The BAN

As I may have mentioned one or 17 times, my favorite coping mechanism when I get stressed out is to bake.  Something about chocolate melting into butter or something rising and turning golden in the oven just switches my brain to "bliss". 
I like the way it makes the whole house warm and sweet-smelling.  I like how precise and predictable the measurements are; exactly one teaspoon of vanilla, every time. So that I can go through the steps by memory to the gentle whir of the mixer. Especially when I know that my grandmother, and probably her grandmother, and some distant relative in corset probably mixed the same things together and it smelled the same way.  I like knowing that (with rare exceptions) people will like it when it's done. 
People just aren't as picky about butter and sugar as they are about spinach or cilantro.  It's kind of a common denominator.  Whether we feel guilty about it or not, we all love something sweet and decadent.  So I also love that when I bake it's something I can share.  I can spread the de-stressing joy. And unlike dinner, which is gone in a night (except maybe to make a half-hearted appearance as a tupperwared lunch) a chocolate-caramel cheesecake or a batch of cherry-vanilla scones lasts for days.  I'm a busy person, ya know.  I can't afford to bliss out all the time.  I have to get it all out of the way and stock up for the week. 
But, sadly, not everyone shares my love of self-rising flour. Like my dear husband.  Don't get me wrong.  While a batch of cookies might last me a week and a half, it might last J three days tops.  It's not that he doesn't think they are yummy.  It's just that, for some reason, he doesn't think he can live on chocolate chips alone.  "If you're in the kitchen cooking stuff, why can't you make us food?"  He begs me. "If you have to bake, can't you make lasagnas or something?  Something that we can live on? That won't clog my arteries and send me to an early grave?!"  He's so unreasonable! ...Well truth be told, Peanuts, if It's been a really rough day, it may just happen that J will come home to a house filled with cranberry lemon bars or pumpkin cinnamon rolls- things that took ages to concoct- and then see me breaking out the tupperware at 6pm.  I have priorities people. 
But for some reason, J thinks that "nutrition" should rank higher.
During the Christmas season, I both had some stressful things swirling around my head, and a good excuse (presents for everyone on the block!) to go into a true frenzy.  I made several dozen of about 12 different kinds of cookies. Many of which "had" to be decorated by hand, one by one, so that they swarmed the counters and marched like gingerbread infantry across the dining room table.  I may or may not have been up at 4am picking out all the blue and brown sprinkles from the variety tub to use as angel-cookie eyes.  Ahem.
And so J, ever the sane one in this relationship, had to draw the line somewhere.  Enough is enough! he decided.  And, apparently, four costco packages of butter in one month is Enough. 
And so he has instituted THE BAN.  A complete ban on baking (unless it is a casserole or some other dinner type dish) and desserts of all kinds.  Until- this is the worst part guys!- until further notice.  Which means- indefinitely.  Lets add some dramatic violin and percussion right here.  This is serious. 
To cope with the loss of my favorite zen activity, I have had to fall on my back-ups, which include eating vast amounts of chocolate (seriously, loads of it) and going to the gym. Which I can only hope will somehow cancel each other out.  It's kinda hard to tell how much of me is baby and how much is Hershey. 
Because normally, I would have churned out like 3 cream-pies, some brownies, and a couple loaves of banana bread this last week or two.  We've had a lot going on!  I will share some of that soon.  Right now, however, the dog is looking guilty, the washing machine is off-balance, and Little One is waking up.  So I'm going to shut the computer and grab some chocolate chips- to inhale, not to bake with- and I hope that you will all be greatly impressed by my fortitude and love for my J.  And that you will pray for my mental survival.   (Or send more chocolate).