Just Like Mom Used to Make... Only Better: Frosting Shortage Reported in Frankfort

Frosting shortage reported in Frankfort.
Family denies any involvement.

Christmas, in all of its hectic glory, is my favorite time of the year. I love it, all of it, starting right from the day after Thanksgiving, where we have traditionally been cutting down our own tree since I can remember getting a tree. My dad would pack us up into the car, usually bundled up in our snow suits, boots, gloves, the whole nine yards, and we would make the trip to Wilmington. Tannenberry Tree farm our destination, giddy with excitement for the start of the Christmas season. What kid doesn't love the anticipation of Christmas and the hopes of the tree flying off the roof of the car on the way home? I know I secretly prayed for it to happen many a time. Please, please let it fly off, just this once, just so I can see what will happen. It almost happened once, shifting from side to side, flapping in the wind. We pulled over and my dad really got it tied down. Damn, no flying tree this year and we were sooooo close. I remember another year, it could easily have been the year after the close call, where my dad tied the tree onto the roof so good that we couldn't open the doors to get in the car. Yes, he tied the rope through the windows before we got in. It was awesome. I sit here giggling to myself with this wonderful memory of all of us climbing into the car through the hatch back. Thank God for hatch backs! Another one I will never forget is when he got the car stuck in the mud, got out to push and put my sister, yes, my little sister in charge of giving it gas when he said to. (I am in full hysterics right now typing.) I must ask, what grown man puts a maybe 10 or 12 year old in charge of giving a stuck in the mud car gas? Yes, my father. Needless to say, he said gas and she gunned it. Imagine (hysterical tears laughing and typing) my father, pushing with all his might, my sister in the front seat with the petal to the metal, one final word, mud. Yes, mud flew off the spinning tires with such force that my father was covered head to toe in pure mud. This scene in my memory puts any comedy movie to shame. I just need to take this moment and thank my dad for all of these wonderful Christmas tree hunting memories that I will absolutely cherish forever. Dad, since you don't have a computer and most likely will never own one, you will probably never read this, but thank you. Thank you for this wonderful tradition that I now share with my own children. Hopefully someday they too will have these memories to cherish forever.

We would bring our tree home with such excitement and show it to my mom and she would say how nice it was and then we would put it up in the tree stand that she has had since childhood. I secretly, well not so secretly now, pray that she passes that thing down to me someday. We would put all of our ornaments on that tree. Tons of them. I loved it. The gaudier the better. Imagine that, me liking gaudy. Hmmm. Back to the Christmas stories. There are so many things I remember from my childhood about Christmas.

The caroling mice that my great aunts made, that hung from the curling ribbon my mom tied to them, to the box from Philly that they would send, packed with the BEST cookies ever and the hand knitted gifts, many of which my children now use and wear, and other trinkets. The arrival of that box on our doorstep was such an excitement and even though we would get to eat the cookies right away, we always had to wait until Christmas morning to open the gifts they sent.

The smell of the log cabin incense burner, the plastic holly wreath, the decorations hanging in the half wall, the fantastic hand knitted stockings, that I wish I had for my family now, that came from my aunts in Philly, the train that my mom had from under her childhood Christmas tree, you could put in tablets to make smoke from the engine and the log car would actually throw the logs, the way it would spark when it went off the track and the burning electric smell the conductor handles would make when it was getting hot, the lights my mom would hang in our windows, the manger we would set up on the round table in the corner, just everything! I loved it all and still do. Call me sentimental, but what better time than Christmas for sentimental feelings?

I want my children to have these same wonderful memories of all of the fun and excitement and wonder of Christmas, which leads me to baking. I still remember getting to smash the potato chips for the potato chip cookies or helping stir in chocolate chips and begging for dough, so I thought it would be nice to decorate cookies with my kids.

Take that Martha!

I am going to admit to the truth right now. I am not even going to try and pass these cookies off as mine because they are not. I bought them. Yes, me, the baker, bought cookies to decorate. Now, before anyone gets all up on their high horse, they did need to be baked, which I did wonderfully. I am a firm believer that if you put them on the tray and put them in the oven, then by God, you made them. The hard part was just done for me. You know the rolling and cutting out of the dough. Yeah, that is a step I will admit that I HATE! So when I was shopping and saw these wonderful little cut outs it was like a glorious light came down from heaven and in the spirit of Christmas, the angels sang. AAAAAHHHHHH! There they were, so I bought them, put them on the cookie sheets and baked them and I don't feel one ounce of guilt about it, so there.

Here is what we did: