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I am the last to head to bed.  I still have several gifts to wrap. 

“Off to bed with you two,” I shoo Kookie and Janna towards their rooms. 

Janna goes willingly enough.  But Kookie lingers in the living room.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” I quirk an eyebrow at him as I wait to see what excuse he’ll use to stay up.

“Do you need help wrapping anything?”

My heart melts as I take in his earnest expression.

“I know you always save a few things to wrap on Christmas after midnight.  I don’t want you to be up half the night.”

“Kookie,” my voice caresses him.  “Who’s the parent here?”

“Hey, sometimes you need one,” he murmurs softly.

My lips quirk upward as he surprises a chuckle out of me.

“Too true.  But just so you know, I don’t save presents to wrap on Christmas morning.  I’m just too busy to get it all done.”

“Yeah, Mom.  I’ve noticed.  That’s another thing we need to discuss….” He bends a mock stern gaze on me.

“Oh?  And what would you suggest we give up?  Black Friday shopping?  A Christmas tree?  Buying presents for families in need?”

“Well, for starters, how about we stop giving everyone in the world a tin of Christmas goodies?”

“What?”  I stare at him in horror.

“Just cut down on the quantity then,” he softens his tone.  “They could all survive on one pound of sugar instead of two.”  There’s that lopsided grin again.  The one he knows I can’t resist.

I just shake my head.  “All right.  You have a point there.  I just…”

“Like to bless people.  I know, Mom.  But you’re important too.  I need you to take care of yourself.  So,” his eyebrows slap his bangs, “what can I wrap?”

“Actually, I have to make the cinnamon rolls first.”

“What?”  He gazes at me like I’m certifiably insane.

“What?” I echo him but in a completely different tone of voice.  “You want to eat cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning, right?”

“Sure.  But…why didn’t you make them earlier?”

“I didn’t have room in the fridge for them.  Nor did I have the time to make them.  Today – in case you hadn’t noticed – was a very busy day in the kitchen.”

“And at the hospital,” he nods.  “Okay, okay, I see why you don’t have it done.  Can I help you before we wrap the presents?”

I bob my head up and down.

“Is this the recipe with the cake mix?”

“You got it.”

“I certainly do.  I’ll run downstairs and grab one.  Do you need anything else from the pantry?”

“Maybe flour.  Check the container in the kitchen first.  We need five cups of flour, a yellow cake mix, and two packets of yeast.”

“That’s it?”

“We add two and half cups of hot water, mix it all together using the stand mixer, and then scrape the dough into a greased bowl.  We cover it with greased plastic wrap or a wet towel for an hour and then roll the dough out to cut out the cinnamon rolls.”

“We have to let the mixer knead the dough for a few minutes, right?”

“Just a couple – that’s the plus side of having a stand mixer – then into the bowl it goes for rising.”

“Mom, I can do this.”

“Sure, you can.  It’s easy.  I’ll pull out the recipe for you.”

He checks the flour container before running downstairs to grab a yellow cake mix.

Pretty soon, he’s heating water in the microwave – brave, fearless Kookie! – and mixing the flour, cake mix, and yeast all together in the big bowl of my stand mixer.  He pours in the hot water a couple of minutes later after making sure its temperature falls between one hundred twenty and one hundred thirty degrees.  Fahrenheit, of course.  He lets the mixer knead the dough for a couple minutes before transferring it all to a greased bowl.  He covers it and glances my way.

“All done, Mom.”  He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a pound of butter.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“It’s the butter for the frosting and to spread on the inside of the cinnamon rolls.  It needs to soften.”

“Ah, yes.  You must have read the whole recipe.  Good job.”  I smile at my endearing son.  “Come on.  I stashed all the gifts we need to wrap in the basement.  Let’s grab some tape and scissors and get to work.”

“What?  No presents for me?” he asks jokingly.

“Absolutely not.  Once you turn sixteen, you don’t need gifts anymore.  Right?”  I flash my teeth at him.

His eyes widen in mock horror.  “Mom, that is absolutely not true.  In fact, I would say that when you turn sixteen you need more presents.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” I snicker.  “Good thing for you that I did buy you a gift or two then.”

His eyes brighten.  “Do I get a sneak peek if I help you?”

“Absolutely not.  I’ve already wrapped all of yours.”

His face falls.  “Oh, well.  It was worth a try.”

“Do you still want to help me?” I ask as a laugh vibrates along my vocal cords.

“Of course, Mom,” he gives me a bland expression.

“Come on, my adorable son.  We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“A lot?” he queries as a look of concern ripples across his face.

“Yep.  You have four siblings, you know.  And a father.”

I turn to collect two pairs of scissors while he grabs a dispenser full of tape.  We have a happy hour of gift-wrapping ahead of us.  For once, I don’t have to do it alone.

I spend a delightful hour chatting with my eldest son as we prepare an array of gorgeously dressed presents for his siblings.  Then we both head to the kitchen to roll out some dough.  After splitting our dough into two batches, we each roll out a large rectangle of dough, slather it in butter, sprinkle it with brown sugar and cinnamon, and then roll it up before slicing each log into sixteen equal slices.  We stow the cinnamon rolls in three greased nine-inch-by-thirteen-inch pans, cover them with plastic wrap that I hit with a little spray of oil, and stash them in the fridge.  Then we head to bed for a few hours of sleep before Christmas morning greets us with all its manifold glories.