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Happy Birthday, Babe. We Tried.

The FFSC kitchen was not designed for baking. It was built for champagne, questionable decisions, and midnight snacks off a chrome counter. But today… it belonged to the M&M brigade.

Evy tied an apron over questionable yoga pants. “Alright, troops. Daddy’s birthday cake. Let’s go.”

Max smacked the bowl with a wooden spoon like he was summoning warriors. Mimi immediately tried to climb into the flour bag.

“No-Mimi, that’s not a bathtub.” Too late. A flour explosion. The world went white.

“MOM! Mimi SNOWED!” Max yelled.

Evy wiped Mimi’s face. “Snow. Perfect. Happy birthday, Daddy-your kitchen is a crime scene.”

She reached for the eggs just as Max grabbed one and squeezed it in his fist. Egg oozed down his arm. He looked thrilled.

“I CRACKED IT!!”

“You sure did,” Evy sighed. Cake. Cake for Daddy. Cake before she lost her mind.

She poured sugar. Mimi poured salt. Max dumped in a fistful of M&Ms “because the baby likes them.”

The mixer whirred, screamed, nearly died. Mimi slapped the button again, delighted. Batter splattered the backsplash, Max’s hair, Evy’s chest.

“Perfect. Daddy loves abstract art.”

Finally, the batter - lumpy and suspicious - made it into a pan. She shoved it into the oven and exhaled like she’d survived combat.

Max pressed his face to the window. “Mama… is it supposed to shake like that?”

“It’s… fine,” she lied.

The timer beeped. The cake emerged. Leaning. Listing. Possibly sentient.

Mimi clapped. Max saluted it.

Evy looked at the monstrosity, then her flour-covered children, then back at the cake. A wicked grin spread.

“He’s gonna love it.”

They carried the wobbling disaster toward the living room - Evy leading, Max marching, Mimi coated in sugar like a feral donut.

“Alright, M&M’s,” Evy whispered. “Let’s go give Daddy a birthday he’ll never forget.”