World Baking Day

It was World Baking Day.

This sounded wholesome.

Calm.

Whisking, measuring, gentle laughter.

Mum believed this.

Mum had clearly forgotten who she lived with.

Marmaduke arrived early.

Of course he did.

He always did.

Like a cheerful extension of Barry that came with extra enthusiasm and slightly less decision-making.

“Are we baking?” Marmaduke asked, already halfway into the kitchen.

“Yes,” Mum said bravely. “We are baking peanut butter cookies.”

Dad was seen quietly leaving the house with his golf clubs.

Barry appeared instantly.

“COOKIES?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in.”

“I assumed you would be.”

Alfie entered more calmly.

“I will supervise,” he said.

“You will help,” Mum corrected.

“I will supervise while helping,” Alfie clarified.

Mum laid everything out.

Flour.

Sugar.

Eggs.

Peanut butter.

Simple.

Manageable.

Completely under control – for now.

“First,” Mum said, “we measure the ingredients.”

Barry grabbed a spoon.

Marmaduke grabbed a bigger spoon.

Alfie grabbed… the measuring cup.

Of course he did.

“Careful,” Mum said. “We follow the recipe.”

Barry nodded. “Yes.”

He did not follow the recipe.

He followed curiosity.

Flour went in.

Mostly.

Some went on the table.

Some went on Barry.

Some mysteriously ended up on Marmaduke’s elbow.

“Why is it on my elbow?” Marmaduke asked.

Barry shrugged. “It travels.”

Sugar went in.

A lot of sugar.

Possibly too much sugar.

Alfie noticed.

“That is not the correct amount.”

“It’s extra happiness,” Barry said.

“That’s not how baking works.”

“It should be.”

Then—

The peanut butter.

Mum picked up the jar.

Paused.

“…Why is this so hard?”

Barry poked it.

Completely solid.

Solid.

Like a peanut-flavoured brick.

“It was in the fridge,” Mum said.

“Why?” Barry asked.

“To keep it fresh.”

“It’s not fresh,” Barry said. “It’s a rock.”

Marmaduke tried to scoop it.

Nothing happened.

“It’s stuck.”

“It’s not stuck,” Barry said. “It’s… committed.”

Mum frowned.

“We’ll just… soften it.”

Alfie nodded. “That would be logical.”

Barry tilted his head.

At that moment, Mrs Brand’s phone rang and she grabbed it and ran into the lounge.

“…Or we break it.” Barry suggested.

Barry looked at the mixer.

The big one.

The powerful one.

The very exciting one.

“I have an idea,” Barry said.

Marmaduke leaned in. “I like ideas.”

Alfie froze.

“…I don’t like this idea.”

“We use the mixer,” Barry said.

“To break it up.”

Marmaduke gasped. “GENIUS.”

Alfie shook his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Barry said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Before Alfie could intervene—

The mixer had been put into the peanut butter jar.

“Hold on to the jar, Marm!” Barry shouted.

Marmaduke closed his eyes and braced. Barry switched the power on, and turned the mixer speed dial up.

Marmaduke couldn’t hold the jar for more than a second, but that’s all it took.

Peanut butter sprayed everywhere.

And when we say everywhere, we mean everywhere!

It was in the sockets, covered the pot plants, splattered every surface in the room, up the walls, on the light bulbs…

The jar whipped out of Marmaduke’s hand and smashed on the floor.

Then—

THUNK.

Everything stopped.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Barry blinked.

“…Did we fix it?”

Alfie stared. “No.”

Marmaduke whispered, “I think we broke it.”

Mum ran back into the kitchen.

“What,” she said, “was that noise?”

She saw the mixer, smoking slightly.

The peanut butter. Everywhere.

The boys.

The situation.

There was a pause.

A long pause.

The kind of pause where a parent decides which version of themselves to be.

“…Explain,” Mum said.

Barry stepped forward.

“We were helping.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Very helping.”

Alfie pointed. “They put the peanut butter jar in the mixer.”

“I can see that.”

“And then they turned it on.”

“I can also see that.”

Mum walked over.

Inspected.

Tried the mixer.

Nothing.

Completely stuck.

“…It’s broken,” she said.

Barry nodded. “A little bit.”

“A lot bit,” Alfie corrected.

Marmaduke looked worried. “Are we in trouble?”

Just a little.

Mum sighed.

“…Yes.”

Slowly.

Barry nodded. “Fair.”

There was a silence.

Then—

Mum did something unexpected.

She laughed.

Because honestly—

It was quite impressive.

“Right,” she said. “New plan.”

Barry perked up. “We have a new plan?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“We fix this.”

Alfie nodded. “Good.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Fixing is good.”

Barry grinned. “I like fixing.”

They unplugged the mixer.

Very important.

Very supervised.

Very carefully. And placed it on the patio, outside.

Mum opened a new jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and worked the peanut butter loose.

Patiently.

With determination.

Eventually—

It came free.

A large, stubborn lump.

Still solid.

Still victorious.

Barry looked impressed.

“…It won.”

“Yes,” Mum said. “It did.”

“Now,” Mum said, “we do this properly.”

She warmed the peanut butter.

Gently.

Carefully.

Like a normal person.

Barry watched.

“…That’s less exciting.”

“Yes,” Mum said.

“But more effective,” Alfie added.

The baking continued.

Properly. Measured. Mixed. Controlled.

The dough came together.

Smooth. Soft. Smelling amazing.

Barry smiled.

“This is better.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Much better.”

They shaped the cookies. Correction: the cookies had shape. They were neither regular nor neat!

Placed them on trays.

Put them in the oven.

And then—

They waited.

Waiting was hard. Very hard.

Barry paced.

Marmaduke hovered.

Alfie timed it.

Finally—

The timer beeped.

Mum opened the oven.

Warm. Golden. Perfect cookies.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“…We made those.”

“Yes,” Mum said.

“Even after disaster!”

“Yes.”

Marmaduke smiled. “We recovered.”

Alfie nodded. “Good teamwork.”

They tasted them.

Carefully.

Still warm.

Delicious.

Barry leaned back.

“This is the best day.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Best baking.”

Dad walked in.

“What’s that smell?”

“Success,” Barry said.

Dad looked at the cookies.

Then at the mixer.

Then at Mum.

“…What happened?”

Mum smiled.

“Educational experience.”

Alfie added, “We learned not to mix solid peanut butter.”

Barry nodded. “It’s too strong.”

Marmaduke agreed. “Very strong.”

Dad picked up a cookie.

Took a bite.

“…Worth it,” he said.

And as the day ended, one thing was clear:

Baking

Was messy.

Unpredictable.

Occasionally destructive.

But also—

Delicious.

Especially when you survived a peanut butter disaster.

Now, the boys could go outside whilst Mum scrubbed the kitchen!