Welcome to Life Lately!

It’s been awhile — and I have A LOT to catch you up on. Since my last email, I have another degree and a new last name, not to mention a new husband, apartment, and job. I guess that about sums up the last 10-ish months of life, but it’d be a disservice not to share details below. Hang on for the ride — it’s a wild one!

Spoiler: this is our WEDDING CAKE! Photo via Caitlyn Weathers Photography

Let’s start with engagement:

In September, Seth and I decided to get married.

Photo via Caitlyn Weathers Photography

But we had to graduate first.

Photo via Emily Reid Photography (fellow Berry alum!)

So we did!

May 2022 — Seth received his Bachelor’s in Chemistry and I completed my MBA (hallelujah), both from Berry College where we met on the golf team.

And then we had to pick a new city, pick a grad school, and find a place to live.

So we picked Jupiter, Florida (for obvious reasons — see below).

But also as a result of a lot of prayer, maybe the most ever in our lives, and a place at Scripps Research Institute for Seth.

To answer your question, no, I am not going back to school. I put in two more years than I ever planned for my MBA!

Then I finished out my job at Berry (no more chickens for me), started looking for a new job, and moved a 20’ Uhaul to our one-bed apartment.

Don’t ask me how it all fit, I still can’t figure it out. (Thanks to my dad for loading, driving, and unloading all my stuff, couldn’t have done it without him!)

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AND THEN…

Photo via Caitlyn Weathers Photography

We got married! It finally happened and it was PERFECT!

I have so much wedding content to share, but I have to finish out the timeline and updates first:

Because I can’t leave out our honeymoon to our favorite little city of Savannah. It was wonderful!

Since then, we’ve settled in Florida and are figuring out our new life. Everyone’s next question is “So what about Jorie Cakes?”

I wish I had a firm answer, but it all depends on how quickly I can learn the Florida baking regulations and apply for licensing. For now, baking will mostly be our way to make friends (it’s worked before!). Long-term, I’d love to get setup and break into the wedding cake world in Jupiter. Even after coming off of our own wedding, I can’t seem to get enough of the industry, though I’m glad the only weddings I’ll be involved in will be for other people!

I think that about does it. In this bullet-point summary, there’s a lot of details not included. Like the patience, endurance, and faith all of this took. The Lord is good to us, and that’s pretty much the only reason all of this happened.

Until next time, friends! Thanks for following along this crazy journey.

Cheers!

Jorie Jolly (check out that name!)

Hey, Stranger!

Hey, Stranger!

Well, maybe not stranger. No one on here is a stranger, and I like it that way!

It’s been so long since I’ve logged on to my own site that I feel like the stranger here. Tonight, though, I had a revelation, and that is…

I like to write.

There! I said it. I like to write, and I just so happen to have a blog on my cake site, and I don’t have to keep limiting myself to only blogging about cakes. I thought all this at the gym, which was after class, which was after work, which was after homework. Needless to say, it’s been a long day, and I didn’t think I had much left in me. However, it was like an internal alarm was going off in my head that, at 10:30pm, caused me to (cautiously) speed home, air fry some chicken nuggets, and get to my laptop ASAP.

This might have also been spurred by last week’s trip to Pennsylvania for Cheese Class at Penn State. Yeah, you read that right. Cheese Class! I’ll enlighten you with my new-found cheese-making knowledge soon, but back to the blogging for now…

Cheese Class certificate — it’s legit!

The truth is, I’ve been waiting for circumstances to be right to do this. Well, really, to do anything that I love. I’ve been in a season of life that’s simultaneously full of beauty and growth and wonder, as well as discouragement, frustration, and extreme fatigue. I’ve come to realize those things are never going away (Enneagram 3, anyone?).

Every day I wake up feeling extremely blessed to know what it is that I love to do — what engages my creativity, challenges my strategic thinking, and, for thirteen years, has never felt like work.

And that is baking cakes.

A recent wedding I did that I cannot get out of my mind! The entire day was as dreamy as this gold-tinted photo.

What’s been difficult with this knowledge is the inability to actually do what I love every day. As I’ve been working full time, earning an MBA, and planning our wedding (!!!!), cakes have had to take a back seat. I’ve been extremely intentional the past few months with narrowing my schedule down to only the essentials, thinking that would relieve some stress. To a degree, it did, because I’ve been able to spend some of the time with the people I love most. But it also cut out the time I spend doing what I love in the kitchen.

There’s not much I can do about my circumstances when it comes to work and school, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t make much more time for cakes in the next few months.

So, that lead me here. Writing. Thinking. Playing with words.

I really have no plan for where this is going to go, or if it will even go anywhere, but I do know that I like doing it. I also know the Lord has given me a lot of testaments to His goodness, and it’d be a real disservice not to share them.

Starting with the circumstances thing. They aren’t changing, and I’m done trying to tunnel-vision my way through them. I was specifically placed (and kept) in Rome, GA, doing exactly what I’m doing, with the exact people I have around me, for a specific purpose. Plus, I have a wonderful fiancé (like the kind you find in Hallmark movies) who brings light to my life every day as we enter an entire life together. And he won’t be my fiancé for that much longer — and I sure as heck don’t want to miss that!

See, here he is! And Seth, when you read this (I know he will because I signed him up for these email chains which is borderline illegal), please just know I love you. A lot :) (photo credit to Caitlyn Weathers Photography)

Even on the toughest of days, circumstances are only circumstances. They may change, they may not. But I’m here to make the most of them using the platforms I have. I hope you can do the same, too! And if/when it’s hard, we can help each other along. After all, we’re all here for far more than just circumstances.

I hope this finds you well on a late Tuesday night. I’m better go to bed so I can get up and do it all again tomorrow!

Until next time,

jorie

PS — I haven’t seen the chickens in awhile (and that’s ok with me), and, yes, I will be making our wedding cake (more on that later!!)

Let's Talk About Life (and Chickens)

Since we last met on here, I’ve made over a hundred new friends as I’ve started working full time. The thing is, they all have feathers and a beak and very bad control of their bladders (if ya know what I mean).

I’ll say it — I’m not a farm girl. I’m not outdoorsy. I don’t like camping or most animals and I’m sitting at my desk looking at my two dying houseplants.

However, over the last year, I’ve completed half an MBA while learning to like working in a barn, driving trucks, and putting a fresh coat of paint on almost everything in sight. I’ve learned to keep sunscreen, old tennis shoes, work gloves, and at least one hat in my car at all times — because I’ve also learned how to pull a tick out of my hair and walk through any sort of miscellaneous brown substance on the ground.

