Wednesday, February 13, 2013

I reached down inside myself, found a smile, and put it on my face.

Blearily, I opened one eye. Blinked. Blinked again.

He was still there.

"So, yes? You'll come down?"

What..? Why wasn't I still napping?

"Helena, come on. I've already mixed the dough. I just need your help for this next part."

Confused, I sat up and looked around the room. It was still daytime. I checked my phone. One hour since I had crawled into bed, hoping to get some uninterrupted Z's.

"Wait, so...cookies?" Was that what we were talking about?

"Yup, it's all ready! I'll meet you down there!"

I crawled out of bed, and put my slippers on. I thought about pants, Too tired for pants.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I saw Kurt carefully scooping cookie dough out of the bowl with a tablespoon, evaluating it, and then meticulously emptying it onto a cookie sheet. He paused, looking closely at the tablespoon. Then, shaking his head, he took a regular spoon, and scraped any leftover bits of dough into the little pile of future-cookie. Then he went back for another tablespoon.

I watched in silence for a minute. Our differences had never been so clear.

"It said I could use a rounded tablespoon, so I'm hoping this is right. I want them to be big."

"Sure....I'm sure it's.........fine."

I was completely engrossed by this display. He was scraping another tablespoon clean, getting every last bit off and into that perfect little pile. It was so.....irritating.

"...and then we can drop them off at people's houses! Like that old couple that haven't been to church in a few years. Remember them? They are really nice. We could swing by, let them know we are thinking about them. And then we could head over to..."

I tuned back out, thinking about my nice warm bed upstairs. 'This will be really cute in retrospect.' I mused. 'But right now, I kind of want to kill him.'

Syndil screamed happily from her swing.

He scraped out another precise tablespoon of dough.

I really wanted to punch him.

"So, what do you think? Will these be ok?"

I looked into his eager eyes, and realized that he was nervous. Was it because he had next to zero experience when it came to cookies? Or because he was trying so hard, and afraid I would shoot him down before storming back off to bed? Am I that scary?

Probably all of the above. Especially the scary part. I sighed deeply, silently. Then I reached down inside myself, found a smile, and put it on my face.

"Yes! These will be great. You did a great job. But, they are a little close together..."

I helped him move his perfect little piles apart, so that it wouldn't turn into a single, perfectly even mass of cookie all across the sheet.

After that batch went into the oven, I mixed up the chocolate chip batter.

"I just picked up 3 bags," he said, apologetically. "I didn't know which ones would be best. It seemed like it would be quicker than doing them from scratch."

"Yeah, these look great."

He watched closely when I scooped the dough out with my fingers, measuring it by sight.

"Whoa Syndil, mom has a crazy technique! Look at that, she's just eyeballing it!"

I sometimes forget that he grew up with only a single brother. Things that I took for granted are new and foreign to him.

And when it came to the peanut butter, my awesome rolling-the-dough-into-balls technique? Blew his mind.

I felt like a master chef, sharing my secrets to a captivated novice. It was electrifying. Almost made me forget about the nap I was supposed to be taking.


When they were cooling, we stood there munching, burning our tongues on the steaming-hot chocolate bits. Syndil watched from her swing, pretending to chew along with us.

After we divided the cookies out into plates covered with saran wrap, we looked at the leftovers. Tons of peanut butter, some chocolate chip, and only 3 of his large, tablespoon-size chocolate chunk cookies.

We each grabbed a chunk, and as we finished Kurt said, "You know, we are going to have to fight over that last one."

"Nah. You can have it."

"No. We are going to fight over it."

"It's ok. I don't mind. It's all yours."


I looked up, surprised at the intensity.

"We are going to fight over it."

He stared me down.

I blinked. He didn't. I swallowed. He kept on staring. It was...intense.

".....ok. yeah. we will."

Satisfied, he grabbed our daughter, and headed towards her carseat.

"Now, go put on some pants."

Yes, sir.

I'm still not quite sure what that was all about.

But that cookie? Is mine.

Right after I nap.


How sacred are your naps?

Does your spouse do anything adorable, that secretly drives you crazy??

And am I really that scary?

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