mother Archives %- – Rock The Wrinkle

They’re everywhere.

On the kitchen counter….

In the refrigerator….

Lurking in tiny bags with ribbon….

On top of the desk, in the break room, on the car seat….

Cookies!

If you’re not baking them, your neighbor is, and she just has to share. Chocolate, cinnamon, oatmeal, ginger, sugar…they’re out to get us. Even if we don’t usually have an appetite for them, right now, during the holidays, we feel compelled to eat them. Just one. Well, maybe just one more. After all, you don’t want to be rude.

_MG_3286_ And it’s that time of year, right? When eating is akin to caroling, wrapping presents, and trimming the tree.

You take a break, you get a cookie. You take a walk, you get a cookie. You breathe, you get a cookie.

Cookies invoke memories of Christmas past, when everything was filled with wonder. When anticipation just about killed you as you wondered if you really had been good all year, or was Santa listening when you yelled at your brother/sister?

Mothers just know how to bake them, at least mine did. From scratch, of course. By the time Christmas came, there were endless round tins of all kinds of cookies everywhere. Decorating the sugar cookies was especially fun, even if I wasn’t very good at it. At least they tasted good.

Truth be told, I still could probably take the tube of icing and go sit outside and consume it outright. (Of course I can do the same thing with homemade macaroni and cheese, but that’s another story.)

Every year, I resolve to amp up my exercising during December and stand firm against the temptation of the round devils. Yet there they are. Somehow, they’ve entered my house. As each day goes by, they seem to multiply. It’s like a trance comes over me and I find myself reaching for them more times than I would ever do in the middle of summer. Like a 1950s black and white horror movie, they take over my brain.

The Cookie Blob. The Dough That Ate Godzilla. Invasion of the Chocolate Snatchers.

Even Oreos. Especially fresh Oreos, followed by tart lemonade. Research conducted using Oreos’ effects on lab rats concluded that high-fat/high-sugar foods stimulate the brain in the same way that drugs do.

Duh.

Is there any escape? Maybe not. Maybe that’s okay. Of course, moderation is a good idea. I’m still working on that.

But I’m not ready to give them up completely.

I like how baking cookies fills my kitchen with a wonderful aroma. I like how in the winter, they make everything feel cozy and warm, especially if the cold wind is howling outside. I especially like how they make me feel like my mother is standing next to me, smiling as she watches me do what she did for so many years. (Or perhaps frowning when I drop the pan and eat them anyway.)

Which cookies are your favorites? Do you carry on traditions you learned as a child? I’d love to know.

As for me, I’m thinking maybe I need to make just a few more batches. After all, I sure wouldn’t want to run out….

“Cookies are made of butter and love.”

Norwegian Proverb

Today my mother would have been 98, had she not passed away 15 years ago. She is instead an eternal angel who probably is quietly giggling as she watches from a distant cloud.

At least I like to think that.

Her life was not an easy one, with responsibilities hitting her hard and early amidst the Great Depression and WWII. She survived it all, raised a family, and got us through many difficult moves, losses of pets, first days of school, and more. She took great joy in that. But I wonder if she would have liked to have had an opportunity to explore her talents.

She probably would have enjoyed college. Maybe she wished she could have a “girls weekend” or vacationed in a spa.

Instead, she planned meals, cleaned the kitchen, signed book reports, and held down the fort while my father traveled for business. She was quiet around others, but quite the dry wit around us. I like to think I inherited her grit. So many times I wish I could sit down with her and talk about things.

So I do anyway.

I picture her listening, and maybe smiling at me. It feels so real. Because I sincerely believe she is with me more often than not. But maybe occasionally she’s using her wings to explore a sunny beach.

Or hang gliding over the Rockies.

Or just enjoying watching us. She is just one of the many strong women who helped make it possible for us baby boomers to go further than she ever dreamed.

Thank you Mother. And happy birthday.