If Only in My Dreams

Thumbprints were always a staple cookie at Christmas. Mom made both regular and chocolate batter (guess which was my favorite), each little crater filled with a dollop of sugary icing colored red or green.

"Surprise" cookies were wrapped around a center of chocolate chips or a cherry or a walnut half. The walnut was the clear loser among my siblings. In fact, we asked my mom why she bothered putting the nut in the middle, because it wasn't a very happy surprise. She would shrug and tell us to get over it.

And then there were the sugar cookies we iced ourselves. Quite the holiday tradition. As we aged, our designs grew weirder to reflect our teenage snarkiness. But the act of decorating, complete with holiday music and derisive comments shot across the kitchen table, was pure magic.

The tea ring was also a family favorite. Its yeasty goodness filled the house with the smell of cinnamon as it baked. The delectable treat also featured raisins and was drizzled with icing and topped with cherries.

Each holiday season, my mom would choose a day to decorate the house. We'd come home from school to discover she'd turned the joint into a winter wonderland. Mom loved making the place festive -- we were just the innocent bystanders who got clean-up duty on New Year's Day.

I miss my mom every day, but during the holidays I miss her most of all. How I'd love to be sitting in our living room tonight, staring at the big-bulbed lights on our live tree and breathing in the delicious scent of real pine, a cookie in each paw.

Every year I say I'll make a bunch of cookies, but I can't quite work up the will to get it done. Also, there are just the two of us now, and I am trying not to overdo.

At least, that's my excuse.

In my mind, I hear my mother admonishing me for my lack of domestic skills. But, hey, mom, you always knew I'd never live up to you in that department.

But you loved me just the same.