Remember how cleaning up after a good party involved a lot of scrubbing and disinfectant in college? It still does…
Truthfully though, the vomit didn't come until the next morning. It. Was. Everywhere. And the poop (if you could call it that)... oh gawd. I'm having flashbacks... *gag*. The “Smash Cake”, well… it smashed… her guts. 6 lbs. of buttercrème icing and a one year old G.I. tract are an explosive combination. Who knew, right? I opened Sprinkles door the next morning to find a happy, smiling little girl waving at me… completely covered in vomit with a loaded diaper that could have been used as a WMD. No crying, no screaming... I had just heard some squeaking a few minutes before I came in... She felt better, though... “Mommy, why are you just standing there making those funny choking/gagging noises? I’m ready for my Cheerios!”.
Which brings me to “The Smash Cake”. This is not our norm. The idea of buying something that they are just going to destroy seemed a bit counter intuitive, (especially considering we spend most of our waking existence trying to keep things like food and boogers OUT of their hair and various orifi).) but it was free (Go Publix!) and so hubby and I decided to try it. While Sprinkles was relatively unimpressed initially, the reaction from the adults was PRICELESS! The feral anticipation of the impending pastry slaughter was palatable. Like plebeians at the coliseum, they leaned in, hungry for blood/frosting, and roared with pleasure as the first blow was struck! Sprinkles played both Emperor and Gladiator masterfully, showing that sparkly pink cake no mercy and taking ALL quarters. Having honed her smashing skills on an unlucky purple cupcake previously, she was all practiced perfection. She took her time… played with it… working the crowd into a screeching frenzy, until… BAM! Into her lap it went for maximum effect (and coverage)!
After a quick bath, it was on to round two… wrapping paper…. J