Day 1147 Spoiled
I haven’t pulled out my mixer very often lately, but when my son asked for cinnamon rolls as his birthday treat, how could I say no? As I mixed the dough, I told myself what a good mom I must have been—making my kids fresh homemade treats on the regular.
Once the dough was ready, it needed to rise for 2½ hours, covered with a warm dishtowel. Good thing I started at 6 a.m.! When the dough had risen to perfection, I grabbed my rolling pin and got to work, rolling it out into a perfect rectangle. I covered it with a buttery cinnamon-sugar mixture, rolled it all up, sliced the rolls, and nestled them into pans to rise again—for another hour!
By this time, my son was awake, and my daughter had arrived so the three of us could go for a morning walk. Perfect timing. We strolled along the bike path, grateful for another warm, sunny day. When we returned home, the buns were finally ready for baking.
My daughter dashed home to gather her family and bring them back for one last visit with their uncle—and, of course, to enjoy piping hot cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. We all agreed: they were absolutely delicious, miles better than anything store-bought. We joked about the sacrilege of adding raisins—a clear mistake by any baker—though I stood alone in defending the occasional addition of crushed pecans.
After a lovely morning filled with family, laughter, and the incredible smell of home baking, it was time to head to the airport. The visit flew by. Honestly, the whole weekend did—just like the years. How can my son be turning 39 already?
I love that he grew up spoiled with homemade treats—blissfully unaware of the work behind them. To him, it was simple: ask for cinnamon rolls, and they’d magically appear. As it should be.
I really should break out my mixer more often. I’ve always loved baking, and fall is the perfect time to get back into it. Apple pies, cookies, cinnamon buns...I can smell the delicious warmth already!
Here's to more warm kitchens, sweet smells, and the kind of memories that rise just like dough—slowly, steadily, and full of love.
Comments
Post a Comment