Christmas cookies and I have a love/hate relationship. Every year. I should give up the idea of baking and just buy them from Becki Dina (Sugar ARTS Bakehouse). But no, I'm going to conquer them one of these years. Because I certainly haven't this year. IThe sugar cookie dough was too soft and sticky, and the few cookies that survived were misshapen. Tonight I tried to make spritz, but my cookie presses (yes, I had two) refused to cooperate and ended up in the garbage. I used a couple of small cookie cutters and we ended up with a few stars and trees.
Tomorrow, I'm going to make peanut butter cookies from the Betty Crocker bag, throw on a few hHershey kisses, and give it up for 2021. At least the Mexican Wedding Cakes turned out fine, but there probably won't be any left by the time Christmas arrives. They're so good . . .
The struggle isn't new. I wrote about a time 35 years ago with its own challenges..
Looking back over the years when my sons were small, I truly have no idea how I – or they – managed to survive the Christmas season. Even though November and December were our busiest months at work, I still wasn’t willing to give up the idyllic images gracing the pages of the popular women’s magazines in the checkout racks at the supermarket. Surely I could carve out time to make my own gifts, entertain in our home and bake six kinds of Christmas cookies, couldn’t I?
In fact, why should I keep the pleasure of baking cookies to myself? Wouldn’t it be fun to invite a few families with small children to our home to bake and decorate cookies on a Sunday afternoon before Christmas? It’s a picture-perfect scene – the little darlings with flour dotting their noses, as Christmas carols played merrily in the background and the scent of gingerbread filled the air. A reality TV Christmas special in the making, long before Jon and Kate and their darling eight were ever dreamed of.
I did plan ahead, truly I did. I made the sugar cookie dough and stuck it in the freezer, and did some for molasses, spritz and peanut butter cookies ahead of time as well. The kitchen table and counters were the cut-out stations, and the dining room table was DHQ (decoration headquarters), with frosting, colored sugars, and sprinkles galore. The sprinkles proved to be the favorite, as I was still picking green and red sprinkles out of the carpet on the 4th of July.
We welcomed our friends with some chili and spiced cider, and then got down to the cookie-baking business. I think we ended up with four moms, ten junior bakers, and four male football fans. Well, the dads helped a bit, serving as taste-testers and referees, but they mostly kept an eye on the Eagles game while the women kept an eye on the kids, the cookies and their nerves.
Memory is such a wonderful gift. If we fully remembered the discomfort of pregnancy and labor – well, the discomfort of pregnancy and the pain of labor, most of us would only have one child. We did have fun at the cookie bake-off, but it wasn’t the smartest idea I ever had. I think if the kids had been a couple of years older (like fifteen instead of five) and if I’d had girls instead of boys (Greg and Drew kept making cookie guns with their buddies) it would have gone a bit smoother. I learned something that day about expectations and attention spans, and about having a cookie decorating party instead of a cutting out, baking and decorating party.
In the end, we got to eat quite a few cookies and each family had an assortment to take home with them, even if most of the gingerbread people were amputees. Nobody got sick, we didn’t have to call the fire department, and the Eagles won. What more could I want? Peace on earth?
Late that night, as I staggered into bed, I gave thanks for healthy and active kids, a dish-washing husband, and adventurous friends. But before I drifted off to dreams of sugar plum fairies, marzipan and Mexican wedding cakes, I made my husband promise that if I happened to mention a cookie party the following year, he’d handcuff me to the chair and place an emergency order at Eiselin’s Pastry Shop just up the Ridge from our house.
Merry Christmas, friends.
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