Sometimes the smallest things can make us feel vulnerable. Especially when we fail at something, and even when it’s not materially important.

 

This is the carrot cake I made for my son’s recent 22nd birthday.
Baker artists, close your eyes.

Carrot cake, and specifically this recipe, is my favorite. So imagine my delight when my son chose it for his birthday this year.

 

This cake recipe has history. Some (aka me) might say it's legendary.

For nearly two decades, my mom baked me homemade carrot cake, more often than not, on my June birthday—made with freshly grated carrots, back when ‘food processor’ wasn’t an item in our kitchen. She labored over a small, manual carrot grinder as I watched her grating for what seemed like hours. Many of the cakes over the years were decorated with M&Ms in my name or the age I was turning.

While home for a long Memorial Day weekend just before my 21st birthday, my mom had a new plan…

 

Pass on the tradition.

 

The day my college bestie and I were due to head back to school, my mom baked the cake, packed a Styrofoam cooler with dry ice, and included all the frosting ingredients to bring as we traveled back to CU. She included the recipe and I believe an amusing note to the cheeky tune of ‘make it yourself’, communicating her ‘subtle’, well-deserved retirement from homemade carrot cakes.

 

Since then—aside from a few bonus years that she came out of retirement when distance wasn’t a factor—I’ve made the cake a few times... (translate to dozens at least). You'd think I'd have it down pat.

 

This year, this one WAS perfect…
Until I didn’t wait for the cake to cool enough before frosting it (again).
Late night. Tired. And I thought, “It should be fine now.”
I was wrong.

 

By morning, the top layer had cascaded off to the side inside the cake dome containing it. My efforts to “fix” it made things worse. My options became:

I chose the last option.

 

We judge ourselves, others, or the presenting circumstances when things go awry. But time and time again, great things come out of the less-than-perfect. If we put aside judgment, laugh at ourselves, and find the gift, the outcomes are sometimes better than we can plan intentionally.

 

Here’s how AMPLIFY showed up in this messy (and still sweet) 2025 moment:

Accountability:

I owned the mistake, resisted blaming the frosting (or the fridge), and pivoted.

Mindset: 

Instead of spiraling into perfectionism, I laughed at the mess and remembered the point was to celebrate my son.

Purpose/Planning/Parenting: 

This wasn’t about cake. It was about tradition, love, and making memories. My son didn’t need perfection—he needed presence (and delicious cake).

Leadership: 

I modeled recovery. Sometimes leadership means owning a flop and turning it into a win with creativity and grace.

Innovation and Integrity: 

The fix? 100% on-brand. I kept the heart of the tradition but added a new chapter to our family lore and tied in my son’s love of Superman.

Family and Framily: 

My son felt the love, laughed, (and enjoyed every bite). That’s what mattered.

You (Self-Care): 

I let go of guilt, didn’t stay up late making a second cake, and allowed myself to rest. Definite progress for me.

Perfection isn’t the goal—connection is. And sometimes, the stories and the memories behind the cake end up being sweeter than the frosting.

PS: You could try to woo me with your carrot cake recipe, but I stand by this one as best in class. (And yes, it's even better the second day.) 

 

My son rated it a 10 on a scale of 1-9 (and he is a tough evaluator so it was a win, all around, on an epic fail.