In celebration of National Boss Day (which is on a Saturday, how weird is that?), I made pumpkin pie whoopies.  Let’s take a moment.  Yes, I said pumpkin pie whoopies.  Yes they’re as delicious as they sound.  Here, I’ll show you.

But that’s not the point of this post.

I started baking before I ate dinner because I tend to get tired after 8 p.m.  Ahem.

I mixed together the batter for the pumpkin pie whoopies, ate dinner, then baked them afterward.  This took FOREVER.  You see, I had to double the recipe because I wanted to use the whole can of pumpkin puree (the recipe only calls for half the can), and so I made an awful lot.  After the endless baking, I put together the cream cheese filling.  YUMMY.  I don’t know about you, but this is always the best part for me.  In fact, I meant to take some pictures while baking, but I got so tired and frustrated that my one and only picture of the actual baking process is this:

In the midst of all my chaos, I stopped to take this picture because it was super pretty.  It reminded me of a pie with the swirls as the pie crust.  So what chaos am I talking about?

  1. I discovered that my mixer sucks.  It’s fine with small batches, but once it gets full, I have to spin the bowl around myself.  Which is ridiculous.  So I’ve come to the realization that I need to start saving for my baby – a brand new KitchenAid mixer.  In pink, of course.
  2. Our apartment is not the biggest and so we don’t have a lot of table space.  This means that I sometimes have a hard time using more than 2 cookie racks to cool off whatever I’m baking.  So as you can imagine, since I doubled the recipe, I was making a massive amount of whoopies that couldn’t cool as fast as I was baking.  I had to transfer them off the cookie rack to a ceramic plate once they felt semi-cool to the touch.  As a result, they stuck to the plate when I lifted them up and I essentially pulled some of the middles out.  This was my biggest frustration of the evening.
  3. The oven mitts I bought suck.  I’m not sure if they were made thin, or if they thinned out over time (they’re not even that old), but I constantly felt my fingers burn if I took too long to take the trays out.

Due to all of the above, I felt myself losing patience.  I didn’t want to pass out ugly whoopies that would fall apart before you bite into it.  Eating a whoopie should make you feel happy, not frustrated.  If they all turned out bad, I told myself I wouldn’t say I made them for National Boss Day.

Plus, I was getting extremely tired and wanted to finish.  Luckily for me, my mom came out at the perfect time.  My face tends to be an open book; you can almost always tell how I’m feeling.  She stepped in without me asking for any help, and started putting together whoopies left and right.  I had been hunched over the table, cutting out parchment paper to wrap each whoopie in (my solution to the stickiness), and putting them together at a snail’s pace.

My mom is so intuitive.  I sometimes forget.  And I stopped asking her to help me a while ago because she’s tired herself and her wrist has been sore ever since she broke it.  But I was so very grateful at that moment.  I became that little girl again, transfixed while looking up at my mother when she cooked, or while she cut fruits for us as an afternoon snack.  She became “super mom”.

She worked so fast that I felt my adrenaline kick in.  She forced me to pick up my pace, and forced that moodiness out of me.  I suddenly found myself scurrying around to get all the whoopies to the table (some were still by the oven cooling off on the baking tray), cutting parchment paper, passing her whoopies to put cream cheese on, and putting the wrapped whoopies into ziplock baggies.

Best of all, she did the dishes for me and cleaned up the table.  My mom is the greatest and I love her dearly.

The end.