She’s been patiently waiting for the bananas to over-ripen so we can make banana bread like on Butterbean’s Cafe. This is her new obsession. She could watch that show all day long. Thanks Regular Grandpa. It has encouraged to to be a little more adventurous with her eating and for that I am grateful.

She tiptoed out of her bedroom and found me lazily curled up in my own bed. She climbed in and cuddled for for a minute before whispering in my ear.

Are the bananas ready yet, Mama?

I don’t know, Baby Girl. We will have to check.

She ran to the kitchen to loudly announce that the bananas were all brown. It was time to bake.

Before George woke, we gathered all the ingredients and got to work. She measured and poured and cracked eggs all by herself. She held the mixer with one hand and the bowl with the other. I was worried the whole time that she would destroy the recently cleaned kitchen. Total professional.

She helped to put all the ingredients back into their pantry homes. She perched herself in front of the oven waiting for the bread to finish baking. When she heard that it was going to take an hour, she was a bit upset but didn’t move from her front row seat until the timer went off.

We took it out and she couldn’t be more proud. Fresh banana bread for a morning snack.

She reminds me of myself. I always loved baking with my grandma. And banana bread was one of her favorite things to bake with and for me. I’ve long suspected that she made several dozen loaves the day I left for college to ensure there would always be one in the freezer…ready for when I visited. The last loaf eaten well over 20 years ago now, the wonderful scent of banana bread baking in my own oven brings me right back to Grandma’s black and white checked kitchen.

Sharing these family traditions with my own daughter is such a blessing. One day, God willing, I hope to bake with my own grandchildren.