Oatmeal Lace

The other day I was experiencing a HOLY-CRAP-I-AM-WORN-OUT moment. I found myself wishing for the days that were simpler. When all I had to do was decide what I should wear that day or if I would run into my favorite people at school, or if my mom knew she was going to need to drive me to dance practice later that night. But of course she knew. She was the mom. Moms know and keep track of everything. Moms are accountable, by love, to the little people in their lives.

So I set it all aside. I put down my never ending list, intent to slow down, and baked some cookies. Out of eggs, Oatmeal Lace became the recipe of circumstance. Abbie and I methodically measured and poured, mixed, staggered, and baked. Unaware at the time that this very act would tie me to the core of my longing.

Simpler times.

The fresh baked cookies slithered down my throat like the goodness of old memories. Buttery goodness that is soft on the inside, crunchy on the edge. Much like life. Hard at first, but perfectly great at the heart of it.  Upon my first bite as their holes hit my tongue and the buttered oatmeal wafted up my nostrils, my eyes welled, remembering the hall kitchen at 1020 East 300 North. Strange how a scent sent me so far back...

I would sit on mom's kitchen floor, my back against the wall, while mom in between busing herself, would pull these beauties out of the oven. Likely unsure of simple worries in those teenage moments, mom made all of mine evaporate with the steam of a plate full of Oatmeal Lace.

Maybe at those moments, mom's worries evaporated too. Maybe she needed to get back to simplicity by cookie making. Could she have seen more acutely, like I was, the unimportant holes or expectations she could drop out of her life? Could she finally get a picture of the map of trails that set her priorities in order?

I served up cookies across the bar while Liberty, Aspen and Abbie devoured them, carefully inspecting their tiny holes and crunchy chewiness. I watched them. I looked into their eyes. We talked, we laughed, we enjoyed one another without the push of life. Time with who matters most made me feel invigorated. Made me remember that mom lived through the harried times. She made it, I can too. Life slowed down for an instant before the race began again.