Type-casted cookie cutters

Thickly-frosted white cookie to the right is a bunny.
Green frosted cookie is a duck with his beak pointed south.
Dog bone is self-explanatory (I hope)

Alright...I admit it. It was a little bit AFTER the holiday season was over before I finally got around to baking my Christmas cookies. But nevertheless, they DID get made. For those of you well-acquainted with me, you know this is a big accomplishment. I am not renowned for my culinary skills. Wait...scratch that. I am not renowned for my exemplary culinary skills.  I once famously cooked a ham in its plastic casing.

The thought of baking Christmas cookies causes me great angst. Anything that requires the implementation of a rolling pin makes my pupils dilate with fear. My friend, Nancy Berwanger, shared her Christmas cookie recipe years ago as our 6th grade team decided it would be an awesome idea to crank out enough cookies for the entire grade level population to frost some to take home. The recipe included buttermilk and once someone introduced me to the concept of powdered buttermilk, I was off and running. Nancy's recipe is both delicious and fool-proof (aka:  Amy-proof).

So it was that, a few weeks back, I dug out my trusty chocolate liqueur bottle that doubles as a rolling pin, and machine-gunned out six dozen cookies of assorted shapes and sizes. My family loves this part. I am the lone cookie-making gladiator to their appreciative audience in my kitchen coliseum. "Choose the rabbit," they'd roar as I reached for a cutter. "She took the duck," they declared. Camels, dog bones, and moose paraded past as my spectators screamed in laughter.

I frowned at them. As Vee DeLong's daughter, I was whimsically raised on creative cookie cutters. My mother would NOT be boxed in by a theme! Christmas at little Amy DeLong's house (I was 5' 10" tall when I was twelve, by the way) was a parade of colorful cookie creations. Abe Lincoln's profile would look patriotically over a safari-variety of animals. The map of the United States and the American flag would instill in me a strong sense of national pride as I reveled in the magic of Christmas. Why should a turkey only be associated with Thanksgiving?

So be it. If my family wanted a type-casted treat, well...that's what they were going to get. I dug through my cookie cutters, searching for a Christmasy one. Hmmm...where was Santa? Nope...no Christmas tree. Wreath? No where to be found. I spotted a star and began hammering out a spattering. "No...!" my family cried out, "We like the Christmas rabbit!" And then it dawned on me. I'd done it. My family did not associate Christmas with traditional shapes. They had grown accustomed to viewing the holiday through the eyes of an oddball. The last time I visited my mom's house, she said that I could go through her cookie cutters and take what I wanted. Don't worry, Abe...I'm coming! My mother's American Eagle is waiting for me with open wings!