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My Dad’s Birthday was a few days ago. My brother did a great job, and gifted Dad a new BBQ pit. Typically Dad is kinda difficult to shop for, he never asks for anything much at all outside of quality family time. Before he knew about the BBQ pit, he’d said that all he really wanted was one of Mom’s chocolate cakes. Now, you should know that my family has a bit of a reputation. We have been called “the dessert family”. My Mom’s peach cobbler has incited stampedes at family and church functions all over the world. Growing up, it was just a thing. Wherever we were, whether living on a joint military base in Mons, Belgium or an Air Force Base in Northern California . . . Mom’s duty was cobbler. I’ve never been a fan of hot fruit, so I don’t do cobblers or pies. I am certainly in the minority there. Mom’s chocolate cake is almost as requested, as her cobbler.

Since my sister has been home from being in San Francisco for a year, she’s been taking every chance she can get to try her tricks and techniques out on us. She did quite a bit of baking while she was gone, something she’d been into heavily since finishing up her college career in Nacogdoches, TX at SFA. Chrissy made the chocolate cake for Dad’s birthday, with Mom’s blessing. She used dark chocolate icing, and I love dark chocolate! When cake time rolled around, I realized I just didn’t want any. Now remember, we are the dessert family. We make, take, and eat dessert more than many. Everyone else had some. It looked and smelled great, and everyone said it was. I thought about how I was sure there would be cake left and I could decide to have some the next day if I wanted to. I also thought about the cookie I’d eaten earlier that day. Okay, fine. I had two cookies. Dessert family, less you forget. My point is, in the past those two cookies around lunch time would not have influenced me enough to turn down birthday cake at night. It’s a baby step. The fact that I made the conscious decision to turn down perfectly free, delicious, no-one-would-have-known, celebratory cake felt like a small win for me. And it wasn’t even my birthday.