My mother started a Christmas tradition when I was three years old. She made elaborately decorated Santa cookies, cut from an intricate Tupperware cookie cutter then painted and frosted with piping bags and decorator tips. They are a whole production from a time before professional Instagram influencers made us all feel bad about our half-assed crafting. The magical mystery of eBay made it possible for me to buy my own thirty-year-old cookie cutter to do my cut-rate version of my mother's baking wizardry with my own kids now that we live on the opposite side of a continent from Grandma. I'm not the woman my mother is, but I can try.
This year, the kids invited friends over to make cookies with us, and it turns out that (SUPRISE!) teenagers are assholes, and if they have not been properly indoctrinated into a childhood tradition, and are not actively repressed, they will make it disturbing.
It started amusingly enough last year with Antonio's girlfriend. When the black for Santa's boots and belt went awry, as happens occasionally, Sarah just went with it and created "Leather Santa." It was funny enough that I even sent a picture to my mom, who got a little chuckle out of it. This year, not content with a single accidental Leather Santa, we got fully intensional BDSM Santa, French Maid Santa, Lingerie Santa, Cut in Half at the Waist Santa, and from Maggie's friend Ingrid, Bleeding from the Eyes Santa.
And for once, I can confidently say that this was not MY parenting fail. I was not about to go all Karen on them and put a stop to it, but I can proudly say that my own children looked silently askance at the desecration of their innocent memories and unsuspecting pastries. My children know that they would not get in trouble for cursing or making risqué jokes—or cookies—and so there was no appeal, no drive to make something "dirty" out of a sweet activity from their earliest childhood. But children who are used to being chastised and constrained, who aren't allowed to use "bad" language or acknowledge their sexuality will act out, will run toward the forbidden when the binding loosens. It's why the freshman dorm is such a chaotic place.
I will not need to worry that my kids will go wild when they are no longer under my roof. Antonio is the designated driver for his pothead* friends. Maggie keeps track of her flighty friend's class schedule and assignments. I unintentionally raised two people who are the moms of their respective friend groups. And so you can tell which Santa cookie MY child made:
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