The Christmas Cookie Story

Beginning to decorate...

the chunky frosting

The (ugly) Christmas Cookies

Max and his gingerbread man

  Me and my (oval) tree...

Baking isn't in my future. Three nights ago, I was busy in the kitchen mixing together sugar cookie dough to take over and make with this little boy I hang out with once in awhile, not to be confused with babysitting...right Max? Anyways, I was all prepared; Cookie dough, cookie cutters, and decorations all set, and the butter, vanilla and powdered sugar were in a Tupperware ready to go.  All I had to do was mix together to make frosting. 

Now my sister Sarah used to hang out with Max last year, and cookie making was a highlight for him. In fact, he has brought up baking with Sarah in conversation on several occasions. I knew I had big shoes to fill. The pressure was real. Palpable. 

With the oven preheating, Max and I began cookie cutting. He decided he'd like to make the nativity scene out of gingerbread men, and I planned to make as many shapes as I could. I placed the sheet on the middle rack for 7 minutes, and I went to see how the handmade frosting was coming.

For some reason, I had only written down the ingredients for the frosting (which I already had pre measured anyways) and hadn't written down the recipe to actually make the frosting. Somewhere back in my long term memory, I had remembered my mom making frosting on the stove. So figuring this was the same kind, I basically boiled the frosting. It smelled good. As soon as I removed the pot from the stove, the frosting cooled and became a gelatin mold.

 Thinking I had still made it correctly, panic didn't set in until I removed the cookies from the pan. To say they were puffy and shapeless is an understatement. The stars looked like circles, the trees like ovals, and the gingerbread men? well, they made it out looking like Michelin tire men. 

Max and I decided we'd continue to decorate regardless of the disaster at hand. I started to spread the boiling hot and chunky frosting on the cookies but it cooled before we could pour the sprinkles. 

We decided to bag the frosting and draw with the skinny tubed frosting instead. The cookie making was basically a disaster. Max and I had a good laugh, and although my baking pride and aspirations were seriously shot down a few notches, I realized an important lesson; When life gives you puffy cookies and chunky frosting...don't become a baker.

Dracula's Dentist Appointment

I hate going to the Dentist. I honestly would rather get 5 shots in the same arm every thirty seconds than get my teeth cleaned. Let's be honest, who enjoys getting their gums stabbed by that silver scraper thing which makes your gums bleed? I realize the hygienists are not trying to make your life worse, but most of the time, it's a hard thing to remember. They sit you down in that chair, which usually looks like it's been there since the late 70's and make small talk, usually about your school and how much you brush and floss. Is that a trick question?

You're reclined and handed sunglasses, and bibbed with a blue napkin. I usually am drooling because I'm nervous, and she wipes my face like I'm 5.

By now, I'm trying to mask the secret about my brushing and flossing habits. I'll admit something to you all. I didn't consistently brush my teeth until probably 8th grade. Now, before you freak and get all grossed out, know that I didn't get any cavities until after I started brushing...just something to think about. I also rarely floss. Ok, I only floss when I can feel something in my teeth from dinner. I used to lie to the Hygienist, but they're the experts I later realized, and cannot be fooled. My gums always bled and bled, and I prayed they'd never notice.

So, after they scrape around and you pass for Dracula with the amount of blood on the blue napkin, they wash your teeth with that fresh cleansing water, which never lasts as long as you'd like. It's followed by the tube which sucks your tongue off in order to dry out your mouth. That freaks me out and usually it feels like my head will explode. I equate it to getting your blood pressure tested at the doctor.

Next is the polish which isn't that bad. I wish I had one of my own so I could polish my teeth every day. And finally, the Dentist comes in. He pokes around as well and calls out numbers and letters corresponding with your weak teeth. He always tells me what I already know; I still have a baby tooth, I need to get my wisdom teeth out, if I don't want my teeth to decay and cave into my mouth, then I'll need to brush and floss more, and that I'll need to see him in 6 months. Thank you Mr. Dentist.

He leaves, you're propped up again, handed the goodie bag, and have the best intentions to brush, floss AND use mouth wash for the rest of time. If you're wearing shorts, your legs stick to the plastic cover and it's pretty awkward to peel them off as you stand.

I'm whimpering, feeling defeated and my pride, definitely wounded. My mom never feels bad though. And neither does my sister who has PERFECT teeth. In fact, the hygienist once told her it was a pleasure to clean her teeth....WHAT?! Have you EVER heard of that happening? Props to Rachael.

So all this to say, I flossed tonight. Seriously. My gums feel ok right now. A little puffy, a little bloody, but clean. Hopefully I am turning a new leaf and begin flossing on a regular basis.

But probably not.