Baking My Way into My Son’s World
The house smells of toasted pecans and butter. Outside, the sky hangs heavy and gray with cold – perfect for baking in a warm, well-lit kitchen. In one hour, I will leave to pick up my son from preschool and I will carry his wheelchair and his then-five-year-old self up the stairs and into this homey scene. “The cookies are nothing special,” I will say if anyone asks – my polite way of not giving …