Stealing Christmas Cookies Tradition

Growing up at Christmas time always meant frozen cookies.  Mom would bake and bake and store and store the cookies.  But we were on to her.  We knew the hiding places.  The freezer.  The big, stuck in the basement freezer.  Sometimes it sat at the bottom of the stairs.  Other years it was stashed where you had to walk around the big green, child eating furnace.    That thing was prehistoric and traumatizing.  Unless you were cold.  Or unless you were sneaking frozen date bars and could hide behind it.

There is nothing like a frozen, powdered sugar coated date bar that says Christmas cookie to me.   Oh man I’m getting dizzy thinking about them.

Fast forward to 2012.   I have a freezer in my basement, and it’s full.  Full of frozen vegies and frozen grapes.  And now, frozen cookies.  No, not my mom’s frozen already baked and ready for Christmas cookies.  But frozen, bought in the store and from school fundraisers frozen chunks of dough ready  to plop on a cookie sheet and heat at 425 for 13 minutes.

Oh they still smell good.  They taste good.

But they don’t have any feeling to them.

No one is sneaking in to my basement to sneak a taste of divine cookie-dom at my house.

No one is hanging on to the counter asking when are they going to be done.

Those of you thinking I have let my children down, don’t fret.  I did bake, in their youth.   I did make some pretty incredible and delectible treats.  I just don’t do it now.  How in the world do you think I would survive today with twenty dozen cookies in my basement freezer.  I’ll tell you what would happen if I did that:  you would find me in a sugar coma at the foot of the freezer with powdered sugar all over my face, hands, clothing, chocolate coming out of my ears and no cookies for the Big Elf Himself.

But today I emailed Aunt Linda who is talking about her baking escapades.  I miss the frenzy of Christmas baking, and the comfort of knowing one’s pantry (freezer) is stocked to full of savory delights.  I miss the sneaking down the wooden steps, stopping on the midway landing by the side door to make sure no one was listening from above, or already in hiding below sneaking their own cookie.  Slowly walking, avoiding the noise inducing steps, walk timidly around the furnace, sloooooooooowly creak open that big stand up freezer.   Get a little giddy off of the smell of cold.  Pay attention to exactly how the meats and vegies and white wrapped food items lay.  So once cookies were extracted, I could make sure everything looked undisturbed.  Finally, f-i-n-a-l-l-y pull out the container.  Take as many cookies as I deemed safe, make the rest of the cookies look undisturbed.  Close everything up.  Lean back in to the wall, between the furnace and the freezer.  And yeah, frozen but chewy date bar delight.  Yum.

With up to eight of us, and I dare any of the other 7 to try and deny it, sneaking those cookies I have no idea how mom ever managed to put out a Christmas cookie for any of us.

I know, shame on us.

But I bet, if given the chance, mom would go back to a Christmas with eight cookie sneaking kids who couldn’t wait for her to start freezing cookies.  And let Christmas begin.


I feel like I cheated by taking an already written post and re-doing it a little for now.  But not really.   It’s like taking an already made frozen cookie from the freezer for today.    So there guilt-take that!