Used to be, when the kids were little, I’d spend half the holidays in the kitchen baking up a storm. Pies. Cakes. Cranberry-pumpkin bread. Strudel. Stirring up mounds of chocolate-peanut fudge. Cutting out and decorating sugar cookies.
Baking for the season slowed when the kids hit high school. Everybody was headed in sixteen different directions at once. I didn’t see the point in baking – or eating – Christmas goodies by myself. So I throttled seasonal baking back. Then I pretty much stopped altogether.
Until last night.
I just finished a favorite seasonal read, The Christmas Box, by Richard Paul Evans. The fireplace was blazing. Tree lights dancing. Christmas music playing. Rain pounded the panes and nipped at the eaves.
Our youngest son is still cruising around the Caribbean (more on that later). Two other sons, ages 23 and 27, as well as Snuggle Bunny, were working late. Son #2 was out with some buddies.
It was just me and Wonder Dog. “Well Kimber,” I said, nudging our border collie mix off my lap. “Why not?”
I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a recipe. There’s nothing quite like the smell of Christmas sugar cookies, warm from the oven. Know what I mean?
My 25 year-old son popped in later with a couple buddies. “Mom, are you baking Christmas cookies?”
Needless to say, that batch didn’t last long.
Later, Nathan and I sat around the table. Watched the dancing tree lights. Listened to Christmas music. And rain pounding the window, nipping at the eaves.
We also talked. Laughed. Sipped hot chocolate. Washed cookie sheets. Remembered Christmases past. Grandparents long gone. States we used to live in and Christmases of yesteryear.
Not bad for “a dark and stormy night” in December. Not bad at all.
Are your kids grown, but not too grown for Christmas baking?