During last week's playoff game, my grandson called his friend, Kevin, to come over and watch the Seahawks play the 49er's. The conversation went like this:
Jason: "Hey, ya wanna watch the game over here?"
Kevin: "Maybe later. I'm gonna do some stuff and take a shower first."
Jason: "My mom's making cookies."
Kevin: "I'll be right there."
Deja vu. When my kids were young--especially in high school--they requested extra homemade cookies in their lunches because they needed to share with their friends. This was not a ploy to gain popularity. They all had adequate personalities to garner multiple friends. It was just that those friends were hard to say "no' to.
I had grown to love having little personal identity apart from being somebody's mom when I was introduced or referred to. I was genuinely proud to be their mom--in fact nothing else gave me as much fulfillment and pride. But this was a new era--the era of the cookie-identity. But it didn't so much define me as it did their friends. They would introduce me to their friends like this: "Mom. this is Bill. He likes your walnut shortbread." Or, "Mom. this is Susan. Your chocolate chip cookies are her favorite."
I don't want to brag, but it's my old recipe that had Kevin changing his priorities.
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