Cookies and a Purpose

Recently, I have become quite the Betty Crocker, if I do say so myself. Actually, more like Martha Stewart, minus the snootiness. Ever since Christmas of last year I have developed an intense fascination with baked goods from scratch, and since then it has developed into an outright obsession.

It started with the Christmas cookies I gave away as gifts. I made gingerbread cookies with royal icing, vanilla-walnut tea cookies, oatmeal cookies with brown-butter icing, winter bark and chocolate cheesecake bars--all from scratch. We were too broke to go out and buy everyone gifts, but we still wanted to participate in the gift-giving tradition and to me, there is something about baked goods that makes the person receiving them feel special in a "Wow, you went all out of your way for me?" type of way.

It felt good to go to the store and buy simple things like flour, sugar, butter and molasses (I had never bought molasses in my life. Really, who the hell uses molasses this day in age?) knowing that I was going to do something that isn't expected from a young mom. I admit, it felt a little selfish, but I also wanted to start a tradition for my girls. I want them to eat a cookie when they're 25 and say, "This is pretty good, but it's nothing like what Mom makes."

The week before Christmas I was a baking fiend. I didn't even have to turn the heat on at night with the oven running until midnight. I spent hours on those cookies, but I loved every minute of it and the more I did it, the easier it got. I even learned a few things like, baking soda has a purpose other than absorbing odors in the refrigerator, and it is NOT the same thing as baking powder!

But the true satisfaction came when I gave away my pretty little confections wrapped in snowflake printed cellophane, tucked into old fashioned tins with lids. Every time I heard someone say "Oh my God, this is so good. You made these yourself?" I got a rush. I did something that was unexpected, and I succeeded. Then it hit me: I was high on praise. And I had finally realized why--I needed validation.

I was no longer working outside of the home, and I spent the majority of my day alone with the girls while my husband worked. I felt like I had no purpose. I know being a mother is important, but it's nice to hear every once in a while that I'm doing a good job. I was home all day working my butt off, but nobody told me my house was clean, or that dinner was awesome, and baking was the perfect opportunity to have something to show. The same way a kindergartner brings home artwork to hang on the fridge, I wanted someone to say, "Wow! That's nice!" It wasn't the reason I initially decided to bake, but now I realize it's why I continue to bake.

It started with cookies and has expanded to include an assortment of cupcakes, coffee cakes and pound cakes. I'm addicted. I now buy my flour, sugar and butter in bulk and there is always a sweet treat ready to be devoured in our house. I have filled a void. When I'm unhappy, I bake. When I'm bored, I bake. When I want some extra attention from the hubby, you guessed it: I bake. After all, the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?