Cookie Monster!

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1 Thessalonians, 5:18

The other day, I bought a bag of chocolate chips on sale. Guittard milk chocolate - yummmmmm. I put them in the cupboard, intending to make cookies with MJ as a rainy-day activity.

Well, today wasn't rainy - but, since MJ woke up early from his nap and the park was closed for maintenance, it ended up being the perfect day to make some cookies. I took out the chocolate chips and gave MJ a sample of one, telling him we were going to make cookies.

"More cuk-ees", he'd beg, gesturing toward the chocolate chips.

"You need to wait, the chips go into the cookies. We're making pumpkin spice chocolate chip cookies," I told him.

"Punkin, punkin cukees," was MJ's giddy reply.

I hauled out the Kitchen Aid, rinsed the bowl (major dust-fest; clearly I need to bake more), and got out a step stool for MJ to stand on so he could see and help.

First we creamed together the butter and the sugar. MJ was entranced with the mixer turning. Next went in the vanilla. I wasn't willing to risk MJ spilling that everywhere (stuff ain't cheap), so I gave him his own empty teaspoon to hold instead.

He mainly enjoyed banging the spoon on the bowl of the mixer. It makes a fun noise. Hurray!

I'm making music, Mommy!

The next few ingredients I was more willing to let MJ put in himself. A teaspoon (give or take) of salt, and one teaspoon of baking soda. MJ put in half and Mommy put in half. One teaspoon landed on the floor, so we had to try again.

Next it was time for the pumpkin spice part.  I'm sure there are fine, fancy recipes that incorporate homemade pumpkin puree and cinnamon-steeped vanilla beans, but in our toddler kitchen it basically means the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip cookie recipe with a dash of pumpkin spice and cinnamon tossed in.

Here's MJ with the pumpkin spice. I handed him the spice container and told him to shake it. I failed to specify that he should shake it upside down and into the mixing bowl, so he didn't. My mistake. He ended up with a face full of pumpkin spice.

I clarified my directions.  Most of it ended up on the counter and the floor anyway, not the bowl. Whatever.

When the rest of the ingredients were in, MJ got to turn on the mixer. He liked that part.

But the best was yet to come.

When the mixing was done, it was time for tasting! I didn't have to instruct him on this aspect of baking. Some things are just instinctual. :)

He happily took his teaspoon and dipped it into the batter...

Mmmm, I think I'm on to something here, Mommy.

Yes, this is delicious!

A treat this tasty deserves two spoons!

Must have more! 

(Sorry about the blur, he didn't stop moving he was so eager!)

This is his third spoonful. Cookie batter face. Everywhere. 

Eventually we decided it was time to stop eating and put the cookie batter onto the baking sheet. We needed to actually make the cookies, right? 

MJ was happy to help, he shoved his spoonful of half-eaten batter onto the sheet. Don't worry, I took it off when he wasn't looking, but I didn't want to discourage his efforts to help. Plus, it was super cute to watch.

Most of his batter ended up on the floor anyway. Oh well!

It was amusing to watch him try to clean up his fallen cookie batter. Goopy fingers everywhere! Let's just say that more batter ended up being smeared on the floor and the counter than anywhere else.

Once the cookies were in the oven, MJ decided he would "help" with the dishes. By the way, it may appear that I haven't done dishes in a decade but I had just washed and dried them all last night. Yep, our new kitchen is that small that it makes us look like we're really messy all the time. And we're only really messy half the time. So unfair.

But back to MJ and the dishes: He's Mommy's helper! Hurray for a wet sponge! Too bad MJ hasn't learned how to squeeze the sponge out yet, so water was dripping all over the floor and my cabinets.

But it's hard to be upset when your toddler son is literally hand-mopping the floor.

After a few minutes of this back and forth to the sink, the ground was sopping wet. So, I gave him a towel and asked him to wipe up the water with the towel. He did. Meanwhile, I mopped up the puddle under the sink and the water all over the cabinets, plus wiped down the spice-covered counters, the salt pile on the ground, and the cookie batter that MJ's eager little hands had tracked all over the kitchen cabinets, appliances, and everything else.

By the time we were done cleaning up, there was time for just one bite of batter before the last sheet went into the oven.

How can you not love this face?

