Those of us with school-aged children and those who have walked through those years know full well how it feels when you hear sentences like, “Hey mom, I forgot to tell you that tomorrow morning we have to dress like pilgrims and bring home-made bread and lemonade to school,” or, “Do you remember, I volunteered you to come in tomorrow to make matchstick boats with our hot glue gun,” or my favourite and the most recent in our home, “Don't forget mom, tomorrow I need to bring three dozen cookies to school for the bake sale. Dad volunteered when you were away.”Upon hearing that sentence last night at 7pm – as I was preparing to meet a Wolseley friend for dinner – my blood began to boil. Instantly, I had images of the other mothers’ baking. I saw it in beautifully packaged containers with the ingredients label written in swirly script, surrounded by hand-drawn butterflies and all that other 'fluffy' stuff. I visualized kids arriving at school waving goodbye to their mothers and skipping into the classroom with their freshly baked goods. I stopped myself and continued to focus on the task at hand, which was applying my mascara, however I was feeling the pressure. How was I going to get those cookies baked? When was I going to make them? Did he really volunteer or are they kidding me?
We headed out for dinner and I displayed confidence, promising my children that they would have something home-made for the bake sale. What that would be, I had no idea. Our dinner ended late, too late to begin baking, so instead I headed for bed determined to wake up early and start cooking. Sadly, neither my internal nor external alarm went off … isn't that always the way. At 7:05am (I usually wake at 6 or 6:15am) I jumped out of bed, splashed some water on my face, woke the kids and raced to the pantry to figure out what I was going to do. I switched on the light and there standing tall in confidence and glory was a product that doesn't usually find its way into my pantry simply because I'm the “home-made, from scratch girl”. The answer to my dilemma was indeed DUNCAN HINES. At that point, my thoughts of the packaging, the “not quite sure what's in it” and the cardboard taste were all erased. Just seeing those red letters screaming out DUNCAN HINES was enough to bring this mother of three, a grown woman, to tears. Goodbye three dozen cookies – hello 24 cupcakes!!
I quickly ripped open the box, grabbed a bowl, the oil, the eggs and the water and began to bake. Having been awake for less than five minutes, my reading skills weren't exactly sharp. Unfortunately, I mixed up the oil and water quantities ~ whoops. Thankfully, my son had made his way downstairs in record time and was able to respond to me yelling, “Grab me a spoon. I've put way too much oil in. Help, help, help.” The oil was quickly redistributed into a waiting coffee cup and the baking continued. Needless to say, with the extra oil, our cupcakes ended up being extremely moist and almost melt in your mouth delicious :)
Writing this today, I shared my story with my sister and she recalled a similar experience. Her youngest reminded her, on the way to school, that she was meant to bring in baking that day for a special event. Armed with this new information, my sister scoured Safeway’s baking section for the product that looked most home-made. After a successful purchase, she arrived at school to be greeted by a very organised, swirly writing mother who said, "home-baking I see".
So friends, sometimes you just need to switch into overdrive, do what it takes, remain calm and pull out maybe not your best baking results, but your best YOU results. Let frustration and a possible panic attack remain yours to deal with and do what you know to do. Bake, sew or glue and allow your kids to remain in the group that is skipping happily towards the school doors. Home-made, semi home-made or otherwise.
Susan J Sohn
susanjsohn.com
blogtalkradio.com/susanjsohn
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