I hope you understand that this is basically a modern-day miracle.

I grew up on golf courses and in nice, air-conditioned kitchens. I’m really good at grocery shopping and actually just shopping in general. I like things cleaned and organized and I like operating on schedules. This is quite the opposite of my new work environment — and it’s actually making me a better person. The closest thing I’ve ever done was 8 years of Girl Scouts, but I was in a troop that had bowling parties and spa days and “camped” in cabins.

Your next logical question — as is mine most days — WHY?? Why are you doing this?!

Because, perhaps most of all, I’ve learned that it’s not the work you do that matters, but the people you’re with. Through an inspiring supervisor and some very hard-working student team members, I’ve experienced more brain power in one year than most witness in an entire career.

There are good days, not-so-good days, and days that require a lot of problem solving and sweat equity. It’s so fun! Really, it is. Mostly because, at the end of the day, we all know we’re in it together, and working for the betterment of everyone around us (whether they have two legs, four legs, utters, or beaks).

With all that said, this is my newest life update for you: Jorie Cakes has been a little quiet. Don’t worry, I’m still baking, and will be baking forever! In this season of life, I’m adjusting to new full-time job, grad school, and personal priorities, which means cakes have fallen a bit to the back burner. They’re still very much in my long-term vision, as I hope one day to fulfill what I believe the Lord’s called me to do: celebrate others through cake. But for now, I have lots of things to learn, lots of people to care for, and lots of jobs that need to be done outside of my kitchen.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still be taking orders when I can and I keep my customers a top priority. Sometimes baking is what maintains my sanity, so it’s best for everyone if I keep it up!

I appreciate everyone who asks about my business or comments on the posts they see on social media. That means the world to me! I wish I had more time to dedicate to all of that fun stuff, but most nights are spent either in class or in recovery mode from shoveling out barns (which is actually a great workout!!).

I’d also like to encourage everyone that God can use your skills and abilities in ways you could never imagine, as long as you’re willing to learn. Never in my life would I have imagined the phrase “chicken coop” to be a part of my daily vocabulary, but it’s been surprisingly fulfilling and fun, living and learning totally outside of my comfort zone. I don’t do my job perfectly, in fact there are many ways I could do it a lot better, but I feel very blessed to even be able to do it at all. I have no doubt that all of these things I’m learning now will greatly benefit Jorie Cakes in the future.

So, loyal readers, carry on as though the work you’re doing is going to change the world — because it just might change someone’s world in the process.

With love and lots of eggs to collect,

jorie

*Note: My job is also a lot of event planning, market-hosting, and office work, which is much more my style. But those things don’t make for as good of a story!

3 Non-Diet Lessons From Whole 30

It’s October. !!!!

Thirty-one days ago I began the adventure of Whole 30, a cleanse that strips your diet of grains & gluten, dairy, soy, alcohol, and sugar, just to name a few. In essence, it’s a thirty-day science experiment to see which food groups affect your body and how they do so. It’s also a thirty-day period to knock any bad habits, start again, and build a healthier relationship with food.

It’s hard. But doable!

Even though I’ve finished the 30-day cleanse, I’m still only halfway through the process. The reintroduction phase—adding those food groups back into your diet, gradually—can take up to thirty days, and in itself is a science experiment. It’s also a strategy that protects your body from going into shock after downing an Oreo milkshake on day 31 (yikes).

Over the month of September, I learned a lot. I learned a lot about food, how God intended us to eat it, and the power it has over us mentally, physically, and socially. I could write about the diet part of the experiment, but I’d like to take this post to share my three biggest takeaways that aren’t directly related to food, but that I wouldn’t have learned without drastically altering my diet.

3 Non-Diet Lessons From Whole 30

1. I’ll get over it

Couldn’t have that pasta/taco/ice cream/latte that my friends were having? Got over it.

Had to settle for a La Croix instead of a margarita? Got over it.

Went to work/class/bed hungry? Got over it.

See the pattern? The saying “this too shall pass” is the ultimate mantra of Whole 30. Those tempting old habits that, at the time, feel like they’ll make or break you if they’re not resolved eventually end up passing. It’s quite amazing to witness. During Whole 30, when you can’t have those foods you find yourself eating even when you’re not hungry, are completely off limits. In fact, you’re not even supposed to sub out grapes or cauliflower chips for Reese’s Cups or tortilla chips because the purpose is to knock the habit, not just satisfy it with something “healthier”.

In the end, I got over all the times I was hungry and/or bored, and guess what? I survived, and it proved that as much as I have the power to say yes to a 10pm brownie, I have just as much power to say no, and feel better because of it.

2. I’m an all-or-nothing person

I have two mindsets: zero or one-hundred. There’s no in between, and it only took me a few days to realize this. Since so many unhealthy choices were just completely off the table, I didn’t even notice their absences. Thanks to accountability from my housemate, Gabrielle, who was also cleansing, and everyone I publicly alerted on social media, giving in was not an option.

I may be a lot of things, but a quitter isn’t one—especially not on a public stage. If I live without strict discipline, I’ll never commit to living a “healthier life” and I’ll continue to eat just one more of everything until I can’t eat any more. However, if I commit to 30 days of eating eggs, sweet potatoes, and steamed broccoli, by golly I’m going to do it, and I’m going to do it wholeheartedly.

Over the past thirty days, I realized that my all-or-nothing mentality carries across my entire life. Seriously!

Even when it comes to lights—I either turn every single light on in my space (which is like 7 lamps and a candle), or I work in complete darkness. All or nothing.

If I have 47 fondant roses to make, I’ll either sit down and make all 47 or I’ll put it off until I’m mentally ready to commit to starting and finishing the entire project, because I know I can’t leave it undone. All or nothing.

This, my friends, was an absolute revelation. I don’t have the personality that can only eat one bite of cake. I either eat it all, or I eat nothing.

3. I’m stressed

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner! And it only took thirty days of extreme dieting to understand that I tend to carry around a little (a lot) of extra stress.

Actually, it only took 20 days. On day 20, I was processing through my progress, and decided I hadn’t seen as many results as I thought I should. A little disheartening, yes, but nonetheless revolutionary. My diet was solid (except for the occasional overdose on plantain chips), I was exercising, I was drinking only water and black coffee, yet almost no weight loss and my energy level had significantly decreased, when it was supposed to do the opposite according to Whole 30 insights.

