Letting go of… micromanaging stuff that that doesn’t even matter…Cupcakes and Control

As part of our annual tradition for my daughter’s birthday party, we baked and baked and baked. Egg whites peaked, soft frosting rose in the blender, we inhaled flour, sneezed out sugar, and one small stealthy hand sneakily stuffed chocolate chips into her mouth.

My daughter and I love to bake together. But each time I stand in our sticky upheaval of flour and butter, I question my sanity and why I involve her in the baking. Clouds of flour form in the kitchen, whipped egg whites take flight, counters get so sticky that I sometimes imagine our waif-like baker stuck to them!

 

But the enthusiasm of one sweet little baker makes it all seem worthwhile. When I taught her to coat chocolate chips with flour before putting them in the batter, she felt she had acquired the greatest trade secret. “I will teach my kid that”, she solemnly declared. “And I’ll tell my kid my mom taught me so.”

Agreed there is much sweetness in this memory. But for most part, when I’m surrounded in the ooey-gooey mess, I try to start controlling the situation.  And as always, I heard myself say, “that’s way too many sprinkles”, “you’ll bruise the cupcake if you press the frosting spatula so hard”, “don’t wave the spatula in the air”, “if you put so many sprinkles, how can anyone even taste the frosting?”

With my every criticism, one sweet baker’s face grew smaller.

A glance at her crestfallen face made me ask myself why I wanted to bake with her. This is what memories are made of, I told myself. And I do want her to teach “her kid” how to roll chocolate chips in flour. And I do want to be in their kitchen if only in the form of a memory. This mess of flour, butter, eggs and sugar was my bond with her and it mattered to me. It was sweeter than any treat our kitchen churned out.

Suddenly, it was easier for me to stop micromanaging. Maybe understanding what we do want, makes it easy to let go of what we don’t need.

And then I decided to let go. I let go of trying to control how many sprinkles she put on each cupcake, how many sprinkles ended on the floor, how sticky the floor was getting and I almost let go of her licking her sprinkle-filled fingers. Okay I did make her go wash her hands after I saw her licking her fingers. “How would you like if a restaurant chef licked his fingers while preparing your food?” was the question that took the unwilling child begrudgingly to the sink. But it almost brought a smile, rather than a creased forehead.

As I watched her lick the spatulas and other mixing devices beyond clean, and pulled some sprinkles out of her hair, I hoped we would have many more such sweet, sticky memories. And that with each one, I hope I will learn to let go a little more and simply enjoy her company and constant chatter.