The table cloth drapes over the old course wooden table like the snow covering the ground. The little rickety stool that called out to us kids was finally mine.

The static from my grandpa’s television echos through the house and the cheering of his low voice reverberates as he watches a replay Cardinals game. I had waited seven years to make these cookies and this moment was finally here.

I watch as my eight year old cousin scales the chair climbing into it slowly, sitting  up on her knees so she could rest her arms on the table. We stare into each others wonderfilled green and brown eyes as we wait for grandma to finish mixing the ingredients.

My grandma's soft hums fill the kitchen as she worked, I look around seeing all the kitchen utensils that hug on the walls and the olive colored wallpaper that was slowly peeling off the wall. She had always been such a hard worker and I wanted to be just like her. She showed us how to knead the dough, we watch as her course hands knead the soft dough, and it looks as if she did this everyday. Abby and I try to mimic her step by step but no matter how are we try we were not as smooth as she was.

The warmth of the oven fills the kitchen as we finish cutting out the shapes of snowman and candy canes. The aroma of sugar cookies fills the whole house and it was not long until all ten of the kids are on out tiptoes around the table, the parents lingering in the living room pretending to watch the game but they just wanted my grandma's sugar cookies.