Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Mother Knows Best

The Power of Baking

I have a step-daughter. She has a son. I suppose that makes him my step-grandson, but all these step designations get confusing after a while.

Let’s just call him 'Munchkin'. He is all of 4 years old, and when he runs into walls, he just falls down, gets back up and keeps on running. He has boundless energy without a lot of sense. Childhood, don't you miss it?

One day when he was all of two years old, Munchkin was visiting us and playing with one of his toy trucks. It was a big truck and he was standing over it as he pushed it around the floor of our home. Without a keen sense of the difference between tile and carpet, Munchkin ran his truck into the tile barrier between the living room and the dining room. The truck abruptly stopped. Munchkin did not.

He went head over truck and did a very proper face-plant onto the hard tile floor. You could feel the thud all through the house. It was painful just to watch, much less feel through your feet.

After he got up and wondered exactly what happened, he inevitably started to cry. He cried really loud. No one could blame him. We all rushed over to him to make sure there was no major damage. Other than the red knot that was swelling up on his forehead, he seemed fine. At least his lungs sure lead us to that assumption.

Without loosing a beat, his mother (my step-daughter) quickly ordered me to, "Get a Brownie" from the kitchen. My wife (munchkins grandmother....see how confusing this gets?) had made a batch of brownies that afternoon and they were cooling in the kitchen.

Considering that her son was screaming and looked like he had just been beaned by a line drive, I thought her request for a Brownie was a bit on the odd side, if not a bit selfish. "Your son is crying and you want to eat a brownie?" I thought.

I complied since there wasn't a lot else I could do. I went to the kitchen, sliced off a piece of the moist, warm baked goodness and returned to my step-daughter.

She promptly handed it to Munchkin and within a split second, there was golden silence. Munchkin was devouring the brownie and the swelling lump on his head was already receding into distant memory.

I stood there in amused amazement. Never underestimate the power of a brownie. Never question the wisdom of a mother. It is something men have a real hard time understanding.

A warm brownie heals all wounds.

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