When you only make sugar cookies twice a year (Christmas and Easter), you can measure your growth by them.
This year, my daughters stay by my side. They roll out the dough. They cut the cookies themselves. They mix the frosting, color it, and put it in little artist paint trays. They want to paint the cookies in elaborate designs.
They stay till the end. I hardly speak; no one needs direction, correction, or help.
The kitchen isn’t a disaster of sprinkles and flour. Nobody bursts into tears. Nobody leaves after exactly 3 minutes of baking. Mom isn’t even tired. She might go fold laundry with all her leftover energy.
We’re growing up in this family. (I’m just thankful they still want to make cookies with me.)