My aunt posted to Facebook the other day that she knew she was like her mom (my grandmother) because her kids were home and she was happily feeding them. Must be hereditary, I thought. Then I thought maybe it’s genetic, but hooked to the x-chromosome and it’s like a Wonder Twin power thing–you need both Xs to activate it.
I love to feed my family and my friends. This does not include taking them out to eat. I have to prepare the food. I make homemade bread. I won’t buy prepackaged chocolate chip cookie dough. I can’t stand eating cupcakes from the bakery counter. It just feels wrong. Treats like that should come from the hands and the heart of the one providing them.
Our oldest daughter has been having a rough time lately and over break she kept asking me to make cookies. There were so many other treats that chocolate chip cookies just seemed extraneous. But this morning it dawned on me it might be about more than the cookies.
And so I made her cookies while she was sleeping in. And filled a ramekin with cookie dough (yes, we still do that, even with real eggs) and put a little heart on top with a toothpick.
You are loved, baby girl, and you know it’s true because I am trying to fill your belly because I can’t fix what’s wrong with your heart.