For as long as I can remember, my mother, sisters and I would take one weekend in December and bake, and bake, and bake. We made banana bread, pumpkin bread, snickerdoodles, pies, glass candy, and lots and lots of fudge (we’re kind of known for our fudge). We’d turn on the Christmas carols, sing along and dance, dance, dance (be thankful there’s no video). I loved those weekends.
Even after going to college I still made it home for the baking weekend. I shared this baking weekend tradition with the girls I worked with a group home. It was an honor to share that little piece happiness with girls who had seen the worst parts of people.
The years went by and I got married. I moved five hours away from home and making the trip for baking weekend just wasn’t feasible. But I didn’t let that stop me, I started my own baking weekend. I turned on the carols and went to work making goodies for my friends.
I’m not going to lie, the past five baking weekends have been a bit lonely. I miss bumping hips with my sisters and doing the “Twist” with my mom. I miss the laughter, the out of tune singing, and the smiling until my cheeks hurt. But I’m not going to stop baking weekends, because one day my daughter will be old enough to participate in baking weekends and I’m not letting this tradition fall through the cracks before that day happens.
So I’ll keep baking and dancing and singing, because there is no way I’m going through the Christmas season without fudge.