The Great Christmas Cookie Disaster

By: Angela Gillaspie Copyright © 1997-2000

Going from a prestigious and high-paying job outside the home as a computer programmer to becoming a personal slave for three young and demanding children has been a major lifestyle change for me. I was used to non-stop project deadlines and rigid design meetings and schedules, and now I am getting used to non-stop poopy diapers, kindergarten deadlines, and a rigid budget.

I am re-learning certain parenting skills. For example, while working, supper was a quick stop at a fast food restaurant for carry out, or dumped from a can and heated up. Also, when my kids would have a party at their day care center, I was requested to bring some kind of goody. I would just pick up the goody at my local grocery store; those deli counters were lifesavers! One call and I would deliver either freshly baked cookies and cakes or beautifully decorated and tasty cupcakes for the party.

Now that I am a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) and the income has decreased by half, the household budget has been slashed to the bone. I must plan ahead for what I am going to cook for the entire week. Things that were once trivial before are now number one priorities -- housework, coupon clipping, meal planning, and nap times are driving my day. Although there is no more day care expense, my daughter's kindergarten class still needs a lot of supplies and an occasional "donation". These "donations" consist of the volunteering or edible kind. Since I know no one in my neighborhood (due to my too much time at the office) that can sit with my two younger children, I must provide the edible type of "donations" for the class. Usually, this is not a problem because I love to cook, but combine this with a new recipe, a huge ego, and three kids underfoot and the Christmas holidays and you get a SAHM nightmare. This particular nightmare is what my husband and I affectionately call The Great Christmas Cookie Disaster.

Right before the Christmas holidays, my daughter's kindergarten teacher requested that I make some homemade cookies for their Christmas party. I had a delicious *new recipe (*mistake number one) I was dying to try that basically consisted of peanut butter, chocolate chips, and oatmeal. So, the *night before the party (*mistake number two), right at *bedtime for the kids (*mistake number three) I began preparing cookies. I was gloating, stirring, simmering, and feeling really full of myself because here I am, The Great Mother, cooking for my kid's class. I am successful in all my motherly endeavors; ah yes, I can do it all. I was once the Mighty COBOL Programmer, now I am The Great Mother. My husband offered to help and I just *shooed him away (*the biggest mistake) asking him, "what could you possibly know about this? You work all day and don't know what these kids really like." With a really dirty look, he left to go watch television.

As I began spooning the cookie mixture onto waxed paper to allow it to harden, my baby started crying for his bedtime supper. I nursed the baby, basking in the glow of my Mommy-dom. Yes, I really can do it all. I got the baby to sleep and went to put the cookies into a container. I found that the cookies were all flat and they looked like miniature cow pies, plus they were about as firm as cottage cheese. No problem, since I am The Great Mother, I know what to do! I will just roll the cookies in powdered sugar and they will firm up nicely. Alas, no. After rolling them in powdered sugar about three times, I was out of sugar and out of patience. My cookies now had the appearance of mini cow pies with mold on them.

With tears streaming down my face, I went to my husband and admitted defeat. "I can't do anything right! My daughter will hate me! I'm a failure! I'm not The Great Mother! I might as well just go back to work full time!" I sobbed. My dear husband (not having a clue what was wrong), just held me. After I calmed down, I told him what happened. Men are great problem-solvers, and my man suggested that I just use the tube of cookie dough in the refrigerator to make the cookies. I stepped back, "What? No way! I am supposed to make homemade cookies!" I yelled. Oh the shame! What would the teacher think? I accused my poor husband of not caring enough, being lazy, and not understanding how important this is. He got the most exasperated look on his face and yelled back, "THEY ARE JUST COOKIES!" OK, now our 'conversation' has awakened all three kids. I scowl at him and retort, "Fine! The teacher is expecting homemade cookies, but we can't do that, oh no! So you make the cookies! I have to calm the children down!"

Washing my hands of the whole cookie business, I retreat to calm the kids down and my husband (who was shooed away from the kitchen earlier, remember) starts making the cookies. From the back bedroom, I start thinking and yell to him, "How many are you making?" He replies that he is making one package that would yield about one cookie per child. I gasp, "NO! That is not nearly enough! Make both packages!" He mumbles some retort, but I think I am fortunate that I did not hear it.

It took almost twenty minutes to calm all three children down, and then I returned to the kitchen. Sitting on the stove I found two pans of cookies. One pan of cookies is burned and the other is over-cooked. I stomp into the living room carrying the burned pan of cookies where my tired husband is attempting to relax and watch a basketball game. "Why did you burn these?" He looks at me as if I were an escaped mad woman, "Huh?" "You burned these cookies on purpose, didn't you? I knew it! How can you do this to me?" I ran out of the room bawling. He let me calm down for a few minutes and then he came into the kitchen where I was sitting in the floor blowing my nose. He sat beside me in the floor, put his arms around me and told me again, "They're just cookies, hon."

I apologized to him and promised to try to never get so obsessed with cookies again. I threw out the burned cookies and decided that my daughter's kindergarten class will not starve with just one cookie per child. It is to be hoped that by summer my husband will forgive me.

How did cookies all of a sudden become so important to me? I believed that the entire essence of my motherhood was encapsulated into those darn cookies; in my mind, those cookies represented my success as a homemaker. While working, my success was measured by the programs I had written and the size of my pay raises, but now I felt that had nothing to measure my success by except for some silly Christmas cookies.

Later that night after everyone was asleep, I took a stroll around my house; I felt so bad and could not sleep. On the refrigerator was some of the most beautiful artwork ever created. When I was working, I never had the time to sit down with my kids and participate in their finger-painting or coloring. On the play table was some homemade play dough; again, when I was working I would have just picked up some play dough at the store and tossed it to the kids. My homemade play dough was special, my kids helped me measure the ingredients, knead it, and then decide what colors it should be. Every where I looked that night, I saw many of my successes as a SAHM: an empty bubble container in the garbage that had once held thousands of awe-stricken smiles that I helped create, blocks in the floor that were once a great fort that the Mommy Monster knocked down, and some clip-on earrings and my spare lip stick that had recently made a young princess more beautiful. Feeling much better, I returned to bed that night and thought to myself, "yeah, they are just cookies."

Stay tuned for more of SouthernAngel's Christmas Fun!