Last week, for Hal's birthday I bought him a cake. Archer and I went to our favorite local bakery, picked a cake from behind the glass display case and drove it home slowly as not to damage the expert sweet-lady-icing job. The plan was to surprise Hal with his fancy cake after the dinner we were hosting for some out-of-town guests. Unfortunately Hal's unknowing of our fancy cake surprise lead to him agreeing that his friends would bring dessert to our soiree.
"Don't worry about dessert," Hal called me on his way home from work. "Michael's bringing cupcakes."
"WHAT!? WHY! NO!!!! Call him back right now and tell him he doesn't need to bring anything! How RUDE!"
"What? Why?"
"Because! I have a plan and you're screwing it up!"
But by the time Hal called his friend back, it was too late. Cupcakes had already been purchased and were en route.
"We'll do birthday cake tomorrow night," Hal said later as I pouted in the kitchen like a four-year-old.
"We can't tomorrow night! I'm taking you to dinner!"
"Fine! Then we'll have breakfast cake."
I flashed Hal the look I so often flash him when he brings home candy and/or processed snacks from (the production) set. My eating philosophy differs greatly from his and we often argue to the point of screaming at each other when it comes to food and what will and will not fly when it comes to kid-appropriate cuisine. Last weekend Archer had his first (beef!!!) hot dog care of Hal who didn't see what the big deal was UNTIL I TOLD HIM WHAT THE BIG DEAL LIKE WHOA, JOEY LAWRENCE.
"What? We were at the fair and he was hungry!"
"HAKSJDHAKJFHKJHKJHHFASKJIMSOANGRYICOULDJUSTAHAKJSDHAJKDHA!!!!!!"
Anyway, back to the cake.
"We can't have breakfast cake! That's just... I dunno... gross. And wrong. And no! Absolutely not!"
"Fine," said Hal. "I'll have breakfast cake alone then."
"Okay then."
"Okay."
The next morning, as promised, Hal poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled the cake-box out of the fridge.
"Wait!" said I. "You can't cut your own birthday cake, and besides, we need to sing Happy Birthday to you. I mean, duh slash heeello."
Archer and Fable soon came running, pulling on my shirt to get a look at the cake as one by one I lit the candles.
And then we sang.
By the time Hal had blown his wish across the meticulously frosted cake-top, both kids had climbed into their chairs, their eyes huge to match their smiles and I had forgotten why cake for breakfast was such a terrible idea. Sure it was "too much sugar" and "dessert without first eating a balanced meal" but it was also, and most importantly in that moment, "a special occasion."
All of a sudden, cake for breakfast seemed like the greatest idea ever, maybe even of all time. I sliced Archer the second piece followed by a tiny slice for Fable before serving myself.
Moments later we were all seated around the breakfast table, devouring chocolate cake at 7:45 am and it was perfect. One of the most enjoyable moments of my entire life. Whether from the rebellion of breaking my own rules or the joy of creating, in a moment, a lasting family tradition, I don't know. I assume both.
"I think we should have cake for breakfast every year," I said.
"For every birthday," Hal agreed.
"This was fun!" Archer smiled.
"Yeeeees!" Fable squeeled.
And so it is. And so it shall be forevermore: cake for breakfast on family birthdays.

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