A thought in time

Most days when I walk through the door I smell the sweet sent of vanilla and powdered sugar.Its so strong my mouth waters. Ingredients are all over the kitchen. Dishes in the sink soaking in soapy foamed water. Powdered sugar sprinkled on the counter as she kneed’s the fondant over and over. Powdered sugar falls off the edge of the counter and hits the floor. Some lands on her shiny black kitchen shoes. All you can hear is the red shiny mixer in the back of her on high power. The mixer drowns out the sound of the country music coming from the boom box. Looking over at the oven I can see the cakes rising above the edges of the pan with this beautiful tan coloring. 
Just then the timer goes off and so does mom. She runs around the island looking for her oven mitts. She doesn’t even bother to turn the timer off. As she lifts up one of her recipe binders she spots the red silicone mits. One by one she slides them on her powdered sugar covered hands. Opening the oven door she backs away and yells "I do that every time!". She grabs the silver shining pans and places them on the stove top. She grabbed a tooth pick from beside the salt and pepper shakers. Pushing it into the middle of the sweet vanilla cake. Then as she pulled it out there is no cake sticking to it proving it is baked all the way. Just then the timer on the microwave goes off and she jumps. Taking off her mit’s, Setting them on top of her recipe binder she jets over to the mixing bowl and turned them off. Finally, I warn her I am home scaring her. She almost drops the red spatula she is using to scrape the rest of the batter into a newly cleaned cake pan. 

I ask her about what kind of cake she is making today but she is so focused on icing the side of the cooled chocolate cake that she doesn't hear me.
I repeat myself. She replies with "White wedding cake with vanilla buttercream." 
She knows that's my favorite. I remember when i was 9 and asked mom why she made so many cakes. She said to me " We love celebrating birthdays and every time we ordered cakes they were terrible. So I first started making cakes." I distinctly remember this s look on her face that was so cute. She had never looked more happy.  She always told me how every time she made a cake it reminded her of my father’s Aunt Cookie. She was the women who made their wedding cake. 
  Cakes always bring up fond memories and make new memories. Cakes to my family isn’t just my moms job. They are memories that will last forever.