Now, totally coincidentally, I just happened to have made some, oh, you know KILLER cookies earlier in the day--oatmeal cookies with dried cranberries, blueberries and cherries. I threw a little ground cloves in there and OH! it's SO STRANGE that they would be warm and gooey just of the oven just after a great meal I had also made for the menfolk.
Weird how these things work, huh?
Both Man and Boy were immediately, almost unconsciously, attracted to the Mom-Made cookies. One could see the evolutionary process at work as their eyes glazed over and were both reduced to brainwaves that transmitted only: "Mummmm. Woman make us food. Good. Warm. Sweet. We like. Mummmmm. We eat more.
What a shame it would be if the memory of these incredibly good cookies--close enough to Oatmeal Raisin to please fans of that cookie, but still Betty-ized enough to declare emancipation from all attempted "cookie rules" pathetically imposed by a certain husband --was still lodged in a portion of their brains as they attempted to "show me" by making the Bagged Mix Of Chemicals into cookies.
It was somewhat amusing to hear the commotion in the kitchen as they poured, mixed, and discussed in detail just how the oven timer worked. I sat on my bed, reading, calm and cool. The timer went off. Two minutes later it went off again. There was more discussion about how the timer worked. Two minutes later it went off again. Lots of pushing of buttons while discussing how the timer worked. Murmuring in the kitchen. Hushed conversation. Five minutes later they came in and gave me something INCREDIBLY DELICIOUS. It was this phrase, uttered outright and with sincerity:
"You were right."
Though HOB attempted to jazz up the next batch with more oatmeal, some cinnamon, and some vanilla extract, it was clear that he was just putting lipstick on a dead goose.
Here they are in their Bag 'o Shame where they will sit until trash day when they will be given their proper burial:
Ashes to Ashes.
Slick Bag to Storage Bag to Trash Bag.
Rest in Pieces and don't come back here no mo'.
Though HOB may not jump for joy when he views my next batch of Frosted Grapefruit Icebox Cookies, I do believe the man might have just developed a tad bit of appreciation for the art and craft of Cookie Making. My hope is this little adventure will cut the time of Man Sulking in half when a new variety of cookie is introduced in this household.
Observation: It's been about 20 hours since the males' little cooking-making spree.
Question: How long do you think it will be before the bowls and other utensils used in the process get washed and dried and put away?
Current Sink Situation
I wait patiently and serenely.
Happy Sundays everyone!