Humongous Growth

I took a huge step outside myself today. It was not always pretty but the end result was good. I decided that I needed to make sugar cookies. It was something my mom did with my brother and me; I felt I needed to start the tradition with a new generation.

There are several issues with baking. One, it takes time. My kids have no concept of time. I have to be very careful when I tell them that we're going somewhere. They don't know what it means when I say, "we're going to D'da and Bubba's house after naps." Meaning, I might say 5 PM but they don't understand what that means. All they hear is "after naps." So from the time Doug wakes up until 5 PM, I'm asked every 5 minutes if we are, in fact, going to D'da Bubba's house.

The same principle holds true for cookies. Sugar cookies are particularly tricky because the dough has to be refrigerated for two hours before the cookies can be made. I mixed the dough before Doug went down for nap, then set the timer on the oven for the two hours. (I admit, I fudged it a bit to buy me some more shut-eye.)

I managed to dodge in and out of a haze of sleep for a while, but the timer blasted me awake. Without skipping a beat, Jeremy asked, "mommy, are the cookies ready yet?" I explained to him that I hadn't even made them yet, that they needed to be made and baked.

I hadn't prepared correctly, though, because I still had to clear off the kitchen table to have enough space to work. At regular intervals, I was asked if the cookies were ready yet. I did my best to answer cheerfully that I was working as fast as I could to get them done, but being peppered with questions like that can be like being kicked to death by a rabbit-slow and painful.

Eventually, I started rolling out the dough. I remember my mom teaching me to be judicious with the placement of the cookie cutters. I started at the edge of dough and did my best to use all of it well. The kids excitedly told me which cookie cutters to use and meanwhile flitted about the room, playing with their toys.

The other factor pulling at me was Doug. He doesn't make it easy to work in the kitchen. He especially doesn't understand that the oven poses a substantial risk to his life. Midway through baking the cookies, I heard him crying and had to make a decision. I wanted to finish baking as quickly as possible, but I knew getting Doug would be counterproductive.

So, in the midst of being peppered with questions, I soldiered on. The kids' interest in the endeavour started to wane, but I wanted to make the memory with them. I don't know from where I summoned it, but I kept a smile on my face the whole time. I was cheerful and happy and very much "the happy housewife, circa 1950."

We took a break for dinner so that they wouldn't be sick from eating cookies. I promised them that after dinner we could decorate the cookies (which I knew was going to be interesting). I fought with them to eat their veggies and other food. Then I got to work making the frosting. We had gone to Jewel to buy sprinkles and that was all they could think about.

Decorating the cookies became more about the sprinkles than anything else. For some reason, Jeremy felt the need to have his cars dive in there, the kids comingled the sprinkles and the spoons (that were supposed to be used for decorating) were carrying on their own storylines. One thing I'll say for my kids, they have imaginations and know how to weave a story.

We ate whatever cookies broke (only a few did, really) and the rest look like my kids decorated them. But we had so much fun! It really was the first time I can remember that we completed a project together from start to finish. I felt reassured that I am able to care for other, smaller human beings. I felt like there is hope for us, going forward, that we can do something together as a family.

The kitchen, by the way? Completely trashed. I had to run to the store because I forgot an ingredient. When I got back, the sprinkles had exploded out of their packaging, no doubt casualties of a car-related tragedy. I spent the better part of ten minutes vaccumming up the kitchen. Even that couldn't dampen my good mood. Maybe I'm getting into the Christmas spirit after all.