Cookie Bake Feast at Grandma's

Every year, we have a cookie bake at Grandma's house. She has nine grandchildren under the age of 10.

Needless to say, it's pandemonium.

This year, she tried to have supper and then cookie decorating.

But have you ever tried to seat nine children at a table filled with cookies and frosting and sprinkles and asked them to eat a bowl of chicken and noodles? I don't care if it is the best tasting chicken and noodles on the planet Earth, it's not gonna happen.

So... after the kids were done ignoring their chicken and noodles, the "decorating" began. It was so fun to see this little crowd of wee people smearing on as much frosting and sprinkles as their sugar cookies could hold. I think the frosting-to-cookie ratio was about 1000 to 1. Ditto the sprinkles.

In the center of the large table where they sat decorating, there was a beautiful silver platter. What was it for? Decorated cookies, presumably.

Here we discover another process error.

What parent (or grandparent) does not know that a decorated cookie must pass directly from the hands of the decorator into the mouth of the decorator? The lovely tray remained lovely -- and empty. Actually, to be truthful, it had about a dozen cookies on it by the end of the night, placed there long after multiple children were heard muttering, "My tummy is hurting."

As we cleaned up and the children went crazy chasing each other around and around through the rooms of the house (like they were high on sugar or something -- go figure) we noticed there was a shocking amount of white and yellow frosting left over. It looked as though it hadn't even been used.

One look at our children was all it took to discover yet another truth about Grandma's cookie bake. The best kind of frosting for decorating eating is whatever kind will turn your mouth, teeth, and tongue the brightest color. We had one blue child, one green, and one red. I had to actually use a toothbrush on my five-year-old's lips to keep him from looking cyanotic before we went to church on Sunday.

But, after the fun was over and the sugar-high was passed and the mess was cleaned up, we and all of my husband's brothers and sisters had a couple of cookies and warm feelings of family love to bring home. Cookie "Bake" at Grandma's is a great tradition.

Honestly, it was the sweetest part of the weekend.

- Midwest Mom

Our Christmas Elf (shhh... don't tell anyone!)

I’ll let you in on a little secret.

We have a Christmas elf who lives at our house.

He usually arrives right around the beginning of December. He sits in our family room, watching and listening to the way we treat one another. (And, amazingly, we usually are a little kinder when he’s spying.) Last year he decorated our tree with tinsel one night when we were all asleep. One year, he delivered brand new jammies to each of my children’s pillows on Christmas Eve.

Every morning after my children are dressed, there is a dash downstairs to check and see where our elf will be. He chooses a different vantage point every day.

(My dad thinks that’s a little creepy… I think he’s worried about being on the naughty list.)

Sometimes he’s on the mantle or above the television. Sometimes he’s peeking out of a stocking. Yesterday, he was seated among the figures in our Fischer Price manger scene. (He gave us the opportunity to talk about Baby Jesus, that clever little elf.) This morning, he was nestled in the branches of the Christmas tree.

In a week or so, we’ll give our little elf some letters to bring to the North Pole. He must travel there with elf magic, because he manages to deliver our letters and be back in the morning when we wake up.

My boys are wary, though. They have noticed that our plate of Christmas treats is always a little more empty in the morning time than it was last night before bed. They suspect that the elf is getting a little snackeroo while we snooze. (But those darned striped pants are so slimming… it’s hard to tell if he’s putting on weight.)

We can’t really say where our Christmas elf came from. We have seen him at Grandma’s house when we’re visiting. He likes to sit on her cookie jar and smile at us as if he knows we just thought of removing the lid when no one was looking. Our neighbor claims she gave us the elf when we first moved in, but her recollection is foggy at best. It won’t stand up to serious scrutiny. (Maybe we need to put Pat Fitzgerald on this one… or Perry Mason – he might be a little less busy.) At any rate, the origins of the elf have passed out of our family memory.

What is certain, though, is that his presence in our lives is only temporary. Christmas Eve is the last we see of our little friend. Before bed, the children are certain to say goodbye (and yes, there has been a tear or two shed from time to time.) But when Christmas comes, we are celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus. I have a feeling the elf doesn’t like being upstaged.

Having our friend here in our home is a singular honor, and my children know that it is a secret for us to keep. I’m letting it slip, though, just this once, in the hope that you might catch a glimpse of your own little elf friend. You never know when he’ll show up, or for how long. If you do see him, though, you may find it’s a little easier to show some Christmas cheer. There is, after all, a little someone watching.

That’s all for now, though. I’m off to get me some of those striped pants. …darned Christmas treats.

- Midwest Mom