Page 31 of Single Dad's Christmas Cookie

“Is that gingerbread I smell?” I asked as I entered the kitchen at lunchtime.

“We’re building a house!” Amelia called out.

I crossed over to the table where they worked.

“Quick, put your hand there.” Nova indicated one wall of the house with her nose. She couldn’t use her hands to point because she was struggling holding up the other walls. “Try to get the icing between the cookie pieces,” she directed.

Amelia had what looked like a bag of white icing, and she was squirting it all over the place except for where it was needed.

“No, Amelia, like glue,” Nova said.

“But it’s frosting. Frosting goes on top,” Amelia corrected with her precise tone of voice.

“Sounds like this discussion has been going on for a while?”

“Daddy tell her, the frosting goes on top,” Amelia pleaded.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve never made a gingerbread, um, house? This is a house, right?”

“Shut up,” Nova muttered.

“It looks kind of like a bunker, or a warehouse,” I continued.

Nova shot a glare at me. “I’m this close to letting everything go, and then it will be a pile of gingerbread lumber.” Her tone was sharp.

“Amelia,” I said calmly. “Nova needs you to listen to her and put the frosting where she tells you. We can’t spend the rest of Christmas vacation holding up the walls to your gingerbread house.”

“But…” Amelia started to whine.

“Okay, that’s it. This was not a good idea,” Nova said as she gently set down the pieces she had been holding in place.

Amelia started to cry.

“We can’t do this while everyone is having hard emotions. We’re going to put the house building aside for a bit, have some lunch, and then maybe after a rest, we can come back to the house.”

“I’ll do it right this time,” Amelia whined.

“I know you want to do it right. When we come back and no one is frustrated, and our brains have had some good thinking food, you can show me that you can do it right.”

I was impressed. Nova looked like she was at a breaking point, but she spoke calmly. Firmly, but calmly, and she didn’t raise her voice at all.

She held her hand out for the messy bag of icing that Amelia clutched. Reluctantly, my daughter handed over the frosting.

“Go wash up, and I’ll clean this up so we can come back to it later.”

I watched as Amelia rounded her shoulders and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. But she followed directions and trudged over to the sink.

“Everything going okay?” I asked.

Nova shook her head. “My brilliant idea of building a gingerbread house is a near disaster. And Amelia is having a hard time listening in her excitement.”

“Sounds like it would not be a good idea if I suggested we all went out for lunch?”

“Getting out of here might be a good idea. There’s a little festival in town that might be a good idea. Food booths, and outside where Amelia can burn off some of her energy,” Nova suggested.

“That’s not rewarding bad behavior, is it?” I glanced from the pile of gingerbread back to Nova.

“I think our failed architecture is punishment enough. Redirecting her energy isn’t a reward. I need the break just as much as she does,” Nova admitted.

---