Sunday, September 2nd, 2018

Dear Diary,

Today Mom made heaven in a platter—different than what she normally does on my birthday.

When I walked into my home from school, I saw Mom working on a savory meal. The flames were lit, not on candles, but on the stove (topped with a pot accompanied by cylinder shaped noodles sculpted as quill pens). The water boiled as steam rose.

If I lended a hand, the process would go faster. “How can I help?”

Mom smiled—knowing my patience was the size of a peanut waiting to be cracked. “No, thank you. Today is your special day. Just think, one more year and you will be a legal adult. And soon enough, I won’t be around to make your favorite foods.”

I stifled a tear, knowing she’s right—she’s always right. I shook out of my daze to notice my mom grating cheese like freshly fallen snow on a cool, winter morning.

Like lightning, the pot boiled over. The water sizzled as it touched the tips of the flames. Right away, Mom drained the noodles and placed them into a glass casserole dish and transferred the grated cheese to the colorless pasta.

“Into the oven it goes.” I hummed.

My family arrived minutes after Mom pulled the mac out of the four hundred degree heat. But then she realized that there was no cake in sight. She beamed when she came up with a close alternative.

I saw flames once again, but this time on the candles carefully placed on my macaroni and cheese—wax dripped like the leaky kitchen faucet. My family sang with laughter because this was the weirdest “cake” they’d ever seen.

I blew out the candles and enjoyed my first bite.