When I go to the store for cookies, there is no evidence of the steps that came before. Mind you I have made my share of snickerdoodles, and ginger snaps. I put little crisscrosses with a floured fork on peanut butter cookies just like my mother did, and my grandmother before her. 

Unlike one of Ben's therapists. One day I suggested they make brownies, and she looked blank. 

"I have never made brownies."

That surprised me. But I found them a recipe and plopped the ingredients on the counter. I explained the difference between baking powder and baking soda, and showed her the lines on the measuring cups. Which are faded. 

The warm cookies were gone in an hour. 

For many people cookies are something that shows up on the store shelves, with no back story. It reminds me of a children's farm set I once saw in a doctor's waiting room. The corn peeked out of the dirt, half shucked, with not a stalk in sight. The apples were suspended in the trees with cut stems, one leaf a piece, and no visible connection to the branches. The carrots grew above ground, and the potatoes were on a bush. I guess that particular toy company did not originate in Iowa. 

It is easy to assume that strong marriages just happen. There is no mess to clean up, no measured moments. No one had to hunt for another ingredient to soften the relationship, or keep things from getting sticky. 

But relationships happen over time, and in an order that makes sense. When we skip over building trust it can be like baking the eggs and sugar before we sifted in flour. Adding it later does not work. 

Ben and his therapist have gotten the hang of  making dessert. One of these days I will suggest that they wash the dishes too.