In the end, here's our finished product. Yup, those are definitely my cookies. They pretty much didn't turn out. Half were broken and falling apart, the other half were overly crispy.

Have I mentioned that I can't bake cookies? Cookies and I have a longstanding war. I don't know what it is - perhaps my butter was too soft, or was I supposed to cut in half shortening? Temperature off, poor quality cookie sheets? Old baking soda so they don't rise?

Whatever the excuse, it's always the same story. They're either under cooked, over cooked, missing some vital ingredient (I am not kidding, I left out flour once in high school), or some key flavor element (cookies with no salt = yuck).

But, to be honest, I couldn't care less. Of all the things I feel pressure to do well, baking cookies isn't one of them. I can bake plenty of things just fine - cute cupcakes, moist and yummy sheet cakes, and I put together a killer peppermint cheesecake. Cookies can shove it.

Besides, in my family, the role of cookie baker extraordinaire is already taken - my brother makes the most amazing chocolate chip cookies you will ever taste and my sister can bake all those pretty, fancy ones that everybody else just burns or breaks. It's impressive.

Suffice to say that I'm secure in my cookie-making prowess, or lack thereof. And a pretty plate of cookies wasn't my goal anyway. That wasn't the point of baking cookies with my son. The point was to have fun, learn a little bit, and discover something new. And that mission was definitely accomplished.

But, as MJ ran off his sugar high in the front driveway, I realized something else.

I just let my son destroy my kitchen. And I didn't mind at all.

It's no secret that I dislike my new kitchen. In fact, when my husband first showed me the listing for our now home and I saw the photographs of the kitchen, my first reaction was "No way." I didn't even want to go and view the home. That's how strongly I disliked the kitchen. In the end, the other positive attributes of the home won.

After living in said kitchen for a couple months, I can't say it's grown on me much. It feels even smaller than I thought it would; the brand-new appliances are the cheapest the owner could find (and tiny!); there's very little usable counter space; it's got a glass-top electric stove (I loathe these - who wants a stove that always looks dirty?); and the cabinets and drawers are so old and covered in multiple coats of paint that half of them don't close and the other are so stuck I can't open them myself and have to call Ted to help.

Before you think I sound like a spoiled brat, you should know the kitchen I left behind was beautiful. Sure, it needed an upgrade on counter tops badly and our venting hood was ugly, but the design was amazing. The previous owner was a cooking teacher so it had space galore! And row after row of beautiful, dark wood cabinets. Plus, my fabulous husband had upgraded the appliances to a nice, new dishwasher and a gas stove with an indoor grill. Score!

Still, I'm grateful and thankful for the new kitchen that I have and the many wonderful upsides of our new home. I know that I'm truly blessed just to have a kitchen, any kitchen - much less one in a nice home in a beautiful neighborhood. But while I'd spent much time concentrating on having a grateful attitude and repenting for when I failed to do so, I admit I was still having a hard time practically appreciating the attributes of my kitchen.

That is, until we made cookies.

I don't know that I could have let MJ explore baking with as much mess and abandon in a kitchen I loved, or one that we'd just spent an arm and a leg to remodel. I strongly believe that people are always priority over things, but I can't say it would be easy to watch streams of water spill down fine oak cabinets or sugar and salt be ground into newly refinished hardwood floors.

Simply put, I think there would have been less giggling and exploring and more micromanaging and worrying had my kitchen been one I've been wishing I had. Which one sounds like more fun to you? Yeah, me too.

So, tonight I'm grateful for more than just having a kitchen. I'm grateful for the exact one that I have - awful cabinets and all. Because, despite the fact that I'm daydreaming and planning for the kitchen of my dreams, I know without a doubt that I'm blessed to be building memories in the one that I already have. Giggling, messy, spill-soaked, and sticky chubby finger memories. The kind you can't recreate once the moment has passed.

Like making cookies for the very first time with an enthusiastic little boy. Like the spark in his eye when he tastes the batter for the first time. And the thrill he gets from being allowed to dip a tablespoon into a bin of flour. Or the joy he gets from "doing the dishes".

Yep, that's the good stuff. And that special moment was brought to me by a kitchen I hate, but a family I absolutely love.


P.S. - The ugly cookies? They tasted delicious. Chocolately with a hint of pumpkin spice and a kiss of cinnamon. Apparently MJ is a budding culinary genius..