Sweets for the Sweets

Well ... it's almost here ... it's almost time for me to board a plane ... breathe, Terrie, breathe ... and head to Canada to spend Christmas with Matt, Becca and C.J. More important, it's almost time for me to get to be an in-person Ghee rather than a Skype Ghee to my granddaughter. When we Skyped yesterday, I asked her if we were going to play with her babies when I get there, and she said in her adorable little voice, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to read books, she said, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to play with her Thomas the train, she said, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to the mountains, she said a whole bunch of words that I couldn't understand but I'm pretty sure she was saying "Yeah, Ghee, we are going to the mountains and to the hot springs and eat at restaurants and sleep in a condo and look at the trains and watch for moose." What? You don't believe me? I keep telling you she's a genius ... sheesh.

Perhaps it's because of my upcoming in-person Ghee adventure that I've had my mom on my mind for the last couple of weeks, and in particular I've had Christmas memories of times my Mom spent with my kids racing through my mind and parking in my heart. And with each of those memories, a lump has risen in my throat and tears have filled my eyes ... Mom wasn't perfect by any means, but she was a darned good granny to my kids. Even though Mom only got to see Matt, Brad and Meghann a couple of times each year, she made the most of every minute she had with them and created memories my children still talk about to this day. Sweet and precious memories like each of them taking turns of getting to sleep in bed with Mom and the stories she would tell them as they fell asleep ... stories of Santa and reindeer and elves and how much my dad loved Christmas ... stories of me trying to snoop in all the packages when I was a kid ... stories of the manger and the wise men and baby Jesus. Tender and priceless memories like Mom helping my kiddos wrap their gifts for me or her reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas to the three of them over and over and over again. If I tried to share all the wonderful Christmas memories I have of Mom's time with my children, I'm afraid it would take me all the way until Christmas. Without a doubt, Mom got it right when it came to being a granny ... she got it really, really, really right.

One of my favorite memories of Mom and my kids involves cookies ... sugar cookies, to be exact. She had come to Kansas City (on an airplane!!) to spend a couple of weeks with us over the holidays, and she was adamant that year that she and my children were making Christmas cookies. I remember that evening like it was yesterday ... you bet I remember it. I remember Meghann and Brad standing in chairs at the kitchen counter so they could reach the cookie dough that Mom carefully flattened out with a wooden rolling pin. I remember Mom showing Matt how to pick the cookies up and place them on the cookie sheet without tearing them. I remember how cute she looked with a swipe of flour on her cheek and some frosting on her nose. I remember how excited Matt, Brad and Meg were as they anxiously waited for the cookies to bake and then cool so they could decorate them. I remember the giggling laughter that erupted as they frosted, sprinkled and created each cookie masterpiece. I remember that evening like it was yesterday ... you bet I remember it.

I mentioned in my previous post that I was rather melancholy last week, and part of the reason I was feeling that way was because the memory machine inside my head was in full-blown overdrive mode. Remember when I wrote about the bus trip we went on for work? Well ... riding for four hours on a bus staring out the window not talking to anyone was an especially bad day in the memory realm for me, and the sugar cookie memory of Mom and my children wouldn't go away no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it. It was as I drove home from the office that evening, however, that I had an awesome idea ... and I'm not talking about one of my irrational ideas either ... I had a legitimately awesome idea. I stopped at the store and bought the ingredients to make sugar cookies, and I bought tubes of frosting, jars of sprinkles and Christmas cookie cutters, too. I went home and spent almost three hours that evening rolling out the dough, cutting out trees and stars and snowflakes and gingerbread men and candy canes, and baking the cookies. After they cooled, I divided them among several plates, wrapped them in foil and placed them on my kitchen counter. The next morning, I took the plates of cookies, tubes of frosting and jars of sprinkles and gave them to some of my co-workers who have young children and asked them to take them home and let their kiddos decorate them. One of the moms texted me pictures that evening of her son and daughter decorating and eating the cookies, and the next morning when I got to work, I had cards and pictures from the other kiddos as well. Go ahead and say it because I know you're thinking it ... that really was an awesome idea.

Now, here's the thing ... the one thing I'd like you to take away from my post tonight. I'm not telling you this story because I want you to think I'm some fantastic person because I made the cookies and gave them to my co-workers' kids ... not even a little bit. I'm telling you this story because I want you to know that baking those cookies and giving them to the kids to decorate was good for me ... that's right ... it was good for me, me, me, me, me. That simple act ... the simple act of cutting out and baking cookies for other people's children ... made me feel a little less melancholy. The looks of surprise and delight on my co-workers' faces when I gave them the cookies, frosting and sprinkles made me smile ... the pictures of the kids and their sweet crayon-written cards made me remember anew that it really is the little things in life that mean the very most. I'm not saying that giving the kids cookies to decorate completely fixed my case of the blues ... it certainly did not. But ... but ... but ... it helped ... it felt right and it felt good and it helped. Maybe that's the secret, friends ... maybe I need to bake more cookies ... maybe I do indeed.

"Cookies are made of butter and love." --- Norwegian proverb