My mom started baking Christmas cookies the day after
Thanksgiving. We had an upstairs and
once you reached the top step if you turned to the left there was a
pantry. And that’s where all the
Christmas cookies were tucked away
until Christmas. .
.
with strict orders for us 5 kids to -
not go near the
pantry.
I’m pretty sure my mom knew every year that by Christmas
each
jar would be half empty.
But she
Never. Said. A. Word.
. .
Each night as I crawled into bed I would wait for the house to get quiet
and then. . .
I would slip out of bed, find my way to the pantry in the
dark and fill my hands with cookies.
I still wonder, was I the only one raiding the cookie jars? Because I also am pretty sure
I couldn’t eat
that many cookies . .
.
all by myself. . .
by Christmas.
With 4 brothers, I’m guessing probably not. But I do have to say, in all of my nighttime
trips
to the pantry
we never bumped into
each other. . .
And if they saw me -
they -
never. said. a. word. . .
never. said. a. word. . .
I’m also guessing that that was half the fun for my mother
in filling those cookie jars with cookies that were covered in bright colored
sprinkles, Christmas tree sugar cookies covered in green frosting, surrounded by jars of Scandinavian butter cookies, knowing that
somewhere in the dark when all the lights were out and we believed her and my
dad were fast asleep, there were five little pairs of feet silently creeping
across the creaky upstairs floor. And I’m
pretty sure as she lay in the quiet of her bed she heard
Every creak. . .
