However it is one of the things I want them to remember as a part of their childhood.

This sugar cookie is special enough to me to pass down.
Which means sometime along the way I must stop and actually bake cookies.
And so I practice learning how to slow down and tie many apron strings while answering questions.
I pretend I like flour in every crevice in my kitchen.
I attempt to react calmer than is instinct to a trail of white flour footprints.
I pray for the extra ingredients of kindness and patience.
I see reflections of how I roll dough and respond and details anew.
I listen to their interactions and watch their imitations of each step of the process.
I listen to their interactions and watch their imitations of each step of the process.
I give thanks for a mom that took the time and exercised patience to teach me along the way too.
Long after the mess is cleaned up, the kitchen smells sweet.
Some days are for rolling pins and sugar cookies from scratch.
Other days I know full well the value of store-bought dough.
Listening as they introduce me to Reese, Flash, and Gingy Mae.
Even the same cookie cutter makes no two identical cookies.
I see the joy as they create and I marvel at uniqueness.




