You can always tell when I get antsy about blogging. It usually happens when a) I can't stand to hear myself complain anymore b) I don't feel well enough to form a complete thought c) I have big things I COULD talk about, but I really don't want to or d) I am feeling a little stir crazy.
When it does, I predictably write about food/cooking; partly because it's easy, partly because it interests me, and partly because making things allows me to feel semi-normal again. When I was little, baking was always
my escape to avoid what was ailing me. While my sister was hanging outside with the horses, I could usually be found in the kitchen baking sugar cookies or whipping up something in my Easy Bake Oven.
To this day, my heart jumps when I see those little, itty-bitty boxes of mixes (now packets...a horrible tragedy). I remember standing in the aisle at K-Mart, pulling on my mom's shirt, begging her to buy me some. Once or twice, she caved. Mostly, she'd buy Duncan Hines big boxes.
"Once it's in the pan, you'll never know the difference," she'd say.
Technically, she was right. Still, a 9-year old doesn't care about logic; the heart wants what the heart wants.
Impatiently, I would stare through the light-bulb-lit window waiting for the edges to crisp. I liked using that plastic/orange tool to move the pan around, and never waited for anything to cool before frosting (powdered sugar and a little milk).
More than cooking, I loved to decorate and deliver. A few sprinkles there...a fancy plate here. If I loved you, I would certainly bring you a tiny cake with a huge smile on my face. "I made this for you," I would say...usually to my Mom. I'm not sure if she liked it, but, if she didn't, you wouldn't know (she was very generous with cooking praise).
Looking back now, for some reason, I am getting very emotional. Perhaps for the little girl I used to be or for the daughter I may never have. But, now that it's out there, I can't stop crying. It would have been so much easier to talk about my high-protein, almond/egg breakfast concoction (the original plan for today). Still, what can I say, sometimes posts write themselves.
The breakfast you will never hear about.
Altered Today: Sharing more than I meant to, lamenting about motherhood, thinking I was a model on the front of the Easy Bake Oven box. Seriously...I'm posting pictures. It looks just like me.
