When we were little, my dad used to make us homemade birthday cakes cut into familiar shapes and displayed on large foil covered boards; a Raggedy Ann doll with Oreo cookies for feet, and a big white rocket ship among them. I can vaguely recall him making the intricate details with colored icing and dotting row after row of little frosting stars to make these in our honor. I know I have pictures of them somewhere and they were quite impressive in scale as well as in concept, but it's the idea of my dad imagining and then making these cakes for us that really is so touching because I understand as a mom now what a labor of love this is. Dad used to make us other things too, painted bookcases and cool furniture with matching upholstered chairs for our rooms, mine always pink and green, my brother's blue and red. He even hooked me a beautiful rug wall-hanging with a big basket of playful, white kittens and my name stitched in curly capitol letters across the bottom. I love