Frosting the snowman

It was all going okay until I got around to decorating the sugar cookies. See, it's been years since I decorated sugar cookies, besides just a little sprinkling of sugar or a little smear of frosting. I'm anal (this was probably already apparent). Decorating sugar cookies becomes a thorn in my anality: this line is too squiggly, these eyes are too close, the stripes on the candy canes are straight instead of slanted, the knife stuck in the gingerbread man is in the lung instead of the heart (just checking to see if you're still reading). I spend hours engrossed in their growing imperfection.

And I fail to trust myself. I knew I didn't need to pipe the edges. But I did so anyway, then hated it. I knew all the colors for the trees would take too much time, but I planned them regardless. Deep down, I knew that there was a reason why I hadn't decorated sugar cookies in so long, why I'd sworn to never decorate them again. But I still thought that maybe I was mistaken, and that maybe this time would be different.

It wasn't, of course. But on the plus side, I came to that realization before I'd wasted the entire night, quickly whipping through the last half my style. And was that ever satisfying. But for the record: never decorating sugar cookies again. NEVER.

My guilt over missing part of M's movie night was tempered by the fact we did spend forty-five minutes in Blockbuster together looking for the only movie that will do, which the salesperson cheerfully informed us had one copy left misfiled somewhere in the store. Because your three-year-old will hear that information and continue to wander the aisles whispering, "It's supposed to be here," over and over until you finally find it. That kind of needle-hunt has to be worth something, right?