Cooler in Here

I see all sorts of signs that my girl's love of the culinary arts is not just an idle hobby for her. She interacts with it quite seriously, in ways I might never consider. Last night, for example, she made Mexican hot chocolate spice cupcakes with cinnamon buttercream icing. They were as amazing as they sound! Afterward, she carefully arranged the cupcakes on a plate under the cake cover, and then put singles in each of three right-sized containers, either because they were extras that couldn't fit under the cake cover or because she plans to take them to share with friends today.

It was hot last night, and the air conditioner in our living and kitchen area is broken. The bedroom units work just fine, however, so while we were sweltering in the living room, our sleeping areas were nice and cool. Perfect for sleeping late this morning, when my girl is off from school for Rosh Hashana, and I am home from work on a scheduled vacation day.

Wait, I'm getting to the sign. But allow me one small detour.

This morning, I stood at the kitchen counter sorting through yesterday's mail, which I had deposited there without checking last night. In the mail, I found a letter from the president of Brown University inviting my child to apply! Okay, I know these letters routinely go out to millions of 11th graders across the country, and I know that an invitation to apply is not admission. But Brown is one of my child's top choices for college, along with Cornell's School of Hotel and Hospitality Management, which has a joint  degree program with the Culinary Institute of America—she would graduate with both Cornell and CIA degrees. Of course she will have to do well this year to get into either school, and she will have to do passably well on the SATs, which can be a crap shoot for my offspring (as it was for me). But all that will reveal itself in time. This morning, I was holding pure possibility in the form of a letter in my hands.

Excited, I danced down the hall and pushed open my daughter's bedroom door, crowing, "Good morning, Berry! You got a letter from Brown inviting you to apply! Brown!" She looked up sleepily and smiled and reached for the letter. She looked at it obligingly, smiled again and handed it back to me. Then she burrowed back under the covers to continue her sleep.

As I turned to leave her room, I almost tripped over the plate of cupcakes under the cake cover and the singles in their containers. They were stacked in a neat little tower in the center of her bedroom floor. Confused, I queried my girl as to why the cupcakes were in her bedroom.

"Kitchen was hot last night," she mumbled into her pillow. "Cooler in here."

She was an artist protecting her creation. And that was my sign.