My youngest, as a baby, hated being in the car. Hated it. Screamed from the moment you put him in there in the backseat till the moment you picked him back up again, completely different from his siblings, who would watch calmly out the windows and often fall asleep after awhile. He was the world’s most placid baby–except on wheels.
But still, that didn’t prepare me for his first words. You know, there’s the usual Ma Ma Ba Ba babbling, but the very first real words out of that little boy’s mouth made it very clear he had older siblings to copy. It wasn’t even the standard two-word tiny toddler talk. I was buckling him into his carseat, and this little-boy voice pronounced in protest up at me, “No way Jose.”
Say WHAT? You can’t say that yet! But he could. And he did.
So, now he’s a college freshman, the one kid to choose to be living at home while going to school, at least for this year. (And I’m the one trying not to freak out when he’s driving. One horrendous moment being twice-crashed because of one distracted speeder behind me six years ago, and my balance was shot for life.) He’s in the college choir, and he proudly volunteered his mother’s superb chocolate decadence torte as treats he was going to bring in to share with the other singers.
And then he came home and told me. Oh really? No way Jose, hon. You’re perfectly capable. Dowicherself. (He’d thought, on reflection, that that reaction might be forthcoming.)
So. I walked into the kitchen a little while ago to sneak a peek at the proceedings.
It took me a moment. What on earth? Oh. Um. Did you… Are those egg whites being beaten with the butter, with the egg yolks waiting to be beaten separately? Rather than the other way around?
Oh oops. He had to start over. No biggy, and his tortes (my recipe makes two) came out beautifully.
I, meantime, threw some milk and flour and those egg yolks into that first bowl, baking like I knit: ad libbing as I go. I’m waiting to see how it comes out. But his tortes will definitely find their way to the college near San Jose; the kid did a good job. As I knew he would, and now he knows he can.
And, though it really shouldn’t bother me, I will, as I often do, say a small prayer as he gets in my car and heads down the crazy California freeways, offering a quiet thanks later when he arrives safely home.