When I was a child, I was entranced by the way my dad cracked eggs into a bowl with just one hand. Years later, as a parent myself, I remember the way something mundane became extraordinary.
A couple years ago, I stood at the kitchen counter, creamy white chicken chili gurgling in the slow cooker in front of me while I hitched up my suddenly heavy 14-month-old on my hip. Her little starfish hands grasped my shirt tightly while her sharp eyes watched my every move.
I had already tried setting her down twice, but the little cutie wasn’t having it. Her round face reddened with woe and she started screaming at the top of her lungs, completely devastated that I would put her somewhere other than my arms. I scooped her up again, like a delicious ball of mochi ice cream, and nuzzled her hair.
“Can you be my helper?” I asked her. She cooed in reply.
The oven was preheated, the older kids taking showers, and I needed to finish dinner.
I carefully poured cornbread mix into a glass bowl. (Every time I make chili, be it white chicken or beefy chili, I make cornbread.)
I took the egg and cracked it against the bowl. Eleanor leaned down to watch closely as I used my fingers to spread out the shell and unleash the unctuous yolk into the mix.
I found myself remembering a time when I was very young, and I watched my father bake a pound cake. The weekends were for baking with my father, be it pound cake or pizza. It was one of his specialties and our home would smell warm and buttery, the smell clinging to you like a hug.
His deft right hand cracked eggs into the bowl like it was nothing. Six-year-old me was quite impressed.
“Can you teach me how to do that, Daddy?” I asked.
“Sure, but it takes time to get it right. You don’t want to make a mess.”
He handed me an egg and I thumped it against the bowl. Nothing happened.
“Hit it harder. You need to make a crack. Keep your fingers curled around it.”
He curved his hand over mine and we cracked the egg together. I watched the yolk plop out, like a teardrop of sunshine, and giggled. What fun it was!
As the years went on and I grew up, I loved baking and worked on cracking eggs one-handed. It was a fun challenge that reminded me of a different time in my life.
Trying to get dinner ready with a toddler on my hip and hungry kids clamoring in the dining room, I thought about how grateful I was that my father took the time to help me. To teach me tricks and let me have the freedom to learn.
As a parent myself, I hope to teach the kids important lessons as well as fun tricks, things that bring smiles to people’s faces and joy to everyday mundane activities.