Then, it hit me. I. Am. Stressed. That is precisely the barrier between me and my goals, and I think it has been for a long time. On day 20, I decided to stop stressing (All or Nothing—case in point). Then on day 23, I noticed significant weight loss, an increase in energy and mood, and more time in the day to stop and smell the roses. It was truly miraculous.

At this current time, I’m doing no more or less than I was on day 20, yet I feel like a totally different person. I can’t say it’s diet related, but because my diet literally had nothing in it that could be blamed for plateaued results, it had to be another cause. Low and behold, it’s been stress this whole time.

I could go on and on and on about my experience with Whole 30 (and I’m happy to, if that’s what you want!), but I’ll conclude with a simple acknowledgment that I could have never conquered thirty days of sacrifice without three things:

• two weeks of deep research and mental preparation before day 1,

• my housemate and sounding board, Gabrielle,

• and the convicting parallel to the ultimate sacrifice of Christ on the cross, which makes my sacrifice of gluten and sugar seem so overwhelmingly small and humble.

And for all of these and more, I am grateful.

Cheers,

jorie

Birthday + Business Update!

Remember these Dairy Queen ice cream cakes? The Blizzard ones with layers of ice cream and Oreos and whipped cream and, oh yeah, the Oreo Fudge center??

I do. I love them. I remember having a DQ cake for most birthdays as a kid, except for the year my mom got me a Barbie Doll cake (a classic).

Anyway, in the spirit of growing up (23 years of life today!), I’ve decided to make a grown-up DQ cake in the form of a Mocha Kahlua Oreo Ice Cream Cake:

• Rich Chocolate Cake Layers

• Oreo + Fudge Crunch Filling

• Kahlua + Espresso Ice Cream

• Coffee Whipped Cream

• Chocolate Ganache Drip

But before I started on the cake, I made my own version of a Kahlua & Cream Cocktail. If you’ve never heard of Kahlua, it’s just the perfect ratio of rum + coffee liqueur. It’s a very rich, smooth flavor with a thicker/syrupy texture that really enhances any coffee drink. Add some vanilla coffee creamer (y’all know I love that stuff) and you’ve got yourself a killer cocktail.

And before the cocktail, I seriously couldn’t decide how I wanted to ring in twenty-three, but everything really lined up for me to make this new chocolate & coffee cake.

First, Miss Jordyn Lemons of The Coffee Snob and her simple suggestion to make “something coffee!” kickstarted my brain into full-blown coffee shop mode (by the way—I loved reading everyone’s submissions on my social media giveaway; you may see some more of those in the future!).

Second, I subtly suggested to my parents that maybe I would use a home espresso machine. And by maybe, I meant I really really wanted one. But the very next day, during a trip to Goodwill for a new cake stand, I found a seemingly usable espresso machine for $3.99—$3.99!! So I bought it, along with a $7 set of brand new Williams Sonoma espresso mugs and saucers. Call it fate, if you wish. (PS—I thoroughly cleaned the machine, and it actually works!)

Third, I get to begin playing around with dessert + drink pairings, which is something that’s been on the back burner for awhile, and is hopefully a venture in the future for Jorie Cakes.

Here it is, my birthday cake! That I made for myself!

I do owe a shoutout to my housemate, Gabby, for picking up the cutest gold birthday candles, because “if you insist on baking your own birthday cake, I thought at least we could help you decorate it.” That, my friends, is my love language!

In my mind, making my own birthday cake is a no-brainer. I mean, I’ve done it since I was twelve. I forget that most people think that’s weird, or maybe even a little sad. But I assure you, it’s a very happy thing for me. I get to share a cake I created with the people I love, on a day that celebrates life, in a place that feels like home.

Onto the business stuff:

Many of you know, and many others may be wondering, what I’m up to now that I’ve graduated from Berry. Well, I’m back at Berry! I decided to never leave, at least for the next two years. I’m in the process of earning an MBA while working as a graduate assistant for the Center for Student Entrepreneurship & Enterprise Development.

When I try to figure out how I got here in the midst of such uncertainty—i.e. graduating from college, moving to Rome, and starting a job all during a pandemic—the only explanation is that God had a plan, and now I’m living it, and I get to live it on a tree-lined historic street, on a plant-filled front porch, with two incredible housemates.

So what does all this mean for Jorie Cakes? As a home bakery, I’m still able to operate, just on an adjusted schedule. With some planning and some determination, I can still make you beautiful & delicious cakes from my registered address in Villa Rica. Please, don’t hesitate to order! I’d love to bake for you, no matter the occasion.

Maybe on my 25th birthday, after I’ve added the letters MBA to my name, I’ll be writing to you about the opening of a storefront. Until then, I’ll keep enjoying my Grown Up DQ Birthday Cake and finding more ways to spread joy to anyone who will listen.

Cheers, Friends, and Happy Birthday to Me! :)

jorie

What's Your Why?

Dear Friends,

I write to you today not to discuss cake, but to unpack the “why” behind it. To let you know why I do what I do, why Jorie Cakes exists, and why it matters to you.

I’ll introduce my why using two of my most favorite books—both of which I read during the pandemic. At first glance, they’re total opposites.

The first is about a retired Navy SEAL, one of the world’s most elite athletes, and the second is a series of blog posts from a former cake business owner about how to run a sweet food company, and they couldn’t be more similar.

Wait, similar? How?

You don’t have to read too far to understand the ultimate message from each author is about knowing your “why” before life gets tough. Then, when you want to throw in the towel, instead you rise.

David Goggins, AKA one of my life heroes and quite frankly one of the toughest you-know-what’s this earth has ever seen, lives in his discomfort zone. Enduring three hell weeks during SEAL training certainly requires knowing your why inside and out, otherwise no one would ever attempt it.

Goggins goes on to run multiple Ultra Marathons (many of which 100+ miles each), and says, “In the most painful time in my entire life I saw the most beauty of my life...because I knew I wasn’t gonna quit.” He knows his why.

Another potential life hero of mine (I’m still finishing her book and listening to her podcast!) is Michelle Green, former cake business owner and an expert on all things cake, life, and mental health. Her mantra—and therefore message to her readers—is “your business, your rules.”

And darn it, she’s right!

She’s also right about a customer-centric business. Being in charge isn’t a good reason to be in business. Serving customers, however, might be better.

Whether you’re running an Ultra Marathon or making your 75th sugar flower of the day, you must know your why. Let’s hope I never find myself in the Ultra Marathon situation, and if I do, I must have a dang good reason to be there.

