Lori Borgman finds the funny in ev­ery­day life, writ­ing from the heart­land of the US. Now, if she could just find her car keys...

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A grow­ing brood of grand­kids means a lot of cake for our colum­nist Lori Borgman.

I’m watch­ing what I eat and cut­ting back on calo­ries be­cause sum­mer is com­ing. And, no, I’m not watch­ing what I eat be­cause I am get­ting ready for swim­suit sea­son. I avoid swim­ming pools. The rea­son that I avoid swim­ming pools is be­cause I also avoided chem­istry.

In my mind, pools have al­ways been large public bath­tubs – with small chil­dren – and yet in­tel­li­gent peo­ple ac­tu­ally put their heads un­der­wa­ter in large swim­ming pools. Other peo­ple, not me. I know there are chem­i­cals that take care of germs and bac­te­ria, but I just don’t un­der­stand chem­istry well enough to trust it. Well, that and I’ve seen the mas­sive amounts of chem­i­cals dumped in pools and won­der why I’d want to swim in chem­i­cals.

All of which takes me to the beach. (Oh, please, yes, take me to the beach! Prefer­ably, a rocky coast­line with cool tem­per­a­tures.) There are no chem­i­cals in the wa­ter at the coast and what small chil­dren do there is washed out to sea. I’m good with ev­ery­thing at the coast – the tides, the surf, the waves – ev­ery­thing ex­cept sharks, jel­ly­fish and rip tides.

But I’m not watch­ing what I eat to get ready for the beach ei­ther. I’m get­ting ready for cake. Sum­mer brings a crush of fam­ily birth­days – two in June, six in July and four in Au­gust.

By the end of sum­mer, nearly all the grands will have rolled over to “new num­bers”. It’s a very big deal, like when a car’s odome­ter rolls over to 100,000 or 200,000. In­stead of be­ing 7,6, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and 1, by mid-Au­gust the grands will have rolled over to 8,7, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1.

I will be for­ever thank­ful that they ar­rived in an easy to re­mem­ber, chrono­log­i­cal fash­ion.

The only prob­lem is that you don’t roll over to that many new num­bers with­out work­ing your way through a lot of birth­day cel­e­bra­tions and a lot of cake. If I hit ev­ery fam­ily birth­day from the end of June through the first week of Au­gust, I could be eat­ing cake ev­ery three days. That’s so much cake that even on the off-cake days, I’d be too full to move, let alone make a salad.

Of course, no­body is forc­ing me to eat cake and ice cream at ev­ery birth­day cel­e­bra­tion, but chil­dren tend to no­tice if you’re not par­tic­i­pat­ing in the party. We are a fam­ily whose pri­mary love lan­guage is food. To love is to eat, to eat is to be fam­ily.

IfIhitev­eryFAMILYbirth­dayfromJuneendthroughthe­first­weekof Au­gust,Icould­beeat­ingCAKEev­ery­three­days.That’sso­much­cakethat evenon­the­off-cake­days,I’dbe­too­full­to­move,letalone­makeaSALAD

We’ve tried to stream­line all these cel­e­bra­tions by group­ing two here and three there. Even so, we of­ten wind up in a party streamer, birth­day hat, blowing out the can­dles, white su­gar, car­bo­hy­drate sort of daze some weeks. You count the days you have to re­cover un­til the next cel­e­bra­tion. There’s no get­ting around it: sum­mer means a lot of cake – no mat­ter how you slice it.

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