Presidents Can Bake, Too

Drop it like it's hot. Unless, of course, you are balancing a cooling cake pan on two oven mitts you recently realized were on backwards. Oh, the joys of baking!

On this particular Monday morning in the United States (child predators must be having a field-day. That narrows down my location to an entire country. Happy searchings.) government employees and students were given the day off from school in observance of President's Day. Thank you Barack Obama for the self-conceited holiday. Every wonder how President's Day was instituted? It probably went something like this back in the 17th Century:

Mr. President: Oh dear, our military is being defeated! Our horses are bein' shot! What shall I do?
Mrs. President: Honey, when I'm stressed I just take a "me day" and get a mani/pedi. Would you like me to call the other country and tell them you are too pooped to fight today?
Mr. President: You know what, you're right. Today will be "President's Day" hereafter. Can you make me a pedicure appointment for 3:30 with Tammy? Sounds good.

Thanks to the first slightly feminine President who enjoyed getting his feet scrubbed, students can now stay home on February 15th. I'll take any excuse for a holiday. And to begin my festive President's Day mood, I woke up at 7:30 to bake a cake. Not any ordinary cake: A Book It / Bake It Cake. What is that? Well, in the Library Media Center each year the librarians host a contest where students bake cakes that represent books. Mariah (my partner) and I make a cake modeled after "The Wizard of Oz" (a fitting book considering my name is practically identical to the sparkling red slippers' wearer).

On Saturday evening I pre-made the sheet cake (Funfetti!) so we could devote a full 2 1/2 hours to designing it today. A winding yellow brick road made of yellow cereal outlined with yellow icing started by the crime scene (the murder of the witch via Tornado-stricken house) and wound up on the front steps of the Emerald Castle. Coconut shavings dyed green represented the grass, an old box advertisting Pamprin was covered with frosting to depict a house, and my face was plastered onto a carboard cut-out of Dorothy about 3 times the size her body in comparison. Those are just the highlights of the cake. Plus, a Polly Pocket doll may have been vandalized underneath the house (hopefully the librarians don't see what clothing we graced poor polly with). The permanent marker is a dangerous thing for a dirty mind.

Hope we win a prize tomorrow. Or escape detention for a defaced Polly Pocket. No worries though, I'll simply declare tomorrow "Dorothy Day" to escape a war between administration and artists. If the President can do it, why shouldn't I be able to? God Bless the USA!