Sugar Cookie – Part 4: Baking Through the Pandemic

The Story of Armstina's Cookies

It’s a Friday evening. The boys are at Taekwondo, and I’m curled up in the cozy corner of our oversized couch, committed to writing the next chapter of ArmStina’s Cookies. I’m supposed to dive into the part where I navigated a pandemic as both a business owner and a mother.

But my memories of that time are like faded ink on an old letter, still there yet smudged and incomplete. Some memories are lost to time, while others are blurred by the weight of stress and survival. Trauma has a way of distorting the past, leaving gaps where certainty used to be.

Yet, as I look back, I realize it wasn’t all bad. The challenges forced me to grow, pushing me toward accomplishments I never expected. Some were small victories, while others were dreams I had carried since childhood, finally brought to life.

As I reflect on those years, I realize that the story of ArmStina’s Cookies is more than just about cookies. It’s about courage, resilience, adaptation, and finding strength in the most unexpected places. So, what does one do when the world is turned upside down? I’m not sure, but what I do know is that I kept moving forward and figured things out along the way. Here’s the story of how we navigated the pandemic.

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We settled back into our normal routine after returning from Cookie Con, but just a few days later, I was hit with an awful cold. Even though I was sick, I still had orders to fulfill, so I went about my day as usual. I walked Nicholas to school one morning and then headed to our corner store—Target. I needed a few things before starting my workday. Oh, how I miss having full control of my schedule.

Anyway, I walked into Target and went straight to the Starbucks line. I needed my iced grande two-pump vanilla nonfat latte to get through the day. I was feeling pretty fatigued, and figured the coffee would help. But as I was waiting in line, I felt like my legs were going to give out, like I might pass out. I got out of line and headed home, where I ended up sleeping for the rest of the day.

The next day, Nicholas started showing cold symptoms, and before we knew it, we were both ridiculously sick. I remember going to urgent care, where they asked if we’d traveled outside the U.S. Since we hadn’t, they didn’t think we’d been exposed to COVID. I tested positive for the flu, but to this day, I believe I had COVID. It makes sense, I was around thousands of people, crowded together in rooms from all over the country. Somehow, I powered through and completed all the orders for the week.

I believe I had a whole two days of normalcy after Cookie Con before everything turned upside down. A week later, the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic. That was the beginning of the chaos. I became obsessed with the news, knowing it was only a matter of time before Governor JB Pritzker announced a shelter-in-place order for Illinois. The virus was spreading rapidly, and so much was still unknown.

I remember feeling incredibly anxious as I worried for my family, for the elderly, and for those already sick. Why weren’t people taking this seriously? Why weren’t they staying home? I could not understand the selfishness. But what I did know was that people were beginning to panic. And apparently, that meant hoarding toilet paper.

With so much uncertainty, we, like everyone else, rushed to the grocery store to stock up on food, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and cleaning supplies. Face masks were not widely available yet, so we had to get creative by making some out of bandanas and using 3D-printed ear loop connectors. The grocery stores were bare, with entire shelves wiped clean. We grabbed what we could and headed back home to wait for the inevitable news. As expected, the governor announced the shelter in place order later that week. And with that came another blow when schools moved to remote learning until further notice.

Under the new order, only essential businesses like grocery stores were allowed to remain open. Restaurants had to transition to delivery or pickup only, while many companies shifted their staff to fully remote work. But what did that mean for us? Could I still sell cookies and cutters? Would Armando still have a job? There were so many unknowns, and I have learned that uncertainty is when my anxiety is at its worst. The fear of the unknown.

The double-edged sword was that Armando was considered an essential worker, so he had to continue working. On one hand, we were incredibly lucky that he was still employed, but on the other hand, every day he left the house, he was at risk of being exposed to Covid-19. That also meant I was left to manage everything at home—running a business while also navigating remote learning for my son. Being a full-time stay-at-home mom was never part of my plan, so adjusting to this new reality was tough for me. I was about to walk into unfamiliar terrain, not knowing that I would emerge from it a different version of myself.

