Ever bake chocolate chip cookies with a 13-year-old? Me either. I did have 2 of them(13 year olds) in my borrowed kitchen attempting to bake them all by themselves. I thought it best to stay out-of-the-way when I heard high-pitched laughter and clattering pans and squishy things hit the floor.
First Carly came out. “Do we have baking soda?”. I knew we did and dared her to look in the cupboard where it would be staring her in the face. She found it. Good job, Carly.
More squealing, clattering, and a few screams that followed a dreadful crash.
“What’s going on in there?” Anyone could tell I was getting a little concerned. “Nothing Margaret!” came Izzie’s voice. (I know my name is not Margaret but the kid has called me that since she was 5 and will continue to do so until I die. I take it as a huge compliment and even turn my head in crowded places when I hear that name).
More and more noises. Then…quiet. Then, “Mum, what if the brown sugar is hard?” I told her it would be okay, staying in the living room and letting them work it out. I should’ve went in the kitchen. I heard the microwave. That didn’t seem right. Hmmm.
“Margaret, should the cookie dough look like this?” I looked into the bowl they brought out. It was cookie goo not cookie dough. Or maybe cookie DOH! Sorry, that just slipped out. I had never seen cookie dough look like that. It was totally soggy. Izzie tattled on Carly and told me she put it in the microwave to soften up the brown sugar. Well, everything separated and melted and looked pretty bad. I advised them to throw out what they had and start over. Those words are not in my daughter’s vocabulary but “I can fix it” always has been.
So off they went into the kitchen again. I worked on my laptop (I was on Facebook) for about 1/2 hour. Carly came out with the bowl again. “Do you think this will work now? ” I confess, I was now afraid of the bowl and what she might have done to it. These two have a history of imagination that defies any concept of neat, tidy or normal. It looked the same. I asked her what they did different. It was the same batch but they stuck it in the freezer trying to firm it up again. It didn’t work. I offered to help them make a new batch but they were done.
“No cookies?” I squeaked. Oh no. I had waited half the evening for warm homemade cookies. “Na!” Carly said, “can we have the laptop now? We cleaned up the mess.”
So, I sat there; a growly tummy that only wanted chocolate chip cookies, no cookies, no laptop which meant no Facebook and no Skype with my fella. So I did the only thing that felt right.
I ate the chocolate chips.
And I found the bowl in the freezer. Oy.