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| Kate at age 5 |
When I was a little girl my mother would take me shopping at
Oak Park mall. I hated shopping- looking
at grown up clothes to a 5 year old is about as boring as watching paint
dry. The only thing this mall had going
for it, in my opinion, was a small kiosk called The Cookie Factory.
Every trip to the mall was another chance to get my hands on
one of those Sprinkle Delight cookies.
The kiosk was right next to the entrance, which meant that I had two
chances of getting that cookie – on the way in, or on the way out.
On the days that started with cookie in hand (on the way in),
I would sit quietly in my purple stroller and munch away in total ecstasy. The mall and all of its mundane rows and rows
of clothing stores melted away into a rainbow of brightly colored sprinkles. My mother would shop in peace.
On the days that started without the cookie – you couldn’t
strap me into that damn stroller if your life depended on it. I would run and hide among the circle racks
of department store clothes until a clerk found me and the mad search was
called off and my poor exasperated mother could breathe a sigh of relief.
On the days that ended with cookie in hand (on the way out),
I would sit in the backseat of the car on the drive home in utter bliss. All was right in the world.
On the days that ended without the cookie, disaster.
Before I go on, let me explain. A Sprinkle Delight cookie was a gigantic
sugar cookie with white frosting and a boatload of sprinkles. Rainbow kind – you know what I’m talking
about – every child’s fantasy. This
cookie affected me so much as a child that I have decided to dedicate my first
blog post to a story about this tasty treat.
On one fateful trip to the mall, as we were leaving, I ran
ahead and pressed my little nose to the big glass case full of Sprinkle
Delights. It was a little bit too close
to dinner time for my mother to be persuaded to get me this giant cookie doused
in sprinkles - she said no.
I flipped the F out.
I’m talking major meltdown.
This was the kind of tantrum that made everyone within a 100
foot radius stop and stare.
Moms reading this, I’m sure, can relate. Later on, when I was 18 with a 4 year old
brother, I got a taste for the public tantrum in a target once - not cool.
Giant tears fell as my mother led me out of the mall in
shame. But the drama did not stop there,
the entire ride home I remember screaming and kicking in my little seat until
my mother uttered the words “wait until your father gets home." I knew I was in trouble.
My dad, who is the sweetest man alive, was much more
intimidating when I was 3 feet tall. In
my 5 year old mind, Dad was “supreme ruler." In my 16 year old mind, he was more like “suggestion maker."
By the time we pulled into the driveway, my tears subsided
and my mind was going a mile a minute.
Dad was always home for dinner, dinner was almost here – that meant I
only had a small amount of time. I had
to skip town.
My mom told me to go to my room, which I did and slammed the
door closed for dramatic effect. I sat
down on the carpet, planning my next move.
My mind was made up, I was running away.
Far away, to a place filled with whatever cookie I wanted - no more of
this dinner crap.
So I grabbed my hot pink Mini Mouse suitcase. I tip-toed downstairs into the kitchen, and
while my mom was busy over the stove, I snatched a full loaf of wheat bread
from the pantry – a girl’s gotta eat. I
put the loaf in my suitcase and zipped it up.
I spent the next few minutes giving all my stuffed animals’ hugs goodbye
and headed for the door.
I walked across the street to our neighbor’s yard. It was a gorgeous summer afternoon. I sat on their driveway, still determined that
this was for the best. I walked a few
feet away toward my playmate’s house. My
thoughts started to turn. Maybe I wasn’t
that prepared, I mean, how long could a loaf of bread last? Where would I poop? How would I poop after eating all that
bread? So many uncertainties.
I went back to that mall as an adult to find the kiosk
gone. All I have now are my
memories. So, I have decided to
re-create the Sprinkle Delight cookie. I'll post this recipe later on.
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| Katie Pop! version of the Sprinkle Delight Cookie |
