I decided to dedicate my last post before Christmas to reminding you that it’s seriously okay not to be perfect; especially at this time of the year. And that I am quite happy to be your role model of imperfection.
If I reflect back on the past year, there have been no really outstanding personal achievements to brag about on Facebook. I haven’t got pregnant or forged a new and exciting career, and my kids haven’t shone at the top of their school or field. Furthermore, I’ve gained weight, I’m drinking more, I still refuse to take exercise seriously or touch a Kale smoothie and a lot of the time I am not very happy.
But I am alive, and my dearest and dearest are healthy.
I still don’t get why we women continue to torment ourselves with trying to be perfect all the time; and I am the worst offender. Only the other day the strangest urge came over me to show NC and Kurt that I can be a real ‘mom’ by baking for them, and as usual the experience left me feeling about as useful as a snow plough in Sydney over Christmas.
There is an underlying fear in my head that my kids’ memories of their childhood will be of this last-minute, anti-mum, who always bought the shop-bought cake to functions and winged everything.
‘How hard can it really be to make a few Christmas cookies’, I remember thinking?
After all, Jamie does that all the time.
But I hit the first roadblock immediately, when in my haste to get a photo of my perfect Christmas cookies up on Instagram, I selected a shortbread recipe instead of a cookie recipe, but didn’t realize my error until my dough was not ‘firm to the touch’, but closer to the consistency of butter icing.
It was wet, sticky, about as malleable as a jellyfish and impossible to peel off the work top, let alone shape into a star.
‘You can do this!’ I buoyed myself as the sweat dripped down from my forehead into the yellow goo stuck to my hands and an image of how fabulous Nigella always looks in the kitchen began to torment me.
And there were the inevitable ‘FUCKS!” of frustration at my hopelessness when it comes to baking, and I might have even sobbed a little and been forced to resort to some Rescue Remedy (a.k.a wine) for medicinal purposes, to calm me down.
But at least the Princess appreciated them.
Be kind to each other at this time of the year and remember that no-one is perfect and Christmas is not everyone’s idea of fun. Even as I write this post, the jelly is yet to set on my trifle, I can’t even squeeze into my Christmas dress and my son hasn’t spoken to me for 48 hours.
Star Christmas Shortbread Cookies
250g butter, chopped
½ cup caster sugar
1 1/2cups plain flour
¾ cups rice flour
Combine together all ingredients.
Say ‘FUCK’ liberally.
PANIC when the consistency of your dough feels like wallpaper glue and you can’t even roll it out, then add loads more flour until you can cut those bastard cookies (you wished you’d never started in the first place) into something resembling a star shape with your cookie cutter.
Completely ignore the ridiculous timing suggested by the recipe and cook the fuckers for as long as they need for you to be able to prise them off the tray.
Smear with enough white icing to disguise their fugliness.
Merry Christmas and thank you for putting up with me for another year. xxx