The truth about cookies

After asking for the chocolate chips in the cupboard everyday for the last week or so Anna finally asked if we could make cookies. While I’ve said “no” to chocolate chips from the cupboard during this last week, I said, “yes, of course” to cookies.

So we softened the butter, preheated the oven, whisked the eggs and added oatmeal at the last minute. I love it that Anna knows how to crack an egg, thinks to suggest oatmeal in chocolate chip cookies and scoops the cookies out on the cookie sheets like pro. Her impatience while they bake is endearing, her willingness to help clean up by doing the dishes doesn’t exactly make anything easier, but sure is sweet.

As the first tray of cookies was (finally) done and sitting on the island to cool I noticed her attempting to peel a hot cookie from the tray. I cautioned her, and then finally had to insist that she wait until they cool a bit more so as not to burn her fingers.

When she is (finally) allowed to go for the cookie I see her picking through the soft warm dough. Her little fingers, vehicles for her perseverance, find a chocolate chip and she quickly pops it into her mouth. Her smile is big, her eyes are bright. She has finally figured out how to get the chocolate chips from the cupboard into her mouth. The fact that it had to be put into a cookie and baked is largely beside the point.