A few evenings ago, I turned the telly on to an educational program where all of the creatures are made from the letters of their names. As my babe began to spout out the letters he saw, I closed the tiny white gate separating his vulnerable self from the preheating oven. At this moment, I was doing the baking dance between soaking raisins and Craisins galore (the secret to fancy oatmeal cookies), while sifting dry ingredients next to my yellow bowl filled to the brim with wet ingredients–all vegan.
Though I have made batches and batches of oatmeal cookies, this was my first attempt at whittling a vegan variety. I fretted over the consistency without eggs, with milk and butter substitutes. As all things go, the worry wo-man in me was muted as I opened the oven door to reveal fairly decent rounded morsels of love.
I was so busy in my preparations and ensuring that my wee one was not turning into a TV zombie baby that I forgot to sample one until today. While my monster bear napped, I reached for a cookie (still on the counter, uncovered, because I’m terrible). Instantly, I noted the chewy texture–a good thing when sampling an oatmeal cookie. Perhaps too much nutmeg, methinks, but all in all, not a bad little batch.
As I devoured the remainder, complete with licking my finger to assault escaped crumbs, I was transported back to those lonely nights where I would stand in the kitchen, half naked/half awake, after nursing my babe back to sleep. I’d set the monitor on the counter and open a bag of oatmeal cookies my fellow momma and fierce friend had made me. When we came home from the hospital, she brought over a bag of oatmeal cookies–her own secret recipe–to fill my tum during those night-time feedings of mine and my babe. And she kept me fully stocked (true blue life blood companion, she is).
For I never intended to let him “cry it out” or suffer in silence in any way when I was so present, either sleeping on the floor, the couch, beside him, or just in the next room. Some may find this preposterous, that I nursed him as long as I did, that he slept with me most nights, that I awoke to his every peep. But I sometimes miss those sweet nights chock-a-blocked with sweet coos of my babe, my breastmilk, and my best pal’s oatmeal cookies. Cliched, yes, but life was so sweet and young, then.
Now my babe is edging his way past two and a half years. I feel so peaceful in all of his growing, for I know that one wee batch of oatmeal cookies can take me back to his first few days on this earth. And to the days and nights that we spent rocking each other’s worlds completely together and apart.
What era of your days and nights do you miss most? Can a flavor, a cookie or two, dispel your current whereabouts and land you right back into some blissful state?
Also, e-mail me at laceonlife(@)gmail.com if you’d like in on this rad vegan oatmeal cookie recipe!