Super cake for a super man

Last night when I walked into my room to change in to my pajamas I noticed all of the pillows were inching toward my designated side of the bed (which is the left if you are looking at the bed or laying on your stomach and the right if you are laying on your back).  I smiled because it is one of the many little physical manifestations of how much I'm loved by that amazing man of mine.  He loves to snuggle close to me as we sleep, and it seems I spend the night rolling away from him.  Although I love to snuggle with him too, I have trouble sleeping with another person beside me because of my subconscious fears of waking that person.  But Paul is exceedingly patient, if not very persistent, and often ends up on my side of the bed with me trapped in his wonderful arms by the time my alarm begins to beep.  His body is like warm towels pulled fresh from the dryer and I no longer wish to roll away.  It is cold outside the boundaries of our rectangular bed and I don't anticipate feeling that warm again until the evening when once again I will be chased down in my sleep only to wake up in the morning wondering why I roll away so much.  It is delightful to be snuggled.

It's funny to think about this time two years ago.  Sitting in on a grassy spot just outside Macey's my best friend and I ate personal pan pizzas and I cried as I told her I thought I'd never get married.  I couldn't imagine a boy ever loving me enough to commit to me for eternity or even life for that matter.  I didn't even love myself, why should anyone else?

That same month Paul was hired at my work.

He had just turned twenty-three.

I was eighteen.

And I had a LOT of growing up to do.

But he loved me.

To this day I don't quite understand it.

But I'm glad.

Because he does my taxes, washes dishes with me, empties the dish drainer, takes out the garbage, and comforts me when I wake up from a nightmare about being taken to jail for protecting birds.  He pulls his hands through my hair when I cry, tucks me in when I'm tired, smiles when I try to be funny, and gets my door every time we go somewhere together.  He tells me I'm beautiful and makes me feel wanted and important.

Have I made you sick yet?  It's about to get worse.

Because it was Paul's birthday yesterday I decided to make him a special cake.  I wanted him to know how much I loved him so I made every part of the cake symbolic.  I began with a chocolate cake and chocolate frosting symbolizing romance.  I wanted to thank him for spontaneous bouquets of flowers and kisses under the Christmas mistletoe.  The filling was caramel to represent the richness he brings to my life and coconut to represent tropical. . . tropical. . . okay, so we're not very tropical, but caramel and coconut go good together just like me and Paul.

Blue symbolizes trust, and I can trust him with anything.  There are days when I feel trodden down by unhappy customers or embarrassed by the aftermath of too many beans, and I feel comfortable talking to Paul because I know he will laugh with me or comfort me in my sorrows.  I trust him with my innermost thoughts and most embarrassing moments because he doesn't make me feel ridiculous.

Yellow symbolizes warmth and cheerfulness.  One smile from him and I feel blissfully happy.  One message on my phone where I hear his soft voice telling me he loves me and that he got a good parking place is all it takes to make me melt.  I especially like his bright, happy eyes.

Crimson red for romance and a ruby shape to represent how precious our marriage is to me.

The border is made up of squares which in literature often represent righteousness.  I love that he prays with  me each night.  I smile when I listen to him read letters from Moroni as though he wrote them himself and with enough feeling to convince me to surrender my weapons of war.  I love being in the temple with him, dressed completely in white, and imaging what eternity will be like.

All the symbols put together make a beautiful sight.  Except for the writing.  That's what happens when you're too lazy to get out a piping bag and think a sandwich bag will give the same effect.  Oh well.  It'll still taste good.

Happy 25th birthday, Pablo!