We used to make huge batches of them. Most to eat ourselves and a few to give away.* My mom--who makes cookies unlike any others I've tasted--would make the dough and put it in the refrigerator to cool and set (and I would steal pieces of the dough while it was in there). Then, we'd spend hours making the perfect cookies. Elaborate, fancy, beautiful cookies. My mom's were always the best. Mine always seemed to take the longest. And my sister hated doing cookies. I don't know why, but we never could get her to do her part. My dad came to do his required one cookie. Listening to Christmas music while the tree twinkled and we decorated and ate cookies and drank cider... that was Christmas.
The last couple of years I've had a cookie decorating party for a bunch of friends. This year with everything else going on we didn't make time. So I made a small batch at the first of December but had friends over the next day who ate them all.** I tried to make more earlier this week and they flopped. I don't know why, but they were terrible. Before we could throw them away the dog ate them--which is a whole 'nother story.
I'm looking forward to Christmas at my sister's house in Seattle. My mom promised to have un-decorated cookies waiting. And I can't wait.
*C'mon... it's Christmas. Eating cookies was an institution at our house.
** Yes, I'm whining. I'm very territorial about my cookies.