{the wonder of Christmas Tree Cakes}

Every year at Christmas time, my mom bought special little cakes, Christmas Tree Cakes, that were only on the shelves for the holiday season. I remember eating them through the days leading up to Christmas, one nibble at a time, savoring each and every bite, trying to eat the edges last because they had the most frosting.

 I remember getting one in my stocking every year, even though we already had them in the pantry. That was an extra present full of love from Mom, because she knew how much I love them. 

Now-a-days the cakes are much smaller than they used to be, because the shape has changed from a triangular tree to one with branches. And they only come with five in a box. Occasionally I find a special box with an accidental sixth one inside, and that gets me all excited.

Last year I almost panicked, because I couldn't find them at any of the stores down here. And then one day I finally found them at the Dollar General up the road, and I was so very happy. 

And then for my last birthday, I didn't have a cake, but that was okay. Because my sister sent me a birthday box, and what was in it? A Christmas Tree Cake that she had hoarded for me. And it was okay that it was a little mashed, because I think I like them mashed a little better than whole. When they're mashed all the icing will just fall off in your hands and then you get to lick it up. 

Mechanic Man, and some others, say they're no big deal. He eats them in four bites, and then moves on to other snacks as I sit there and nibbles, lingering in the taste and texture. "It's just a Zebra Cake in the shape of a tree," he says. 

I beg to differ. For Zebra Cakes don't have red garland that make stripes on your fingers. They don't have sprinkles to dot your hands with green {and you'd better eat all the sprinkles, even the ones that fall off the tree}. They aren't shaped with all those crannies that the icing gets stuck in. Zebra Cakes just don't hold wonder. 

Christmas Tree Cakes do. And I think it's mostly the memories they remind me of. That my mom would get them every year just because she knew I liked them. She would buy them for as long as she could, and I remember one year she had hidden a box from unappreciative eaters until late January and then shared them with me, and we enjoyed them together. 

So thanks, Ma, for buying me Christmas Tree Cakes every year, and making it a Christmas tradition for me.