I realised when I was baking gingerbread a couple of weeks ago that I miss Christmas preparations with my children. Baking gingerbread: you really need many hands, so that hot oven doesn't wait empty. Tray after tray, rolling the dough, cutting the cookies. We had lots of small funny cutters: stars and moons and fir-trees and pigs and elk. Pigs we most popular, and the kids used to fight for them. They also used to eat the dough, and I pretended I didn't see. Then we would select a pile that were “burned” or “ugly” or “failed” to eat at once. The same with saffron buns. We used to make different figures that all have special names in Swedish; then the kids would fight over who should put in raisins. We would listed to Christmas songs on CD and sings ourselves. We would also take out the decorations, candlesticks, wreaths. Of course I do it now too, but it's not the same. And to be quite honest: it's not that I miss baking itself. I miss the children being small.