Christmas time is a time for making memories. Yesterday, my family made a memory without me.
See, my 3rd grade son made a gift for me at school and brought it home last Friday. He was so excited about it, but didn't want to give it to me in the form in which it came home. So, he asked his Dad to help him.
But not as overwhelming as what my husband experienced.
The project took place in the kitchen, a foriegn, forbidding land for my husband. It brings to mind the chef from Ratatouille.
While I was out, I got a call asking how to cream butter. This, to me, is a given...like how to make a bowl of cereal or boil water. It took a while for me to think about and then walk my husband through the steps, including locating the correct handmixer and beaters.
My daughter picked up the phone and sounded frightened as she checked to see if I was still there. Afraid my shopping excursion was over before I'd even begun, I asked if her Dad still had all his fingers. Her voice shook with uncertainty as she said, "Yeah, I think so. But I have to go now." And she hung up. The entire time I was out, I kept wondering and worrying about what was going on in my kitchen.
I kind of wish I'd been 'a fly on the wall' to witness the catastrophy in progress. Three sticks of butter and one volcanic explosion of flour (which was "amazing" to witness) later, the project was complete. It took all five kids to help clean up. But, when I got home, my kitchen was clean and
His thoughtfulness was even sweeter than cookies.
Oh, and my husband did not remove his fingers in the mixer, but we still aren't sure if he broke something or not.