Two weeks ago we invited the neighbor’s kids over for a little gingerbread man activity. My husband made them from scratch and the kids got to decorate these, and brought some home for their parents and siblings. I decorated and brought the rest to his school for the staff.
Last night we made gingerbread cookies for school again. It’s my son’s turn to provide the snacks and bring his favorite Christmas book, which happens to be “The Gingerbread Pirates.” This time we used a store-bought mix, because sadly school policy requires food brought in to be commercially made, possibly for allergy reasons.
Now we have a bunch of dino cookie cutters, given as a present when our son was into dinosaurs for three years. When I tried to use these on the gingerbread dough he got upset. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say, but to get him to do something else I asked him to draw what he’s trying to say. He grabbed a piece of paper and went to get his crayons. Then he saw the beige crayon and brought it back to me, “it’s peach, it’s peach!” he exclaimed, “dino cookies are peach!” So that resulted in picking up sugar cookie mix during our next grocery run. My son and I prepared them this afternoon, he was high from the success of his gingerbread pirates day. But when I tried to add green sprinkles on them he got upset again. I guess I have to try other ways to stretch that rigid/inflexible nature. “This is brown,” he reminded me as he held up the gingerbread boy cookie cutter, “and no sprinkles on dino cookies.”
Hiraeth 
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