We'll Take the Candy!

I've had several experiences lately that have called many of my so-called skills and talents into question. For example, I used to think I was a good teacher, but now--after teaching the 5-year-olds in Primary for a couple of months--I am realizing I must be well below average. I also used to think I did a pretty good job of keeping cat hair out of Benjamin's room--but the other day when I took down all our curtains to wash them, I found that Ben's were covered with more fur than any of the others--probably enough to knit myself a very fuzzy maternity-sized sweater.

But by far my greatest delusion has been in thinking that I was good at baking. I've never claimed to be a great cook (my dinners are all pretty simple and uncreative, although usually eatable), but I've always loved to bake--even before I got that Easy Bake Oven for Christmas when I was 6 or 7. In college I baked bread, muffins, and cookies all the time, and then when I started teaching I baked so many cookies for my students that some of them started to call me Sister Cookie! I felt pretty confident in my baking ability.

Then I married Jason. Early in our marriage, I asked Jason what his favorite cookies were. Wondering if he would choose my chocolate pudding cookies or my oatmeal chocolate chip, I was shocked when he said, "Ummm . . . Fudgee-Os." Fudgee-Os??? Store-bought, crunchy, artificially flavored Fudgee-Os? Yes, it was a sad day, but Jason soon learned his lesson--and now when he is asked the same question, he responds with a much better answer.

But children are much more honest. A few days ago, Benjamin and I were trying to come up with an idea for Family Home Evening treats. I got out one of my cookbooks that was devoted to all varieties of cookies and squares and started asking Ben his opinion of some of the possibilities. All of a sudden, Ben's eyes lit up and he said, "I know what we can have!" and directed my attention to a bowl of suckers and other candy he and Janae had collected at the Canada Day Parade last month. "You'd rather have a lollypop than a chocolate mint brownie?" I asked (although barely able to speak). "Yeah!!" Ben replied.

 

While I was completely dejected to learn that pretty much any store-bought candy or cookie was preferable to my baking, I realized that this conversation touched on a much larger problem. Ben and Janae are both very closed minded when it comes to what constitutes a "treat." While I was raised to consider fruit a treat (we used to get excited about opening a jar of plums after dinner on Sundays), my children (and husband, too) consider it an unpleasant duty to eat fruit in any form (including apple crisp, berry cobbler, fruit pies, etc.--even when topped with ice cream!). They will, however, eat fruit snacks and, of course, fruit-flavored candy.

And if the dessert is not candy, the main ingredient has to be chocolate--otherwise my children will REFUSE TO EVEN TRY IT. I have made banana bread, oatmeal cookies, applesauce muffins, and many other treats--all of which I have thought were pretty good--only to have them go stale on the counter or become freezer burned because no-one but me would even taste them. This has also created some embarrassing moments for me at family events and birthday parties, when a white cake with vanilla frosting or custard filling has been presented. While everyone else is excited to try the treat, my children say, "No thank you," the disappointment showing plainly on their faces. It has to be chocolate cake with chocolate icing, or it
will be refused.

 

A few weeks ago we were even at a vegetable stand that served soft ice cream, and when offered a free vanilla cone, my children only reluctantly agreed to hold the sub-standard item until they got outside. They tried to force themselves to eat a few bites of the apparently disgusting substance, but ended up giving me their melting, sticky cones to "finish" (there went my blood sugar reading for the day).

 

My only consolation in all of this is that the trait could be genetic. Just as some people are born with blond hair or a pre-disposition toward diabetes--through no fault of their own--some people (i.e., my husband and his descendents) are born without the gene that allows them to appreciate a variety of flavors.

 

Yes, you could argue that my own taste buds are defective, or that my students were baking-deprived and that's what allowed them to enjoy my offerings, but the more I think about it, the more I prefer to think that this must be a genetic trait that comes from Jason's side. But I think I will still try to work on developing some new talents so my self-esteem won't become too deflated by all of these recent findings. . . .