If the good Lord wanted us to bake cookies why did he give us Nabisco or Keebler or Famous Amos? Why should I have to try to do what they do so much better? Because my granddaughter had to bring 15 cookies to kindergarten for their Halloween party and she wanted to make the cookies.
She’s been baking with her dad for years so I figured she knew what she was doing. But try asking a 5 year old what temperature to set the oven or how much vanilla to use. Very cute blank stare. She wanted to make chocolate chocolate chip cookies. First we had to go to the grocery since the only flour in my pantry had little black things in it and the lid on the cocoa was rusted, no brown sugar or baking soda either.
I can tile the floors of an entire house, I can quilt, I can set up a camper (and empty the holding tanks). I can cook a seven-course meal, make the tablecloth and matching napkins, I can make the centerpiece and do the calligraphy on the invitations, I can make the name settings from pine cones and ribbons — but I can’t bake cookies. I don’t want to bake cookies. I hate to bake cookies. When my son was in second grade his teacher sent a note home asking me not to send baked goods to school for his class. I think she mentioned a chipped tooth.
Rebekah lost interest in the baking process after she licked the mixers and I was left with enough dough to make 5 dozen cookies. The only good thing was the parchment paper I found in my quilting room that I use for patterns. The cookies slid right off the baking sheet even the burned ones. So, we packed them up in a plastic container for tomorrow’s party. Then I was faced with cleaning up the bowls of leftover concrete-hard cookie dough, the flour and sugar all over the granite top counters and the recently washed floor, put away the ingredients I won’t need until another grandchild wants to make cookies (the youngest is 14 days old so the flour may have black things in it again).
Let’s face it … a bunch of kindergartners are going to enjoy the fruit of my blood, sweat and tears and, to be honest, they’d rather eat Oreos. So would I.
Wander Woman 