Famous Last Words:
“How Hard Can It Be?”
Domino came home from K/1 today with an amazing gingerbread house. I precariously carried it in one hand on a slippery red plastic plate, while balancing a 40+ pound sleeping Rascal and the “Wednesday Envelope” (important school paperwork for the week) in the other arm. I drove home with the gingerbread house placed very carefully on the center console between the driver and passenger seats, my arm bracing it like a seatbelt from any potential catastrophes.
Of course, Monkey See Monkey Do is the modus operandi in this house. Rascal was very upset that he didn’t have his own gingerbread house and asked if he could have one too. “Well hell, it’s just some graham crackers, frosting and some decorations. They made them in kindergarten today”, I thought. “How hard can it be?”
What a mess!!!!!
Martha Stewart I'm not. Ok, obviously there’s a difference between “icing” and “frosting” – differences I couldn’t fully explain before tonight, until I was covered in half a can of greasy Duncan Hines vanilla frosting, while watching the walls of the gingerbread house wobble back and forth like they were experiencing the Loma Prieta earthquake at ground zero.
I started off the house with rectangular walls and quickly realized that wasn’t working for me. I modified my architecture to more of a cabin than a house, reducing the side walls to squares hoping less square footage would give it more stability. But like a trailer park in a tornado, I could tell I was headed for holiday decoration implosion.
When the house finally collapsed (and when I say finally, I think it was only in place for 3 minutes or less) I was really worried how Rascal would react. I laughed and said “Oh no! The big bad wolf blew our house in!” Rascal laughed hysterically and asked if he could decorate it now. Sure kiddo, go to town. For Rascal, decorating=eating candy right out of the bowls. He helped himself to 2 M&Ms, 2 chocolate chips and 2 Skittles (passing up the red nerds and the smarties) and announced he was all done.
Lesson to learn from the 4 year old: A fatally flawed gingerbread house can be much more fun than it's pretty counterpart. (Also, you can eat just a few pieces of candy, realize you don't want any more, walk away and not think about them again...)
Next year I’m sticking to gingerbread men.
Domino came home from K/1 today with an amazing gingerbread house. I precariously carried it in one hand on a slippery red plastic plate, while balancing a 40+ pound sleeping Rascal and the “Wednesday Envelope” (important school paperwork for the week) in the other arm. I drove home with the gingerbread house placed very carefully on the center console between the driver and passenger seats, my arm bracing it like a seatbelt from any potential catastrophes.
I started off the house with rectangular walls and quickly realized that wasn’t working for me. I modified my architecture to more of a cabin than a house, reducing the side walls to squares hoping less square footage would give it more stability. But like a trailer park in a tornado, I could tell I was headed for holiday decoration implosion.
1 comment:
OK now THAT was hilarious!!!! I have also experienced this trauma. It's not pretty.
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