Vegetarian Ranchwife

This is not a Christmas post. I refuse to do any holiday crap that I don’t have to do!

I did, however, make cookies. I know, I know, it always comes back to cookies for me. The lovely thing about them—besides the sugar, the butter, the perfect balance of soft and crunch—is that I like to make them, it’s in the Holiday spirit, and it’s something I can do the hell alone. It’s something this introvert desperately needs in this season of heightened social expectations.

As Kem explained to a family member, when requesting we scale back some festivities, “Shelly hates Christmas.”

I do. I really, really do.

I understand that I’m contractually obligated to participate in festivities because: a) I was born into a family that celebrates Christmas; b) I married into a family that celebrates Christmas; and c) I gave birth to children who celebrate Christmas.

And so I endure holiday shopping, with all the sappy music, and buy presents. I even wrap them. But that’s it. Obligation fulfilled. I will not, under any circumstances, put bows on them and pretend I’m happy about it.

Then there’s the holiday parties that require more than just showing up. I have to smile and mingle and, maybe even wear a stupid-looking sweater.

But cookie-making helps me maintain sanity through it all, and I have the whole process down. Shop; come back and make dough. Put it in the fridge to chill while I attend parties and concerts. Then I can decompress while I cut them out and bake them. They can sit again while I attend to more obligations. Eventually, I frost them and set the kids to decorating them because, and I’m serious about this, I don’t decorate.

Somehow, this year, I kept dragging my feet on all the cookie making things. I blame Christmas. It can ruin even a wonderful tradition, turn all the fun, escape stuff into part of the contractual obligation. I give cookies as gifts and my clock was running out on getting through the whole baking process to get them out.

I was on my last day to get the damn things done. The dough had chilled patiently in the fridge through a weekend of recitals and parties, and, as I began to roll it out, it broke and crumbled on the counter in front of me. That’s just what dough does, but on this particular mid-December day, I didn’t have it in me to work the dough into a flat sheet I could cut out into cute little Christmas shapes.

I wrapped it back up and put it in the freezer. My usual cookie-gift recipients would get something from the store.  

I’ve had years with busier schedules and still managed to produce trays and trays of cookies. I don’t know why I couldn’t do it this year.

Yes I do. We’ve lost someone this year, and there’s grief, of course. There’s also conflict. So much conflict. I guess I knew that was part of it; I just didn’t know the fights would eclipse the tears. And we’re all trying to make the best of it, smile through the holiday stuff, but that’s all I have. There’s nothing left for a tray of cookies.

With only a couple of days to go until Christmas, I got the dough out of the freezer and tried again. No obligation. Just making Christmas cookies for the hell of it, the kids all taking part in their own way. It’s not going to make it on Instagram. My oldest is mostly too cool, hanging to the side, making snarky comments (where does she get that?), and the youngest getting banned to the Nintendo because his shenanigans are funny and all, but we got a lot of cookies to get through.  Thank god my middle child takes the cutting out of snowmen and angels seriously!

Then the decorating ensued, and, while it’s not worthy of any magazine covers, a good time was had by all. I caught my oldest laughing as she gave one cookie an angry face, and my youngest enjoyed emptying damn near all the sprinkles on a single cookie. Even my middle child let loose. I’ll be vacuuming sprinkles for months.

Because this is not a Christmas post, I will not wish you a Merry Christmas. I will, however, wish you all the joy as you thwart your holiday obligations in whatever way you see fit.