Replacing the Cake

Question

Max knew they were in trouble when he saw his five-year-old brother, Anthony, with a face full of chocolate. He knew he shouldn’t have left Anthony alone while he was playing video games. Mom’s big potluck was in an hour, and Anthony had taken a big chunk out of the chocolate cake in the fridge. Now Mom would be going to the potluck empty-handed, and she’d never trust Max to babysit again. Unless . . .

An hour. Just enough time to bake another cake. He raced down to the basement. There in the back of the pantry he spotted it—cake mix! There was hope. He brought it upstairs and checked the ingredients list, which consisted of cake mix, eggs, water, and oil. No problem, as long as he could get to the oil at the cabinet above the fridge. The stepstool was nowhere to be found, so he’d have to stand on the counter, he thought to himself.

Just as he was reaching for the oil, the phone rang. “Hi Mom!” Anthony was saying a moment later. “Good. Max is standing on the counter, and we’re making a . . . .”

In the nick of time, Max grabbed the phone. “Oh, hi Mom. Of course, Mom, everything’s fine. Max is pulling your leg, you know I wouldn’t stand on the counter. . . . What are we making? Oh, right, just a, um, healthy snack.” Max glared at Anthony, who was still licking frosting off his face.

Mom was soon off the phone, and Max was back to racing against the clock. He preheated the oven, grabbed a mixing bowl. He measured out the water and oil and cracked the eggs into the bowl, and into the oven went the mixture. The 45 minutes of baking seemed to go on forever.

Finally, just a few minutes before Mom was to return home, he pulled the cake out of the oven. All that remained was to spread the frosting. He pulled the frosting out of the fridge—it looked a little stiff. Throwing caution to the wind, he dug in his spreading knife, retrieved a dollop of frosting, and smeared it across the cake. It was a disaster. The cake had not cooled, so the top crumbled, leaving a trail of crumbs in the frosting’s wake. He tried to cover it over with more frosting, but it was still too cold to spread. The cake was looking more like a craggy mountainside than the perfect dessert he had imagined. He had failed.

The door opened. “What smells so good?” Max’s mother asked. Max’s confession about Anthony’s misdeeds and his own failure spilled out in one long sentence. He was at his mother’s mercy.

“Oh, that’s all right,” his mother said with a reassuring smile, as she pulled a cheese plate from the fridge. “I’m bringing an appetizer. The cake was for you guys.” Make a poem using this

Answer 1

In a house full of laughter, a brotherly fight,
Max saw his brother, in chocolate delight.
Mom's potluck was coming, expectations were high,
But a cake had been nibbled, oh me, oh my!

Anthony, dear brother, with frosting on face,
Had taken a chunk from its sweet, precious place.
"Now Mom won't bring cake, she'll surely be mad,
And my chances of babysitting? They'll go from bad!"

With an hour to spare, Max sprang into action,
Down to the basement, fueled by a fraction
Of hope he'd find cake mix, and there it was gleaming,
He'd bake up a cake, despite all his scheming.

Ingredients gathered, he checked every list,
Cake mix, and oil, and eggs—he couldn't resist.
But finding the oil proved a wily bet,
The stepstool was missing; he’d have to up-set.

Just as he reached for that slippery can,
The phone rang aloud, the impromptu plan ran.
"Hi, Mom!" squeaked young Anthony, his giggles a ploy,
Max lunged for the phone, to spare Mom the faux joy.

“Oh, everything's fine!” he lied with a cheer,
“Just healthy snacks, nothing to fear!”
But Anthony, innocent, with frosting so sweet,
Was a sight that could surely throw Max off his feet.

With oven preheated, the timer began,
Mixing the batter, oh yes, here I can!
He measured the water, added each egg,
And into the oven, the mixture he begged.

The minutes ticked slowly, his heart raced with dread,
As visions of frosting danced round in his head.
Finally, the cake was done, golden and hot,
But alas, spreading frosting was no easy plot.

The frosting was stiff; he took a bold chance,
Smeared on a layer, but what a sad dance!
Crumbled atop like a rough mountain face,
“Mom’s gonna be furious,” he thought, his heart raced.

Just then at the door, he heard footsteps near,
“What's that delicious smell? What brings me such cheer?”
Max spilled out his secrets, his heart on the line,
“Oh, Mom, it was Anthony, the cake is a sign!”

But instead of the anger he braced for with fear,
Mom smiled and chuckled, “Oh, my dear!
I’m bringing an appetizer, a cheese plate so grand;
The cake was for you two, it was never in hand!”

Relief washed over him, like sunshine in spring,
For with laughter and love, life is a sweet thing.
No cake was required for the bond to remain,
Just brothers together, through laughter and pain.