recipe? on the box

recipe? on the box

W

hen The Three followed each other dutifully, one after another, through preschool, I had important questions to answer, not the least of which was, ‘What kind of a snack person are you?’

Snack was no small thing in preschool. It could be stressful; sometimes, there was angst. Parents who were already running late and had forgotten it was their child’s day to bring snack would execute furious turns out of the church parking lot, returning seven minutes later with a gross of small bags of Goldfish and one of those jugs of Sunny D.

Angry snacks were always the saddest.

I decided that in my heart of hearts, I was a cookies-for-snack person. I was comfortable with this and wanted to make sure that whatever snack persona I decided on for myself would be authentic. But the cookies I personally enjoyed had chocolate bits in them almost without exception. Preschool teachers were dealing with enough without my throwing three dozen chocolate chip cookies into the mix, I reasoned, and so I began making oatmeal raisin cookies like I was the newest devotee of some pastry cult. Month-in, month-out, cinnamon raisin cookies would be packed up in the over-sized Rubbermaid box and off to pre-K they’d go.

Sometimes, a kind teacher would ask in passing about the recipe.

“Oh, it’s really easy,” I assured them vaguely. Somehow I never quite got around to telling them it was on the underside of the lid of every last carton of Quaker Oats.

I can’t remember the last time I made a batch before today. I’m not sure why I did so nowe; there’s even have half a bag of chocolate chips in the house! With the small unmoorings that come to each of us with spring, perhaps it is the comfort of cinnamon and oatmeal and the memories of routines and preschool that keep us from losing our tentative grip on things entirely.