This Christmas, the gift that I’m most grateful for was not one wrapped and placed under the tree. Things didn’t make this holiday special for me; friends did. Kindness and inclusion are the acts that I will remember.
My absolutely favourite memory this holiday will be accepting an invitation to join a beautiful family in their annual cookie baking holiday tradition. You know I’m not one for baking, right? I own a hand-mixer. That’s the end of that.
I was asked to bring along my favourite cookie recipe and the ingredients to make it. I didn’t have a favourite cookie, much less a recipe. I felt like an immediate failure. What kind of mother didn’t bake cookies every holiday for her family? Me. I’m that mother.
I knew being invited into the kitchen, the heart of this home, where three generations of women gathered, was an honour I could not miss. But I was woefully unprepared. I’d procrastinated out of fear, so on cookie day, I got up early and Googled “cookie recipes for non-bakers.” True story.
I found many, but the one that jumped out from the screen was mini Rolo melt chocolate cookies. The recipe required very few ingredients, very few baking tools and the instructions were simple. No prior cookie baking experience required. Also, it included mini Rolos. Yes, please.
Turns out you can’t buy mini -Rolos anywhere, and I do mean anywhere in my town or the neighbouring one. I know this because I ran from store to store in search of these chocolate caramel treasures. Mini Snickers. Mini Aero. Mini Peanut Butter Cups. Mini everything except Rolos.
Rookie mistake: I had no back-up cookie recipe. I was now an hour late, maybe more, standing in the candy aisle of my fifth store visibly defeated because I couldn’t even get this one thing right. Like all things related to Christmas, I felt like an epic failure. How can I walk into someone’s holiday baking event without my ingredients? Who does that? Me. I do that. I did that. In desperation, I bought bags of mini Mars bars. Worse case scenario, I could eat my failure later.
I arrived late to the party only to be greeted by the most welcoming, non-judgmental merriment of women enjoying their family tradition of baking together. The air smelled of cloves, cinnamon, spice and chocolate. Ingredients were strewn across the countertops. Everyone was sharing, helping, mixing and making. It was a beautiful site, though my host kept apologizing for the mess. Little did she know, I have dreamt about this kind of mess much of my adult life.
If I could describe what the sound of family love is, on that day, it would be the whir of mixers, the rattle of batter beaters, the ping of the oven timer, the clinking of dishes, the encouraging words, banter and jokes, with laughter that at times drowned out the Christmas music on the stereo.
My cookies turned into cupcakes. Don’t ask. The point is, I was welcomed with open arms into a family who shared their tradition with me. It was exactly what Christmas should be.
I’m already practicing cookie recipes for next year, because despite cupcakes, they’ve invited me back. And I wouldn’t miss it.
Merry Christmas.
