When I was growing up, I always gave my mom an apron(围裙)on her birthday．I wanted my own mom- 1 that apron I'd just given her, of course-to 2 me at the end of each afternoon bearing a plate of home-baked 3 as she waited breathlessly to hear about my 4 day at school．
Mom loved her family without question, but as an elementary-school teacher she had her own exciting days to 5 ．She had hardly any extra time and 6 , and home-baked treats were rare in our house except 7 very special occasions．Since Mom didn't make cookies very often, the 8 of her baking were not always the same．Sometimes the cookies were browned a little more than planned or 9 together and other times the cookies weren't smooth． 10 , none of that bothered anyone in the family．All we 11 was swallowing whatever we were having for dinner that night so we could get to the cookies 12 us on the kitchen counter．
Now that I'm a mom myself, I can 13 all too well why my mother didn't always have the time to wear the apron．As was true with my mother, the list of things I need to do is often 14 than the day itself．But I also understand the desire to 15 the same yellow mixing bowl my mother used and make something special for my family every so often．Whatever I bake is met with approval, appreciation and good 16 by my husband and children．At some level, I believe they're 17 that I was thinking about them as I 18 the brown sugar into the butter or frosted the cake with their favorite kind of icing．They always know I love them．I 19 they know it a little better when I'm in a baking mood．
I'm sure my mother felt 20 the same way whenever she made cookies for us．Those cookies will always, in my mind, be the best treat．
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