Knowing your why seems extra imperative right now in what seems like the heat of battle—for me, for you, for every business owner, citizen, friend, neighbor, teacher, human. We all have different whys, but we all bring value to the world.

While I’ve been off in happy cake land decorating, photographing, and serving joy, I’ve also been having conversations surrounding the brokenness in our country with some very close friends. These conversations involved a lot more listening than talking, and resulted in a whole lot of thinking. Each conversation pointed to a need for love, a desire to belong, and a yearning for purpose.

I think it’s important that I clarify the why behind Jorie Cakes, since my business and I are one and the same, and I believe I have a God-given calling that extends beyond the walls of my kitchen.

Jorie Cakes exists to bring you joy, primarily by serving you awesome cake. But that’s not the only way.

Sometimes joy looks like cutting your first slice of cake as a married couple in front of friends and family.

Sometimes joy is receiving a surprise box of cupcakes in the middle of a pandemic.

And sometimes joy is the simple fact of knowing someone cares.

I care, without condition.

And I do my best caring when there’s buttercream frosting involved.

The concept of knowing your why isn’t new, in fact I could probably recite Simon Sinek’s most-watched TED line-by-line about knowing your why. *Bonus points if you read this blog post AND watch this video!

It is my goal to continue doing business with wonderful people who believe there’s good in the world, who make others feel loved, and who spread joy in their own gifted ways.

I am hopeful for a time when all of our joy endlessly abounds; when all of our differences are celebrated; when we all come together over a really great slice of cake.

Until then, let us all remember we have important whys, we have reasons for joy, and we all have the power to leave everyone we meet feeling loved.

So, what’s your why?

With heartfelt gratitude to my customers—who are my why,

jorie

But to Minister...

“Not to be ministered unto, but to minister.” - Mark 10:42 (& Martha Berry)

It’s graduation day. !!!

A little over four years ago, before I was even a Berry student, I had to write a scholarship essay on the importance of an integrated education of the head, the heart, and the hands, and then I had to choose the most critical one. I’m pretty sure I used every buzz word in the book (e.g. - passion, character, integrity, commitment. Blah.), and afterward I remember gathering in the hallway of the Cook building with other prospective students. We all came to the obvious conclusion that if you didn’t choose the heart as the most important, then you were surely out of consideration for the scholarship.

Well, today, four years later, I’m fully bought-in to the concept of the head, the heart, and the hands. And today it’s only appropriate for me to respond to that same scholarship essay prompt, except this isn’t an essay because that’s boring and repetitive and you didn’t sign up to read an essay here. So here’s a small taste of the big impact this school continues to have on me.

The Head

You’d think this one is pretty self-explanatory. Wrong. Very wrong, especially if you go to a private liberal arts college that believes in a well-rounded education. That entails taking classes like Intro to Agricultural Science, Hispanic Literary Analysis, and Theatre, in which I made a B+, but that’s not the point of this story (okay but really, who makes a B+ in theatre?).

One of my favorite parts about Berry is that it connects students to some very important people. By the grace of God (and only the grace of God) I found myself sitting on committees with athletic directors, faculty liaisons, chiefs of staffs, and university presidents. I found myself at the NCAA Headquarters in Indianapolis, an entrepreneurship conference in Chattanooga, and on seemingly every corner of our 27,000 acre campus.

What do all these things have in common? They made me think. And think hard. And think from perspectives I’d never thought about. The chance to learn from these people and in these places is absolutely humbling. It’s also very intimidating, and really taught me how to hold back tears sitting in a board room—still working on that one, though!

The Heart

Part of the reason I love Berry is because I love the people (and dog!!) I lived with. The four of us—Eveline, Emma, Jetta, and myself—spent our senior year in one suite in Thomas Berry Hall (despite sharing our entire lives with each other, we don’t have a single picture together).

Eveline and I were randomly assigned freshman year, when the first communication we had was on move-in day when I looked in her van and said “Um, I think you’re my roommate!” We’ve been inseparable ever since, taking day trips to Whole Foods and road trips to Charleston, with many more places left to visit on our bucket list. I still can’t believe I survived 4 years living with a Michigan fan (go bucks) who blends spinach in her smoothies (our only two disagreements ever).

Emma lived across the hall from us freshman year, and Jetta came along sophomore year. We were all fast friends who stayed friends and then joined up again senior year. Emma brings a spunkiness to life that I didn’t know I needed, but now I can’t live without. And Jetta brings lots of reasons for study breaks and trips to the freezer for her favorite ice cube snack, or “crunch water”.

They say you are who you hang out with, and if I’m half the woman these two are, then Berry did it’s job working on my heart.

The Hands

Berry is built on the philosophy of servant leadership (AKA the only type of leadership). I’ll just be honest, I’m a really bad servant leader. You can ask any individual in the picture above, and they can probably confirm that, because I just really like taking care of me! I mean, who doesn’t?

HOWEVER, I’m learning! I’m learning the impact of a leader taking on work for the good of the team; how a leader should never ask anything of her followers that she wouldn’t do herself. The golf team could also confirm this, as they were my guinea pigs for DiSC testing, Myers-Briggs personality assessing, and core values activities (shoutout to y’all for putting up with that).

My college golf team gave me a chance to learn from, lead, and lift others through service. This team is also probably ready to get rid of me after four years of nonstop enthusiasm and tone-deaf bus singing, but not so fast…

…because in the fall I’m headed back to Berry!

I’m under the impression that God knew exactly what I needed—He knew I wasn’t ready to say a virtual goodbye to the place that now lives in my head, my heart, and my hands. So he gave me a graduate assistantship in the Campbell School of Business. !!!

I am blessed beyond measure, for the four years that end today and the next two that start.

Now let me tell you about this cake!

This cake was one of the most challenging cakes I’ve ever made. Not because anything was terribly difficult to create, but because it’s a cake that should be shared with friends and family, should be the centerpiece of the cake table I’ve dreamt about, and should be celebrating one of the happiest milestones life has to offer.

But instead, all 14.4 pounds of it are sitting in my family’s fridge (and we can’t complain, because we get to have a piece of cake every day!). What makes this cake so special is the four years it took to make it: living under the Ford building skyline, living by the motto, competing for our institutional and athletic logos, and, of course, constantly yielding to the masses of deer across campus. Let’s be honest, they really run this place.

Friends, I’m thinking of you all as I’m digging into this cake. Happy graduation day, class of 2020!