With so much uncertainty, I knew I had to adapt quickly. While adjusting to our new reality at home, I also had to figure out what this meant for my business. Would people still be interested in ordering cookies during a pandemic? I was still able to operate safely, and continuing to accept orders was necessary—after all, we still had bills to pay. Usually, cookie orders were for celebrations, but with the shelter-in-place order, many of those plans had to be canceled. I already had several orders on my calendar and wasn’t sure how to move forward with them. Ultimately, I decided to reach out to my customers, offering them the option to reschedule for a later date or receive a refund.

The next holiday to plan for was Easter, but I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to offer cookies. I kept going back and forth until I finally decided to ask my Instagram community. I figured parents might want to create some sense of normalcy for their children, and in a time like this, joy was needed more than ever. The response was overwhelmingly positive, so I got to work right away on planning the designs I would offer.

Planning designs and creating cookie sets was one of my favorite parts of the business. It allowed me to be creative and, in a way, feel like I was playing. I offered a variety of options, from two-pack sets with customizable names to mini sets, single bunny cookies, large personalized egg cookies, and adorable Peep sets. I also introduced interactive options like paint-your-own cookies and DIY decorating kits, hoping to bring a little joy and creativity into families’ homes during such an uncertain time. The support from our community was overwhelming, and I was incredibly grateful to bring even a small bit of joy into homes across the country.

Seeing the overwhelming support from our community during Easter preorders filled me with gratitude, but it also made me think about how else we could help during this time. While cookies brought joy, I knew there were people on the frontlines facing much bigger challenges. Then, a few days later, Armando was tagged in a Facebook post calling on people with 3D printers to help produce face shields for medical workers. It was a no-brainer. We had the equipment and the ability to contribute, so we immediately got to work.

The Facebook group coordinating the effort was delivering face shields to one hospital, but we wondered if there were others in the medical field who also needed them. The challenge was that we had no way of accessing that information. So, Armando decided to post on Instagram, sharing what we were doing and asking if anyone knew of a hospital or healthcare worker in need. We offered to deliver the face shields or arrange for contactless pickup.

To our surprise, our community not only responded with names of those in need but also offered donations to help cover the cost of supplies. We were overwhelmed with gratitude. It was such a beautiful and unexpected show of generosity. Wanting to make it easier for people to contribute, we quickly set up a donation option on our website. With those donations, we were able to purchase more filament for the printers and put all three of our machines to work. Within one week, we had printed and delivered 200 face shields. We kept going for a month while simultaneously making Easter cookies and managing Nicholas’ remote learning. It was an intense time, but I am incredibly proud of us for balancing our business, personal lives, and efforts to support the community. By the end, we had printed around 1,200 face shields, and the group we worked with produced an incredible 15,000 in total. It was a beautiful and inspiring moment, a true testament to what can happen when people come together in times of need.

The next couple of months were all about adjusting to the new normal. We had to get creative with the business and find new ways to bring in revenue. We consistently released new cutter designs and started offering DIY kits regularly.

With Nicholas home full-time, I had less time to work on cookies and often had to wait until Armando got home from work to even get started. Some days, I set Nicholas up in our cookie room with his iPad just so I could squeeze in a little work, but that only lasted for about an hour before he needed my attention again. Needless to say, I was stressed and running on little sleep. The stress led to unhealthy habits. I was eating poorly and drinking more alcohol than usual. Food became my reward system. After a long, exhausting day, I would convince myself that I deserved a giant bag of Hot Cheetos and a beer. These were the justifications I told myself.

Despite everything, I was grateful. We were safe, healthy, Armando was still employed, and the business was thriving. But my mental health was deteriorating each day, and because I wasn’t taking care of myself, my physical health was crumbling too. I felt like a candle burning at both ends, melting away faster than I could recover. I disappeared from social media for months at a time, leaving Armando to manage it entirely. Being home with our son 24/7 was overwhelming. I love him dearly, but the constant demands and lack of adult conversation were wearing me down. On top of that, the mental load of managing the house and business felt like a phone with too many apps running. No matter how hard I tried, I was always operating on low battery.

