Today was our family cookie bake. It proved to be a very long day, our yield kissing the 1,000-cookie count.

Kickboxing left-hooked and jabbed me awake after my alarm sounded startlingly early. We were to arrive at my grandmother's house at 8:30. I finished my morning routine, discussed with Dad the outcome of a certain trial (and disparaged that a man should be condemned on so little definitive evidence while OJ remains a free man), and deigned to find my inner cookie-maker.

It was not an easy task. I'm not much of a cookie eater these days. I make a mean cookie—indeed, way back in the winter of 2002, I made such wonderful cookies that Miles and I felt the need to sport an extra 15 pounds to boast of their goodness. I haven't made cookies since. I'm too skilled for my own good. You shouldn't abuse your power.

Anyway, while I was eager to spend the day with my father's family, I was not so eager to spend a day in Grandma's saccharine-saturated condo.

We trudged out to the car, prepared dough and vegetable tray in hand. The cold, glum morning beckoned us to stay indoors, but my Midwestern parents have both grown immune to such inclinations...inclinations such as warmth. I had no choice but to follow, scuffing my shoes all the way.

We arrived at Grandma's, the first to do so. There were festively covered tables scattered across the rooms. Surfaces of red and green, snowmen and santas—surfaces begging to be smothered with cookies. First things first: dad prepared a pot of coffee. He and I, we haggled over the amount of coffee to add to the contraption. We compromised, giving each other dirty looks as it brewed. His gaze seemed to taunt, "You sissy. You're weak....WEAK!"

Mine returned defiantly, "Wanna make something of it, old man!?"

The family began arriving, genial and bouncy. After some requisite chatter, we rolled up our sleeves and set to cookie making! Man!—we were on fire! We danced from foot to foot as the excitement emanated from our toes, inundating the kitchen with a hyper glee. For fifteen long minutes we continued on this way, shuffling to the beat of cheer, liberating colored sugar to roam the air—when we remembered that this day of cookie making was going to require hard work.

To Be Continued...