I’m a firm believer in the universe sending out signs. Unfortunately, with these hyper-stressed, over-scheduled lives we all live, most of us, myself especially, miss the signs, time and time again, barreling full speed ahead until the universe does what it needs to do to get it’s point across….It slaps us in the face.
I love to bake, just love it. I love cookies and fresh breads. I love to make them with my own hands. Then I like to tell myself that it’s ok to have more than one cookie or slice of bread because baked goods made from scratch are good for you!
I used to make cookies for my family about once a week. Back when I had more time. Back before homework loads went from one worksheet to five subjects. Back before two select sports, two recreational sports, and two music lessons were added to our schedule. Back when I remembered to breathe and put on deodorant.
Despite our ridiculous family schedule, I decided to do up Fat Tuesday right. I made some Jammin’ Jambalaya to celebrate Mardi Gras, and thought I throw in some Chocolate Chip cookies to satisfy that sweet tooth one last time before lent kicked off and I put away my sweets for 40 days.
Jammin’ Jambalaya. Check! A success.
Time to start those cookies.
Soften the butter, crack the eggs, pre-heat the oven. Wait, where the heck are my chocolate chips?!?! (SIGN NUMBER 1) Last time I checked, I had enough chocolate chips in the bag to make a batch of cookies. Thing 1 points at Thing 2, Thing 2 points back at Thing 1. Great….I dig through the cabinet and find a bag of Butterscotch chips. Ignoring sign number 1, I switch course to Butterscotch Oatmeal cookies and proceed. Oh these are going to be sooooo good!
Measure, pour, mix. What is that sound? I open the oven door and realize I am an idiot.
I have a double oven and had accidentally put the pan of Jambalaya in the oven that I also turned on for the cookies. (SIGN NUMBER 2) On the upside, the dinner is staying warm for the IP. On the downside, I’m also melting the handles of my pan.
After rescuing the pan and nearly burning myself in the process, I get the first of the cookie sheets in and start counting the minutes until I can savor their butterscotchy goodness.
Because moms never do just one thing at a time, while the cookies pans rotate in and out, I have been cleaning the kitchen, doing dishes, and quizzing my son for his upcoming social studies vocabulary test. Three dozen cookies are done and on the cooling racks, with the last pan in the oven. As Trystan is reading over his words out loud, he turned around quickly to show me something in his notes, knocking over the cooling racks, sending 36 freshly created cookies crashing to the floor. (SIGN NUMBER 3)
The cookies laid in a broken, crumbled mess, but that was nothing compared to the devastation my son felt, thinking he ruined the cookies we were all looking forward to chowing down on. Mom to the rescue. Five second, hell, five minute rule in full effect. In my most believable voice, I told him that fresh cookies were immune to dirt and that now we just had twice as many to enjoy!
In the midst of the cookie catastrophe and crummy clean up, the fourth tray of cookies were long forgotten and, sadly, burnt to a crisp. (SIGN NUMBER 4)
As I chiseled them off the cookie sheet, I could help but laugh. Ok Universe, I get it. I was not meant to enjoy a final Fat Tuesday face stuffing. You win today. You win.