It was a cold day in December, and I had glorious visions of bonding with my three year old son over the time-honoured traditions of Christmas cookie-making. We were bent over the rolled out dough. Flour gently dusted everything. His little fingers oh-so-carefully lifted the gingerbread man we just cut and set it on the cookie sheet with the others. In his little baby-boy voice, he called them ‘man-men.’
It was just the cutest thing ever.