A Taste of Our Wedding

Our wedding cake was simple, but really good. I went to the bakery with my friend and wedding coordinator that summer to sample cake flavors and choose out a design. Jonathan was working so he didn't go with us. I ended up picking a simple cake flavor combination. Wedding cake flavored cake (which is essentially an almond white cake) with a raspberry cream filling and vanilla buttercream on top. It was a really nice combination.

At our wedding, we ate about one bite a piece - just enough to capture a photo for the memories.

What a great picture, our one bite each of cake.
We've both put on some weight since then....

Our cake.

I had left very detailed instructions regarding every aspect of the wedding I could think about and where each piece was going. The one aspect I forgot to leave detailed instructions for? The cake. For having over 200 people at the reception dinner, we had a lot of cake leftover, which I didn't imagine would happen. And nobody had any idea where the leftover cake went. Oh well.

I've often thought about our cake and how nice the flavors complemented each other and how nice it would be to be able to have a taste of our wedding cake again. I decided Valentine's Day would be a nice time to surprise my husband and make this happen.

I called the bakery where our wedding cake was from to see how much they charged for custom cupcakes. Although not terribly priced for custom cupcakes, the minimum order was a dozen and I wasn't interested in spending that much money for so many more than I really needed. I contemplated just buying some nice cupcakes or a cake from another bakery, but that wasn't quite the surprise I wanted. So in the end, I looked up some recipes and made my own.

Now here's where I probably broke an important rule of baking - I didn't make a test batch first. My trial run....was also my final run.

I don't consider myself amateur in the kitchen, but I am definitely not an iron chef who can whip together surprise ingredients and know it will taste marvelous.

After tasting the raspberry frosting I made intended for the filling, I deemed it on the sweet side already and decided not to make extra vanilla frosting for the top and just to decorate the top with the raspberry frosting.

I've also never decorated anything before with piped icing, so this was quite an adventure for me as well. I bought the tip and watched one Youtube video on how to pipe roses. It...isn't gourmet bakery worthy, but I'll say for having zero experience and zero practice, they turned out exceptionally well.

My version of our wedding cake flavored cupcakes. Some of them actually look like roses!

I'm glad we were able to taste a glimpse of our wedding cake today, literally. To be honest neither of us really actually remember what our wedding cake tastes like, so it was just a nice sweet treat with sentimental value. I think I'll make it again. 

But I actually get a taste of our wedding everyday when we laugh at each other's goofiness, when we hold hands, and when we just stare at each other and soak in all the little nuances of freckles and features and remember why we wanted to spend forever together. What we have is more than just a taste of a wedding. It's a taste of joy.

Highly Inconvenienced

I was about 14 at the time. Something within me flipped a switch where my generic wood-frame bed and gender-neutral decor suddenly wasn't good enough. I was looking into this canopy bed I really wanted. Obviously the decorators and designers did a great job in the pictures: beautifully painted bedrooms with coordinating bed sets atop a white canopy bed. Every girl's dream right? Yup, and I was sold. I think this was my own personal way of rebellion in the teenage years. (Nowadays it's quite common for parents to let their kids redesign their rooms once they hit a certain age, usually the early teens or middle school years in preparation for an older/more mature look. I grew up with practical parents who didn't replace or fix anything unless it was broken and not serving its intended purpose. I have since inherited portions of that mindset...perhaps to my husband's dismay at times.)

I looked at it for weeks and wrote down everything I wanted and even priced it out for my dad with tax. I picked out the canopy bed, the nightstand, a lamp, a dish chair, a new bed set, and a decorative pillow. It was everything I needed to turn my mundane bedroom into the perfect teenage feminine sanctuary.

Well, turns out my beloved canopy bed would not fit in my bedroom because the canopy would have run into the ceiling fan. So I had to say goodbye to the canopy. This actually cut down the budget by about $100, so I figured it was a win win still for both my dad and me. He would save some money, and I'd still get most of what I originally wanted. When we went to the store to go pick out the furniture, I was slightly disappointed at what I saw. I remember seeing the same white iron bed frame sitting in the store with a plain mattress laid on top with no beautiful bedding to adorn it. It looked so boring, almost the way my existing bed looked. Inside, I was wondering, do I really need a new bed and all this new stuff? Yes, I did (so I thought.) So my dad ordered the bed and nightstand for me from one store, and we drove around to a few other places and picked up the rest of the items on my list to redecorate my room.

On the day my new bed was delivered, my dad got a call that a signature was required for the package, otherwise they wouldn't leave it and the delivery date would have to be rescheduled. He left work and drove home in the middle of the day to sign for the delivery, and then drove the 30 minutes back to his office to finish the rest of his work day. I was at school and had no idea what happened until he told me later that evening. At the time, I knew what happened was an inconvenience to my dad, but in the years since, I've really come to understand truly how significant the inconvenience was.

This was my room frozen in time for a year when I moved overseas.
I made it as clean and organized as I could for not having the
time to seriously clean and clear out what I didn't need.

