Our four flat Gingerbread House walls are still on my kitchen counter, on my favorite green cutting board, and draped in a clean dish cloth. Waiting to be pasted together with sugary icing and holiday cheer. While I have decorated the rest of the house merrily, it has been a whole SEVEN DAYS since starting this thing and now the wings of our Gingerbread Airplanes are starting to grow fuzz:
But I think I charred the crap out of our four Gingerbread ‘Castle’/Ruins/Winery Barn walls just enough so that the burnt edges are waging their own resistance to mold. (…Perhaps it will add more authentic character?)
I’d love to have something witty to say about why I once again procrastinated on making this Gingerbread creation. But I do not.
Instead, I spent the week running errands, selling wine, selling art, doing our ABCs, feeding my family, going to the Bank, secretly eating an entire carton of ice cream “It’s Its” sandwiches before Anni woke up from naps, play dates, and harboring my own personal grudge against my newly acquired ass fat. I love that I grow big, healthy babies and all but I would still like to not break the 200 pound mark this time ’round. I fear that will not be the case. While closing a drawer this week with my left hip, I damn near took out a whole stack of clean bowls. Stacked on the counter above.
We had Greek Salad for dinner that next night.