It always happens this time of year: I get two weeks off and start fantasizing that I'm Miss Suzy Homemaker. I'm not completely delusional, so I don't get any grand ideas that I'll be decorating or anything, but I always think that I'm going to make lovely, idyllic Christmas memories for Charlotte via crafts and baking. I'm not at all crafty, so I don't know why I keep going back to that. But I can bake--this part should be easy. The problem is, I get far too ambitious. My mouth is writing checks that my oven can't cash.
This year, I was going to fill six tins with three types of cookies: fudge tassies, lemon shortbread, and gingerbread men. There was going to be a tin each for the three pre-K teachers at Charlotte's school, the two afternoon assistants, and the office staff. I honestly figured I'd knock this out in a couple of hours, illustrating my tenuous grasp on both math and reality.
As things started to go bad, I began downsizing the gift-giving. The office staff was the first to go, followed by two of the pre-K teachers. They have their own students, I figured; they'll get other stuff. As long as I manage to get something to Charlotte's teacher and the assistants, it will be fine. So we're down to three tins--easy-peasy!
What finally happened: after destroying the gingerbread dough and not even bothering to start the tassies, I was left with the shortbread (fantastic, thank goodness)--enough to fill one of the six cavernous tins. So that went to Charlotte's teacher, and I was off to Target to find something for the assistants.
The worst part? I had doubled the recipe of the ill-fated gingerbread. Seven cups of flour and four sticks of butter ended up in the garbage.
Anyway, I learned the secret of successful Christmas baking: small tins and one type of cookie. Or just go to Target in the first place.
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