One of my favorite stories to tell actually predates my current kitchen. That is right, we are going pre-Aunt Barb’s Kitchen, actually, pre-Aunt Barb! I guess back then I was just Barb. My husband and I lived in a beautiful two-story, two bedroom, two- minutes-to-get-the oven-open (but that is another story) townhome. It was inconvenient, but it was home. And, since we were expecting our third baby, it was shrinking! So, we were in the process of building our new home, and on this particularly extremely hot end-of-summer day, I was cursing the slow progression of the building process as I melted in my non-air conditioned home. Given the exasperating circumstance I was in, I did what any heat-stricken melting pregnant woman would do. I packed the kids in the car for a field trip to buy peaches to make a cobbler.
I frequented a farm stand just outside our town. The kids loved the elderly couple that ran the farm stand, and the elderly couple was always mesmerized by my pregnancy jeans. The lady always marveled over how much more comfortable pregnancy outfits were nowadays. They say that when you are pregnant your brain gets a little cloudy, even during simple transactions like making change or remembering where you left your keys. I am not convinced that everyone goes through this, as I have seen some of my best friends perform awe-inspiring tasks while pregnant. As for me though, I definitely was in a cloudy pregnancy brain-storm that day because I bought two giant bags of peaches from the kindly woman with so many compliments about my stretchy-top jeans. I am still not sure WHY I thought I needed so many, and I have spent many a reflective moment pondering how my life might have turned out had I not bought so many peaches that fine day, or had perhaps chosen a more sensible selection, like corn.
On the ride home, the boys who were, 1 and 2 at the time, indulged in a Ramona Quimby style feast of peaches, taking a bite and then dropping the rest to move on to the next peach, that, lacking all foresight, I had left within their reach (and just out of mine). As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I could not let my peach covered boys run around the apartment while I unloaded the car. So, I brought the produce in, quickly dropped the bags at the door and headed back out to bring the boys in one at a time.
As any parent of a toddler knows, transitioning from the car to home takes forty-two years. It is a long process that begins with a brief hide and seek for the harness release button, followed by an endless scavenger hunt for all the child’s paraphernalia, topped off with the toddler having fallen asleep, requiring you to balance/juggle it all with any combination of hands, knees, hip, thigh, shoulder and mouth, while you quickly grow a third hand to open and close the doors. “Ha! Bring it parenthood!” I thought to myself once I had completed that parental triathlon with the first boy.
Apparently, parenthood was listening, and responded in kind by upping the difficulty level. My older son helped himself to four decades worth of peaches while I unloaded my younger son. When I realized the situation had gone from bad to worse, I contemplated my dilemma: the car had soon-to-be-rotting peaches in it, but the boys were also covered. What to do? I resorted to the idea that the car would have to wait and I bathed the boys and set the older one downstairs, while I quickly dressed the baby. However, I had once again forgotten to move the peaches. So, while I lotioned my freshly bathed 1 year old, my 2 year old was helping himself to even more peaches, except unbeknownst to me at that time, the unused portions were being tossed onto the cream colored carpet of our rented apartment. I set the baby down in his crib and had a little triumphant skip in my step as I descended the stairs. I was so proud that despite the stresses of the day, I was still in relatively good spirits. Evidently, the fates saw this as a silent gauntlet to the face and my good mood faded to a feeling of inner face-palm as I immediately realized my mistake. Again with the peaches! Counting to ten I scooped up my two year old, and re-bathed him, lotioned, dressed him and set him in his room for a nap.
As I cleaned the tub, a familiar smell wafted my way. It seemed that the baby needed a change. So I proceeded to my room, but as it turned out, heat and babies and peaches should be registered as a biological weapon. The whole crib needed a change! Half an hour later, as the baby lie in clean linens in his crib, I scrubbed the tub, perplexed as to why I could not eradicate the smell. I heard the most delightful giggling coming from my older son’s room. As I peeked in, I gazed upon another stinky peachy mess and one naked toddler running around in it!
I am still not sure how we all made it through that day. I am not sure how the car and the carpet and the tub ever returned to their original spiffy state of clean. I do know that by the time my husband arrived home, the kids were finally sleeping. I can only imagine what he must have felt as he walked into the kitchen to find me preparing dinner and crying. Did he notice that they were not the kind of tears you weep when you watch a heartfelt movie, and not the kind you cry when you lose your dearest Grandma unexpectedly? I still wonder if he recognized my tears as the kind of tears you cry when you are turning your body’s last reserves into energy to push through a day of ridiculousness like no other. A day that will go down in forgotten history with all the other amazing feats that only live in the minds of parents everywhere, occasionally retold in kitchens like my own, but more often lost to brain clouds, shame or a healthy combination of both. A day when peaches have become your enemy and there is only one thing left to do:
Make the best darned peach cobbler ever!:
6-8 Peaches washed and sliced but not peeled
¼ cup Brown sugar
1 brick of cream cheese
1 tsp Vanilla
½ cup granulated white sugar
Baking mix – prepare drop biscuit recipe according to your box in a bowl and set aside
Whipped cream
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Mix the sliced peaches and the brown sugar until all peaches are coated.
Cover the bottom of a tart pan (or a shallow Correlle baker) with sliced peach mixture.
Using a hand mixer, add vanilla and sugar to the cream cheese in a mixing bowl and beat until only small bumps are left.
Spoon cream cheese mixture over the peaches, place tart or baking pan onto a cookie sheet and bake for about 20-25 mins, or until the cream cheese parts look like a cheesecake (not soupy).
Remove and let cool.
Drop spoons of biscuit mixture on top of cream cheese peach tart and bake (with pan on cookie sheet) again for about 10-15 mins or until the top is slightly browned.
Serve warm or cool with whipped cream. (Don’t forget to refrigerate the leftovers)
Ever make a great recipe out of complete exasperation, frustration or just by accident? I want to hear about it! Please post your story in the comment box below.
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