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By Hillary Ibarra

At this time of year, I get the urge to make pounds of fudge, pyramids of pies, wreaths of golden bread and mountains of cake to go with coffee, eggnog (with brandy!), orange-spice tea and peppermint cocoa. Unfortunately, by “this time of year,” I mean Saturday.

I need help. Even before 2020, I had the itch to bake whenever flour, butter and eggs were in the house.

Here are six reasons I know I have a baking addiction. Sound familiar? Seek help!

1. I have often baked with small children.

I love children. I have four of them.

But the ideal displayed in ads for baking mixes of a beaming mother and her child making fattening treats? Pure fairytale. No kid has Zen-like concentration with sugar and kitchen gadgets at their disposal.

The reality is your child switches on the mixer when your back is turned, and the beaters are midair. You sputter and survey the many cream-colored streams of batter that are dripping from your kitchen walls, your kid and yourself before you break down in laughter. What else can you do?

I used to tell my husband Matthew, "Baking time is our special time," before rushing into a project with the kids.

He repeated my words in a mocking tone when he heard me cry for the 20^th time, “Baking is not play time! Don’t lick your fingers! Stop eating the brown sugar!”

2. I'm a fool for pastry.

For 20 years I have been in a hot place with pie pastry, and I don’t mean the kitchen.

I tried a recipe called Foolproof Pie Pastry once, praying for an alternative to butter pastry — that demon dough that tastes like heaven but gives you hell. This recipe called for part butter/part shortening — and vodka! Some of the water is replaced with strong liquor (feel free to drink while wrestling with pie pastry). The moist dough is easy to roll out; then the alcohol evaporates in the oven. Voila! Flaky yet tender pastry.

Well, that recipe wasn't foolproof, and I'm the fool that proved it.

Okay, so grocery stores have prepared pie crust, but would Martha Stewart approve? And is it a crime to want my children to someday tell their spouses, “We're going to my parents' for Thanksgiving”?

3. I poisoned my in-laws.

I served my brother-in-law an apple loaf cake with raw batter in the middle. It sat out all night to cool. He spent two days guzzling Pepto Bismol.

I once made my parents-in-law stay for dessert by popping cinnamon rolls in after dinner, holding them hostage. After passing out plates, I stuffed a forkful in my mouth and gagged on the chewy texture of raw eggs and flour.

Trust me, do not bake to impress in-laws. They'll think you're as half-baked as your food, and that the money spent on your Christmas gift, a fancy mixer, should have been donated to a charity for food-poisoning victims.

4. I will try anything.

Have you tried making a cream cheese-fluffed, cocoa-bottomed, caramelized apple muffin concoction? I have, and it elicited nothing but gags and noises of gastrointestinal anguish from my family.

After trashing the evidence of my hard work, I threw the recipe in recycling, and my husband blurted out, "Don't! Someone might find it!"

5. I claim to bake for mental health.

I’m delusional. See 1 – 4

6. There are crumbs in my bra.

I don’t even have to look down.

All you bakers on the brink, listen! Don't bake for yourself because your son will announce one evening as you're tucking him in, "You're pregnant." To which you'll reply, "With chocolate cake!" before storming off to eat the last slice.

It feels great to get this off my chest, but you must excuse me. *Ding* I need to grab a toothpick and check that cake in the oven. 

— Hillary Ibarra

Hillary Ibarra is the author of The Christmas List, an inspirational novella based on real events. Her humor has appeared in New Mexico Woman Magazine and at various online sites, and she is a CatholicMom.com contributor. When not baking, hugging trees or playing endless board games with her children, she writes at Faith & Humor by Hillary Ibarra.