“We can and we will.”I reach out for her hand.“Let’s get started.”
I grab the two aprons I found hidden in the laundry room yesterday, and tie one around Jasmine’s waist.The other is a baker’s apron, which I tie around my neck and behind my back.
I collect all the never-used but just-washed items we’ll need.I pull out mixing bowls, wooden spoons, the muffin pan, the flour sifter, and measuring cups and spoons.Jasmine places everything on the island, but she’s frowning.
“What is it?”I ask.
“I don’t think we have the stuff to make muffins.”
“Ah.Follow me.”We walk together to the pantry, and I throw open the door.“What do you think of this?”
Jasmine’s mouth falls open.“I think Aunt Phyllis did this for us!”
“I think you’re right.”
She looks up at me, her face serious.“But only because you’re here and she knows it won’t go to waste this time.”
“Then let’s make her proud, what do you say?”
We gather up the ingredients and the hand mixer and put everything on the island.When I open the refrigerator door, Jasmine shrieks.
“Whathappenedin there?”
I laugh at the shocked look on her face.“I cleaned it.Phyllis stocked it.And now we have everything we need for muffins.Do you like blueberries?”
She does.
I show her how to preheat the oven and how to use the hand mixer.For the next twenty minutes or so, I teach Jasmine how to measure and sift dry ingredients into the smaller bowl and then how to use the mixer to combine the wet ingredients in the larger bowl—melted butter and sugar first, followed by the milk, eggs, and vanilla.Next, I supervise as she adds the dry to the wet ingredients a bit at a time until the batter combines.
Together, we gently fold in the blueberries.
“The swirls are so pretty,” she says, her voice a breathless whisper.
“Just wait until you see how pretty they are fresh out of the oven.”
I fill the first muffin cup to show Jasmine how to do it.She’s a natural and does a great job with the rest.Together, we sprinkle turbinado sugar on the tops, and then I slide the pan into the oven and set the timer.
Since there’s been a minor flour explosion, I suggest to Jasmine that we use the forty-minute baking time to clean up.“It’s always best to clean as you go.”I show her how to pre-rinse and properly load the dishwasher.“That way, when you’re done with your cooking project and want to eat and then relax afterward, it’s not such a big job.”
“You’re very smart, Emma.”
I give Jasmine a squeeze.“When you like doing something, it’s fun.And when something’s fun, you try to get better and better at it.So, whad’ya say we make another mess?”
Jasmine bounces on the balls of her feet.“What kind of mess?”
“How about an omelet to go with our muffins?What’s your favorite kind?”
She scrunches up her face.“I don’t eat a lot of omelets.Aunt Phyllis makes me the scrambled kind of eggs, though.”
“Are you willing to try one?Do you like cheese?”
“I love cheese!”
Jasmine uses the egg cracking skills she already perfected while making muffin batter, and I show her how to use a whisk.She gets frustrated, so I finish up for her.She adds salt and pepper.
While Jasmine fetches a small stainless frying pan, I grab the block of cheddar cheese and the grater, then slide the footstool in front of the stove.I give Jasmine a detailed lesson in stove and oven safety, which she says is a review of what Phyllis has already shown her.Then she melts two pats of butter, grates the cheese, and pours the six whisked eggs into the pan.
Jasmine concentrates fiercely as she sprinkles cheese over the eggs, but jumps when she hears the loud voice.