Southern Living: Villa Rica Edition

So, Redneck Yacht Club, huh? Welcome to our life in Georgia! 

Jorie, circa 2000, ready for lake life. Obviously.

Thirteen trips to-and-from Ohio later, we found our house on a tiny lake in West Georgia. It wasn’t that easy, however, because in those 13 trips we worked with four realtors in multiple cities and looked at a minimum of 85 houses. Yes, we have high standards, but we also wanted a lake house (sounds a lot more glamourous than it actually is…we’re not talking about the Taj Mahal here!), and lake houses in Georgia are all…unique, to say the least.

The reasoning for a lake house? My mom swore she wouldn’t become my dad’s hobby in retirement; in an effort to preserve our family, we all needed built-in activities and had been accustomed to life on water. And now that I’ve lived on water, there’s no turning back. Which is not ideal for my soon-to-be post-graduate budget. 

The Hodapp’s, June 2016. The happiest day of all of our lives, since my high school graduation meant I would FINALLY stop complaining about high school.

In a tiny little southern town called Villa Rica (for Spanish speakers, or even those who know a little bit about the language, in Georgia it’s not pronounced Vee-ya Ree-ca. It’s vil-la rick-uh. Villa Rica. You got it, now just add in some southern twang and slow your speed down, and you’d fit right in with the locals). After some nauseous driving through the backwoods of Georgia, we made our last trip as guests and would return as Georgia residents in just a few short months. 

In June of 2016, I’d just graduated high school (hallelujah), and was swamped with my last cake orders in Ohio before the move. This period of my life was pretty much a blur as graduation day had become the happiest day of my life up to this point. We spent that summer back and forth from Ohio moving our belongings 10 hours south to a neighborhood where we could count on zero hands the people we knew, and to a city where they drop a golden nugget on New Year’s Eve in the town square. Not kidding. 

This is truly what dreams are made of.

On June 21st, 2016, a few days before my college orientation, we closed on our new house. We planned to stay there for a few days until heading to Berry for SOAR, so we brought some essentials with us. You know, things like air mattresses, beach chairs, a folding table, clothes, golf clubs, my Kitchenaid mixer, and some snacks.

Our first dinner at our new house, June 2016. Leave it to the Italians to christen the kitchen with boxed spaghetti and jarred tomato sauce. The definition of gourmet.

Well, bringing kitchen utensils, for one, would have been a great idea. Curtains also would have been a good idea. And maybe lamps, shower supplies, and cleaning products would have all been good ideas. But no, we were ready to sit on the dock and drink room-temperature bottled water for the next few days. Priorities, right?

This was our pantry upon arrival. Stocked with nutrients. At least we wouldn’t totally starve.

My mom and I lived like nomads for an entire summer while my dad kept working in Ohio. I promise, we are two very intelligent women, but sometimes we just look at each other and shake our heads like, “what in the world were we thinking?!” 

Seriously, we had no curtains on the back of our house, which is 95% windows and faces a lake with lots of activity during all hours. 

We grocery-shopped at the local Walmart and bought a can of beans for tacos and couldn’t use it because we didn’t think to get a can opener. 

We lived out of a travel-size cooler because the house came without a refrigerator—and we didn’t even think to go buy one, fully knowing that we would eventually make that purchase so we could, you know, live there. So we continued eating non-refrigerated and non-canned food off and on for three months.

Somehow, we survived, and as soon as my dad made the trip down, he looked in a closet, found some curtains, and held them up to us and asked the simple question, “why didn’t you hang these up?” Listen people, there’s no manual on how to move into a new house. But my mom and I lived as though we were stranded with no knowledge of how to use Command Hooks to avoid waking up and going to bed according to the sun’s schedule, not to mention avoiding all back-lit windows when it got dark and people could see in. Needless to say, we make a great pair, but we really need my dad if we actually want to survive for any length of time with any sense of logic or rationality.

Jorie + Dad, summer 2018. It took us another 2 years to realize we could hang curtains in my room, too, not just the upstairs. We consider ourselves a family of geniuses.

That summer may have been a blur, but it’s one I wouldn’t trade for the world. Little did I know, my life in Villa Rica hadn’t even begun yet, and my college life in Rome would be unlike anything I could imagine in a sleepy southern berg.

That’s all for this time! Excuse me while I go sit on our deck—in a real chair, around a real table—and eat some pasta that was fixed with more than one communal utensil.

Y’all Come Back, Now!
jorie

**Please note, I poke fun at Villa Rica and its southern culture because I truly love it. A humble little spot in West Georgia has unsuspectingly become home, at least for the last three years and a few/many more to come. It’s also rumored that I myself have developed a bit of an accent…if you want to hear the thick of my southern draw, just make me mad, and you’ll get an earful, bless your heart!

Berry What?!

Berry College—like the fruit—is where I had my sights set. And *spoiler* it’s the name that’s about to be on my diploma this spring! 

Jorie, circa 1998, ready for an All-American lifestyle (read ‘til the end to see why this American flag picture is relevant!).

Remember that 27-minute phone call I had with the golf coach in the last post? I think you need to know the backstory, because it’s wild. That is all.

In the fall of 2015 (during my senior year of high school), Coach was driving the women’s team to their tournament in Destin, Florida, when my initial email came through on his phone. He miraculously had a player in the van from Ohio, so he showed her my email. She didn’t know me directly, but sent my name to her former teammate who was still in high school in Ohio. Turns out, we’d been paired together in a tournament that summer. Talk about a small world.

Jorie + Mom, 2020. We’d end up making thirteen (13) trips back and forth from Ohio to Georgia between college-shopping and home-buying. Needless to say, we make a pretty good travel pair. And we’re pretty good at finding random beaches to visit everywhere we go.

That kind of sounds like one of those “my sister’s-cousin’s-neighbor’s-great-granddaughter knows-a-guy-who-knows-a-guy” stories, and that’s actually not too far from the truth. The chances of the Berry College golf team having a player from Ohio were slim-to-none, but there she sat in the van, about to help me out tremendously.

After a decent recommendation from that teammate-of-a-teammate, the next week Coach Farrer drove 9 hours to watch me play a few holes in the state championships, and the next weekend I visited Berry for the first time with my mom.

At this point it really wasn’t that long ago that I thought Berry College was a tenant in a strip mall along I-75 in a forgotten middle-of-America zip code. As my first step on campus revealed, Berry was, in fact, not a strip mall, but…

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PLACE I’D EVER SEEN.

I mean, it has a castle. Come on.