I spy the bed, the nightstand, the purple lamp, my purple dish
chair, and the decorative pillow, all parts of my "room redecorating" phase.

I really loved that bed and everything else I picked out during that teenage-life crisis. Since then, the chair has been well-loved. The bed well-used, and the lamp is still in great working condition. The bed set has since been replaced as it has understandably not withstood the test of 10 years of use and washings. I moved the lamp and dish chair with me to the apartment when I got married, and it has since followed us to our house.

My beloved bed has remained in my old room at my dad's house for the last three years. I always joked with my husband that I wanted to move it over for our future kids to sleep in. He said only if we had a girl. After we found out we were having a girl, he finally said, "Well, I guess we can move your bed over." A couple months ago, we went over to my dad's house, disassembled my old bed and nightstand, loaded it up in his little hatchback, drove it back to our house, and reassembled it here. (Seriously, we could do some major advertising for the Honda Fit. His little car is shorter than mine bumper to bumper and has hauled more large items than could ever fit in mine.)

We purchased a new box spring, mattress, and bedding set for it, and it's waiting for our little girl in about 3-4 years. In the mean time, we may spend a few (or more) nights on it ourselves since it is in the bedroom right down the hall instead of around the corner of our house from the nursery.

The friends are all hanging out together. We wanted to put it in the nursery
as a secondary bed for us to pass out on during late nights, but it wouldn't
fit. So for now, it's down the hall in the other room.

This simple piece of furniture is only in the first stages of being passed down one generation, but it already has such a huge story. We are very blessed to have the luxury of hanging onto our childhood possessions and belongings because we did not need to move overseas or travel great lengths in search of a better future. (You see all the friends on the bed? Each one has a store of where he/she came from and some small significance. There's another pod of friends on another bed...our children will have no shortage of stuffies to play with.) I don't know how my children will feel about passing down the things they will grow up with in the coming years, but I do hope to share the story of this bed as well as many more stories with them about the things they have, the people who've brought them, and how much value they truly have.

And yes, I'm prepared to be highly inconvenienced over the years by my future children. But you know what? It has some of the greatest returns.

Superbowls and Scions

I'm usually not one to care about sports in general, but when someone who graduated with you in your high school class is playing in the NFL in the Superbowl, it makes you care just a little bit more.

We all knew he was destined for greatness. I went to grade school with him through 4th grade. Not only was he smart, but he was athletic. (I was only smart. I think. Ha.) We were in the same homeroom in 3rd grade and I remember wanting to work with him for one group assignment we were completing in class because I knew he was a good student. Our teacher picked four or five of us to stand up, including both of us, and then announced we would be the group leaders. Darn. Bubble burst for my poor nine-year-old self.

His family moved to a different neighborhood after 4th grade so he was transferring schools. At our last 4th grade Top Banana meeting where they pick outstanding students for each week, each teacher named an overall Top Banana for the whole year. If I remember correctly, his homeroom teacher picked him and my homeroom teacher picked me. I could be just making this up, but I'm pretty sure that's what happened. I still have my Top Banana certificates as well as my little yellow banana I decorated during the first week of school with a sticker for each week I was picked throughout the school year. Seriously, this little piece of laminated yellow paper is nearing 13 years old. It's at my dad's house or else I'd have a picture to show you.

My parents also bought a house at the end of my 4th grade year in a different neighborhood. We moved that summer, so I also transferred schools within the district. Unlike him, there was no announcement. I silently disappeared as 5th grade began. For the next four years, we went to different schools, made new friends, and life continued.

In 9th grade, my friend was in his biology class. I don't remember how I found out we were attending the same high school, but somehow, she and I got the guts to approach him one morning in the cafeteria before they dismissed us to our lockers and she "reintroduced" us to each other after a good four years. We talked to each other for a few minutes and then parted ways again. I distinctly remember feeling the awkward glances of his friends around us who were probably thinking, Who is this strange Asian girl and why is she talking to him? That was the last time we spoke to each other.

In 10th grade, we were in the same Spanish class and sat relatively close to each other because of alphabetical seating. He had lots of friends in that class; however, I did not. That was a hard class for me to get through simply because the one person I was somewhat acquainted with in the class sat on the other side of the room. Needless to say, it was a very laborious class for me to enjoy the entire year.

We graduated senior year from the same high school and went off to college. I remember sitting inside Players (which no longer exists!) watching the UT vs Nebraska game to determine which team would make it to the BCS National Championships. Of course I wanted my alma mater to make it to the championships, but it was bittersweet to watch someone I went to school with for many years play on the opposing team.

He's playing in his first Superbowl game on Sunday afternoon at the age of 27. His family was interviewed for the local news channel, and he has his own Wikipedia page, most likely not self-written. When I saw the Patriots were playing in the Superbowl this year, the thought occurred to me that he and I are the same age. He's playing in the Superbowl. And I'm having a baby. And you know why both are equally important and wonderful?

We're living out our dreams.