The song from the seventies speaks of ‘walking in the rain
and the snow when there’s no place to go’. Now to me,
that’s love. I, for one, only enjoy a walk in the best of
weather conditions. I’d have to be head over heels out of
my mind, to walk through rain, sleet or snow in the name
of love. Of course one day a year, we do try to go the
extra mile to show and profess our true love to the
sweethearts in our life.
Being
that I’ve been married for almost thirteen years now, I
felt like I needed some fresh inspirational ideas. Believe
it or not, I turned on Martha Stewart Living. What was I
thinking?
There she was in all her domestic
perfection, drolling on about sweet meringue kisses and
other homemade confections. Gripping the overstuffed arms
of my rocker, I cringed as I watched her pipe fluffy
meringue onto her ‘Martha Stewart’ parchment paper with
her ‘Martha Stewart’ pastry bag made with special grommets
that allow you to hang them to dry. Was I watching a
cooking show or a shopping channel? For the love of money!
This was ridiculous!
I flicked off the tube and returned to
my reality. Dirty dishes in the sink, peanut butter
smeared children at the table and a frozen pizza thawing
on the bread crumb covered counter. Piping meringue
cookies? Now that’s what you’d call a pipe dream. Besides,
I refused to be sucked into Martha’s world. <continued
below>
"Thanks for turning that show off."
`Rain remarked. "I’m so glad you’re not like her. It would
be hard to be her daughter."
"Really? Why do you think that?" I
asked.
"Because, she’s so, like, ‘Oooooohhhh
it’s so important to do things this way. And ooooohhh,
you’ve got to be just so perfect’."
I rustled her hair and headed to my room
to get dressed. Funny how sometimes we strive to be
someone we’re not in order to impress the ones we love.
Had I not been so frustrated with the infomercial
technique, I may have just attempted those cookies.
Knowing me, I would’ve become extremely short tempered
when my kisses turned out more like blobs. Harsh words
wouldn’t be far away. I wondered what my family would
prefer, fancy meringues from a grumpy mother or
refrigerated, slice-and-dice tollhouse served with a
smile?
It was a no brainer.
Returning to the kitchen, I wiped off
the counter and slapped down the cold roll of cookie
dough.
"Yea! Mommy’s making her best cookies!"
"Can we help?" Ash asked, jumping up and
down.
"Sure! Many hands make light work!"
Ten minutes later, Sherwood, the girls
and I sat at the table pulling the warm cookies apart
laughing as the chocolate oozed all over our fingers.
There were no fancy bags hanging to dry - only a pile of
plastic wrap rolled up in the garbage. The cookies weren’t
fluffy Hershey Kiss styles. Instead, the girls played with
the dough forming it into lopsided hearts that joined into
one big blob as they spread across the pan in the oven.
Sherwood and I were truly thankful
sweethearts basking in the warmth of a somewhat messy
kitchen, our hearts overflowing as we enjoyed our sticky
fingered children and a loving family moment. Martha can
keep her fancy doodads, and I’ll keep our hard earned
money. Sometimes the best things in life come in $3.00
doughboy-covered plastic. And, it’s a good thing.
