I have never been much for doing crafts with the boys. I always thought it was because of my Type A tendencies, but I think there is something more at play here.
We decorated a gingerbread house tonight.
And if this post is a little, uh, weird, it’s because I have had a rum and coke (rum poured into the coke can) and two glasses of wine. After decorating. Remember this, it’s important.
It was that kind of gingerbread-house-decorating.
So I checked my perfectionistic tendencies at the kitchen counter (getting a claim check, ’cause, you know, I can’t live without them), and dove in.
OH MY GAWD.
Here we are, happily assembling the gingerbread pieces. If you look closely, I am smiling, though it does look like a grimace. Look again, see the gingerbread wall? Wait, I’ll provide a close-up.
The wall, it’s not so, uh, yeah, it’s in pieces. It was fine out of the box, but then it wasn’t. Looks like Barbie went on a bender in her ‘Vette. The icing didn’t do a whole lot for it.
Notice the roof? Notice it looks odd? Yeah. I mixed up the roof and wall pieces. Good thing I have degrees in music, ’cause I wouldn’t make it as an architect. Want the punch line? I FUBARed this before having a drink.
We had a good time, as you can see. I don’t think I scarred the boys for life. You can’t really see the icing mustaches and beards, but trust me, they’re there. More candy and icing in them than on that sad house-thing. How sad of a house you ask?
This sad of a house. My dad used to joke that I could decorate cakes and pay my way through college. I think he’s done joking now, this is pretty pathetic.