The Cookie Queen

“It’s like a chocolate fountain in my mouth!” Lindsay said.

My mom’s smile stretched ear to ear while her eyes were wide with wonder. Her face was glowing as bright as the Christmas tree star.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she remarked, “just a little something I threw together last minute.”

I knew better. The cookie queen was a passionate artist. She was truly set apart.

“These grinches are too cute!” Debbie said.

The parade of praises marched around the dining room. Elsa, Charlie Brown, Baby Jesus, and Elf on the Shelf were among those who were magically displayed in cookie form.

I walked down the hall to the bathroom, and my nose tickled in a disturbing way. My feet heroically pounded into the kitchen. Smoke gushed out of the oven.

“Mom!” I desperately cried. “I need you in the kitchen! Now!”

My head hung down. I stared at the disaster. The cookies were burnt.

“Oh no,” she gasped, “What will I do?” Her hazel eyes overflowed with tears.

I inhaled every possible creative particle that my mother had ever breathed out. After ten minutes, I gently grasped her arm and led her into the living room. The Polar Express movie was playing on the television.

“Kids,” I announced, “I need your help! The train needs more coal to get to the North Pole.”

My mom proudly watched as all the grandchildren picked up the coal cookies and dropped them into buckets.

Dominic, my nephew, jumped up and yelled, “All aboard!”

Lauren, my niece, fell over laughing then screamed, “Get on the train!”

After they were done, my mom said, “You all must be tired from working on the railroad. Here is some milk and marshmallows.”

The three marshmallows were small, medium, and large forming a snow man. It wasn’t milk and cookies as previously planned, but no one cared. Baked into every cookie, whether burnt or not, is warmth, love, laughter, and memories.