Summer came, and school was out for break, which took one thing off my plate for a few months but also added to it, as I now had to figure out what to do with Nicholas for the entire day. I couldn’t keep him inside watching TV all day, I had to plan activities. He was only five and needed movement and opportunities to simply be a kid. Yes, he definitely had more screen time than is recommended, but at that point, we were all in survival mode.We had picnics in our shared backyard with the tenants from the first and second floors. We took walks, went to the park, spent time at Armando’s parents’ house, enjoyed their pool, and soaked up the outdoors whenever possible.

While decorating cookies, I listened to a lot of podcasts, and one I always came back to was the Rachel Hollis podcast. She constantly emphasized the importance of physical movement and how it can impact mental health. The idea of incorporating fitness into my lifestyle had been lingering in my heart, but I just didn’t see how it could fit. I barely had time for my existing responsibilities.

Then one day, Rachel had Robin Arzón from Peloton on the podcast. I’m not quite sure what happened, but something clicked while listening to that episode. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself and tired of complaining about all the things I didn’t have or couldn’t do. So, one day, I just started going for short 15-minute jogs. I didn’t ask Armando for permission or wait for him to join me, I simply started waking up early enough to jog before he had to leave for work. That tiny, consistent action changed my life.

Shortly after, Armando became curious and joined me on the fitness journey. I downloaded the Peloton app and started incorporating workouts beyond cardio. That eventually led us to invest in a Peloton bike. We dedicated the entire summer to prioritizing our physical health and exploring different kinds of fitness activities. Consistent exercise significantly improved my mental well-being. It felt like a mental tune-up, clearing the fog and sharpening my focus.

We also used that time to create long-form content and how-to videos. I stepped out of my comfort zone and recorded an entire video about cookie dough. We finally got our cutters listed on our website and added an option for custom cutter requests. Things were starting to feel lighter.

When summer ended, Nicholas started remote learning for kindergarten. By then, we had a good sense of routine. Although there were still many hard days trying to balance it all, we pushed through. I mean, how can you expect a five-year-old to sit still in front of a computer for hours? Since I couldn’t decorate cookies while he was in class, I used that time to focus on administrative work. From September through December—our busiest season—the days became a blur. One thing I do remember is that as the business kept growing, I started a newsletter, and we really began to feel the pressure of not having enough space.

We were living in a large attic two-bedroom apartment, but we were bursting at the seams. Every corner served a double purpose, and there was barely any room to breathe, let alone run a business. The space originally designed to be the living room had become Nicholas’ bedroom. It didn’t have a door and was framed by slanted walls on the north and south sides.

As you walked into the room, to the left was an outdated, DIY-built entertainment center. The spot once meant for a TV had bi-fold panels to close it off, at least, that’s what I assumed. We had repurposed that section into a closet for Nicholas’ clothes and used the surrounding shelves as a makeshift bookshelf.

On the east side of the room sat a dresser and a repurposed changing table. A TV rested on top of the dresser, with a wild stack of Blu-rays beside it that could topple over with just the vibration of someone jumping. Directly across from the TV was Nicholas’ twin bed, and at the foot of it sat his desk, the one we used for remote learning. It wasn’t small; it had to be sturdy enough to hold a Mac computer and everything else that came with Zoom school. That desk became his classroom and his art studio.

In the back corner of the room, behind the DIY-built entertainment center, was a hidden storage area. It had a small door, and at the bottom of the door was a little pet flap, just big enough for a small dog to squeeze through. We originally used it as a room for our cats, keeping their litter box there, but over time, it became just another forgotten storage space, piled high with whatever we didn’t have room for elsewhere.

