I do it for the fans.

Several years ago, when we thought it mattered, Jake and I were debating who was more "important" in their field. That wasn't really ever stated just that way, but that's what it boiled down to. Anyway, at the very end of the conversation (you'll see why it was the end), Jake turns to me and says, "Well, do you get fan mail?" I started laughing at him so hard, the conversation was over, we both agreed that it was hilarious, and we've (I've) brought it up a handful of times in the years since.
Fast forward to this year. I have NO fans. I'm feeling a little job dissatisfaction as chief laundry folder, crap-off-the-floor scraper upper, and bum wiper. Miles is getting teeth or growing another head, I'm not sure which, but he's not been pleasant. Tate and Lucy complain and gag about everything I've made for the last 3 weeks for dinner. I'm feeling like it's not really fair that Jake gets to go do his FAVORITE thing every day, get paid for it, get told how good he is at it, get to talk to adults about anything but poop, and last of all, get fan mail (which, to be honest, he does get a fair amount of). Not that my favorite things aren't scraping crap off the floor and wiping bums, but well, they're not. Hence, job dissatisfaction.
Fast forward to this week. Jake calls me from work and says something to the effect of, "Thomas and I were debating who's wife makes better cookies, so I told him we'd have a contest (notice that Thomas's wife and I have absolutely NO part in this.) You have to send in a couple dozen on Thursday so the Art Department can judge." WHAT?! I already have 3 million things going on. Girls don't do this! We don't sit around at play group and say, "Oh yeah? Well, I think I can change a diaper faster than you. Let's race!" But sure honey, since you got into a "my wife's better than your wife" chest beating, testosterone driven contest like a bunch of howler monkeys in the jungle, seeing who can make more noise, sure I'll bail you out.
So, I'm sitting here thinking, who cares about my cookie making abilities? I don't. And then I think of my kids, who burn their mouths every time I make cookies, because they can't wait for them to cool. I think of Reid, who lights up just to see a full cookie jar when he gets home. I think of my "other" kids, Katherine and Jenny, who can be lured over just by hearing a rumor that I'm making cookies. These are my fans! Oh, and I did get an email once from my friend, Suzy, saying that her favorite food is my Candied Coconut Shortbread cookies. That counts as fan mail, right?
So, even though I shouldn't make another batch of anything that will add to my pants size, I just have to remember, it's all for the fans.