So this year for Christmas, I decided to do something
different. I created a homemade dessert.
(I am well aware that this doesn’t sound that spectacular for most people, but let's be honest; I am the person who brought cut up McDonald’s cheeseburgers to last year’s
Christmas in a crockpot. And I didn’t
even prepare it ahead of time. I cut up
the cheeseburgers in the car with a toddler knife on the way to the
celebration.) Don’t get too excited
though, I used a recipe. But it did have
more than 5 ingredients, which is something that was new to me. I know 5 ingredients may not sound like a
lot. But it is when you don’t have
normal cooking and baking items in your house like normal grown-ups do. It is always questionable if I have unexpired
milk in my house.
So here I am at 6am using my mixer (that we got as a wedding
gift 8 years ago and just opened this year) feeling pretty good about myself
when my toddler walked in the room, followed by the 6-year-old.
Ryder takes one look at the dessert I am preparing and asks,
“Puke?”
To which I grumpily reply, “Ryder, not everything I make is puke.”
(Can you sense that he asks this a lot about my cooking?)
Then Chase chimes in, “Tell
that to your cooking.”
They both then grabbed a bag of crackers and trotted into
the living room to enjoy their morning. Meanwhile, I stood there, completely defeated and trying to figure out what the
hell it means to fold whipped cream into the mixing bowl, that is now covered in the sour smell of misery. I never did find out what it means.
Story. Of. My. Life
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