The weather turned cooler this week, and the calendar officially welcomed Fall, so right on queue my baking instincts have started kicking in.
Now, I’m not much of a cook and I’m certainly not a food blogger (as my non-Pinterest “worthy” pictures will attest) but I do love to bake. I have ever since I was a teenager. I love measuring and mixing and the chemistry aspect to it. I like recipes that tell you step by step what to do, and I even love baking complicated things. When I need to relax, if I’m not reaching for my knitting needles then I’m probably reaching for my oven mitts.
I remember, not that many years ago, when baking was something I did at night after the kids were in bed. Sometimes it is still that way, long solo baking sessions where I can make every thing just so. But more often than not, these days I share the experience, and the resulting havoc, with my kids.
For me, baking with my children can either be about forced efficiency and picture perfect results (and major stress) … or it can be about purposefully deciding to let go, live in the moment, and practice all of that patient, mindful, uncomplicated parenting that I preach.
In other words, I think baking with the kids is as good for me as it is for them.