I love baking. Always have. Something about the measuring, the smells, the repetition that soothes me. When I'm upset I tend to gravitate to the kitchen, just to make something.
Except at Christmas.
My day started innocently enough. Get up, go to church, enjoy Miss O being an angel in the Christmas program. I came home in a pretty good mood. Maybe festive, even. I had started my Christmas baking last night, and figured with M working today, it was time to finish the baking.
Here's how the day went:
1:30pm ~ Empty the dishwasher from last night. Turn the radio on to the 24/7 Christmas tune station. Start figuring out what cookies to make next.
2:00pm ~ Humming along to Christmas carols, rolling Buckeyes with my daughter. This isn't so bad, right? I wonder why I don't do this more often.
3:00pm ~ I am SO tired of dipping cookies into chocolate. Who says I can't just dunk the whole thing into the pan and roll it around? No, it would be a peanut butter ball then, not a buckeye.
4:00pm ~ Get out the dough I prepared last night that needed to chill. Set out the cookie cutters, sugar and rolling pin.
4:10pm ~ Start to curse under my breath. Why won't this dough roll out? AND stop sticking to the counter.
4:15pm ~ I will not cry. I. will. not. cry.
4:20pm ~ Call M. demanding that he bring home a new rolling pin.
4:21pm ~ Give up. Move on to cutting some bar cookies I made last night.
Seriously, why am I stressing about cookies? Nobody is going to notice if I don't have 8 kinds of them on my cookie plate. Well, maybe my in laws, but who cares about that? I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself and just enjoy what I have. So, I'm now sitting on the couch, with a glass of wine, pondering what to make for dinner.
I'm thinking takeout.