Peanut Butter and Jelly Whoopie Pies

When my children were small, think newborn babies small, I had this ridiculous notion in my head that I could never ever love them more than I did right then. I really did think this. I was so convicted of this thought that I would watch parents with older children and think not only that their lives must be cake walks, with the leisurely hours of the school day and kids who can actually wipe their own bottoms, but also that they must love them just a little bit less.

I was a fool, I tell you. A fool.

I mean, there were reasons for my newborn mommy smugness, right? Babies and toddlers, they need you. They’re brand new in this world and unlike almost every other species on the planet, we humans have somehow managed to be one of the only who birth complete incompetents. Not that this is a bad thing, but elephants are born walking and baby sea turtles hatch themselves on a beach and swim thousands of miles to reach home. Most animal mothers are all “Alright, then? Well and good? Thanks for being born. Have a nice life.” And then they walk off into the sunset leaving their newborns to fend for themselves.** 

Humans, not so much. 

Also, older kids aren’t nearly as cute and for the most part, they smell worse. They’re all gangly limbs and knobby knees, covered in scratches and bruises from dangerous and ill-advised childhood escapades, and smell musty and dirty like they’ve been rolling around in the grass (which is probably true). Not to mention the back talk and the new opinions on how their pants fit or what color shirt they need to wear.  

How could anyone possibly love a big kid with all of this nonsense as much as a sweet, innocent baby? It seemed impossible to me. Until my kids started to grow and like life usually does, it taught me a thing or two.

Watching my kids now, with their own knobby knees, scraped up legs and back-talking mouths, I see how naive I was. How wrong, really. I see how I was a total smug baby mom with zero experience, judging the heck out of my friends with lots of experience, who ever-so-graciously never punched me in the throat when I would say things like “Oh don’t worry about Dillon. I brought some homemade baby food to thaw out because we all know the foundation of a healthy appetite is feeding them well as babies.” (Y’all, I want to invent time travel right now just so I can go back and punch myself in the throat when I think about this. Also, my kids eat crap all day long anyway). I was clueless.

But that’s all right, right? Because just as there is a life cycle of a human, there’s also a life cycle of a parent. On some level, every single parent out there will go through this cycle. It’s almost like a law of nature, only it’s not. 

This cycle takes us from the newborn years, where we’re so beyond terrified because we just accidentally killed a houseplant and now we’re supposed to meet every single need of a real actual human being, to the teenage years where we revert back to terror because of sex, drugs and rock and roll. It’s the toddler and preschool years, the cycle where we’re most likely to smugly and publicly over-parent using words like “inappropriate” to our booger eating kid (helpful hint: he doesn’t know what inappropriate means and also doesn’t care because boogers are tasty) and also the elementary and middle school years where we, once again, have zero idea what we’re doing and also, we’re exhausted.

These middle years, that’s where I am right now. The trenches. And I want to unpack this stop for a few minutes, ok?

The trenches are busy. Like, insane busy. Before I had “middle kids” I thought I was busy. I really did. Once again, I was a fool. I know this now. There is not a middle mom on earth who will read this and think “Man, I have no idea what she’s talking about.” Working mom. Stay at home. PTA. Volunteer. No difference. We’re all busy. All the time. The unending wave of things we carry is mind-boggling. So for the most part, we don’t even think about it. We just DO it. We coordinate multiple schedules at one time. We drive. OH LORD HOW MUCH WE DRIVE. We make meals, we juggle, we participate. We parent. We teach. We discipline. We nurture. And we drive some more.

Oh. And we love.

Mom love doesn’t diminish just because your kids grow and aren’t very lovable sometimes. It doesn’t fade out because they don’t need you quite as much or because they don’t cuddle or listen or do exactly as we say. It grows. Yes, it actually grows.

It grows because it’s at this age where they are, well, people. It’s in this cycle we see who they are and who they’re becoming. It’s here where personalities and strengths and weaknesses take shape and we watch as they work their way through life. It’s exciting and scary and thrilling and horrific all at the same time.

