It’s the day after Thanksgiving. Â I’m in the kitchen with Matthew, who is standing on a chair at the counter helping me make gingersnaps. Â The first holiday baking of the year! Â I’m loving it.
We stand there, side by side, taking turns measuring the ingredients and dumping them in the bowl. Â I pause frequently to breathe in the glorious smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground cloves. Â On the stereo is an album of Doris Day singing Christmas carols, songs that are as comforting as cocoa on a cold night.
In my life as a mom, I don’t often have moments where I stop and think: I’m living a Norman Rockwell painting. Â My life is usually too frenetic, messy, or disorganized for that. Â But as Matthew and I stand in the kitchen breaking off pieces of dough to shape into gingersnaps, I feel as though I’ve walked into some cozy domestic fantasy, where everything is storybook perfect.
Then Matthew pauses and holds up a piece of brown dough he’s been rolling between his hands. “Look, Mommy!” he laughs. Â â€œIt looks just like poo!”
Perfection is overrated … and very, very brief.
Image courtesy ofÂ Karen’s Whimsy.