Talented.

When Rebecca returned home from 8-Year-Old Activity Days some weeks ago, she proudly announced that they would be having a Talent Show, and she would be making a cake.
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"Of course, darling," I patted her head, certain I could talk her into a less-fussy talent in the coming weeks.
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Then, last Monday night, I get the phone call from her Leader. "Talent show tomorrow!"
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Whoopsie. I'd forgotten.
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My plan was complete. Now that I'd vertently-inadvertently-procrastinated the day of our cake baking, Rebecca would simply HAVE to come up with a spontaneous talent act. {Phew.} Something spur of the moment, reponsive to impulse. Something like I'd performed multiple times in my pre-adolescence. A nine-minute baton routine twirled to Whitney Houston. A one-gal version of The Princess & the Pea, recited in fluctuating English-German-Scottish accent. A magic show, wherein the illusions are created on-the-spot using only a bouncy ball and three cups. Voila!
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Then again, I'd forgotten I'd be trying to alter the made-up-mind that was Rebecca's.
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Tuesday morning, as we walked out the door, I very quietly squeaked out the announcement.
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"Beck? The talent show is tonight, I'm so sorry, we won't have time to bake. We'll have to come up with something els--"
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"Oh!" She squealed, already jumping into action, "We have to make a cake! Let's see. Chocolate. No! No! Vanilla. Well, what should we make? Maybe Lemon, or strawberry, or marble! Yes! Marble! We can mix it, then as soon as I get home, I'll frost it, and then..."
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She had the plan. She had the talent.
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I gave in and let her shine. Because--I'll tell ya--that girl was born under lightning, and she.does.shine.
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Afterschool (and all by herself) she baked a thick cocoa-pudding cake, moist and rich and topped with the lovliest buttercream ganache. She practiced on paper how she'd decorate, then carefully squeezed layers of color atop, creating a masterpiece of pastry perfection.

And, everyone was amazed by her talent.

Especially me.

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