Chocolate Cake and Mommy

When I smell chocolate cake baking, I always think of my mother and Easy Bake Ovens. The three go together and are inseparable in my mind. The Easy Bake Oven was acquired at the county dump on one of our treasure hunting excursions (at least that is what they seemed like to me) it pains me today to think what it must have cost my mother in pride, to be seen there searching for much needed necessities.

It was during one of the major holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter) and my mother was baking away, making pies, cakes, and cookies. I have no recollection where the other five kids were, or my father for that matter. He must have been living at home though, or she never would have had the money to bake. At any rate, if there was another soul in the house, I cannot recall. I can clearly remember finding the oven at the dump, still its original box; it was as if someone had left me a gift. I was so excited I grabbed it up and squealed, hugging it close, I ran right to my mother. “Oh, Mommy,” I breathed, “Look what I found!” She smiled and said, “Well, lookie there!” And I remember seeing tears streaming down her face as she turned to look at something near the car. I did not understand the tears. I have no idea how old I was at the time, young, I think. I understand the tears now though, and have just shed a few of my own.

The only time I can remember ever using that Easy Bake Oven was, as mentioned previously, that one time during the holidays. It was just the two of us and I so desperately wanted to help her bake. I stood on a chair at the sink, washing out baking pans as she emptied them and pleading to help. She stopped her own work at some point and got out that little oven and set me up with everything that had been in the box, cake pans, cupcake tins spatulas and a wire whisk. We carefully filled one of the cake pans, slid it into the Easy Bake, and waited. This memory is so clear it could have been yesterday! We each took our turn at peering anxiously inside that little oven to check the progress of the cake. (I really think she was quite as curious as I was.) When it was finally done, my mother laughed and said she thought we would do better baking off the rest of my cakes in her oven, it would be a lot faster. That is precisely what we did and then I got to mix my own icing and frost the cakes myself. She ate one of my cakes, praised my work and sent me to bed. I had worked hard! I was the happiest girl in the world that night.

I now realize that the time she took to make one child happy cost her much. She was tired and her back and legs were aching. She had many more things to bake that night and she would be at her work until well after midnight (I know from staying up with her when I was old enough to help) yet she took the time to make one of the happiest memories of my childhood.

There is always hope.

Betty