Baking in my Blood

I apparently got the baking gene from my mother, who got it from her mother, who got it from her mother and father (he was a candy maker). Vicious cycle, I tell you. My mom inherited the beautiful marble slab my great-grandfather would use to cool the hard candies he would make. Hubby and I have tried to steal it on more than one occasion, but since it weighs about 400 pounds, we’ve never been able to make a quiet or speedy exit.

Some of my earliest memories are sitting in the kitchen with my mom watching her bake. Her in her pristine white apron, all of her pre-measured ingredients lined up just so, gently mixing everything in a bright and shiny bowl. Everyone happy and smiling, my mom humming softly as she stirs, the counter uncluttered…much like the professional chefs on Food Network. YEAH RIGHT! My mom was the one with flour smeared all over her face, hair, the front of her shirt, yelling ‘Shit!’ because she got egg shell in the bowl, constantly elbowing all the used measuring cups and spoons out of the way so she could find an 8x8in area on the counter that she could work on that wasn’t coated in flour and sugar and my sister and I arguing over who got to lick the bowl and who got to lick the spoon. Despite the chaos that would sometimes ensue with the baking, it is a tradition in my family and one that I’m eager to expose my kids to.

As I mentioned before, L is 3. Well, actually 3 and a half. She has her days where she’ll roll with the changes to her normal routine and other times, she acts as if the world is coming to an end and nothing will ever be right again and why why why would we be so cruel as to drag her to grandma’s when she was right in the middle of a very intense session of twirly girl*! So on this particular day, we were in a hurry and I had to do some quick thinking to help coax L into going to Grandma’s. A sure fire way to ensure that L will want to go and stay at grandma’s and not BEG to be with us, is if I promise that she’ll get to bake cookies while she’s there.

I personally have difficulty baking with L. Every task is met with her yelling, ‘Let ME do it!’ (Please tell me this bossy, whiney, fiercely independent phase will pass quickly and everything that needs to be done isn’t matched with ‘I wanna do it! Let me! No, I wanna do it by mySELF!) Fortunately, my mom has more patience than I do when it comes to baking with a pre-schooler (however I don’t remember her having as much patience for me and my sister as she does for her grandkids, but I digress). She will let L dump and stir all the ingredients. She has miniature rolling pins, cookie cutters, spatulas and sprinkles. We can’t forget the sprinkles. Sprinkles, you see go on everything. Sugar cookies frosted or unfrosted, chocolate chip cookies, play-doh, you name it. ‘We need all the flavors, grandma!’ she says as she carefully distributes the toppings on each individual cookie. Her hand held high above the counter wiggling her fingers as the sprinkles land like she’s gently garnishing a dish with chopped parsley.

A huge mess is made because that’s what my mom does and they both have a wonderful time together. And L comes home with a huge container of sugar cookies frosted with blinding, bright, pink icing and about a pound of sprinkles on each cookie. The cookies rarely, if ever, get eaten because, well, ew. Who would want that much sugar on their cookie?! Can you imagine how much crunching would have to take place with each bite of one of those? But memories were made, my sanity was saved and my kitchen was spared the mess!

*Twirly girl is the name I use when she stands in the kitchen and turns around in circles over and over and over again until she’s so dizzy she crashes and falls into the cupboards, onto the floor, or into her sister’s high chair. She LOVES to be twirly girl. Why do kids find so much enjoyment in getting dizzy?