Only After the Rain, Can You Deliver Cookies

Baking Christmas cookies is half the fun of the holiday season. Delivering them door-to-door is the second half.* Nothing tops the joy of traveling to all of your neighbors, or at least all the ones that gave you baked goods first, and handing them a plate full of cookies and calories while flanked by three smiling children. Yep, nothing can beat that experience, although trying to do it on a cold, rainy night can beat the joy out of the experience.

A couple nights ago, we had three families arrive at our door baring treats. That, more than the calendar, was my cue to get my butt in gear and spread some cheer. I spent the next 24 hours finishing my baking, rolling out the last kringla, and sprinkling sprinkles across the frosting of the last cupcake. I filled the plates, attached the cards, and watched the rain fall outside.

It had been raining most of the day, which is unusual for Iowa in December. Generally when precipitation falls, it comes in the form of a beautiful snowfall, or at least a freezing rain that looks pretty until tree limbs and power lines snap under the ice’s weight. We’ve experienced a mild winter with high temperatures regularly reaching the 40’s and nary a snowflake in sight. This would be great news in January, but not in December when I’m looking for something to get me in the holiday mood besides the Christmas music the stores have been playing since mid-November. Maybe it’s global warming in effect,** or perhaps God is taunting me.

As the puddles deepened outside our door, I considered postponing my treat delivery. The weather would probably be better tomorrow, plus I would have to take the kids into the rain since Ellie was working. I set the treats in their plastic-wrapped plates on the table, and started cleaning.

No sooner had I grabbed a sponge than Abbie wandered into the kitchen, perhaps summoned by the frosting, and started poking the cupcakes. I moved one plate back from the edge, and Abbie found another one to poke. I quickly realized that we have no surface in this house beyond Abbie’s reach large enough to accommodate every treat plate. I pulled out the stroller, bundled up the kids, and went into the neighborhood despite the rain, or “light mist” as I deluded myself into decreeing it.

Every family we visited remarked at how, um, brave we must be for going out in this weather. I explained at every house that delivering the treats tonight was the only way to ensure no one would have fingerprints in their cupcakes. The one house that I didn’t have to explain myself had no one home. I slipped the treats inside a plastic bag for protection and left because there was no way I was going out again in this cold mist.

I kept us moving, and the deliveries took about 15 minutes. Everyone was cold and wet by the time we returned, but I was unconcerned since it was bath night and I was about to strip everyone anyway. I shuffled everyone inside, halfway folded up the stroller so we could store it while it dried, and ran the bath. At first I was unsure if I made the right decision to go out, but Abbie validated my choice by snitching a cupcake before the tub was full. Then Ian grabbed a handful of frosting off the cupcake. At least it was bath night.

* Eating them is the third half.
** I’ve heard Al Gore wrote a scintillating book about this phenomenon that’s not hypocritically preachy in any way, shape, or form.