Stress, denial, and cupcakes

Stress is life. Okay, I get it. I know that finances, dealing with the public and some husbands are all a part of the package but I'm learning to deal with my stress by taking baby steps. Tiny, measured movements that resist the impulses to play Barry Manilow on loop until I stop gritting my teeth over an issue. Unfortunately, for me, those baby steps usually involve making knitting a full-body contact sport and building a deck instead of a birdhouse.

Go big or go home.

Instead, I've decided to focus on something I enjoy immensely but usually keep away from due to waist issues: baking. Nothing makes me happier than a golden brown crust of bread or the light spring of a finger on a cupcake top fresh from the oven. This is about as domestic as I get so the family appreciates when I get stressed and take it out on the oven. You can tell when I've gone around the bend and deliver cookies, pies and granola to the neighbors. In the next state.

My husband can immediately tell when I'm in denial of a huge issue - the house is spotless, baked goods crowd the kitchen counters and I'm wearing an apron.

"Oh god. What did I do," he'd ask.

"Nothing." I can't smile without you--

"I'm sorry. No, really, I mean it this time."

"I have no idea what you're talking about but put down the wine and walk away. Slowly." I can't laugh and I can't sing, I'm finding it hard to do anything--

"I don't know either but I'm going to make a bed in the garage. And take the cupcakes." He moves quickly for a big man.

I'll tell him later that my mother is thinking about moving in. But first that wine...