Flour on the Floor: Blueberry Muffins

This week my sister-in-law and two nephews are visiting from New Jersey. The twin boys and my daughter were born a mere four days apart; all three are blonde-haired, blue-eyed loud-talkers and we call them collectively “the triplets.” They’ll spend a week attending “Safety Town”—a day camp that will teach them key points about being safer in the world, especially around fire and water. The triplets will also spend time in the kitchen with me making Blueberry Muffins from the Baking Illustrated book.

I get to see my nephews four or five times a year for a total of about 20 days, the hours adding to far less time than I spend with my kid’s school friends. I know my nephews’ personalities: one is more meticulous, wordy and sweet while the other is a grinning high-spirited expert at pratfalls that end with him bouncing back up and yelling, “I’m okay!” But I don’t know the changing tides of their interests. Star Wars or Superheroes? Games or Puzzles? Each time I’m going to see them, I wonder if we’ll find something to connect over or if they’ll view me as just another adult in the room.

This whole “Aunt” thing is not new to me. I am a product of my dad’s second marriage and grew up as an only child without siblings at home. I do have half-brothers but they are twenty-plus years older, more like uncles than brothers. Instead of noogies, they gave me advice. Their children and I are all close in age yet I am, technically, their Aunt. I remember being on the playground when I was nine and having my eight-year-old nephew call out, “Aunt Pam, watch this.” I was horrified.

Thirty years later, I bear my Aunt title proudly but still worry like a schoolgirl about my nephews liking me. I’m eager to have time with them in the kitchen, sharing an activity and getting to know each other better. We tie on aprons and pull out ingredients.

Baking with my daughter is not necessarily a quiet endeavor. There is always lots of time spent answering the baking equivalents of the well-worn travel question of “Are we there yet?” She always wants to know, “Is it batter yet?” and “Is it done yet?” But with the addition of two more four-year olds (boys!), this week stands out from the others; the following things occur:

• A game of horsey involving one boy riding the other’s back
• A head bumped—on the floor
• A safety cone worn as a hat
• A ladle worn as a hat
• An apron worn as a cape
• A one-sided light-saber duel
• Crying

In between the stunts, we choose to make some mini-muffins and some full-size ones. One nephew is careful and levels and stirs like my daughter. The other careens around the kitchen, occasionally stopping to yell, “It’s my turn now.”

In teaching children new skills, sometimes we take certain knowledge for granted. For example, when my son was first learning to use a cup without a top on it, I forgot to mention that you put your mouth on the bottom rim of the glass—not the top. Now, with my busy nephew getting ready to add a cup of blueberries, I neglect to tell him that he should hold the cup closer than three feet above the bowl when he tips out the berries. I turn to find blueberries rolling on the floor and counter, him with a big smile picking them up and eating them.   

While we wait for the muffins to bake, we talk about their first day at Safety Town. One nephew announces that they learned that when you see a stranger, “You are supposed to kick them, yell, and run away.” My sister-and-law and I spend some time dialing back this idea a bit with the kids, me with an image of our mailman holding his shin while my daughter darts down the driveway. The triplets also learned their home phone numbers in case of emergency. The problem? They all learned my home number, which won’t be terribly helpful to these Jersey boys. They recite it proudly.

One nephew—the one who usually runs past me at hello to get my daughter—unexpectedly climbs into my lap. He wriggles on and rests his heavy head on my chest. I feel a rush of pleasure and immediately have a Sally Fields moment: “You like me, you really like me!”

It strikes me afterwards how I immediately attributed my nephew’s spontaneous snuggle to some positive characteristic of my own (my nurturing nature) rather than considering other options. Perhaps he simply wanted to be held but his mom was standing. Surely anyone who’s ever rocked a calm baby or had a dog lick their hand has had a similar experience; the mother/owner will say, “Oh look, he likes you.” And you are happy and secure in the knowledge that babies and dogs have somehow peered into your soul and affirmed you as good.

If on the other hand the baby cries or the dog bites, it’s almost always pinned on some external factor—the mother will assure you that the baby is tired and surely the dog is skittish because of an experience with someone else. I wonder if, as humans, we are unconsciously trained from birth to congratulate successes and rationalize failures. For example, I’m frequently late because of traffic, not because I didn’t leave five minutes earlier. It’s a coping mechanism as good as any other.

When the timer sounds, my sister-in-law and I reconvene in the kitchen. The kids are watching a video on stranger safety which we’re hoping will clear up any potential misconceptions they’ve carried over from the morning. In the meantime, we take the still-hot muffins and dip them first in melted butter, then in a sugar-cinnamon mix. I eat one immediately and burn my tongue on the too-hot blueberries; it’s worth it. The kids gobble two each for an afternoon snack and it's nice to have all of them here. I find my nephew in my lap several more times throughout the day. I decide to stop thinking about attribution and just enjoy it. Besides, I’m certain it’s because I’m so much fun.  

Please note: Flour on the Floor will not appear next week but will be back on Wednesday, August 24th.