Last night, as I was "making cookies" with Son, Middlebrow chastised me for my frequent cries of frustration. The sugar cookie dough (recipe from Sunset magazine) was dry and crumbly. What resulted was: Gingerbread Man de Milo, trunkless elephants, Christmas trees as thick as magazines. But Son enjoyed "frosting" them (dabbing frosting on various parts of the cookie, attempting to lick the frosting off of the cookie and his fingers at the same time, fingerfrosting the cookies, etc.) and eating them. At least I had the good sense to buy the frosting.
I will just chalk this up to the latest of my failures as a mother. Why didn't I just do what I did last year and buy the cookie dough AND the frosting? Why do I try? I should just give in and, like the heroine of I Don't Know How She Does It, learn how to fake my baked goods.
As Middlebrow acknowledged last night, it's going to take a lot of alcohol and coffee to make it through the end of the semester.
Viva el vino!