After Rowan got back from the hospital, it got harder and harder for me to find things that he could do with the boys. When the first snowfall came the boys all wanted to build a snowman.
I let Rowan go out with them, and they built a small snowman. The boys decided to have a snowball fight so I brought Rowan inside. I looked back and saw him, his little tear-streaked face watching his brothers play.
I could have cried. Instead, however, I called him into the kitchen, wiped the tears off his cheeks, and handed him my recipe book.
"Are-Are w-we making christmas cookies?" I could have cried just from hearing his voice so full of such fragile hope.
"Of course we are!" Rowans face lit up. In our house, momma Christie cooked, and I baked. And it was well known by our children, whoever baked cookies with me got two of what my children considered the greatest things in the world. Firstly they got to lick the batter off the various cooking implements. And secondly, they got to decorate cookies.
Rowan got to lick the spatula and he let Emmy lick the spoon. And by time the cookies had cooled, the boys had come in. So I let every one decorate
and eat one cookie and I put the rest in the jar undecorated. Because really, you can only clean so much icing off the ceiling before it becomes a right pain in the- er... buttock.