds later. I felt just as shocked as he looked and couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just stared back at him, wide eyed and nodding, the side of my face swiped with icing. Our parking spot was at the top of the stairs and I had been trying to carry the cake and close the car door at the same time when it happened. The rest was a blur—almost literally. It happened so fast that before I knew it, I found myself covered in cake and throbbing in pain at the bottom of the stairs.
My calves were haphazardly slathered in icing as if I had suddenly decided to start shaving right there on the porch. My hands were covered in a mashup of cake that resembled bumpy looking gloves, because I held onto the sides of the box for dear life while barreling down the wooden stairs, screaming. I was also, umm, stuck, so Daniel grabbed my hands and pulled as I pushed upward with my feet. When my posterior had been freed, I was happy there were no serious injuries and that my husband still liked me. As a matter of fact, he seemed to rather enjoy the whole incident and it’s still one of his favorite stories from our early days. A few months earlier Daniel had committed to being with me for life and he didn’t change his mind on that day, even though there was nothing about cake accidents in our wedding vows. After a few days of limping and soreness, I was back to normal. My go to response when people asked what happened was, “I fell.” No one had any idea what a tongue in cheek answer it really was.
Thanks for reading about my misadventures in desserts!
©2018Chrissy Winslow – All Rights Reserved
Last week I was watching the season finale of a T.V. show and the main character was explaining how thankful he was for the blessings in his life, despite every “misstep.” Whenever I hear that word, my brain changes it to “miss step” because extreme cake sledding is the first thing I think of.
Look for a New Book in the Autumn:
I’m working on compiling and editing my writings on Miscarriage. I’m also adding new ones. I want to put them into one book of resources and stories to encourage families who have experienced miscarriage and pregnancy loss. After I lost my babies, it was helpful for me to have a book in my hands so that I could highlight and makes notes in the margins. I want to provide something like this at the most affordable cost possible for printing/ publishing. I hope to make it available in October during Miscarriage & Pregnancy Loss Awareness month, but I am studying a very difficult language this year, so we’ll see 🙂
Here is a link to my first book if you want to know some of my story. It’s available in Paperback or Kindle: