Another Christmas Tale

Okay, so I know my dad reads my blog, or at least promised he'd start. Hi, Dad. This one's for you. :)

One year, when I was about five and my little sister was two, we arranged ahead of time to make gingerbread cookies with my mom. We were industrious tots, and I at least was determined to have enough cookies to last us through the winter. (I suspect my parents habit of referring to each other in bear-related pet names had something to do with this, but I digress...) We made a double batch of my mom's gingerbread cookies, which are one of the things about the holiday season that I absolutely love.

Actually, food in general is one of the biggest things I love about the holidays, but, again, I digress.

We made the aforementioned cookies on Christmas Eve, because, well, Santa needs fresh cookies to keep him going - it's cold and (in Oregon) rainy out there. We left him quite a few, because of course the reindeer would be wanting cookies too, and I for one was not going to see Rudolph waste away! I was satisfied in my five-year-old mind that we'd left quite enough cookies for Santa and the reindeer, and wafted off to sleep convinced that cookies would be forthcoming right after (if not sneaked before) breakfast, and secure in the knowledge that loot was nigh.

Imagine my suprise the next morning, however, to find out what a greedy bastard Santa actually was. He had eaten, not only all of the many cookies my sister and I had left for him (and the milk, too), but the ENTIRE DOUBLE BATCH OF COOKIES.

All of them.

Every.

Single.

One.

Oh, there were crumbs left, of course, but not enough to even satisfy a mouse, as the Grinch story goes. I was devastated, scarred for life, and quite distraught at the wholesale carnage. The smell of them still lingered in the air, taunting us with their sweet heady aroma. I also noticed my mom and dad looking quite guilty, and I knew with the certainty only a five-year-old could possibly muster. They had failed to prevent Santa from eating all of our cookies.

I still wonder about that Christmas, you know. I can just see Santa coming in, discovering the cookies, and like a vacuum cleaner, devouring the lot with a whoosh, a chug of milk, and a twinkle in one eye. To this day, when I leave cookies for him, I hide the rest.

Just in case.

Edit: heh