The baby girl wants to torture us with her homemade chocolate chip cookies. I have written about them before; in glowing reviews, her cookies are to die for. They aren’t too sweet, they are mouth-watering and moist, melt in your mouth delicious. She is making a huge batch tonight without a specific function to take them to, the cookies are going to stay here, where they are going to beckon to me, to my hubby, to torture us into eating them non-stop. Have you ever encountered a cookie where you couldn’t stop at one? My baby girl’s cookies are exactly those kinds of cookies.
I just informed her that I was venting on my blog and she called me sassy pants. She then started saying that I shouldn’t be complaining when she made me cookies, I loved them and I should be happy to eat them. She doesn’t get the whole eating disorder thing; when you eat something sinful, you torture yourself for a day or two. I never want my baby girl to understand an eating disorder, I am happy that she doesn’t view food as the enemy. As I told her that I was writing about her cookies, there was a rascally smile on my face so she knew that I was complaining in jest. I’m proud of her baking skill and so is she.
Pretty soon the kitchen is going to smell of butter, sugar and chocolate, woe is me. I can just see the tendrils of cookie essence snaking through the hallway into the living room calling me into the kitchen to taste a warm, right out of the oven cookie. Happy Monday!