The Golden Rule of Cookies

As a counselor and long time baker, I have developed a sixth sense about people and their cookie needs.  Today I sensed that my administrative team was in need of a cookie boost.  Sometimes a random batch of homemade cookies is just the spirit lifter for which a stressful week is calling.  Fortunately, today’s disturbance in the cookie force just happened to coincide with my need to try out a new recipe. 

I came across a recipe on Facebook recently for white chocolate, candy corn cookies.  I briefly glanced at it but forgot to snap a picture as I normally would.  I’ve always felt that recipes are just nice suggestions anyway, so I decided to simply use a variation of my normal chocolate chip recipe but with white chocolate chips and candy corn instead.

About the time I had mixed up the cookies and done the super official dough taste test, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with Matt and Isabelle Friday night.  While we were waiting for our Brother’s Pizza, I asked them a couple of questions.  What is the best thing about our family?  What is the worst thing about our family?  What do we need to work on?  (Oh the joys of living with a counselor.)

Isabelle’s idea of what we needed to work on was cooking.  She was NOT suggesting that I’m a bad cook.  She was asking, in her way, for me to include her in the cooking more.  I told her that was a great idea and that we could definitely do more cooking together.  So tonight as I was about to scoop cookie dough on to the cookie sheets, I wished she was here.  And then I wished that I could deliver a few of these cookies to her at her mom’s house when they were finished.  I just wanted to share the moment with her.

And that random thought took me back to last Halloween night.  Isabelle was scheduled to get ready for Trick or Treating at our house.  I’d brought home a goodie bag with spooky pencils, rings, erasers and activity book along with some very tasty Halloween cupcakes.

When her mom picked her up from our house, she delivered a very large and fancy, single packaged cupcake.  Isabelle saw it and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  All thoughts of the cupcakes I’d brought home for us were gone.  She only had eyes for the cupcake her mom had brought.  For me, the evening sort of deteriorated from there.

Tonight as I was thinking about how much I would enjoy sharing these cookies with Isabelle, I think I realized more potently than ever before how acute the loss is that her mom must feel when Isabelle is with me.  How many times must her mom think of her and what she would like to share with her daughter when she is with me.

I understand logically that this must be so as I am very aware of Matt’s sense of loss and lost opportunity when Isabelle is not with us.  It is a wound that does not heal.  But before tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever really felt like I was missing out on anything.  Just him.

My heart hurt for Isabelle’s mom.  I had the tiniest taste of what she must feel every time Isabelle is with us.  Her cupcake delivery last Halloween wasn't meant as an attack on me.  It wasn't about me at all.  It was about wanting to share a moment with her daughter.

So though it was tempting to deliver some cookies to Isabelle and her mom, I didn’t.  I also understand what it feels like to have the good thing you do pushed to the shadows while someone else’s good thing takes center stage, however unintentionally.

It’s really all about the cookie golden rule.  Deliver (or not) unto others as you would have them deliver unto you.