Summer so close we can taste it

http://www.marthastewart.com/338183/strawberry-cupcakes-with-strawberry-butt

This is a quickish post. I should be in bed. But I had to share what's on our table.




Strawberry Cupcakes with Strawberry Buttercream Frosting
(Substitute one stick of the butter with half a cup of light sour cream in the cake recipe. Substitute 1/3 cup of strawberry preserves for 1/3 cup fresh strawberry puree in the frosting recipe.)

The story behind the recipe:

The girls and I were playing Pinkalicious Scrabble Junior. Yes. It exists. Yes. You spell words like Pinkalicious and Princess and Sparkle. It's all very pink. And the point chips are little triangles sporting pink frosted cupcakes. The longer I played that game, pretending not to notice when the girls cheated, waiting and counting in my head while they decided whether to finish "Goldie" or start "Fairy," and rebuilding the board every time A tumbled into it and sent all the words flying into a jumbled heap of letter tiles, the more I couldn't keep my eyes off those cupcake points (I may have only had two--points, that is. Girls were raking them in given their flexible interpretation of the rules and their insistence that no one else could finish their favorite words.) Those miniature cupcakes looked so delicious. And before we knew it, against my better judgment, we were whipping up a huge batch of strawberry cupcakes Martha Stewart style.  That woman may be an American cliche, but she knows cake. Or her cake editor knows cake. Whoever it is, knows cake.

It was my live-in-the-moment moment for the day. I'm trying to have more of those. Flying by the seat of my shorts (shorts!) and going with the flow and letting the kids guide more of our decisions about how we spend our time. More yeses, fewer nos.

Anyway, yes to cupcakes! But E insists it was my idea. It probably was. Possessed by Pinkalicious in a moment of weakness.  The girls did have fun measuring and stirring and rinsing fruit.  Next thing I know, E is moving on to the next step, without my suggesting it. Just thought of it on her own. "This is how you take the stems off, A____." They were huddled on stools, sporting aprons, heads close together. Big one teaching small one. Just so. You do it just so. And they did. Not a bruise on the fruit.

But oh, I forgot about Pool Therapy, and in the midst of the volcanic explosion that had become our kitchen, we halted baking, lifted a small boy just waking from his bed, left cooling cupcakes and unbaked cupcakes and a floor full of flour, ate deli meat and cheese out of the wrapping standing up, and jetted out the door. By the time we came home, stopping on the way for more butter and strawberries (because good cakes have A LOT of butter), it was dinnertime, and I had frosting to whip, and Martha's strawberry buttercream meringue with the egg whites heated with a candy thermometer just so was more than I could take, so I googled for an alternative frosting recipe, and chatted with Mark who came home in the midst of it (who looked around the house, sighed, and rolled up his sleeves to fix dinner), and accidentally popped four Advil for the migraine I was battling all day (because I forgot about the first two), and chugged seltzer from the bottle, while the girls fell apart and fought and fell apart and fought. Until they had beaters to lick, strawberry buttercream dripping off their chins in great plops onto the floor. Plops I later stepped in and dragged through the hallway.

In any case, after the chaos, came summer, out of my oven, onto plates. And we ate cupcakes. And they were very good. Pinkalicious, in fact.

Except A didn't get hers.  Tantrum #87. I will not eat my dinner. I will hide my carrots under my plate. I will throw my food on the floor. And then I will promise to be good. No go on that one. She wants to know who is in charge. She's asking us to be in charge. She really does want us to show her that we are in charge. I kept repeating these words in my head while my heart pushed to throw the dinner out the window and pile her plate with sweet summer goodness. It was a sad little girl who went to bed without her cupcake last night. And a sad Mama who tucked her in and said, "The best thing is that tomorrow is a new day. And we can start fresh. And your cupcake is safe until then."

And it was. I'd like to think it was a little bit sweeter for the waiting. A well-deserved treat for eating her lunch like a civilized person. Maybe some of the sweet rubbed off on her. Maybe.

And that's how we tasted summer. The best part? I didn't read the fine print...the tiny little detail in smallish font that reads, "Makes 34 cupcakes."  Oh, yes. There are 34. That's at least three or four days of summer for our mouths.

Happy first days of summer to you and you and you.