The time has come. Every year August arrives, and summer feels over.  Even with weeks left before the official start of school, there's a twinge in the air that says, be calm, reel it in, but instead we pack in as much action as possible not to miss a single second of what's left.  Regardless, the day has come to get supplies, and this one is particularly poignant as both Z & X will be on their way with their unbelievably stereotypical backpacks.  

Even fully stocked, and the day looming closer, it still doesn't feel real to have to get back into the routine of it, and yet I wonder at the chaos of getting a 6 & 4-year-old ready at 6:30 in the morning.  Even with friends who've done it before, it seems daunting, especially after these lackadaisical days of summer. They're excited, though, and so are we, really.  This is our next new page, and we will write it and read it with plenty of edits to be sure. I'll just have to accept Disney Princess backpacks and Ninja Turtle notebooks as they pick up their own pencils and begin to write for themselves.   

It seemed simple enough to have the kids pick the zucchinis for the cake recipe I found in the July issue of  Better Homes and Gardens. I even said, "Twist, don't pull," imagining the whole plant being ripped by the roots; there's been enough of that this summer.  But, it wasn't that simple.  While they were doing that I was getting out the bowls (cracked), the flour (crumpled sack), making sure there were enough eggs, and wondering if this is what every cook does.  Or, does every cook have a pristine kitchen, organized cupboards, all of the ingredients?

Then, the kids come in, dirty feet, 2 meager zucchinis--I thought they were bigger.  "We'll have to get the third," I say.  "Mom, um, we sort of pulled it out." Sort of?  We trek out.  It's salvageable, so I pack the hill around what's left of the plant and bring in the third, hopefully not last, zucchini.  Then, what was going to be done in an hour is about to begin, a half hour later. The kids want to help, so they climb up on the counter, and we grate (or food process), crush (or food process), and zest (would food process if I could).  The kids stir.  X tastes everything:  sugar, salt, flour, baking soda, vanilla; I draw the line at raw eggs, and he tells Z it's all delicious, but his face reveals otherwise.  

Just when we're about done I realize, no buttermilk. Is this a kitchen staple?  Apparently not, since according to Pinterest I can make it with milk and lemon juice.  X does not want to try this concoction.  They whisk--for real.  I didn't even use the mixer, and the cakes go in the oven.  CakeS, because I don't have the right size pan.  While the kids have suddenly lost interest, I'm cleaning up.  As I pick up the  magazine, I see there's an icing--not happening.  I'm also not garnishing with a zucchini flower, one because they're trampled and two because this can be as simple as it seems.  The cake comes out, the kids have it for lunch, and it is truly delicious, no weird faces, even.