There’s Always Time for Apple Pie
I love to bake. Like really, really love to bake.
I’ve made stunning 4-tier wedding cakes, perfectly iced in homemade buttercream; cakes which took days to bake, ice, assemble and decorate.
It was nothing for me to crank out 4 loaves of bread from scratch on any old Saturday morning, or whip up a few dozen cinnamon twists to send to work with my hubs for his crew.
I LIVED for brioche, trying every recipe I could find until I finally made the perfect, airy loaf. (I’m pretty sure this is the exact brioche Marie Antoinette was talking about.)
I used to be one hell of a baker.
Until I had a baby, that is.
These days, I feel good when I get a box cake made on time for a birthday in our household, and even better if I actually remember the candles!
So when my sister stopped by with a dozen gorgeous red apples, fresh off their tree a few days ago, I was inspired. I just HAD to bake something. Something GOOD.
“Hank!” I said. “Let’s bake a pie!”
Now, friends, this is NOT what a perfect apple pie is supposed to look like. Not even close.
What it does look like, is exactly what it is: a pie a toddler baked.
Old Me would never have stood for it. Old Me would have thrown out the torn-up, over-worked pastry that sat in our fridge two days longer than it should have, and made fresh. She would have rolled it and lined that pie plate smoothly and evenly, then pinched perfectly-even flutes all around the edges to seal the top.
Today though, for the first time ever, I had a helper. And Hank wanted to do it ALL. He wanted to roll the crust out with the big huge rolling pin. And mix the ingredients. And peel the apples with that fun old crank peeler his great-grandma gave us. He wanted to do all of it.
All. By. Himself.
So, you know what I did?
I let him!
I’m NOT that perfect baker I used to be–I just can’t be. I’m way too busy being mom. (And that’s even better.)
When that sweet two-year-old woke up early from his nap today, we spent that extra hour making the ugliest apple pie I have ever made.
It may be the ugliest pie I’ve made, but it is the pie I’m proudest of.
(And it tasted far sweeter than any of the pretty ones ever did.)