The kids and I made cookies. The process was kind of a disaster.

The ingredients didn’t moisten at all, so I ended up having to knead them together with my hands to form the dough.

The kids argued literally the entire time over every little thing—who got to pour the mix into the bowl, who got to stir first, who was making that annoying sound with their voice, stop singing, stop yelling, stop this, stop that.

Desmond, the perfectionist, got upset every time he had a minor spill out the bowl. Aislyn, the competitor, got upset that she was never first at anything. There was yelling at the cat for jumping up on the island; I think he was just trying to help.

But even after all of that and much, much more, we got the cookies in the oven and damned if they didn’t come out beautifully regardless. I guess they taste good, too. I don’t know, I can’t eat them.

At one point I did almost forget and put a doughy chocolate chip in my mouth. Don’t worry, I caught myself in time.

I thought it would be a nice activity for a Sunday afternoon that didn’t involve screens. I just couldn’t get them to get along.

When this happens I feel like I have failed them, even though they chose to engage in the behavior. I do that, though. I take on responsibility for a lot of things I shouldn’t. “It’s my fault.”

I don’t want them learning that from me. I don’t want Aislyn to grow up blaming herself for everyone else’s mistakes. Or Desmond. It’s too heavy a burden for anyone.

This post was just supposed to be about cookies. So forget this heavy stuff. Just think about the cookies. Mmmmm, cookies.