When I think about my childhood, I smell Lofthouse cookies. You know the ones, the soft cookies you buy at Stop and Shop, that came in themes of every holiday, with the frosting that was was too thick and sickening but too good to not eat. My classmates would always bring them in for their birthdays.

At our school, we had an international food day, until they canceled it, at least. But that day was my favorite of the entire year. Each student picked a food to make or buy from a certain country. My mom would always make joulutorttu, Finnish star cookies. I remember sitting at the folding lunch tables, smelling everything in front of me. Even then, my palate was refined. Kind of. It smelled like flan and ice cream and macarons and profiteroles and baklava and my joulutorttu.

Going even further back than elementary school, I can just barely recall the hints of preschool. I loved that preschool, even though it founded my fear of Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Alice and Wonderland. Every month, we'd learn about a new color, and so my mom would make playdough, make it from scratch, dye it the color. I would carry the warm bundle into school and smell the flour and the mild saltiness and really just wish I could eat it.

Life back then was good. I didn't have to worry so much. Whenever I smell playdough, or a pastry, even down to fingerpaints, I immediately find myself thinking about my childhood, something I miss so deeply, something I'll never be able to experience again.