E and I have been baking again today and whilst we patiently waited for the flapjacks to cool down, I got to wondering why I feel so happy when we bake together. I mean it’s a pretty messy experience, I hate mess but despite that, I just enjoy it so much.
E and I bake a lot. Maybe once a week, maybe more. We bake cakes, flapjacks, bread and all kinds of goodies in the middle. And we love it!
I realised recently that baking is so important to me because baking means family.
Baking means standing in the kitchen with my mum making her famous marble cake and getting to lick the spoon.
Baking means everyone rushing to my Nannas house on Good Friday for hot cross buns, at Christmas for mince pies and basically, whenever she baked.
Baking means Auntie Julie’s Christmas plum loaf that always finds it way to us – no matter where we are.
For me there isn’t a lot a slice of cake and family time can’t cure and that fills my heart with joy.
I can only hope that E looks back on all the baking we do and feels the same way as me.