I remember long ago when I was a little girl sitting in the kitchen of the old farmhouse I grew up in, watching and helping my mom bake. It's funny, I remember the counters being SO tall, but really they are just regular sized. I'd drag over this medal chair/step stool to see what was going on. It had a yellow top that would flip up for me to step up or I could fold down the yellow padded seat and sit and get comfortable. I remember my mom with her aprons, big hair, plastic glasses, tan & blue pyrex and the wooden spoon or the metal whisk mixing up some delight. And I remember eagerly anticipating the wooden spoon with all the sweet goodness. Decades before, I'm sure my mom waited for her mama's spoon, and my grandmother for her mama's spoon, and so forth. Now, decades later, it's not a wooden spoon as much as the kitchen aid paddle, but the connections and memories are the same. Here's my baby girl eating her mama's chocolate frosting, wearing her mama made pjs. Losing my mom at an early age reminds me that there is no guarantee for tomorrow, but we had today and for that, I feel blessed.