What if they liked them and thought I was searching for compliments?
What if they didn’t?
So the cookies stayed at my desk.
I opened it up and handed it to Danny. “Have as many as you like.”
He picked up a cookie and took a bite, and his eyes lit up in surprise. “These are good.” He reached in and grabbed two more. “My grandma tries to make cookies,” he mumbled between bites, “but I think she tries to sneak veggies in them, ’cause they taste weird, and she burns them.” He scrunched up his nose. “My dad will sometimes buy cookies though.”
I nodded. “Well, I am glad you like them. I love to make cookies, but I have no one to eat them.” I sighed.
His forehead crinkled in thought. “Well, my dad and I always eat the cookies he buys.” He shrugs. “We could eat them.”
I chuckled. This adorable boy’s logic was sound.
“All right, you finish those cookies there so you don’t get crumbs everywhere. I’m going to keep working on the room. Once you are done, you can help.”
He quickly shoved the remaining two cookies into his mouth. “I’m ready. What can I do?” Crumbs fell to the floor as he tried to keep the cookies inside his mouth.
I looked around to see what Danny could help with safely. “How about you hold the strand of snowflakes and I can staple them up high?”
He stood tall. “I’m tall for a second grader.”
“True.” I slipped my shoes off. “I’m short for a grown up, so that might come in handy.”
He followed me over to my chair. “It’s probably because my dad is tall so it’s in my garnetics.”
I smiled at his pronunciation of genetics. He used the most adult words sometimes. “I’m sure you’re right.” I steadied myself as I stood on the seat of the chair. “Okay, will you hand me a snowflake?”
“This one?” He grabbed a snowflake off the ground.
“Yep.”
We worked like this for a bit. Me reaching to my tallest and stapling and then moving my chair, and Danny holding thesnowflakes as high as his arms could stretch. He hummed “Frosty the Snowman.”
“Do you like Christmas music?” I asked as I stapled another snowflake.
“Yep.” Danny bobbed his head to his song.
“Me too.”
“We’re going to get a Christmas tree tomorrow.”
I stretched and stapled another snowflake. “Fun, like at the Merc?” The mercantile store was an eclectic mix of hardware, farm tools, seasonal decorations, alcohol, groceries, and, at times, questionable bulk sales. I’m still questioning last year’s bulk onion sale. What would someone do with forty pounds of onions?
Growing up, Christmas trees showed up at my house, huge, fake, and pre-decorated. The Merc had real trees for sale this year, and I wanted to get one.
Last year, Rose and I borrowed one of her family’s old fake trees for fun, and it was my favorite part of Christmas. Decorating the tree and putting on the lights was my favorite part. It felt like magic.
“Nope.” Danny picked up another snowflake as I moved the chair. “Dad takes the truck to the mountains, and we cut it down, plus we get one for grandma.”
“Huh?” I had never thought of getting a Christmas tree that way, but I immediately wanted to try. “That sounds awesome! Where do you go?”
“I dunno, a mountain.” He shrugged and handed me another snowflake.
I chuckled. “Fair.”
A thumping sound came from down the hall, and a six-plus-foot man sprinted into my classroom, eyes searching desperately until they landed on Danny. I saw his shoulders crumple as Adam rushed over and pulled Danny into a big hug, anxiety and worry rolling off of him.
