A Biscuit or Mortar

They are a good source of calcium, iron and zinc for healthy growth and development. So says the promo on the website for Arrowroot biscuit/cookies.  These are even called biscuits in the States, being a little too hard, read like concrete, to fit into the cookie category.

When it was noticed while reading the sidebar of this fabulous bit of literaryness that The Tenuous  Purpose of this blog includes wishing for  an archive of Arrowroot, a little tinkling bell of remembrance rang out in the growing out cinnaberry cerebrum.  Arrowroots were recommended by the paternal grandmother of our first born child, Chickenpoet when she grew to be able to sit in the wooden high chair stuffed with pillows to keep her little self upright, as she was teething.  Sore red gums needed something soothing and nutritious to gnaw on as the pearly whites broke through.  One of these store bought baked goodies was placed on the tray within reach of grasping little fingers.  She spied it, grabbed it and straight into the slobbering mouth it went.  The idea seemed to be that since this cookie was tough as a brick it would not break off and choke the little darling even with copious amounts of saliva digesting it in hand. True enough, there was no need for a Heimlich Maneuver.  However after a thorough cleansing of said child and a little rock a bye to dreamland, the fancy wooden high chair neglected to clean itself of the Arrowroot paste with which it was now covered.

Fast forward a few days.  Since the high chair was not really used for feeding yet, the babe was still on a liquid diet at this tender age, the Arrowroot goo had been allowed to set up and cure, becoming a nearly permanent fresco on the heirloom quality chair.  When finally it was discovered that the chair’s previously smooth tray, seat, back and legs were now bumpy as a gravel path in the garden, the task began to chisel it back to pristine condition.  After all, this was to be used several times a day by the precious person in our care, it had to be perfect.  Ah the naivete of a young mother concerning her first born.  After many attempts trying to clean the chair with the standard soapy arsenal, it was taken outdoors for a spray with the garden hose.  Wetting down the entire thing to soften the biscuit sculptures and scraping each surface down with a plastic cake icing tool did the trick.

The three subsequent offspring were allowed to chew on rubber toys, ice filled teething rings and their own hands and fingers.  No Arrowroot was offered up, for with four to keep up with there was no longer the luxury of time to run the high chair through the car wash.

Frances Garrison