My daughter Angela’s only child, 5-year-old Austin, spent the greater part of a Saturday morning begging her to make Christmas cookies.
Saturday mornings, however, are reserved for laundry, grocery shopping and catching up on chores.
Austin was having none of that. He talked the entire time at the grocery store about making Christmas cookies as soon as they got home. He was disappointed when the groceries were put away and his mom started on the laundry.
Angela kept putting Austin off, saying they would make cookies after lunch.
Austin busied himself with cartoons on TV. Lunch came and went, and Angela brought the clean clothes to her room to fold.
Austin came in several times asking about the cookies. Each time, Angela told him “in a minute.”
Austin returned to watch more cartoons.
His mom peeked in once to make sure all was well and continued with the clothes.
Silence is what most parents do not want to hear. And it wasn’t quiet.
But Angela thought nothing of hearing a kitchen cabinet door and a drawer being opened and closed.
She didn’t think anything when she heard the bathroom door opening and closing. In fact, she instructed Austin to make sure he washed his hands. She heard the running water in the bathroom, but, again, it didn’t raise any alarms.
Thinking Austin was still watching cartoons, Angela completed the laundry and was getting ready to vacuum when she realized she hadn’t heard Austin in a while. She thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep watching TV.
Austin was anything but asleep.
He was on the couch with a bowl of water perched on the pull-down drink holder. A whisk in one hand and a bottle of talcum powder in the other, he was busy mixing the powder into the water.
Afraid she might startle him, causing him to dump the mixture all over the couch, she calmly asked what he was doing.
“I’m making Christmas cookies, Mom,” he said proudly.
Angela didn’t want to laugh — the “cookie” mixture was still in its precarious position — so she asked Austin if she could take his cookies to the kitchen so they could work on them.
Austin’s bowl of “cookies” went into the sink and out came the butter to make real Christmas cookies.
I do not think Angela or I will ever forget Austin’s Christmas cookie recipe.
Advocate readers may submit stories of no more than 500 words to the Human Condition at email@example.com or The Advocate, EatPlayLive, 7290 Bluebonnet Blvd., Baton Rouge, LA 70810. There is no payment, and stories will be edited.