right here.

It was early. My knees felt creaky. The coffee was still burbling through the filter. And I was in the kitchen, gathering ingredients to make gluten-free chocolate chip cookies.

The night before, Danny and I cooked a dinner for 4 wonderful people who donated to our Kickstarter. He danced in front of the stove, that little shuffle heel to toe he does when he’s boppipng around happy. We made soft pretzels with our guests — Grace requested them in particular — and watched them bob in the boiling water filled with baking soda, then put them in the oven to bake. There was a spring-green soup, then pretzels warm out of the oven, with mustard for dipping. Sauteed halibut with spring vegetable risotto on a mint-pea puree. Chicken roasted with goat cheese and asparagus with potato puree. And a roasted rhubarb and strawberry shortcake. Our guests left happy. We loved them and the experience of feeding them.

But I woke up the next morning feeling a litle worn. We forgot to put the mats down on the ktichen floor after sweeping, so Danny and I spent the entire evening walking on the concrete without that padding. Man, my knees are making it clear to me — I am getting older. I wanted nothing more than to sleep in on Sunday morning, drink coffee slowly, and read the paper in the sunlight.

Time to bake. We had an appearance in Seattle to make.

I melted coconut oil on the stove. I pulled sugar and baking powder out of the pantry. I left the eggs on the counter to come to room temperature. Coffee ready — time for a sip. And then Lucy woke up.

I gave her a hug, tousled her crazy bed-head hair, and asked her if she wanted anything to eat. “What are you doing?” she wanted to know. We bake together. We have for years. But we don’t usually bake that early in the morning. I told her about the cookies we needed to make for the appearance that day. She wanted to help.

She dragged a chair over to the counter and started stirring the sugar into the melted coconut oil. Danny came down the stairs with Desmond in his arms. D started wriggling, smiling so hard his nose crinkled and his eyes closed. Lu reached up to hug him, then returned to stirring.

Cups of coffee for the adults. Slices of apples for the kids. We put on some Caspar Babypants and started dancing around a little. We opened the windows. Lucy cracked the eggs, slowly slowly stirring to make sure every inch of yellowy striation disappeared into the dough.

Desmond wanted to stand on the chair and be with his sister. She is, without a doubt, his favorite person in the world. As she tipped the bowl full of flour into the big red bowl, she told her little brother, “Desmond, when you are 6, you will know how to bake like this because Mama will teach you, like she taught me. And Mama is the best baking teacher.”

I reached down to hug her, tears in my eyes.

Who cares about creaky knees? And early mornings? And the time I could have spent with the New York Times? I was right where I wanted to be.

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