I went to my mom and stepdad's house for a big meal. My mom made some of my favorites
I brought the box of cookies and frosting that Terra and I made at the cooking workshop. My step-nieces and nephews were there. I offered them the sugar cookies to frost. My mom gave them sprinkles. She told them to set them aside to eat later.
After games, lunch, and a trip to the park, I returned to Illinois to attend a holiday party. My stepdad took the kids from the park back to his home. When they arrived, they asked to eat the cookies they’d frosted. Of the three plates, Marshall’s cookies were missing. He had a total emotional meltdown. He thought Aunt Rachelle had taken his plate of cookies back to Chicago with her. I did not. Let me just remind you that he’s 5 years old so a scenario where I bake cookies, drive them 3 hours to have children frost them sloppily, and then drive back to Chicago with some of them is not as outlandish to him as it might be to you or me.
The house is filled with pastries on every available space from my box of cookies, church bake sale, friends and neighbors’ contributions, etc. My mom had simply been mistakenly eaten his cookies. Then when my stepdad returned, my mom wasn’t there to explain.
Marshall could have eaten any of the other cookies or pastries but he didn’t want other ones; he wanted his.
My mom’s plan to make amends is to make my cookies and frosting and take it to him on the weekend, explain what happened, and allow him to decorate new ones. She is good that way. I won’t be able to attend because of travels out of town.
Upon learning that Marshall cried himself out thinking I ate his cookies, I became very morose. The kids are having a rough year, including the death of my daughter, their step-cousin. Despite their efforts, my cookies ruined their day. This bothered me on a deep level in my heart. I feel like no matter what I try to do, I seem to make things worse. It is like I’m broken on some deep toxic level. I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it is like being the cloud that follows Linus around or maybe I am Linus? I am not sure of the appropriate analogy.