On a recent phone call my daughter mentioned that her children didn’t know what a cookie jar was until she brought hers out from storage. “What’s that?” They asked, pointing at this strange thing sitting on the kitchen counter.
I almost dropped my teeth. My grandchildren have never seen a cookie jar? Shame on me. I have broken one of the sacred rules of Grandma-hood— introducing future generations to the delightful contents of cookie jars. This wasn’t my daughter’s responsibility. It was mine, and I’ve failed.
All my life, I’d assumed I’d be the kind of grandma who greeted my grandchildren at the door with the lovely aroma of freshly baked cookies filling my kitchen, My house is supposed to be one where freshly baked snickerdoodles fill the cookie jar. Mine was the job of showing them this magic. Somehow I have failed.
I’m not a bad grandma. True, I don’t have a soft cuddly lap or a white bun atop my head. I don’t knit or crochet. But I have tried to be a good grandma. I always play hide and seek with the grandchildren. I squeeze behind bathroom doors to stay hidden or scamper behind the bed. Yes it’s not easy for a woman of my age to scamper.
I keep them entertained in a variety of ways. Once I hid a stuffed animal in the swing set fort and they took turns hiding and finding it. (I fervently hope the neighbors weren’t watching when I swooshed down the slide on my stomach.)
I devised The Adventure Game. Each of us (I include myself) made up an adventure story, assigned roles, and we all acted out the story. They seemed quite happy with that. I’ve even purchased coloring books, chosen to match their individual personalities.
But danged if I remembered to take my cookie jar out when they visit. I’ve miserably failed in that department. I simply have to reform.
Still feeling guilt-stricken, I hauled out my old ceramic cookie jar. It’s shaped like a layered peach cake with gobs of frosting and a half peach for the cover handle. It’s a beauty, although when, as a young bride-to-be, I unwrapped it as a gift, I thought it was much too kitschy for the sophisticated life I planned to live. Was I ever wrong. When my children were young, it fit perfectly in my life and sat on my kitchen counter where I used it constantly.
No reason I can’t do the same now. I’ll bake cookies and fill it for the grandkids next visit, not to mention it’s a beautiful ceramic piece.
Although… if I don’t get around to baking (and I’m sure I will although sometimes things pile up and goals don’t always get achieved) I could still use it as a planter. A couple of begonia plants would fit in it perfectly.
Leave a Reply