Today, after school and Sam’s early dismissal and a fairly lengthy
incident that seemed as if it was all Wyatt’s fault for having a
temper tantrum and hitting me in the preschool parking lot but was
really my fault for running late, we made snickerdoodles. Sam and I
put the ingredients together, Lily ran the mixer and everbody rolled
balls on cinnamon and sugar, and everyone was happy, and Sam said,
these are my friend Andy’s favorite cookies, can we take him some, and
Andy’s family is one of our favorite families, and we did.
All packaged up and cute, and looking exactly like what I always
imagine we will do at the holidays (which is why we have the boxes in
the first place). I want to be the kind of person who takes my lovely
friends cookies at Christmas. I want, also, to be the kind of person
who is calm and consistent with her kids, and who leaves plenty if
time to do what’s important and doesn’t try to do what’s not. Even
with our little box of cookies, I fell woefully short today. In fact I
feel a little guilty about the cookies, which are in a small way a
lie. I am not that person, just as I am neither the adoptive parent I
imagined I’d be nor the one I imagine people see when we meet. I am an
ok person, barely and kind of, on a good day at the right time.
Although, given time and space, I really DO make cookies.
sent from my iPhone