It’s also here where some great conversations happen and parenting starts to change just a bit. We’re moving from meeting needs and tackling basics to starting hard conversations and parenting through intangibles. Tough stuff happens here, the lessons are hard. And it’s not for the faint of heart.

This is where I am right now. And I’m in awe.

I’m in awe of D as he navigates through middle school and takes some hard knocks, learns some stuff (hey, sometimes people won’t like you, and sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it) and fails a little bit but also succeeds a lot more. We’re having tough conversations about social media (read that one here) and drugs and sex and drinking. But I also see a glimmer of the man he’ll become, all big heart, big passion, and big personality. And he’s going to be just fine. 

I’m in awe of C as he struggles through feelings of “why me?” when he looks in the mirror (read why HERE). We are having tough conversations about choices and how you’re known by the company you keep, no matter how unfair it might be. But I’m struck dumb by the depths of his mind and how deeply he ponders life. He likes the Beatles, people. While his friends are memorizing the awful lyrics to the latest rap by some guy with tattoos on his face, he likes the Beatles. And I know he’s going to be alright too.

And I’m in awe of K as she continues to be the strongest little girl I know. We’re walking through lessons about kindness, working with her to understand that maybe everyone isn’t ready for her particular brand of boldness and honesty. And we’re working on our word choices. But she also sets goals, both on and off the mat, and works and works and works to meet them with unflinching tenacity. She’s got more resilience and grit than most adults I know and she can climb a freaking 25-foot rope using just her upper body. She just might set the world on fire, y’all. 

Parenting at this stage is a wild ride. And I’m so grateful for each moment, the tough ones, the sweet ones and every single one in between. They’re ours for such a short time, each second counts. And while I don’t always get it right and sometimes I even get it terribly wrong, it takes just one glance at my children to take my breath away and remind me that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing–loving them with all of the intensely imperfect (yet perfect for them) love I can muster.

Even if their feet smell and they do seem to fart an awful lot. 

So for all of the kids out there and the parents who love them, I’m sharing a recipe that almost literally has childhood written all over. Peanut Butter and Jelly Whoopie Pies. Born from a recipe creation disaster (pb&j muffins were not my jam–pun totally intended) these cookies are my childhood and adult dream. One of the most iconic flavor combos out there deserves more than just one measly sandwich and this cookie gives me all the pb&j feels. The pillowy peanut butter cookie with a delicious swipe of jam in the middle to lighten things up makes this cookie an absolute dream. The more they sit, the better they get so be sure to restrain yourself just a bit and hold off. Save a few for tomorrow. You won’t regret it. I promise.

Peace, love and childhood,

Meg

**Not actual scientific fact

Peanut Butter and Jelly Whoopie Pies

June 19, 2020

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By: Meaghan Dawson

Ingredients

• 1 1/4 cup flour, sifted
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 2/3 cup peanut butter (I prefer natural)
• 1/2 cup melted coconut oil, slightly cooled
• 1 egg at room temperature
• 2 teaspoons vanilla
• 1/2 cup soured milk (1/2 cup milk mixed with 1/2 tablespoon vinegar, set aside to rest for 10 minutes)
• 1/2 cup jelly or jam of your choice (I used strawberry jam)

Directions

• Step 1 Preheat oven to 350 and line baking sheets with parchment paper.
• Step 2 Sift flour, baking powder and salt together into small bowl. Set aside.
• Step 3 Beat together brown sugar, peanut butter and coconut oil with a stand mixer until light and fluffy.
• Step 4 Add egg and vanilla. Mix.
• Step 5 Add flour mixture and milk in alternation, 2 batches each. Mixing in between.
• Step 6 Drop by ice cream scoop onto parchment lined baking sheet. They will spread so leave space in between.
• Step 7 Bake about 14-16 minutes or until puffed up and browned, springing back to the touch.
• Step 8 Set aside on wire racks to cool.
• Step 9 Once cool, spoon about 1/2 tablespoon jam and form sandwich.
• Step 10 **could use buttercream frosting or eat plain as well

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