Ah, the dedication of youth

As I sit here on a cool, fall morning, not long after sunrise and already deep into a second, extra large cup of coffee, I am once again taken aback by my daughter’s dedication to something which she loves very much.

Getting out of bed when the sun is not yet up, when you really don’t have to, requires a certain something that cannot be taught. While refilling my coffee mug at the local barista, we struck up a conversation.

“You’re out early!”

“Actually, we’re almost done. I’ve just been waiting for youI to open.” (Does that sound too desperate? Do you think she’s worried that I’m stalking her? I mean, I was, but just for coffee.)

She went on to ask me what brought my tired, mostly pajama-clad self out the door at such an ungodly hour (I maybe ad-libbed a little, but she was probably thinking it.) To both of our amazement, I told her that my 11-year-old was eight years into her ballet training and the crack of dawn is when her very in-demand instructor can fit her in to the schedule. And though my little tween usually arrives with sleep still in her eyes, once the piano music begins, she is alert and laser-focused.

This time of year, Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite haunts me like the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, all wrapped into one angry and masochistic, chain clad psycho. I know, it’s a beautiful and timeless classical composition that instills most with a peaceful nostalgia for simpler, bygone days. I hear that, but when it permeates your air space, morning, noon and night, it starts to feel like Groundhog Day and I wonder when I can take a turn beating the bajesus out of the rat king. I could use a little cathartic violence.

But my little princess is unfazed. The tell-tale bells begin and she immediately lifts her chin, stands tall and focuses on whatever beautiful thing she sees inside her mind. And then, she is off. She ballet-runs into a world of leaps and turns, petit battements and pas de chats (huh?) and other French words that the Russians commandeered for their own (it seems a running theme with them – ANYWAY…)

Don’t get me wrong, I had my thing as a kid. I played 10 long years of soccer, complete with early morning practices in the brutal heat of August and the frigid dawn of November. I shopped for the cleats and ran the laps. And it was a lot of fun. But it was never my passion.

And then there was basketball. I started a little later in life and was able to share that with both sisters and my father, who coached for many years. There were lots of weekends you could find us at the school courts, them patiently dealing with my inexperience and me reveling in the inclusion. Though I gave up soccer, I played basketball into high school, when consistent injuries sidelined me for good.

I loved basketball. I was a slave to March Madness, faithfully argued with NBA refs through my TV, dealt with my dad yelling (loudly) from the stands at my games and even set my career path towards broadcast play-by-play. But I didn’t love the running. Such a small court, and yet, so much running.

Daily practice was bearable, a chance to hone your skills and learn something new. Until the last ten minutes. Always the last ten minutes. Every damn practice. Suicides.

I think the only thing worse than suicides is actual suicide. Call them wind sprints, line drills, it’s all the same horror of intense lung cramps and near-death experiences. I mean, look at the names used. Suicides. Wind sprints. Line drills.

Just an FYI, there is never a time that the word drill has a positive connotation. Fire drills prepare you for your home, school or office turning into a burning inferno. Bus drills prepare your precious child for a time when the bus has been so incapacitated that they must try to escape from the back. Oh and how about school shooter drills? Anyone else not feel super confident about their kid hiding next to the paste in the classroom supply closet while some unhinged lunatic is indiscriminately blasting the place?

So, suicides. I was never first and usually last. I probably lost time by staring at the clock, praying the seconds would go by faster or that maybe I would just pass out until it was over. Not so for my little one. I sit in the waiting room, sleepily scrolling through facebook posts of dogs I need to save, and I hear her teacher say, “OK, let’s move to the middle of the floor. We only have 15 minutes for leaps.”

The little ballerina reacts with dismay, “That’s it?? How can that be? That’s not enough time!” Yep, a chip off the old block, that one.

For some reason, when we leave class and Tchaikovsky behind, I feel a strong urge to bake gingerbread. But it’s still too early to really be awake, let alone be productive in the kitchen. And there will definitely not be any rolling and cutting. However, just in case you’ve had more coffee than me, here’s my favorite recipe for gingery, chewy deliciousness, from epicurious.com.

Chewy Molasses Cookies
Yield: Makes 2 1/2 dozen

Ingredients
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
3/4 teaspoons ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup mild-flavored (light) or robust-flavored (dark) molasses
1/4 cup (packed) dark brown sugar
Coarse sanding or raw sugar (for rolling)

Preparation
Place racks in lower and upper thirds of oven; preheat to 375°F. Whisk flour, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, and salt in a small bowl. Whisk egg, butter, granulated sugar, molasses, and brown sugar in a medium bowl. Mix in dry ingredients just to combine.

Place sanding sugar in a shallow bowl. Scoop out dough by the tablespoonful and roll into balls (if dough is sticky, chill 20 minutes). Roll in sugar and place on 2 parchment-lined baking sheets, spacing 2″ apart.

Bake cookies, rotating baking sheets halfway through, until cookies are puffed, cracked, and just set around edges (over-baked cookies won’t be chewy), 8–10 minutes. Transfer to wire racks and let cool.

MAKE AHEAD: Cookie dough can be made and rolled into balls 2 weeks ahead. Freeze on a baking sheet; transfer to resealable plastic bags. Let sit at room temperature 30 minutes before rolling in sugar.

Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.

 
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