She texted me. Asked if I'd make her cookies. I don't tell her no.
I rarely tell her no. More often than not, I take an "as you wish" approach to her requests. I'm not sure if she uses that fact to her advantage or not. She may. She's the baby. She has always been the baby. And with that comes the perks of being the baby, like having no shame in asking for exactly what she wants. And often times, getting it. Especially if she asks me.
I get off work, and I bake her a giant tray of cookies. I add an extra cup of chocolate the way I used to make them when we still lived at home. I drop the dough onto the cookie sheet in extra large heaps.
This act. The mixing. The stirring. The shaping. The waiting. It is love. Love in action.
She doesn't get home until late. But when she does, I greet her with a giant tray of cookies and she is not disappointed.
I can't give her everything she desires. I can't fix all her problems. But I can bake her cookies. And when she asks, I do.