D is for Disaster

On Easter I wanted to do something special with the kids.  Their grandparents had sent a chocolate gingerbread house to decorate.  I guess it was a chocolate cookie house with little bunnies to decorate.  No longer is the gingerbread house decorating confined to the Christmas season.  Which is the best news I've heard all day.  Because I construct a wicked awesome gingerbread house.
Or so I've always thought.
And always bragged about.
And made myself a certificate for.
So, naturally, I was all over this.
The kit was simple enough.  Lots of frosting and stale candy.  Easy to follow instructions.
I had a couple ideas running through my head.... did I want to go "cozy country cottage?"

Maybe "House in the Hamptons?"  A little more upscale.

 Get cutesy with a "Bunny Bungalow?"

 I figured with my above average artistic ability and God given eye for precision- this would surely be a house to remember.
And it was.
Just not in a good way.

Instead of beating myself up about how the frosting is drooping in all the wrong places, and how you can't even tell that the bunnies are bunnies and not candy globs, and how there is no pattern to the candies or colors, or how I didn't landscape... I've decided to blame it all on Koley.
This was his first house.
He's a novice.  He's still tempering his patient hand at the craft.


Last year's A to Z: D is for Didn't Know That.  I love last year's post.  It's about Kenmo.

P.S.  This is my 500th post on this here old blog.  Thank you for your readership. Be sure to take a couple cookies on your way out.

Craft Catastrophe

It's winter.  Stillllllll. 
Still winter means we're still inside... still running out of things to do... still still still.

My sister, Andi, sent me an e-mail that listed 200 things to do with your kids inside.  Most of them were crafts and experiments.  Right up there in my alley.  I sorted through what I considered to be the duds and was left with about 75 winners.  Or... so I thought.
I showed Kole the list and he picked one with cotton balls.  The kid loves cotton balls.  What can I say?  I'm raising him right.
We got all set up.  Covered the table with newspaper, carefully mixed the flour and water, and added food coloring.  We dipped the cotton balls in and then placed them on a well-greased (old and nasty) cookie sheet.  We sat and watched them bake for 40 minutes. Yup.  We sat in front of the oven with the little light on and watched.  And "chit chatted."  Which is Kole's newest favorite word. 

And we made:

Um... They were....

They kinda were like.... rock hard cotton balls.

"What do I do with it, Mom?"

"Can we eat it?"  "No.  You can't eat it.  You can.... uhhhhh...."

"It's dinosaur poop." -Kole

I can't really say what we made.  Or what the purpose was.  It killed time.  We ended up sorting them by color.  Lining them up.  Throwing them at the baby. (Just kidding.)  (Not really.)  They turned out right... I just can't say as what.  And when I went back and re-read the article, it never really said what they were.  But they're kids called them dinosaur poop too.  Which is really pretty cool that dinosaurs poop in color.

So, in closing, if you're feeling the winter blues, if you've got a little cabin fever and you want to bust out of it by making so cotton ball rocks- Let me know!  I've got the recipe!