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" I remember third grade pretty clearly\u2014which is to say that I remember the bad stuff and not much else. I remember being the only person in my class who didn&amp;#039;t know all the lyrics to the original Annie soundtrack and losing a running race to Eric Speck during recess. But the thing that stands out most vividly is the tray of cupcakes Diane DeMiro&amp;#039;s mom made her for her birthday. They were vanilla cake\u2014from a box mix, I&amp;#039;m sure\u2014and they were covered in chocolate frosting and baked in a foil wrapper. These things were fancy. This image is so clear to me for one reason: My mother did not bake. My mother stood out for a number of other reasons: She was smart, funny, caring. She owned her own business, she was always impeccably dressed, and she was constantly taking us to amazing places on business trips. But she did not bake. Ever.  I can recall my class birthday celebration that year\u2014instead of cupcakes, my mom sent in cookies. It was an assortment of those super-dry Italian bakery cookies: sprinkled, jam-filled, chocolate-dipped. The kids in my class went bananas\u2014it was as if they&amp;#039;d never seen cookies like this before (or, quite possibly, they just couldn&amp;#039;t believe that a parent would have the gaul to send them in). But all I really wanted was a homemade cupcake.  Thirty years have gone by, and because of that baggage, I have basically lost my mind. I have three kids, a full-time job, and a straight-up baking problem. I&amp;#039;m the first to admit that I have compensated for my mother&amp;#039;s shortcomings in the most annoying way. I&amp;#039;ve been known to go all out, signing up for every bake sale, class party, PTA event, soap-box derby. If there&amp;#039;s a gathering of kids and a slight possibility a baked good might be needed, I will bake. I stay up until the early hours of the morning, covered in flour, both cursing myself for taking so much on and convincing myself that it&amp;#039;s for the greater good. My oldest is in third grade now, and he&amp;#039;s slowly collecting the memories that will haunt him into his adult life. Will he recall the time I made his class cupcakes shaped like reindeer? How about those funfetti-filled ice cream cones?!? What about the cake-pop basketballs?!? Or will he ultimately just remember all those times I made him carry awkwardly shaped boxes filled with treats into school, cursing me out and wishing I would just let him bring in a simple box of cookies? Only time will tell.   "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.delish.com/kitchen-tools/news/a41685/baking-makes-me-a-better-mom/>