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the Gingerbread Man


My mother always had a Gingerbread Man for me during the holiday season. Her recipe was my Gramma’s, Swedish pepparkakar, who got it from her mother. Now that I’m the Mommy, it’s my turn to fill our house with the smell of Gingerbread Men (and my children’s turn to squirt icing into their mouths whenever I turn my back!) We mixed, rolled, cut, baked, decorated and wrapped two batches of Gingerbread Men, and tomorrow we’ll deliver these:


My children refused to let me draw a smile on their Gingerbread Man this year. They said it’s simply too hard to eat him when he’s smiling at them.


When it wasn’t Christmas, my Gramma was in her kitchen baking donuts or Swedish cinnamon rolls. Several times during my youth, I copied notes for those recipes as best I could while she worked. I know my mother and sister did the same. Gramma would add flour “until it feels right” and throw in a few drops of heavy cream “if it needs it.” I was telling my daughter this story, and how disappointed I am that I just can’t get Gramma’s cinnamon rolls right, and I’m so disappointed that my children will never taste them. Alexis ran off and came back awhile later with this very precious gift for me, the recipe for Mommy’s Mommy’s Mommy’s cinnamon rolls, and I’ve been waiting for Christmas to share it with Grandma and Aunt Cynthia: