About 5 or 6 years back I tried my hand at baking. I went to the store and purchased a cake pan and all the ingredients. I came home and fired up my Mom's twenty+ year old Sunbeam Mix Master. After measuring, and sifting and finally filling the pan with batter, I was overjoyed when I took a peek at my cake in the middle of its cooking time. It had risen higher than the cake pan and I knew this had to be a good sign. I carefully closed the oven door and waited patiently for the timer to ding. When it did, I opened my oven to find a beautiful, golden brown pound cake. I placed it on the counter to cool for ten minutes before inverting and slathering with a lovely lemon glaze. When I went back to the cake it had deflated. It was flat and lifeless and definitely worthy of its name. It was so heavy when I tried to separate it from the pan. I tried to salvage it with the glaze but it was no use. I still put the sad looking thing under the cake plate for all to see. After a couple of days my Mom finally said, "Why don't you put that heavy ass cake in the trash?" And I did. As the cake hit the can with a thud, I knew right then baking wasn't for me. I would just leave it to the pros. That is until I became a mother. I decided that I would make all of my daughters food from scratch. And though I felt a certain sense of pride in making my baby's food, baking still hadn't entered my mind. That is until she was turning one. I knew I was just going to have a very small get together, and I could have easily just picked up a cake from the supermarket, but I wanted it to be special. I wanted there to be some type of tradition behind the homemade birthday cake. I figured maybe I could do this for her birthday every year. So I got online and researched and was very shocked to find that there is a whole "Caking" community. So I finally decided on a design and armed with my piping bags, a round tip and a star tip this is the cake I came up with. And here is where my obsession began.