Oh dear! There’s not time left. Where have all the hours gone? I’ll never get it done in time. How will I ever finish?
Her mind was frantic with thoughts only the white rabbit would understand. I’m late, I’m late, I’m late . . . She threw her purse and keys on the table next to the door, flipped off her shoes in the same way she always ragged on her son about not doing, but ignored the urge to put them away like a sensible adult. There was no time for that kind of rationality.
Raquel’s mind raced through the list of things to get done, but none was so important as making the special bun. This was one task that couldn’t be put off or done with a brain half asleep. No, no, no. It was now or never.
The ticking clock was oh so apropos as she rushed into the less than pristine kitchen. She tried to ignore the pile of dirty dishes that filled one half of the sink. She ignored the green light on the dishwasher reminding her it needed to be emptied of its clean contents.
The only thing Raquel could think about was . . . the bun. The bun consumed her mind and her mission was of utmost importance. If the bun didn’t get done, then the whole year would be a bust.
She started yanking measuring cups, and teaspoons, and bowls from the cupboards making quite the ruckus as the various utensils clattered on the counter. The ingredients were all there, or so she thought.
Raquel was the one to buy the groceries, although she was not the only one to bake.
She spread everything out on the counter and made a mental note of the recipe she’d been following since a young girl. Good. Good. Everything is here–wait a second. Where’s the yeast?
“Where’s the yeast?” Her voice held that frantic note of panic one couldn’t misconstrue as anything other than the brink of insanity. “No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening! Not today!”
She opened every cupboard. Raquel yanked, pressed, dropped, and flung every item that wasn’t yeast. Her breathing increased to match her already elevated heart rate. When every space had been searched, every errant can overturned and dish dumped, she gave up hope, crumpling to a sobbing mess in the middle of the kitchen floor.
“Not now,” she sobbed to her daughter between great gulps of air. How could she have ruined this one special day? She couldn’t think of anything else then. Her sweet grandma only ever wanted one thing for her birthday every year and Raquel had never disappointed . . . until now.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Did somebody die?”
Raquel shook her head and blew her nose into the sleeve of her shirt, yet again not caring about the fact she always told her son not to do this very thing. “Bun,” she said. It was the only word she could utter. To Raquel, in that moment, not being able to make Grandma’s special bun meant a death of its own.
Her daughter walked over to the table, picked up a plastic container, removed the lid, and tipped it sideways for her mother to see the contents. “You mean this bun?”
It’s fun to pass down traditions to our children. 😉