Spritz

I jump up and down,
while you get out the ingredients,
Then stand up on the step
and pour in all the components.
I crack an egg,
but the shell falls into the batter.
You don’t care, you just pick it out with a smile.
I breathe in the sweet smell of your kitchen
and do my happy dance,
then grab the mixer and flick it on.
While blending,
I almost give the kitchen a new paint job,
but you turn it off before that happens.
I leap off the step,
skip to the pantry,
and dance back holding the signature tool-
the old and green “Spritz” gun,
grimy with years of cookies.
I pick out my favorite shape-
the star.
You help me load the cylinder,
and I get to work.
I press the button
with precision for each cookie.
But, I occasionally hold too long,
and we both laugh as I stuff
the cookie dough into my tiny mouth.
I sprinkle whatever I can find onto the cookies-
red hots,
sprinkles,
or even colored sugar.
We bake the treats and leave
them out for Santa.
You smile, and I jump into your loving arms.

But, even better than Santa’s arrival
Is your willingness to entertain me.
Thank you