I baked cookies tonight. After seven weeks of my family having to live with what appeared to be an interminably impaired matriarch, I made cookies. They were pretty bad. Gluten-free and from a mix. But I baked.
Once upon a time, many years ago, I found myself unwrapping a "care package" in my college dorm room from my mother. The only thing I remember with great clarity about the contents are the crumbly, delicious chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. No baked treat ever, ever, ever tasted so delightful and scrumptious. That combination of oatmeal and choco-chips? Seemingly mundane, but brilliant all the same! Comfort food for sure. But was it really about the taste? I wonder. Probably a little. But I think most of all it was about how the cookies made me feel - loved by my dear mom. Those cookies could've been laced with ostrich beaks. And I would probably be bragging to my kids about how my mom used to make the best ostrich beak cookies ever. Well, maybe not.
When I was really young, my mom was a Mary Kay consultant. Some nights she'd have to be gone. Dreadful. I love my Dad with all my heart, but I could never convince him that MOM DOES NOT ADD TOMATO CHUNKS IN THE SPAGHETTI SAUCE! Without Mom at home, things were just... off-kilter. Who am I kidding? Mom was a very necessary ingredient to receiving a whole bunch of attention. She took care of us. It was heaven.
As I get back on my feet again, I (in my motherly role) will sincerely appreciate the opportunity for my hubby to tell me that I don't have to pour their milk, cut their meat or put any of their precious cargo away. Certainly, most of us mothers know why we're tired. Our insane, hard-wired system sends signals that we must ensure abundant provisions for our loved ones until we're absolutely certain that we've exhausted all of our resources. Because deep-down inside, it feels good.