At the YMCA this morning, Wesley saw a Martha Stewart magazine on an endtable and started licking the cover: seventeen tiny cupcakes arranged in a heart for Valentine's Day. "Mommy, let's go home and make purple cupcakes," he said with a smile so satisfied it was as if we had already done it. He carried around the magazine for 35 minutes, showing it to other kids, gazing at it, and of course, more licking.
He's napping now, and I just made 12 lemon-scented white cupcakes. He'll find them when he wakes up, with a bowl of purple frosting ready for his handiwork.
It's the kind of thing my mom would do. If you ask for, say waffles, pancakes _and_ french toast for breakfast, she'll probably make them. If you need ice cream, but the kind with heart-shaped chocolates in it instead of the football-shaped chocolate candy ice cream that's already in the freezer, she'll go find the one you need. She doesn't indulge every single request; just enough to make you feel loved.
Turning into your mother isn't always a bad thing -- I even made German Blitztorte cake -- appreciable in my family of origin for both its ethnicity and its speed.
Time to go find the food coloring...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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