The floors were covered in colorful activity mats that also doubled as gym mats. The walls were a tribute to his favorite heroes in a half shell, bright, bold, and full of personality. Framed prints of the Ninja Turtles lined one wall, each turtle striking a different action pose, their colorful masks popping against the pale green paint. Above the entrance to his room hung a canvas sign that read “Nicholas’ Room” in big, playful letters, surrounded by cartoon versions of Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Raphael. Though it was small and packed to the brim, it was his space, filled with the things he loved most, and that made it perfect.

The rest of the apartment was just as dated as Nicholas’ room. The space that was meant to be the dining room had become our living room. It had two couches, shelves lined with Funko Pops on every wall, and a TV. During the holidays, we had to temporarily move one of the couches into our bedroom to make room for the Christmas tree.

The kitchen was spacious and filled with unconventional storage. A built-in hutch with large glass doors and plenty of drawers took up one wall. The oven was ancient, but despite its age, it was a total workhorse. That thing baked more cookies than I could count and never let me down when it mattered. Counter space was almost nonexistent, so we added a few movable shelves to hold my mixers and give me somewhere—anywhere—to work. Even so, the kitchen was big enough to fit a table that could seat about eight people. On the east wall hung family pictures and our pegboard that held the cookie cutter inventory. The back porch had basically become a storage unit, filled to the brim with things we had no place for inside.

Our bedroom was simple: just our bed, a dresser, a TV, and the Peloton bike. And then there was the second bedroom, also known as the cookie room. It was small, and one entire wall was taken up by a closet. The remaining walls were lined with wooden wine boxes, each displaying Armando’s action figure collection.

Before the business, this room had been Armando’s man cave, and his collection lived on bookshelves. But once we turned the space into the cookie room, we had to get creative. We needed the floor space, so we used the walls to showcase his collection instead. There was so much on display, you could barely see any of the actual walls. On the south side of the room sat the desk where I decorated cookies and kept the dehydrator. To the right of the table stood my bakery rack. About six feet behind the cookie decorating station was another table that held our 3D printers. Under that table sat an additional printer and a small wire shelf used for cookie storage. Needless to say, the room was tight and started to feel like the walls were closing in on me as the business grew.

As the apartment began to feel smaller and smaller, the idea of moving into a bigger place became more of a need than a want. Owning a home had been a dream of mine since childhood, something I had never experienced growing up. I would occasionally browse Zillow and imagine the possibilities, but that was as far as I ever got. Then, one night in mid-January of 2021, I showed Armando a listing for a house in Franklin Park, IL, a small suburb right outside the city. To my surprise, he encouraged me that we should go to the open house. I submitted a request through Zillow and was connected with a real estate agent. A few days later, we went to the showing and actually liked the house. But so did a lot of other people. It was clear there would be a bidding war, and since we didn’t love it, we decided not to put in an offer.

Within days, our agent showed us another house in Franklin Park, and we loved it. We saw the potential right away. It had two kitchens, which felt like a dream for the business. We put in an offer, but the seller rejected it. We kept looking, but nothing felt quite right.

I kept refreshing Zillow like it was my full-time job, hoping something new would pop up. Eventually, a listing that had previously been marked as “contingent” came back on the market. It had an open floor plan and sat on almost two full lots. I reached out to our agent immediately, and she arranged a showing. The moment we walked in, we loved it. It felt like home. I could see our lives unfolding there—it just felt right.

We submitted an offer right away and we got the house.

Everything happened so fast: the showing, the offer, the acceptance, the inspections, and finally, the loan process. That was one of the most stressful experiences I’ve ever gone through. At one point, I half-joked that they were probably going to ask for our blood types before approving the mortgage.

During the entire loan process, we started packing up our apartment while still running the business and juggling all our other responsibilities. On March 13th, 2021, we moved into our house and our lives changed forever. That day marked more than just a change in address, it was the start of a new chapter. We were no longer just trying to make it work in a cramped attic apartment. We were homeowners now, building a life and a business under one roof. There was still so much to figure out, but for the first time in a long time, we had room to grow, literally and figuratively. Our next adventure had officially begun.

Thanks for reading! Part five will be available soon. Be sure to follow along to see what happened next.