Saturday, April 7, 2012

Baking Away My Problems

I head toward the kitchen, stressed out. I've always liked oatmeal cookies and decide to try a recipe that I found in a magazine.  Baking is the release I need right now, being better than reading a book or watching t.v.  Stress is one thing, but not being able to vent it is another cat entirely.  My father is being especially difficult to get along with on this long weekend, and we all know that "when dad isn't happy, nobody is happy".  Mom is grumpy after trying to sweet talk him and has no patience left for me or my brother.  I understand what's going on and am here to help, but she still insists on talking to me like crap.

Preheat the oven, soak the raisins (do I even have raisins?).  The dry ingredients are pretty with the brownish red cinnamon swirled in the stark white flour and sugar.  The wet elements are mixed separately, and then added to the dry.  Their segregation reminds me of how the world works.  We segregate each other, yet when something needs to be done/created, it takes all of us together to get the job done.

I like baking alone in the kitchen.  Mom isn't hovering around, picking out my flaws.  I feel relaxed and let my creative juices flow.  Somehow, I find the energy to clean up messes and tackle the huge mound of dishes, but can't seem to find the time to clean the bathroom.  Typical.  After investigating, dad hints that he would like me to make the blueberry muffins he bought.  Awesome, yet another thing he wants me to do for him!

Okay, clean the mess up from cookies and move on to muffins.  Add water, mix thoroughly.  Drop batter into muffin cups (but not too much).  Set the timer and gather cleaning supplies for the bathroom (yes, I've resolved to clean it after all).  Cookie dough threatens to come back up as I clean the toilet seat.  How scrumptious.  Timer buzzes.  I finish the bathroom and grab the muffins out of the inferno.

Ten minutes later, I've cleaned up the remaining messes, arranged the muffins (rather prettily, I think), and stand in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging by my side.  Without the stress and anger, I feel rather limp and worn out.  I taste a cookie and decide they probably won't be very good after all.