Thursday, October 15, 2009
Lately, I have been under pressure to bake cookies on a regular basis. I do love to bake, but only when I'm caught up on everything else and have the time to dedicate to love filled yummies. Knowing my love for baking, hubby came home awhile ago with a very large cookie book. He and the kids went through every page with ooh's and ahh's over the various types of deliciousness that I would soon be making for them. Like a good wifey and Mom, I made a new variety of cookie that very night. Then a couple of days later, the pressure began. I was reminded, ever so cleverly, about how if I made a different cookie every night, It would take me through the New Year to go through them all. Now, when I glance at the book, I am no longer motivated. I love to bake, because I find it calming and it works as a wonderful reward when I feel like me or the kids or hubby has accomplished something (like actually finishing and putting away all the laundry). Now that I am constantly asked why I don't make cookies, and am reminded of how long it will take me to make all those cookies, well, I don't want to make any gosh-darned cookies.
I know that the actual pressure is not intentional. The boys just want goodies. But for me, it has turned into a another sign of my growing inadequacies. Now, usually, I can talk myself into thinking that whatever I get around to is just fine. I don't pretend to be perfect and my family doesn't expect me to be. Then, here comes the book. It was a lovely gesture and everyone was excited. It felt great to have them all looking forward to me baking for them. But now, I feel like I have to be June Cleaver. With the family sharing and rotating a bad cold, I can barely keep up with keeping them hydrated and tending to their symptoms much less housework, meals, groceries, and those gosh-darned cookies. Also, being told that maybe fresh baked cookies will help with a speedy recovery is NOT helping.