Coach proceeded to spend 8 hours showing my mom and I around campus—the castle, the water wheel, mountain campus, the chapel, the gym, both golf courses and practice facilities, the dining hall, and a little bit of Rome community. There was nothing I didn’t love, and the thought of spending four years in this fairytale setting made it reallyyyy hard to finish out the next few months of high school, and in the dead of winter nonetheless.

Berry College. Need I say more? Except for the fact that yes, those are people canoeing in the reflection pond.

This time the 10-hour trip through farmland and cornfields back to Ohio didn’t seem as long. My mom and I left campus with a little more hope than the previous trips, and our heads spinning with the excitement of finding my home at Berry. We could see our years of planning finally coming together during a time when we really started to question everything we were giving up for a little sunshine and a few rounds of golf.

I regularly joke about my parents following me to college because—who does that?! But when you look at the situation as a whole, God aligned every part of the process that made the decision almost a no-brainer. I was an only child with parents nearing retirement, with no siblings, or even pets, to hold us in Ohio. The weather really was a driving factor, and once all of us got on board with the thought of southern living, everything seemed to fall into place, but not without a lot of prayer and too many setbacks to count. We may be a family of three, but I think we’re a family of three hoarders. Literally. U-Haul almost ran out of moving trucks for all our stuff (and that was after 26 SUV loads of stuff donated to the thrift store).

Please, no judgments.

You may be wondering what this all has to do with baking cakes. Well, without me, there are no cakes to be baked. So basically I’ve roped you into reading my whole life story. But if you’ve made it this far—congratulations, by the way—you’re probably not going to stop now. Especially when I tell you I ran a bakery out of a college dorm room (which I wouldn’t recommend for many reasons, but hey, you can’t re-write history).

In summary, I found where I wanted to go to school, was offered a spot on the golf team, and had narrowed our home-buying radius significantly to a three-hour circle around Mount Berry, Georgia. 

You’ll want to stay tuned to hear about the tiny little town we settled in. Let’s just say it may be the polar opposite of the lifestyle we’d grown accustomed to in Ohio. But there’s no doubt it encompasses the heart of southern hospitality.  It’s definitely not lacking in the pickup truck, cowboy boot, or American flag categories either (maybe my patriotic baby picture foreshadowed all this?).Before I publish the next part of the story, I encourage you to watch this music video of “Redneck Yacht Club” to get an idea of my family’s current living situation. Just know that it’s spot on, and we absolutely love it.

See y’all next time!

jorie

Bird Lady Adventures

So you probably think I graduated from high school, opened a bakery storefront in a quaint southern town, and am making a killer profit right about now.

Jorie & Grandpa, circa 2001, probably making the infamous Buckwheat Pancakes I so dearly despised as a 4-year-old (love you, grandpa, but why you made me eat buckwheat pancakes is beyond me).

Wrong. Very wrong. Though that would have been a dream come true, a lot of other factors were involved. Namely, remember those horrid winters I mentioned a while ago? Yeah, never living through one of those again, or at least for the next four years. Take the desire to move anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line and the advice from my parents to get a college degree because, “What if you’re thirty and never want to bake another cake again? Then what do you fall back on?”, and you have a very good point. Plus, I wanted to fulfill my goal to play college golf. 

So, college it was. 

Now this part of the story really isn’t made up. If you need an example of God’s handiwork in modern times, keep reading…

“Mom, Dad, I’m not staying in Ohio after I graduate. I’m going south. You can come visit me, or you can come with me, but I’m getting out of this place,” said twelve-year-old me. 

Yeah, right. What parents are going to listen to their only kid, let alone actually go along with her idea?

For the record: I’m keenly aware of the “Only-Child Syndrome.” It’s a real thing. And I praise God daily for giving me parents who worked tirelessly to make sure no one could tell I’m an only child (I still don’t like sharing, but at least I know how to do it!). 

As you may know, my parents listened to me. Clearly, I didn’t fully think through my ultimatum, because they actually came with me to college.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t actually follow me to college, but it makes for a great story. At one point it was suggested that my mom get a job in Rome. On campus. Like where I live. And occasionally she still threatens me with that proposal. Basically, I just gave the three of us an excuse to escape the eight months of snow that made us all miserable.

After we decided that we were all packing up and moving, we started counting down our move by winters— “only five more of these until we’re gone!”  And for those next five winters, we entertained ourselves on Zillow looking up houses anywhere from Alabama to North Carolina. 

Just to add in another major life event, I still had to find somewhere to go to college, and wherever that would be would decide (relatively) where we would buy a house. My search was rather slim, knowing I wanted a smaller, private Christian school where I had a shot at playing on the golf team. Shouldn’t be too difficult, I thought, which was a rather naive thought considering we had absolutely no idea where to look, or how to call coaches, or what schools even existed that fit all of my criteria. Oh, and throw in finding a house within three hours of that unknown school *and* my parents retiring and leaving the house my grandpa built…should be a piece of cake! 

Hyperventilating yet? Because I most definitely was.

Yeah, it was a piece of cake alright. One of those hockey-puck-grit-cakes I used to make. But, if there’s one thing I learned: never doubt God. He’s literally the only explanation for how all those moving parts worked—and worked successfully—to get us to Georgia.

Everyone asks, “how did you find Berry College from Dublin, Ohio?” Because in Dublin, Berry College sounded like one of those chain universities in a strip mall parking lot. So, here’s the answer to that question that requires a little imagination and a lot of faith:

My smart grandparents, who live half the year in Ohio and the colder half in Florida, happened to be on vacation in Pennsylvania. This isn’t relative to the story, but I think it should be known that they were on a bird-watching trip. If you know my golf-playing, grocery-store-owning, practical-minded grandpa, you know this probably wasn’t his idea (considering he hates birds), but he agreed to go anyway. Nonetheless, they were on a quest to find the Roseate Spoonbill, or something like that.

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Please enjoy the above gallery of pictures with my grandpa and I! Eight pictures don’t nearly do justice to the impact he’s had on my life, my golf game (still working on the three-putting thing), and my business.

In the lobby of their bed and breakfast, they met a lady who, to this day, we’re not entirely sure actually exists. She pulled a chair up to their breakfast table (there’s always one of those people at those kind of places) and started making conversation.

Because of my recent local celebrity baker status, the subject naturally turned to me (or maybe because I had visited 12 schools, liked none of them, and was frantically trying to find a place to go after graduation; but I like to think the conversation turned to me because I’m a celebrity). “Our granddaughter really wants to play college golf in the south, but she’s not having much luck finding a school,” they explained.

