It was almost Christmas. My mom was beginning her cookie baking. I was able to smell the aroma of the numerous flavors permeating trough the air. My only thought was, is she making my favorite, peppermint with white chocolate. I strolled downstairs and nonchalantly went up behind her.
“What are you doing?” She asked while I was peeking over her shoulder.
“I was checking to see if you're making the peppermint cookies,” I said.
“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. I have to go to work soon.”
I was pretty upset. I wanted to steal some of those cookies. I have to sneak them because mom will not let anyone touch them until Christmas Eve. She sets them up on the table organized perfectly on trays for when the company gets here. I always wait until she is engrossed in something else and swipe a couple.
This time I had to wait. It killed me. The next day came and she still hadn't started to bake them yet. Before I had a chance to say anything, she said, “I made some for your brother. I have to work again today.”
“Really, mom. I am disappointed. I can't believe that you made him cookies and not me.” I said.
I really wanted some of those cookies. She was getting ready to leave for work. She looked at me and said, “If you want some peppermint cookies that bad you can make some.”
“I don't how to make them,” I said.
She laid a recipe on the counter. To me, it was like reading a foreign language.
She explained to me how to mix the ingredients, “You put the egg, oil, sugar, and peppermint extract in a bowl and mix it until it's smooth. Then, add the flour and baking powder. After that, add the white chocolate chips. Spoon on the pan and bake for 6 to 10 min. at 350. Do not let them cook any longer they will burn,” she said.
Everything that she said flew over my head like a flock of birds, “I'll try,” I said.
I began my endeavor in making these delicious little tyrants. I followed the recipe and tried to remember what she told me. I put the liquid ingredients in the bowl and grabbed the electric mixer. It was going at jet speed and I lowered it into the bowl. Suddenly, the concoction acted as flies. I managed to finish the dough. It looked pretty good to me.
I spooned it onto the cookie sheet and put them in the oven at 350. I kinda forgot to watch the time on the first batch. I smelled something burning and ran to the kitchen. Yep, it was my cookies. I thought to myself, “am I gonna be able to do this.”
It was time for round two of myself versus the sneaky little dough balls. I placed more on the tray and put those in the oven. Guess what? I timed it this time around. As soon as 6 minutes hit, I was at that oven like a wolf on its prey. I pulled them out and they were perfectly cooked. The house had the scent of peppermint all over.
Of course, I had to eat one of these delicious treasures while they were warm. To my amazement they were good. I couldn't believe that I actually made these by myself. Needless to say, I did get the cookies done.  The kitchen, on the other hand, was not in such good shape. It was so messy that I needed a bulldozer to clean the heavy stuff off of the floor. Once that was done, I used a shovel and pickax to get the stuck on dough off of the counter, wall, and myself.
I didn't mind cleaning the mess from the tornado of flour and egg. I knew that when I was done cleaning the disaster, I would get to eat the awesomeness that I worked so hard to bake.