I head to the kitchen to bake cookies because everything around me is loud. The TV singing joyous kid songs, the thoughts in my mind clanging against one another, the cries of the baby wanting to be held constantly, the needs of everyone else. I gather the ingredients + place them in groups on the counter because it's a measured + precise process in contrast to the chaos that swirls around me. I simply follow directions. No decisions here to be made. I blend the eggs, butter, + sugars because my mind begins to quiet, focusing only on the task at hand. I marvel at the gritty texture that blends, and blends, and blends into a butterscotch-like cream. The rich sugary scent wafts up with each swoop of the mixer around the bowl. I fold the dry ingredients into the wet mixture because life is funny like that, folding layers of yourself into one another until you're something new + unrecognizable from the outside. Composed of the same parts but formed in a new design. I stir in two cups of chocolate chips because the delight on my son's face when his bite of cookie reveals gooey warm chocolate morsels gets tucked away in my memory bank of happiness. I scoop the batter into hefty chunks on the sheet because the metal chk chk of the cookie scoop means the work of my hands is almost done, a satisfying sound of sweetness drawing near. I sprinkle sea salt on each drop of dough because the salty + sweet of this life go hand in hand, each experience making the next an appreciated taste. I rinse + load dishes into the dishwasher because the act of creating is messy. The small puffs of flour + flicks of batter on the counter are remnants of a wholly enjoyed moment to myself. I wait for the timer to go off + let the cookies cool because learning to wait enriches the coming sweetness. It's hard to surrender the control of time, to sit with the discomfort of not knowing when or if your moment will arrive, yet I've found peace knowing what will be, will be. I bake cookies because it's my offering of sorts—a calm mom, a sweeter partner, a steady sense of self. It is love, nourishment, + care all blended + baked into the simplest gift.
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Speaks to my soul. Something about baking that's so therapeutic to me. Also going to make these oatmeal cc cookies tonight!
Beautiful, Courtnie! So many good words here, but I really love this: “learning to wait enriches the coming sweetness.” I’ll have to try those recipes!