The frail, middle-aged woman urged them to pass along the name Berry College. It’s a school in Rome, Georgia, that is globally known for its nest of bald eagles.

Jorie & Coach, May 2018 at the DIII Women’s Golf National Championships. A sneak peek of why Berry is the best decision I ever made—or, rather, how Berry is the best decision ever made for me.

How fitting.

Berry College, you ask? Like the fruit? Yes, that one! My chances of playing college golf were quickly shrinking, so out of curiosity and a little desperation, I called the coach at Berry College and talked to him for 27 minutes on the phone. If you know me, you know that one phone call minute feels like 3 regular minutes, and actually enjoying a phone call is a modern-day miracle. I hung up, knowing I’d go there, without ever having seen the campus or the school’s website come up in any of my hundreds of Google searches. 

I’ll leave you wondering about where the bird lady adventures lead, and how this all connects to my passion for baking. I promise, it’ll all come together! But I’m telling you, there’s no other explanation for my travels besides the Good Lord Himself pulling it together. I mean, who would’ve thought I’d end up at Berry College—and love it, by the way!

Talk soon!
jorie

"You mean I have to Start Paying?!"

At this point, after dropping out of Cupcake Camp and sacrificing some family members during the recipe testing phase, I’ll pick up in the middle of my 13th year of life. A thriving businesswoman, if you will. 

Jorie, circa 2003, practicing on a rare sunny day in Dublin, Ohio.

 I was thriving mostly because of the deal I had with my parents—I got one year of 100% profit from each cake sale. That was awesome! No rent, no utilities, not even ingredients and supplies expenses. This whole business-owning thing really isn’t that difficult, people. 

And then that year ended. Well actually, I was able to stretch it to 14 months through some eye-batting and “accidental” charges to my parents’ credit card. And then those extra two months ended.

And then…

“What do you mean I have to keep my receipts? And pay you back?” I couldn’t believe that my own parents actually made me start paying for my own ingredients. I’d be left with hardly anything after deducting all the expenses from a cake sale!

The audacity!

Okay, so maybe they weren’t totally in the wrong to actually teach me budgeting and responsibility and accountability and all that stuff. But seriously, cake-baking is expensive, especially for a thirteen-year-old! Somehow, I must have found a way to pay off my expenses, because now I’ll fast forward a little bit to high school, when things really took off. 

I was baking steadily for friends and family (and science projects) and even had a company name and business cards and a magnet on the side of my car (which ironically ended up on a dumpster at the local park, but that’s a story for another day). On top of the new merch, I also finally made products worth buying—no more mouthfuls of sand!—which was a lot better for business. 

I became known around school as the cupcake girl, and my friends knew that when their birthdays came, my gift to them would be a cake. Thus, the saying:

“Everyone wants a Jorie Cake!” 

which quickly became my slogan. 

Jorie, circa 2013, on the cover of Dublin Coffman High School’s magazine. (this was also before I discovered the miracle of blonde highlights, contact lenses, and quality photography). Please withhold judgment, and if that’s difficult, imagine publishing pictures of your 15-year-old self on the internet. *shriek*

Running a home bakery business was the optimal solution to surviving Ohio winters. If you’re not from the north, consider yourself blessed, especially if you enjoy leaving your house between the months of October and April, let alone playing golf year-round. I spent my summers and falls playing on my high school golf team but found myself hibernating and bored to tears in the winters and springs. I also tend to get angry and complain a lot when it’s cold outside, so my parents were desperate for me to find a hobby that would occupy my time.

Conveniently, cake-baking has its busiest seasons when I was stuck indoors, so just as I’d get tired of playing golf, I’d switch to baking, and then vice versa.

During my freshman year, I found myself published in our school magazine and airing on the local news channel with a segment about my business. So much fun! I mean, I always knew I was celebrity material, but wow!

“But wait. Maybe, just maybe, I should look into actually getting a business license and paying taxes and, like, being covered legally,” was a thought that had never—and probably still would not to this day—crossed my mind. Thankfully, however, my mom worked for a CPA, who obviously knew business law, and kindly set up an LLC for me so my parents wouldn’t lose everything they had if someone were to sue me for any reason. Thank you, Mr. Jacob!

So now I’m established and legal and paying all my expenses (boo) and *actually* running a business. I was beginning to do weddings and street fairs and silent auctions throughout all of central Ohio. I never really imagined anything past making a few extra bucks to spend at the mall, but due to the generosity of the people around me, I became a household name for cakes in Dublin, Ohio. It was the perfect scenario upon graduation for running a full-time bakery, right?

I won’t spoil too much, but I’ll sign off here from my home near Atlanta, Georgia, about 10 hours south and 17 degrees warmer than Ohio at this exact moment. Miracles never cease!

Until next time!

jorie

If you’ve made it this far, you deserve the option to watch this video from 2014 on our local news channel. I thought I was very cool at the time, but now that I’m past this very young stage of life, it’s clear that I was very wrong. See the link below for this gem!

Click here for this oldie-but-goodie!

The Story Continues: Chef in Training

Hello Again!

If you came back to read this post, you must be okay with the fact that I’m a Cupcake Camp dropout, and for that, I thank you!

Jorie, circa 2000, proudly holding my very own gingerbread house. Disclaimer: I will continue using baby pictures because my self-esteem is not ready for pictures of 12-14 year-old Jorie to hit the internet (braces and glasses were not my look).

Anyway, let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?

I believe I just revealed that I dropped out of Cupcake Camp.

I mean really, you can’t expect me, a savvy twelve-year-old with purpose and discipline, to return to that barbarian cupcake camp ridden with who-knows-what kind of diseases. Sigh. Square one, again. 

That fall after my failed attempt at summer camp my mom came across cake decorating classes at the local craft store. She called to sign my same friend and I up for redemption. Unbeknownst to us, we had to be sixteen to take the class by ourselves. Problem solved, Mom’s coming too!

We trudge through the Ohio snow to arrive at the first class of “Buttercream Basics.” Little did we know that Betty Crocker herself would be our instructor. Okay, may not actually Betty, but Miss Sandy was pushing 85 and had never gone a day without wearing an apron; though she could make a mean buttercream rose in her sleep. After four weeks of Miss Sandy’s strict frosting bootcamp, we all knew how to make a round cake with a rainbow and clowns on it. Pure elegance. 

