So yesterday I was all set to make adorable cookies for Charlie’s teachers and therapists. I had the house TO MYSELF, which never happens and the list was long for the things I needed to do. Cookies were first up to bat. I had bought plaid bags at Target and I candles from Bath & Body Works with scents like marshmallow fluff and caramel latte to induce hunger and relaxation over the holiday. This is to ensure they will come back with the necessary patience to take on Charlie in January. As a teacher, I remembered who took the time to love me with Starbucks and Amazon gift cards. It did not influence grades…much.
I had the mixer creaming eggs and butter at room temperature, per the recipe’s orders, which better actually do something in the baking game because it is annoying to have to remember. These cookies are legendary. I make them every year. Red velvet crinkle cookies that scream Christmas cheer whether you want to feel it or not. I knew exactly how many fit in the gift bags and how many we will get to ourselves. I knew what the house would smell like in twenty minutes and I knew how many drops of dye make the perfect red. What I did not know was the last time I bought food coloring. The pantry housed three containers of food coloring–all missing the red. I have no one to blame but myself.
There was no time or desire to run to the store. There was only one option. Grinch cookies. I don’t think this is a thing. I have not checked mommy-do sites, because I want to think I’m original. Do you know what happens to cocoa powder plus green dye? Army green, eat-at-your-own-risk cookies. These turned more Oscar the Grouch or pond scum than the Grinch. I could be trendy and call the matcha cookies, but that would be a lie.
Here’s the thing. I don’t care. Infertility plus Charlie plus twins have taught me not to care. We are not in the same race as other parents and cannot even pretend to be. It’s refreshing. I spent too much of my life trying to be at the top. Valedictorian, summa cum laude, best teacher, best best friend. It’s exhausting and it will never stop because the world will always find a category for you to dominate. So I’m out. Or at least I am trying to be. The tug to join the race is always there. But I am choosing to ignore it as best I can and I’m going to eat an ugly cookie before the kids find them.
Thanks go to Amanda for letting me Think Out Loud