On Christmas Day, I was kicked out of my house.

Christmas was coming, and I’d been puttering away in the kitchen, baking a batch of my famous homemade cookies.

My son and daughter-in-law had me working overtime, cranking out two thousand cookies for their bosses and coworkers. My granddaughter, Lily, was bugging me to make even more for her teachers and classmates.

Armed with just five hundred bucks, I pulled two all-nighters to get the job done.

Just as I was about to munch on the slightly-less-than-perfect ones, Lily came barreling in and smacked the cookie right out of my hand.

“Those are for Grandma, you can’t eat them!”

My daughter-in-law, Brenda, chimed in, “You old bat, always got your hand in the cookie jar. You get a sugar crash, don't expect me to foot the medical bills!”

My son, Mark, just gave me a look, his eyes full of resentment.

They kicked me out of the house, then headed off to Brenda’s parents’ place to celebrate Christmas. At that moment, I was just plain worn out.

I turned around and took a job at a small, local catering service, and honestly, it felt like a second chance at life.

…

One morning, walking Lily to school, she threw a fit over some fancy Christmas cookies in a shop window. The cookies were all decked out, shaped like snowmen and trees, and they were a whopping $16.99!

I only had the $30 Mark gave me for groceries, so there was no way I could get them for her.

Lily wouldn’t let up; she kicked me in the shin, screaming, “You’re a terrible grandma! You eat our food and live in our house, and you can’t even buy me a box of cookies! You’re so cheap!”

My leg throbbed, and my face burned. “Grandma will make you some instead,” I said.

Ignoring the glares from other parents, I finally got Lily to her classroom. Then I limped off to the grocery store, picked up some supplies, and bought flour with the money I haggled down. I figured I’d bake her those Christmas cookies myself.

Years of working in the kitchen must have given me a knack for it because what came out of my oven was pretty darn good – good enough to eat, at least.

I shared them with my neighbors and packed up a batch to take when I picked Lily up from school.

When I handed her the gingerbread men and other cute cookies, her eyes lit up, but she still did her usual frown. She even wrinkled her nose at the plastic container.

“Can’t you use a better box, Grandma? This one smells weird.”

My lip quivered. “Next time…next time I’ll get a pretty box.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, sounding only half-pleased.

Back at home, Mark and Brenda were sprawled on the couch, munching away on the remaining cookies.

Brenda gave me a snide look. “You just sit around all day and make a mess in the kitchen. And you haven’t even made dinner. What do you think I’m, your maid?”

I felt a little guilty. I'd been rushing, and hadn’t had time to clean or cook. "I forgot, I’ll go make something now.”

I was just setting the steaming dishes on the table when the three of them plopped down, ready to eat.

Mark spoke up, “H...