Yesterday was one of those days that felt endless. No project ever got totally done, lunch never got eaten (a yogurt at three hardly counts) and by five I was literally careening from thing to thing not being effective at all. I sat at the chair at the register debating whether or not to play a mind-relaxing game of solitaire when two children walked in.
Half an hour before the kids came in Sara called utterly desperate. “I don’t have a book for tonight. I can’t sleep without one.” We were out of Bitterblue, her first choice (and an excellent one at that). I could hear the growing panic in her voice. “Just pick something. I trust you.” I chose Cinder and told her about it. She loved it. Paid with a credit card over the phone and then said she’d send the babysitter in to pick up the book. The kids, Anna and Emily, came in with the babysitter as scheduled. But something was different. There was a smell. A good smell. Kids smell good, but not this good.
Anna approached the counter shyly and pulled a Tupperware container from behind her back. “Would you like a brownie?”  Without even looking I said no because I’m trying to not gain back to recent weight I’ve lost. But then the smell really hit me. That inviting-hot-out-of-the-oven smell that’s hard to resist. “Did you just bake these?” Anna’s smile widened. “Yes.” Well, who can say no to fresh hot brownies delivered by a smiling child? (I’d wished right then that I had just said yes first; an important lesson for the next delivery of child-baked treats.) My co-worker and I each picked small brownies and thanked Anna profusely.
Were the brownies fabulous? Um, not so much. But that didn’t matter; a few egg shells won’t hurt anyone. They were warm and chewy and went perfectly with the glass of milk I got to go from the bar next door. By the time we were done chewing, it was closing time. And that was a great way to end the day.