Sweet Times in Hoboken, Part 1: The Drive

My fun, loyal, and spontaneous friend Renee' called me last Thursday and asked if I'd like to go to Hoboken, New Jersey with her.  Well, with her, her birthday girl Mary ,and six of Mary's cronies. For two years Mary had wanted a birthday cake from the TLC's iconic bakery called Carlo's.   Does the name Buddy ring  a bell? The Cake Boss ?  Yeah, that Buddy.  The bakery was named for his father who passed away after decades of serving the Hoboken community some amazing baked goods.

Of course I said yes after checking my intensely jam- packed social calendar. Not. The only thing happening the same weekend was our son's 21st birthday, but between older brother's and SIL's party for him on Friday night, and his girlfriend's pool party on Saturday afternoon, my maternal input would be scarcely missed.  I am only the woman who gave birth to him, diapered him, fed him, chauffeured him to every  practice, game, or performance, took him to the ER more than once, homeschooled him from K-10th grade, edited his papers for college entrance, yada yada. No big deal.

But I digress. And I jest. I was more than happy to know that the older brothers got to hang out, and that so many people wanted to celebrate this young man I'm honored to call my son.

Back to the post...

I am a big Cake Boss fan.  Buddy is one of the most likable people on television, and I'm sure he's like that in real life.  I hoped to see him in person, but I had my serious doubts I'd get that close to the celebrity, but I wouldn't mind breathing in the same sugary air he's been breathing for eons.

Renee and I and the wonderful girls--our own  Magnificent Seven-- piled into Renee's big van and headed north.  Their music choices were an eclectic mix of Justin Beiber and praise music. Mostly Beiber.  How long did you say this ride would be? Three and a half hours? Can I change my mind right here on the interstate? I was thinking it's her party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if  I want to.  Actually I was thinking, these are really sweet girls and I remember being a teeny bopper once upon a time. It was going to be a happy day; I could feel it as we rolled on down the highway.

Before long, I found out the real reason Renee' wanted me along: to drive over the bridges. She is deathly afraid she'll drive right over the edge and drown in the river below. So she hugs the inside lane and breathes heavily when she has no other choice. She tried to tell me this time she'd be fine. Only once did things go black on her, she said. Black? Okay, that does it. I'm driving over the bridge. We switched places and I took the wheel . I lifted my palms up toward the view ahead and asked, 'Isn't it beautiful? This bridge. It's pure art, what with all the lines and curves..."  She interrupted me and begged me to please don't take my hands of the wheel again.  Comical.