Aaahh yes. Frosting sugar cookies with my children.
I was having so much fun yesterday, watching as our little girl happily decorated cookies with colorful frosting and sprinkles...I was thinking about how she'll look back on these days when she's all grown up and smile as her own children help her bake cookies at Christmas. Along came PJ...the ever-growing, size 13 footed first born of mine with a voice so deep that he sounds like his father...and he saw the Tupperware container full of flour. I saw a familiar look of mischief in his eye...that same look I used to see when he was two years old, as he climbed onto the dining room table, knowing full well Mommy was busy with baby brother and couldn't get him down for at least 30 seconds...The same look he had at age 6 after receiving the big bean bag chair for Christmas when he dragged it to the top of the stairway and rode it all the way back down like a sled...So I braced myself slightly, thinking really, how much damage could he do with a tub of flour at 14 years old.
Before I could say anything, he drove his big, young manly hands into the flour and cackled. He played in the flour like beach sand, and flour dust went everywhere. Flour on the counters, the floor, the boy. And he laughed. Normally, something like this might make a mother crazy, but I was somehow able to just enjoy it, holding on to this time--after all, they are only kids once and if my 14 year old would rather hang with his mom and play in flour than text some girl on a phone or want to be constantly gone at other kids' houses, so be it. He is so witty and so funny and I really enjoy spending time with this big kid of mine. There are moments when I come across a photo of him from when he was really little and I wish that for just one minute or an hour or a day, I could have that little boy back to hold on my lap...Then I remember how he dove into the wooden bunkbeds at five years old and gashed open his head and had to get staples and as the blood was flowing, I chased him around the hospital waiting room trying to keep pressure on his head but he was having too much fun crawling under the chairs....I'll take the big kid with the flour, thank you.
When we finally got the flour cleaned up, more cookies were ready to be frosted. I was painting stars a golden yellow and adding green sugar to the little dogs. Jillian was painting windows on the houses and adding "snow" with chocolate sprinkles...PJ was killing gingerbread men, painting Xs for eyes and painting red bullet holes in their chests. A dog ended up with bloody spots and poop stains. Santa lost a leg in a crash stemming from a failed jet pack that ran on magic reindeer dust. I was thanking God that I didn't make any candy cane cutouts because surely they would've ended up being AK-47s.
Part of me was totally disturbed at these warped Christmas cookies. I imagined what on earth my grandmother would've said about a kid doing stuff like that! My sentimental Christmas bubble was bursting. These moments were nothing like those I had as a child, baking cookies with my mom and my sister.
But this wasn't MY childhood. This is THEIR time. These are their own Christmas memories in the making. I knew better than to spoil it by trying to become Martha Stewart. Besides, I was outnumbered.
We cracked up over these cookies. Jillian started adding "blood" frosting to her little dogs. PJ was really taking time with the frosting, using little paint brushes and toothpicks to get just the texture he wanted to see. It was truly creative on his part. Warped, but truly creative.
Not long after the cookie blood bath, Jillian announced that we needed more cookies. "Reset the dough, Mom, so we can punch out some more cookies!"
Reset the dough? **Sigh...** Modern aged kids with computer lingo. I went to roll out the dough, but couldn't find my rolling pin. PJ was running around with it using it as a machine gun.
I think Mommy needed a long winter's nap...
No comments:
Post a Comment