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As a child we all have begged to do one thing: help our mommas bake cookies.
Nothing tasted sweeter than freshly baked, warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies straight off of the cookie sheet and a tall glass of cold milk.
I remember when I was maybe six or so on a chilly early spring evening; my dad was going to be home from work soon, so I thought I would ask my mom if we could surprise him with is favorite freshly baked cookies.
With a smile she said yes and I excitedly started gathering the supplies. Then I pushed my purple step stool over to the counter top right beside my mother and the giant silver mixing bowl.
My mom made a game out of it. She handed me the bag of chocolate chips with the recipe on it, and every time I read the words right I got to add the ingredient into the bowl. The butter, brown sugar, eggs, and sugar were the first into the mix.
That was also when my three year old baby sister ran into the kitchen and yelled, “Help!”
Mom picked her up and set her beside the giant bowl and handed her a second brown wooden mixing spoon that she brandished proudly in the air.
Next we added in the vanilla, salt, baking soda, and the incidental flour. My little sister found a fascination in the white powdery stuff, and while my mom had taken her eye off of Kendall for just a second while she helped me stir in the flour, Kendall already had fistfuls of the stuff. My face just happened to be her target.
I cannot say I wasn’t mad at her, but when I looked up to see her covered in flour too, I couldn’t help but to laugh with her. One look in the mirror and I saw why Mom had called me a ghost.
After wiping away the flour, I finished the cookie dough with the delicious chocolate chips and dipped my fingers into the bowl to test my concoction.
My favorite part of making cookies is snacking on the dough as they bake in the oven and fill the entire house with the sweet aroma. I just loved watching the delicious cookies come together and being able to enjoy them with the people that I love.
But the best part of the evening was when my dad walked in the door, with a smile already on his face. I stood there waiting with a plate full of warm cookies with a grin from ear to ear.
He came over, took a giant bite, and then wrapped me up in a big bear hug.
“Thank you sweetheart. I love you.”
Now, whenever I make or eat chocolate chip cookies, I am forever reminded of that sweet memory.