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As Sunday dawns, I do a mental inventory of all the things we still need to do.  Even with our best intentions, we missed our deadline.  We failed to take Mary her first present yesterday.  I was so busy preparing for our little dinner last night that I completely forgot to have the kids visit her with her gift.  Today, we need to package the remaining gifts for her so that we won’t be late delivering any more of them. 

We also need to do some more baking and create the Christmas cards that will accompany all our gifts for our friends.  I also need to do a little shopping by myself.  I have a couple of hours before we need to leave for church, so I head to the store hoping to pick up some stocking stuffers.  I’m running out of time.  I know that New Year’s Eve is still a couple weeks away, but I’ve got a lot to accomplish before then. 

Next weekend is going to be crazy busy.  My older kids have two musical performances on Thursday and Friday night.  Then, the Snow Ball is Saturday night.  Then we’ll have only three days before our big Christmas Eve gathering.  Followed by Christmas morning brunch and Christmas dinner later in the day.  So much to prepare for. 

I take a deep breath and look forward to shopping for my kids.

––

“Janna?  Do you want to help me bake some gingersnaps to send to Grandpa?” I ask my daughter after lunch.

I’m thankful that we finally have a day that we’re not running around all day long.  Yes, we did make our way to church this morning, but the whole afternoon and evening are mine to do with as I want.  I love Sunday for that reason.  I’m free to do as I please. 

As long as you ignore the pile of laundry waiting to be tossed into the washing machine.   And the fact that six, seven, or eight hungry mouths are depending on me to feed them some dinner.  Ah, but Lyric did follow us home from church, so perhaps I won’t have to cook dinner after all.  I could get used to this.  I wonder what he’s hiding in that backpack today.

“Honestly, Mom, I’m exhausted.  I just want to take a break.  It feels like we’ve been busy for six weeks.”

“That’s because we have been busy for six weeks,” I sigh.  “All right.  You all just lay around watching TV, and I’ll make the cookies by myself.”

“That doesn’t sound like any fun, Mom,” Kookie comments as he enters the kitchen.  He steps up behind me and leans over to rest his chin on my shoulder while peering down at the recipe card in my hand. 

I smile as I turn my head towards his.  I plant a kiss on his cheek.  “Did you want to help me, Kooks?”

He flashes his grin at me.  “Can I eat some of the cookies?”

“But, of course,” I respond emphatically.

“Hey!” Janna exclaims.  “You didn’t tell me there were rewards!”

“There are always rewards to baking in my kitchen,” I murmur mysteriously.

“Did I hear something about cookies and rewards?” Lyric asks as he too enters the room.  “What can I do to help?”

“I’m making gingersnaps.”

“Gingersnaps?  Those sound an awful lot like gingerbread cookies.  Are they?” Lyric’s eyes are shining with hope.

“Not exactly, but they’re delicious too.  And the flavors are very similar.”

“They’re better than gingerbread,” Janna chimes in.

“Then I am definitely helping you,” Lyric asserts.

“Great.  Why don’t you and Kookie make them?  He knows how to.”

“You’re trusting me with your recipe, Mom?” my eldest son asks in surprise.

“You know what to do.  Make the dough and pop it in the fridge.  Then, once it’s firm, roll the dough into inch-sized balls and roll them in sugar.  Place them on the cookie sheet and flatten them with the bottom of a glass.  Remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kookie mutters.

“I’ll supervise,” Janna offers.

“Perfect.  We’ll have a large batch of cookies in no time.”  I smile at my little troop.  Once again, I don’t have to bake.

“Go enjoy yourself, Mom.  Read a book.  Watch a Christmas movie.  You’re hogging all that space on the DVR with the dozen you’ve recorded this year but haven’t watched yet.  I think Dad is about to start deleting them,” she warns me.

“In that case, I’m off to the living room to find the remote control.”

I was joking, but it proves to be more elusive than I planned for.  Frustrated, I begin to shove my hand down the cracks of the couch.  Where exactly did my loving children hide it?

“Guys!  Where is the remote for the TV?” I call.

“It’s right here, Mrs. Franklin,” Lyric comes to my rescue a few moments later as he enters the living room.  He bends over and picks up the remote from the floor right next to the loveseat.  It was hidden behind the little table leg.

“Oh!  Thank you, Lyric!  Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Mmm.  Play the saxophone.”

“Why not?”

“It hurts my mouth.”

“Wait.  You mean, you actually can play the saxophone?”

He shrugs.  “A little.  But I gave up on it.  The piano is much more forgiving.”

“Indeed,” I murmur as he heads back into the kitchen.

I collapse onto my recliner and push the button to turn on the television set.  A few moments later, I’ve located an adorable Christmas movie, but as I watch it, I have to admit that it’s not nearly as adorable as the two teenage boys being bossed around by my only daughter.