Positive change feels like a misnomer. People don’t like change, especially if it’s unwanted or out of our control. But change happens anyway, and scrounging up a good attitude helps.
Growing up is a positive change. But as my kids have gotten older and more independent, I’ve taken a backseat in their lives–something that stirs hurtful feelings. Take Christmas cookies, for example.
Is it okay to blog about Christmas cookies long after Christmas? Right?
Of course, it is! As the song goes (It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to…), it’s my blog and I’ll talk Christmas cookies when I want to. Okay, that doesn’t quite work, but you get my point. Besides, this isn’t a how-to, but just an amusing anecdote, anyway.
Baking Christmas cookies is a household tradition I’ve done with the kids from the start. Providing Santa and the reindeer refreshments on their long night is a must-do, so we might as well go all-in for some homemade treats. Admittedly, those first sugar cookies decorated with haphazard sprinkles and clunky icing weren’t the most beautiful creations–they were freaking hideous, honestly–but at least they were heartfelt. I’m sure Santa felt the love in those cookies, especially if he ate them with his eyes closed.
As the years have gone by, the cookies have improved, and the kids have done more of the work. It’s gone from me saying, “Let me show you” to “You can do this” to, well, me asking, with a desperate, sad look on my face, “Need Mommy’s help, pumpkin?” The answer is decidedly no based on the eye rolls.
Nowadays, our crazy cookie adventures barely resemble the ones in our early years. With one child grown and out of the house, fifteen-year-old Abby has absolute power over the Christmas cookies. She takes the lead, and I follow, happy she still wants to bake them at all.
Course, when it comes to the finished product, she makes her independent spirit known with outcomes such as this:
Is that a positive change? You decide.
Your Mom is Abby’s standard joke. It’s her version of Michael Scott’s one-liner: that’s what she said. It’s her “funny” answer to many of my questions.
Me: Who are you texting, Abby?
Abby: Your Mom.
Me: What game are you playing?
Abby: Your Mom.
Me: Do you think that guy is cute?
Abby: Your Mom.
This is often annoying because clearly, I want my questions answered, and she wants her privacy. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I know it’s not the BEST joke, but her random delivery of it can make me laugh, sometimes.
Like when I’m in the grocery store with my list and ten items down, shoved between dog food and creamer, Abby has written Your Mom.
So, it makes perfect sense that last year’s Christmas cookies ended up with Your Mom decorations. That’s just Abby. And it’s a positive change–her personality coming through–even if it’s at my expense.
This year, she didn’t need me in the kitchen momsplaining how to clean as you go or let the cookies cool before dousing them with icing. She didn’t need my help at all–a fact that’s sad and joyful together, though I wondered, hanging my head, what she’d create without me.
While she mixed, baked, and decorated her gingerbreads, I peeked around corners and wandered into the kitchen for a look at her labors. “Sure you don’t need my help, dear?”
Eye roll. “No, Mom.”
Feeling discouraged, I tried telling myself that it’s a good thing, her not needing me. In a couple of years, she’ll be out of the house–another positive change that I’m not looking forward to. Anything she can do independently builds her confidence, and that’s more important than me micromanaging the cookie operation. Right?
Finally, she called me into the kitchen to view the final products. Abby decorated each cookie precisely–something that I usually have to cheerlead her through since cookie-making can be a tiring endeavor. When I took pictures of her finished products, I gave her credit for her hard work and attention to detail.
Then, I saw this:
“Yikes, what happened to this guy?” I asked. Abby smirked. Then, I saw this:
“Oh, my God! Did you make murder cookies?” I gasped in delight.
She smirked and nodded. I teared up in pride. Yes, pride! As a mystery writer, I understood her murder cookies to be a sweet tribute to me. Crime is always on my mind, and plotting murder is as “normal” for me as baking cookies. Abby knows this, and she often indulges me by watching crime shows together. First, we share a love of Forensic Files, and now this! Aw.
Besides, you know you’ve done right by your kids if they not only take the lead in Christmas cookies but also make them hilarious! A sense of humor is a rare and beautiful thing, people! It’s something to cherish, even more than Christmas cookie traditions!
Abby explained that the surprised gingerbread with the missing arm was the victim, and the remorseful-looking gingerbread covered in blood was his killer (the victim bled out). The investigation into the motive is ongoing.
That she created murder cookies took the sting out of her doing them all herself, and these bloody gingerbreads were the last to get eaten.
Abby’s unique twist on gingerbreads reminded me that just because something’s tradition, doesn’t mean it has to be boring. Why not add a little cookie murder?
More importantly, changes we don’t want can be positive, especially if we keep a good attitude about them. If I’d stormed in there, demanding the apron, then it would’ve been a negative experience for both of us. Besides, with cookies like that, I’m happy to retire from Christmas cookies; I’m leaving them in much better hands.
I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next year… a gingerbread house of horrors, perhaps?
Did any of your Christmas traditions go joyfully, creatively awry this year? What about “positive” changes that didn’t feel so positive at the time? Share below!
For more on positivity and writing, check out my blog.
