I Lied on My "Mum Resume"

There are three unavoidable Rules in my life:

1. Rottweilers will steal food with the confidence of unionised burglars.

2. Westley will create chaos with strategy, purpose, and follow-through.

3. And I will assume that because I can figure out absolutely anything out at work, I must be competent everywhere (Spoiler: I am not.)

It’s the home-life equivalent of being the EA who always “figures it out,” and then assuming the same magic will apply outside the office.

You walk in thinking,

“Problem-solving is my entire personality, this will be fine.”

And then the universe says,

“Lol. No.”

I know this.

History knows this.

And the Women’s Weekly Birthday Cake Book absolutely knows this.

Which brings us to this week’s episode….

Saturday was Westley’s 3rd Birthday.

So, out came the aforementioned Birthday Cake Book.

My mother got this exact copy for her 19th birthday. My sister and I treated it like scripture.

Now it’s been passed down to me, and honestly?

The pressure is... aggressively unreasonable.

Part I: The Cubby House

(A masterclass in overestimating your skillset and underestimating your toddler)

As if the pressure from the Birthday Cake wasn’t enough...

This year, I upgraded myself.

Because why simply ruin a cake…

when you can also build a structurally questionable cubby house?

Not buy one.

Build.

With timber.

Screws.

Tools that could end us.

It was basically me performing the ultimate resume fraud. It’s like claiming that you’re “confident with board papers,” then walking into your first week as an EA and being asked to build an entire reporting dashboard from scratch…

with no access, no instructions, and a CEO breathing down your neck.

And you find yourself saying:

“Yep. Totally fine. I’ve got this,”

while internally scream-whispering,

“I do not got this.”

Lucky for me, I had a… “team.”

• Nan – moral support and biscuit distribution

• Pop – slept in a chair the entire time, “supervising” with his eyes closed

• Robbie – aged 11, only actual helper present

• Tandy – not so much helping as laughing at the absurdity

• Nathaniel – the Safety and Compliance department

• Westley – CEO of Interference & Tool Theft

We began like optimistic contestants on The Block: Delusional Woman Edition.

Within minutes, Westley picked up a drill like he’d taken a short course at TAFE.

Thus began the official construction rhythm:

1. Drill one screw

2. Turn off drill

3. Remove battery

4. Hide battery

5. Pray he doesn’t find it

6. Pray you remember where you hid it

7. Repeat

Four hours later, the “cubby house” (generously described) emerged as a paradox:

• Too low: Jackson the Rottweiler can stand on his back legs and retrieve pizza like it’s a drive-through window. We accept our fate.

• Too high: Westley now waves at George the cantankerous St Bernard next door like royalty greeting citizens from a palace balcony. Foreign relations: secured.

Somehow, I managed to fail spectacularly at both ends of the height spectrum.

A true marvel of engineering.

Part II: The Cake Timeline (A Brief History of Failure)

April – Nathaniel’s Minecraft Cake

Attempt #1:

A decent cake.

Beautiful even.

Which Jackson immediately ate.

No crumbs. No witnesses. Just Rule #1 in action.

Attempt #2:

A 10pm emergency rebuild before his party.

PSA: do NOT attempt to carve warm sponge into Minecraft cubes.

Warm sponge does not cube.

Warm sponge collapses into post-apocalyptic terrain.

Nathaniel, sweet angel, said,

“It tastes better than it looks, Mum.”

Translation:

“This is a cry for help.”

November – Westley’s Pirate Cake

And like an eternal optimist with no memory of past trauma…

I tried again.

Mixer set.

Oven preheated.

Women’s Weekly open like scripture.

Attempt #1: Pirate Cake

Looked like a pirate who had… passed on. 

Possibly haunted.

Westley asked,

“Is he sleeping?”

No babe.

He has perished.

Attempt #2: Sensible Vanilla

The emotional-support cake I made at 4am.

Safe.

Reasonable.

The HR-approved option.

It survived... which is more than I can say for my self-esteem.

Part III: The Actual Point of This Story (If there even is one)

Here’s the truth:

• I cannot build a cake.

• I cannot build a cubby house.

• And yet I keep trying like a woman powered by hope, caffeine, and delusion.

Why?

Because this is what people like me do.

What mothers do.

What quiet achievers do every day:

• We accept impossible requests.

• We improvise wildly.

• We recover from disasters we did not cause.

• We project confidence we do not feel.

• We do tasks we were never trained for.

• We say “yes” and figure it out.

Even when the cubby is too low and too high.

Even when the cake looks like maritime tragedy.

Even when the dog commits grand larceny.

And yet?

The kids loved it.

The dogs lived their best lives.

The house was chaotic and warm.

And Westley fell asleep on his 3rd birthday with cake on his face and his new play Doctor Set suitcase tucked beside him like he’d had a very important day at the office.

It wasn’t Pinterest perfect.

It wasn’t Instagram worthy.

It wasn’t even slightly competent.

But it was perfect in our way.

The real kind.

The human kind.

And maybe the point is somewhere in that.