A Memoir on Brownie Batter, Future Plans, and Casual Discussions of My Death
Setting: September 2026 — At the kitchen table with Holden, who apparently has some concerns about my long-term availability
Holden likes making brownies with me. Mostly because Holden likes eating brownies.
The other night while making a new batch, he was sitting at the table stirring the batter with great confidence. Eventually, he decided he was finished and handed the bowl over.
I looked down. There was still a layer of dry mix sitting at the bottom, so I stirred a little more. Holden watched me like I had just performed some kind of advanced culinary procedure. Apparently, he had genuinely believed the brownies were completely mixed.
Then he looked at me and said, very thoughtfully:
“If you’re still alive when I’m old enough to make brownies, you’ll have to help me stir.”
I stopped.
There are a lot of things a mother expects to hear while making brownies with her eight-year-old. A casual acknowledgment of her eventual death is not necessarily one of them.
“IF I’M STILL ALIVE?”
He did not seem particularly concerned. This was apparently just an important logistical detail.
Someday, Holden will be old enough to make brownies by himself. Someday, he may still struggle to get all the powder off the bottom of the bowl. And apparently, if I have managed to remain among the living, I will be expected to report for duty.
I laughed because the whole thing was so absurdly matter-of-fact.
But underneath it was something unexpectedly sweet. In Holden’s imagined future, he is older. I am older. He is making his own brownies.
And he still assumes I will be standing nearby, holding a spoon and finishing the stirring when he thinks he is done.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.
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