There was a birthday in the house. My husband turned a year older and my daughter delighted in the anticipation of a cake and candles and celebration.
Both the husband and I were tired of the annual black forest cake ritual. As if on cue, my friend posted a picture of an apple cake on flickr and I rose to the challenge.
Challenging, because, I am just discovering the joys of smelling aromas wafting through the house. The recipe was everything but challenging, and healthy, too.
Four-year-old hands kept getting in my way and I am proud of the way I answered her queries while desperately trying to measure ingredients and follow instructions, though I did lose it twice, thrice, maybe.
"Hmmm," she said aloud, voicing my exact thought at the moment. We were staring at the cake that smelt deliciously of warm apple and cinnamon, but it didn't look very nice. Thinking just like a momma (we were made for crisis management), I set about mixing white sugar powder and the leftover cinnamon powder.
As she shook my steel seive and the white powder fell on the warm cake, the joy in her eye was what I lived for. It was her labour of love and oh, was she mighty pleased with herself!
She recited the entire recipe to her father as they cut the cake together. She gave due credit to me for teaching her, wow!
My touch, lol! I lighted a row of scented candles that I had been hoarding for special times when we might be able to linger on long after the meal was over. Today was special!