When I wrote my last post, we were still digging our way out from bin mountain. Buried under piles and piles of decorations everywhere, wondering if our house would ever be livable again.
What didn't come upstairs was the loaf pans ma had bought last year, which spawned the idea that I wouldn't get to have the cookiepocalypse. I told her that I needed to see them in order to adjust my recipe for yield of exact loaves, as well as the cooking time and temperature.
Since writing that post we've dug ourselves out. The house is covered in Christmas, but surfaces can be found again, and Oliver is happy that he can run around. I brought the bins downstairs, and stacked them away, and ma went poking about. She said that she was looking for the pans, and pointed out a bag. I looked, and immediately noticed that it didn't contain pans, but containers that she had purchased years ago, still wrapped up, for cookiepocalypse past.
She looked around at the room with all of her decoration bins. The room is so full you can barely move inside it.
So, what happened?
She decided that she didn't want to go looking anymore, and I now am making cookies again.
You would think I would be more stressed. To go from making what she guessed was only a dozen or so mini loaves of bread, to almost a thousand cookies in about two weeks. I'm a bit relieved though. I get to keep a tradition that I enjoy about the holidays. She's already tried to make comments about me "getting creative" or whatever shit, even though I always just stick to my recipes for these boxes. At this point, I don't care.
COOKIEPOCALYPSE PREVAILS.
What didn't come upstairs was the loaf pans ma had bought last year, which spawned the idea that I wouldn't get to have the cookiepocalypse. I told her that I needed to see them in order to adjust my recipe for yield of exact loaves, as well as the cooking time and temperature.
Since writing that post we've dug ourselves out. The house is covered in Christmas, but surfaces can be found again, and Oliver is happy that he can run around. I brought the bins downstairs, and stacked them away, and ma went poking about. She said that she was looking for the pans, and pointed out a bag. I looked, and immediately noticed that it didn't contain pans, but containers that she had purchased years ago, still wrapped up, for cookiepocalypse past.
She looked around at the room with all of her decoration bins. The room is so full you can barely move inside it.
So, what happened?
She decided that she didn't want to go looking anymore, and I now am making cookies again.
You would think I would be more stressed. To go from making what she guessed was only a dozen or so mini loaves of bread, to almost a thousand cookies in about two weeks. I'm a bit relieved though. I get to keep a tradition that I enjoy about the holidays. She's already tried to make comments about me "getting creative" or whatever shit, even though I always just stick to my recipes for these boxes. At this point, I don't care.
COOKIEPOCALYPSE PREVAILS.
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