We received our Buttercream Basics diplomas (except for my friend, who hated the class, and everything related to cake decorating, and decided to hang up her apron. FYI—she is very talented in other areas!), and that was that. 

Except, aha! THIS could be how I make my money! 

After all, I did love the decorating and took to it easily. With a little practice, I’d be off and running in no time, right?

Have you ever taken a bite of sand?

Jorie, 2013, proudly standing behind the very first wedding cake I ever made. I was 15, and was so very close to exiting that very awkward stage of life (see note above).

That was my starting point for a from-scratch vanilla cake recipe. That little bit of practice I thought I’d need turned into many months of recipe testing with many failed attempts and many dollars spent on wasted ingredients. You’d be surprised how many “Light and Fluffy White Cake” and “Best Vanilla Cupcake” recipes result in gritty hockey pucks better used as paperweights or adhesive paste than delicate desserts. 

I paused on the cake testing at the gentle urge of my parents who were tired of trying terrible samples and pretending they “weren’t that bad.” In the meantime, a little frosting recipe testing could pass the time until we were ready to brave the cake arena yet again. 

The buttercream recipe I was taught in cupcake class was made from, how do you say it—lard. Yeah, that white slimy stuff that comes in the giant Crisco cans that we’re 98% sure comes from unpleasant animal parts. (In my opinion, that shouldn’t classify as buttercream. You know, since it’s not butter. Though I suppose if they marketed it as lardcream, no one would willingly partake.) The lard alone was a turnoff, but the fact that my mom’s entire kitchen and everything in it was coated with a hefty layer of shortening didn’t help its cause. Gross. 

Upon further research with a hint of a miracle, I learned that American-style buttercream omits the lard. Woohoo! Leave it to America to commit to 100% butter. Thank you for your service, Ms. Paula Deen. One trip to Sam’s Club and 25 pounds of butter and powdered sugar later, I found my recipe, and haven’t turned back since. 

The infamous Salted Caramel Cupcake that looked amazing, but literally tasted like a mouthful of sand, circa 2012.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the recipe testing stories, but just know that my salted caramel cupcakes have improved roughly 9000% since my first attempt (which I served on a family vacation where everyone politely found the trash can after one bite. Sorry, Guarasci’s and Bruning’s). 

Here I’ll leave you, wondering if my family ever lets me bake for them again (hint: they did, reluctantly).

Thanks for reading!

Cheers!
jorie

Yes, I'm a Cupcake Camp Dropout...

Well Hello, There!

Jorie, circa 1998. As you can tell, I’ve always had a deep love for cake.

If you’ve made it to this page, you must want to know the *real* reason I started Jorie Cakes. I can’t make it up, I really can’t. It’s my hope that you’ll find as much joy reading as I do writing—and enticing you with dreamy cake pictures—throughout my ten-years-and-counting cake story. 

Before we dive in to twelve-year-old Jorie, here are the bullet points of who I am now, though lacking details such as my love for trees and my strict diet comprised of the pairing of chocolate and peanut butter.

I am:

Jorie, circa September 2019, in the cake-baking off-season.

• A Dublin, Ohio, native who’s now found her way out of the brutal winters to sunny Atlanta, GA

• A 22-year-old senior at Berry College in Rome, GA (check it out!)

• A member of the Berry Women’s Golf Team, my other life passion, as you can see

• An only child (I’ll forgive you if you don’t want to read after this point, I know only children are the worst)

• A Christian, whose life is fully dependent on the grace I constantly receive from God (because I’m totally incapable of anything on my own, trust me)

• A self-proclaimed foodie & Food Network addict, with the occasional Say Yes to the Dress marathon

• An avid yogi, grocery store aficionado, and research junkie (there’s so much to learn!)

That’s me in a nutshell. Now we can get on to the story you really came here for. Sit back, flip on Food Network in the background, and scroll through the first installment of my story. Enjoy!

Summer, 2009:

I was twelve. A very mature twelve, but nonetheless a kid in search of a job. I have no idea what I so desperately wanted money for (Littlest Pet Shop? American Girl Dolls? A trip to the mall with my middle school friends?), but I found myself in search of an income. 

The logical solution? Babysitting *shivers*. Okay, it can’t be that bad. Oh, it was bad. At least the one time I tried it, it was bad. If I had any say-so in the matter, I would never again willingly find myself in charge of someone else’s kids, no matter how good the pay was. Scratch that off the list. Back to square one. What else can a twelve-year-old do? No babysitting, definitely no dog or cat sitting (tried that, too), and not old enough for a big-girl job. 

My first little cupcake army, circa 2011, NOT made at Cupcake Camp. *Also shot this photo on an iPod touch, because that’s what middle schoolers did.

Here we go—Cupcake Summer Camp! 

Sounded like a blast. And a blast it was—for all the wrong reasons. That summer, a friend invited me to cupcake camp at our local, successful bakery. Coming from a big Italian family, I’d always been a natural in the kitchen. My mom taught me how to use a butcher knife to cut my after-preschool apples at the age of four when I refused to use the inefficient plastic kiddy knives. 

Anyway, here we are at cupcake camp, the oldest campers in what seemed like a glorified daycare center in the back room of this bakery. Everything was going great. I cracked my singular egg into the bowl and returned to my seat. 

Then, the horror. 

The little girl next to me, who clearly lacked any sort of sanitary common sense or public decency, took her hands that were previously, um, in a place they shouldn’t have been, AND STUCK THEM IN THE BATTER. Gasp! Yes, she took her hands out of her drawers, put them in the batter, LICKED THEM, and PUT THEM BACK IN THE BATTER! 

*faints*

It’s true, and it’s a wonder I ever returned to the kitchen after that episode. As I, a self-proclaimed stress-cleaner and perpetual hand-washer, watched in sheer terror, I tightened my apron and willed myself to finish out the day. Upon returning home, my parents oohed and ahhed over my bakery case-worthy cupcakes but were stopped in their tracks when I yelled across the driveway, “DON’T EAT THOSE!” to my dad as he had a cupcake halfway to his mouth. I explained the tragedy that had ensued only hours earlier, and the cupcakes promptly found their new home in the garbage.

That was day one. I’d tell you about days 2-5, but I wasn’t there for those. I’m sure they were great.

I guess this makes me a Cupcake Camp dropout. You know, maybe babysitting wasn’t so bad after all…

Thanks for reading! Check back to see how I overcame the horrors of Cupcake Camp, or subscribe below to have it delivered straight to your inbox.

Cheers!
jorie