I love birthdays. And it doesn't have to be mine. I just love the whole celebratory aspect of rejoicing in another 365 days on Earth. Of course, children's birthdays tend to be a bit more jovial just because they spend 364 days waiting for that one day to arrive. When they will be bigger. Stronger. Older. Oh and that whole present thing. We have an ongoing list in our house for presents. Whatever holiday is coming around, we ask the children to add the request to their list with a disclosure statement of, "Just because it's on the list, doesn't mean you're going to receive it." because present requests have changed with each generation. My parents generation begged for dolls, jacks, Cowboys and Indians figurines, comic books, marbles, etc. My generation brought Atari games, boom boxes, designer clothes, name brand shoes (we HAD to be like Mike) and well, we just were not going to settle for anything from a five and dime store. My children's generation has graduated to iPhones, iPads, laptops, hand held games, Wii, X Box and probably gadgets I don't even know exist. In the race to keep up with technology, I will finish last every time. And I'm ok with last place in this particular race.
But my favorite thing about birthdays is not about the gifts. Sure baubles are nice for those special occasions, but honestly, I don't visit many places where I would wear a pretty piece of jewelry. And I am terrified of losing anything valuable. A trip to the spa sounds relaxing but I tend to spend the whole time wondering what my family is doing and how much longer do I have with this stranger rubbing my skin? Do I have time to fall asleep and if I do, will I be grumpy when they wake me? Are they noticing that I really should have left that last doughnut on the plate last Sunday because now I have a new dimple on my thigh? Dinner with my husband is always a delightful treat but then you add in babysitter fees and suddenly you've blown your budget for the month. Granted, I am stretching the truth a bit but honestly, my favorite gift is time. I love receiving cards in the mail with a little handwritten note from a loved one wishing me happiness and health for another year. I love the funny emails my friends send me letting me know I am growing older and while maybe not gracefully, I am not aging alone. I love the handmade cards from my children with misspelled words but perfectly placed I love you's and funny pictures and accolades that only a Mother can receive with a completely open heart. I love the cards or notes from my husband reminding me that in the midst of this busy, hectic life of children, bills and work, we still are best friends making our way down the messy road of life without a map. But we wouldn't have it any other way. I love the phone calls and voice mails that pop up throughout the day just to wish me Happy Birthday and nothing else. And I love that my Mom and Dad still sing Happy Birthday to me on the phone and make me feel like that little six-year-old that could not sleep the night before her birthday because she was going to simply burst from excitement. And I love that sometimes my bestest friends help me stretch out my birthday celebration for a whole month because they always think I was born 30 days later. And that brings a huge smile to my face because I have never been on time with a birthday card. But I always think about the celebratory person on their special day.
And that's the part that I love. That someone spent time doing a little something simple to make someone else's day brighter. And somehow, that made them a little brighter, too. So birthdays are not just for you. They bring great joy to all who know you and love you and celebrate you. And they just have a way of showing you that they are glad you are still here, being you, only you and that is the best gift a person could receive. Happy Birthday, everyone and may you continue to find great joy in the next 364 days!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The Joy of Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies
I do not know a simpler pleasure than enjoying a warm chocolate chip cookie from your very own oven. Not one that burns your tongue, but a cookie that deflates a little when you press your finger in the center. One where the chocolate morsels seem to stretch like mozzarella cheese when you break it apart. One that is not perfectly round and maybe a bit too puffy. One that was made with flour, baking soda, salt, butter, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips and maybe a secret ingredient that makes this delectable treat all your own. One that makes you close your eyes, smile and immediately reach for another one. Without guilt.
I love to bake. I thank my Mom for letting me help her in the kitchen when I was younger. And now that I am a Mom, "helping" is an operative word and has many definitions in the official Mom dictionary. Chocolate chip cookies were a staple in our baking lessons. I have never perfected or even come close to her pie crust and I have accepted I will never replicate her divine flaky creations no matter how many times I try. But, I can hold my own when it comes to cookies. And not just chocolate chip. I love to make snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate mint, oatmeal raisin, lemon, cookie press, sugar, iced, refrigerator, bar, no bake, drop, rolled, or monster mash creations. Which basically is whatever the kids want to add to a basic oatmeal cookie recipe. I recommend trying this with your children...they will surprise you and your taste buds will thank you.
