Cookies

Growing up, my favorite part of the Christmas season was making Christmas cookies with my parents. I firmly believe this is where my love of cooking developed. I loved making those cookies. My mom always made Italian wedding cookies, my Dad always mixed up Neiman Marcus cookies, we all made gingerbread men together, and sugar cookies. My parents had, and still have to this day, cookie tins that we stored them in. I loved those tins. We would bake the cookies and layer them in sheets of wax paper inside of the tins. I remember searching for the thickest sugar cookies under layers of wax paper, or the gingerbread man that was still in tact. In the off season I would run across those tins in the pantry with the cookie cutters stored in them, one shake of the cookie tin and I would get excited for Christmas. All of my five senses were involved in my memory making. The crinkle of the wax paper and the loud tin canisters, the smell of the gingerbread men, the taste of the sugar cookies, the feel of the Neiman Marcus cookies as we rounded them into balls, and the sight of all of us in the kitchen.

Over the years it ended up becoming fewer and fewer cookies we made until eventually all we made were Gingerbread men, and by all, I mean me. I cooked gingerbread men whenever I came home from college or eventually a work vacation. And now, no one makes them anymore. I took a few years off, just not being inspired. And then this year I decided to brush off those recipes, find some cookie tins to store them in, and make them with Jack. He is finally old enough to participate. And so the circle continues...

I'm sure I enjoyed it ten million times more than Jack. I loved every second of it. We started with Gingerbread men. Jack liked cutting the shapes out and putting on the raisin eyes and cherry lips. He ate more raisins than any human should consume in one sitting and kept telling me they were disappearing. I was too happy to care about his sugar consumption. If his memory of baking cookies with me is of sneaking raisins behind my back, so be it. I want him to enjoy it however he wants. He decided the Gingerbread men needed belly buttons and placed one on each man. And so a new tradition began. I will always put belly buttons on them from now on. If only to remember his happiness and chubby fingers placing raisins on the fragrant dough. Or maybe because it makes sense. ;)

We made Neiman Marcus cookies next. Jack loved measuring the ingredients. We practice counting with it, 1 tsp, 2 tsp etc. After every complete measure, Jack exclaims "I did it!" Neiman Marcus cookies are my favorites. So needless to say I was so excited to bake them. We got done mixing all the flour, oatmeal, chocolate chips and pecans, rolled them into golf balls and watched them bake in the oven. I pulled a hot off of the cookie sheet and enjoyed every bite. Jack took one bite and said "Gross!" then spit it on the counter. Oh well, more for me!

The last cookies we made were Jack's favorites, sugar cookies. I have never heard Jack be silent for more than 2 minutes while he is awake, but he was silent making his cookies. He took great care in decorating each one. Concentrating so hard. He only stopped to tell me when he needed more sprinkles or sugar, or to tell me when they were ready for the oven. I just sat and watched. Smiling like an idiot at my beautiful little boy enjoying something as much as I did growing up. Sharing in the excitement that was just exciting today as it was 20 years ago when I wore giant thick red glasses and made cookies with kinky, stringy hair and had teeth too big for my head. I love the holidays for this very reason. Traditions. The simplest little things can become tradition that you want to continue on, to share and love with your children, in the hope that one day they will make those cookies and remember you making them with them. Laughing and smiling and enjoying every stinking minute of it, just as I remembered my parents these last few days, and will always remember them.