We’ve had the opportunity in recent weeks to celebrate the birthdays of my two granddaughters, Anna and Lucy. On Anna’s big day, we are greeted by the birthday girl herself, as well as four boys under age 5. Cousins Sam and Will are on hand, as are Anna’s brothers, Jack and Addison. There is also a large contingent of grown-up relatives and a plethora of packages to open and discover, but Anna could care less. She has eyes only for the cake – in the form of a giant lady bug, its spots and dots fashioned from pink and yellow gumdrops set just so on gleaming white icing.

Anna can barely contain herself as Daddy helps her blow out the candles and we sing “Happy Birthday.” I divvy up the cake, serving Anna first, of course. She shivers and claps her hands together before wolfing it down in six seconds flat, then eyes the servings intended for the boys, who are busy playing Frisbee with their uncle Dave.

With fork in hand, she slides along the picnic bench to tackle the next piece. “Come eat your cake or Anna will get it,” I warn the boys, but they inform me they’re busy.

“You snooze, you lose,” I think as I walk back to the deck just in time to see Anna finishing off the fourth plate of cake. Piece No. 5 has fallen under the picnic table. Before I can stop her, Anna slithers underneath, gets down on all fours and proceeds to stuff it in her mouth. She then licks the last dribble of icing off the deck before extricating herself from under the table and planting her sticky self smack-dab against me. (We don’t call her “Anna the Barbarian” for nothing.)

I find myself quite admiring her as I wash her hands and face. “Don’t expect to get away with that all the time,” I tell her. “You only turn 2 years old once.”

With the memory of that cake-eating fest still fresh in her memory banks, Anna attends Cousin Lucy’s first birthday party at Popham Beach. The chocolate layer cake, made “healthy” with whole wheat flour and shredded zucchini, is decorated with fresh pink roses, frosted with icing tinted pink from the juice of organic strawberries (yes, really) and perfectly perched atop a beribboned crystal cake stand.

Shannon, Lucy’s mommy, had called me the night before to lament that the cake was “lopsided.” This cake is only not lopsided, it could win every cake contest in the continental United States. Even Martha Stewart would be impressed.

Lucy’s first birthday cake certainly turns heads at Popham Beach, where it was displayed on a white linen tablecloth in the picnic area. “Who made the beautiful cake?” “What’s the occasion?” people ask as they pass by and linger a moment, hoping to be invited to share a piece of this illustrious confection.

We’re a boisterous and chaotic crew as we indulge in snacks, play games, pass the babies around and watch little Lucy tear the paper off her presents. All the while, at least one of us keeps an eye on Anna. We peel her off the cake table more than once. I don’t know whose turn it was to watch her, (maybe mine) when Anna reaches her goal of swooping in with a plastic fork for a cake attack, letting us know it’s time to stop messing around and get down to business.

A female of few words, she definitely gets her point across. Our resident 2-year-old doesn’t get the first piece of cake; that honor goes to Lucy, but Anna is definitely next in line.

Karen Schneider is a freelance writer living in West Bath. She may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].