Perfect Peanut Butter Cookies

There's no reality check quite like the hint of autumn at the close of summertime. The way my skinny jeans no longer make me appear overdressed is a jarring reminder that the season is almost over but the to-do list is not even complete. It means that Hayes has not yet enjoyed every experience I have planned. So, in my haste to make the most of the summer's last days, I decided that Hayes and I would bake cookies--not exactly a warm weather activity, I know. But this is the type of decision I make when I panic.

Whizzing through the cupboards, I noticed we had all the ingredients for perfect peanut butter cookies--except for the white sugar and baking soda that I promptly added to the grocery list growing on the refrigerator door. Determined to continue on with the plan, I ordered Hayes to grab his shoes. We were off to the store. Two hours later, I returned exhausted. Two hours after that, Hayes had to remind me of my plan. And as I gathered the ingredients for our end-of-summer activity, I realized we had only a half-a-cup of flour with which to make perfect peanut butter cookies. I could have screamed. I could have cried. I could have thrown a major temper tantrum about the whole thing. Of course, in hindsight, I could have just gone to the corner store for more flour. But I was exhausted, and clearly a little out of it, because I continued without so much as a thought of going for more flour. If half-a-cup of flour was all we had, then half-a-cup worth of cookies we would make. And it made us eight little perfect peanut butter cookies.

That night, Hayes ate one. I devoured six and saved the last one for his school lunch.

The next day, the cookie returned the only uneaten snack in Hayes's lunchbox. And when I asked him why, he told me that it tasted bad. My first thought was that something went wrong with the recipe. And I realized that was definitely the case when I tried the cookie again, this time with a fresh perspective. But in hindsight, something was wrong with the plan from the very beginning. So I tossed the last not-so-perfect peanut butter cookie in the trash and decided that I had learned a pretty important lesson...at least until next summer. In the meantime, I should teach him to never insult a lady's cooking.