Three Beaters, No Spatula

I never owned a spatula for about the first 15 years of my married life. Why? I never needed one. I had all three of my wonderful boys in the first 5 years. There were too many waiting mouths, ready to clean bowls, to ever need a spatula to scrape one out. And I tell you, a boy can clean a bowl so spotless that you'd be hard pressed to know it had ever held food!

I have bottom corner cabinets in my kitchen. The regular ones that come together at right angles waste all the corner space, mine are huge. Big enough that I put my grandma's old stand mixer, bowls and spoons and cups under there, and my two older boys could both get in there and "cook " while I was doing the actual deed above their heads. They were 16 months apart and more like twins; where one was, the other would be found. It was lovely because we were all right there together where I could keep an eye on them while doing important work (ie: feeding the Mongol hoard), and they had a great time. When Baby came along it got a bit more cramped in there, but it still worked.

Seth and Baby (Will Cole), Devin in hidden back in there.

When I was baking sweets it was another matter. A boy sat on either side of the big bowl on the counter, with Baby pulled up to the edge in his highchair. Making something simple like chocolate chips cookies took about an hour longer than usual, because each boy alternated putting in an ingredient, even Baby. And each got to taste their ingredient, if they wanted. I loved their first taste of unsweetened cocoa! To crack open a can blissfully smelling of chocolatey heaven and then to taste it and...GAK! Their faces would twist in disbelief and horror. It was a great lesson that just because something isn't good on its own doesn't mean that it can't add something beautiful to the whole. 

Seth and Devin having at the cookie dough, Devin's "blankie" tucked up close beside him

In tasting the ingredients my youngest developed a real taste for fats- lard, shortening, butter. If I put a pat of butter on his bread  or pancakes, he would simply pick it up and eat it. To this day he will snitch a bit of lard off the edge of a measuring cup. I still grimace, but he is big and tall and lean as a fence rail, so I'm guessing straight fat hasn't hurt him a bit!

But this brings us to the beaters. When mixing you only use two beaters, but there were three mouths. So I had to get a third one from an old set so that I could dip it and everyone have equal amounts. I used to say I could only cook using three beaters and people would look at me strangely. 

Which brings me to now. Now I have spatulas, and ones that make me smile, like the red polka dot one at the top. My two oldest are married and gone from the house, and my youngest is at work all day; I have no one to clean the bowls or beg for beaters. Then, last week, I was whipping up some homemade marshmallow topping for a pie for our weekly Monday night family supper. My oldest and his wife had arrived and were standing in the kitchen chatting with me as I mixed. When I finished, I turned off the machine and looked at the beautiful, glossy swoops of marshmallow on the tips of the beaters. My oldest son started to whine like a puppy and I grinned and gave him a beater. My daughter-in-law cried, "Me, too!" As I was handing her the other, my youngest came around the corner. "Where's mine?" he asked. I just laughed and reached under the counter for the third beater so I could dip it for him. 

I've come full circle and it seems I still need three beaters to cook. Just wait till I have grandbabies, those spatulas will have to go in a drawer...