My husband recently began a new job so I thought it would be nice to bake some cookies for him to bring to work. I enlisted the help of my kids and today, after school, we got to work. Venumadhava, my oldest, was given the honor of choosing which kind of cookies we would make. His choice: ginger cookies. It should be noted that when I suggested jam cookies, the kid protested with a majorly audible groan. Uh…shall I take that as a “no”?
Venumadhava has recently begun cooking the morning oatmeal (with a little help and a fair amount of supervision). I thought he would be very enthusiastic about our cookie making, which he was, to a point. He still won’t muss his hands–refusing to mix the dough with anything other than a spoon. As any baker knows, this will only get your dough so far.
My daughter, the family pig, I mean…the enthusiastic eater, happily got her hands dirty mixing the dough. However, the temperature outside is rather warm and the butter was consequently very soft. Both kids had difficulty rolling the cookies into the required balls and my husband coming home in the middle of it didn’t help things, either. In the middle of rolling cookies my son took off to ride bikes with my husband and I was left with one very sad, bicycle deprived three year old girl.
But the cookies are done. Only some burned as a casualty of me being left home with a crying girlie. I think we had fun quality time. For about six minutes.
Venumadhava takes a shot at me.
Our flax egg. To which my daughter responded, “Ewww! Gross. Egg.” To which my son countered, “It’s not gross. It’s vegetarian.” Yeah, you tell her!!!
Venumadhava mixing his cookies.
Notice the clean hands…
That’s my girl!
The Miracle Cookies. If you were involved with the process, you would understand what I mean.