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{From now until the new year I am sharing daily vignettes from 2014 as I attempt to share some of my stories and photos from this year}

I grew up in a little brick house that sat on the edge of a big green field. It was an old and ordinary place, with yellow carpet that must have seemed groovy in the 70s and a big bay window that encompassed thirty percent of the living room wall. The couch was pushed up against the window so that we could turn around, press our noses to the glass, and spy on the ever-annoying boys next door. There were five of them. And our silly faces through the window made doing outside chores pretty much impossible for them.

The Thompsons lived in the house across the field and I spent my childhood tracking across the grass and gravel that paved our house to theirs. We spent hot summer afternoons lying on the trampoline and cold winter breaks sledding down powdery mulch hills. Our beds were wagon forts we used to travel across the Wild West and our kitchens were full of homemade play-doh and chocolate pie.

We grew up and moved a few miles away and our lives became less entangled as we all got older. But the Thompson boys are still a part of our family, and Christmas without them wouldn’t be Christmas at all.

So this year, after going too long without seeing the kids we’d gotten this far through life with, Hannah and I took matters into our own hands and invited ourselves over for a cookie baking date. We all made a pact. Pajamas. Fuzzy socks. Home Alone. And every type of cookie imaginable.

We played Mariah Carey on our laptops and completely wrecked the kitchen. Snickerdoodles. Then white chocolate macadamian nut. Oh, then cream cheese icing for the red velvet cookies. And their dad would have killed us if we’d left out chocolate chip. We towered above their mom and shooed her away from the dishes but with our rumpled hair and mismatched socks we all kind of felt like kids again. Licking the batter. Singing loudly to “Santa Clause is Coming to Town.� Quoting Elf. Eating five or six or eleven cookies.

Halfway through the third batch someone turned on Home Alone. And the seven of us crowded onto two couches and complained about our stomach aches and laughed so hard they ached even more. We passed around the chocolate chippers and made another grocery store run for milk. Then their mom came out with grilled cheese sandwiches to balance the sweets and we all groaned and ate some more.

2014 was an incredible year. I saw exotic places and pet tigers and rode elephants and flew around the world and back. And I had some crazy amazing days. But this day was actually crazy amazing too. I ate cookies. I lost count of calories or decency. I stayed in my pajamas until dinnertime. I laughed until literal tears swelled in my eyes.

I’m not trying to compare it to waterfalls or island paradises, but cookie baking was perfect. I hope that one day when I tug into my memory for stories to tell my grandchildren about my childhood, I’ll remember mornings like these. When I looked awful and took very few pictures and probably needed a shower and a run and some greens while I was at it. But when I just didn’t care. I was so happy to bake and eat and laugh and just be.

And that was one of the best days of 2014.

-Rachel

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