But the best memory of my childhood chocolate chip cookie baking adventures is the time spent with my Mom. As the youngest of three active kids, a little quiet one-on-one time with my Mom was as rare as me finding a pen in my pocketbook these days. I remember the copper colored canisters with the black lids and cursive writing. I remember the measuring spoons in the top right drawer next to our avocado colored stove. I remember the baking pans standing tall in the skinny cabinet next to our avocado colored refrigerator. I remember the mixing bowls in the corner cabinet to the left of the sink. And I remember the avocado green standing mixer that I graduated to when I showed I could do the process from beginning to end. And I remember mixing by hand made a better cookie than mixing by machine. But mostly I remember my Mom with a quick laugh and gentle reminder to measure salt over the sink and not the ingredients bowl. I remember her telling me I needed to finish the task of dropping the cookie on the sheet, even if I was bored. She would not do that for me. I remember her letting me take the cookies out of the oven for the very first time. And I remember her letting me eat raw cookie dough even though some expert said we should not. And I remember she stuck her finger in the bowl, too. And I remember we always had to taste a few chocolate chips before we added to the batter. I remember that my Mom was teaching and tasting right beside me. And each time, I would do a little more by myself until there was a time you did not have to be in the kitchen any longer. But I knew that you would come if I called.
I now make cookies with my children. I see my Mom's hands in my own. I hear her voice as I ask them to pour the salt over the sink and to stir gently when adding the flour. My daughter is needing me less and less when we make cookies. And my son wants to do more and more on his own. After all the years of my Mom having me follow the same recipe over and over again, I finally figured out her secret ingredient: add a little love when no one is looking. And I couldn't think of a better secret to pass down to the next generation. There is great joy to sharing family traditions and recipes. Especially if you add a little chocolate and a lot of love.
I love to bake. I thank my Mom for letting me help her in the kitchen when I was younger. And now that I am a Mom, "helping" is an operative word and has many definitions in the official Mom dictionary. Chocolate chip cookies were a staple in our baking lessons. I have never perfected or even come close to her pie crust and I have accepted I will never replicate her divine flaky creations no matter how many times I try. But, I can hold my own when it comes to cookies. And not just chocolate chip. I love to make snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate mint, oatmeal raisin, lemon, cookie press, sugar, iced, refrigerator, bar, no bake, drop, rolled, or monster mash creations. Which basically is whatever the kids want to add to a basic oatmeal cookie recipe. I recommend trying this with your children...they will surprise you and your taste buds will thank you.
But the best memory of my childhood chocolate chip cookie baking adventures is the time spent with my Mom. As the youngest of three active kids, a little quiet one-on-one time with my Mom was as rare as me finding a pen in my pocketbook these days. I remember the copper colored canisters with the black lids and cursive writing. I remember the measuring spoons in the top right drawer next to our avocado colored stove. I remember the baking pans standing tall in the skinny cabinet next to our avocado colored refrigerator. I remember the mixing bowls in the corner cabinet to the left of the sink. And I remember the avocado green standing mixer that I graduated to when I showed I could do the process from beginning to end. And I remember mixing by hand made a better cookie than mixing by machine. But mostly I remember my Mom with a quick laugh and gentle reminder to measure salt over the sink and not the ingredients bowl. I remember her telling me I needed to finish the task of dropping the cookie on the sheet, even if I was bored. She would not do that for me. I remember her letting me take the cookies out of the oven for the very first time. And I remember her letting me eat raw cookie dough even though some expert said we should not. And I remember she stuck her finger in the bowl, too. And I remember we always had to taste a few chocolate chips before we added to the batter. I remember that my Mom was teaching and tasting right beside me. And each time, I would do a little more by myself until there was a time you did not have to be in the kitchen any longer. But I knew that you would come if I called.
I now make cookies with my children. I see my Mom's hands in my own. I hear her voice as I ask them to pour the salt over the sink and to stir gently when adding the flour. My daughter is needing me less and less when we make cookies. And my son wants to do more and more on his own. After all the years of my Mom having me follow the same recipe over and over again, I finally figured out her secret ingredient: add a little love when no one is looking. And I couldn't think of a better secret to pass down to the next generation. There is great joy to sharing family traditions and recipes. Especially if you add a little chocolate and a lot of love.
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