The Biscuits
The Princess was craving lemonade, so she went in search of a lemonade recipe and found one in her Strawberry Shortcake cookbook. Sweetpea, not wanting The Princess to get credit for doing anything on her own, joined in the lemonade making endeavor. After the lemonade was ready, Sweetpea kept looking through the cookbook and decided to try her hand at biscuit making. She did almost all the measuring and mixing all by herself, and got them into the oven. When the timer sounded, her Daddy looked at them with her, and together they decided to leave them in a little longer. A little longer turned into about 10 extra minutes. When the Biscuits came out of the oven, well, let's just say they weren't exactly light and fluffy. I was the first to taste a Biscuit, and I got a little choked. When Sweetpea looked offended, I tried to explain that it was just because I had swallowed a "pointy piece". Then I got tickled because what sort of biscuits have pointy pieces anyway?
The Princess decided to try a Biscuit this morning, and when she couldn't bite into it due to the hardness, she decided that in order to not hurt Sweetpea's feelings, she would just hide the hard Biscuit in the Barbie house. Of course, Sweetpea found it and was not pleased. Princess E kept saying, "I mean, I liked it, I just couldn't bite it."
The Biscuits sat on the cookie tray all day. The Daddy got home and said, "Maybe we should throw away The Biscuits." I pointed out that they would make excellent hockey pucks, and he reminded me that we have no immediate plans to actually play any hockey. (Hockey pucks, by the way, are actually made of vulcanized rubber, and the ice on a hockey rink is 3/4 inch thick. Figure skating ice is much thicker, but the thicker the ice, the slower it is, and hockey players want fast ice. This useless knowledge is what is embedded in my brain after two seasons of being avid minor league hockey fans, sitting in section M, row 12, seats 1 & 2 for almost every single home game, having as my pretend boyfriend, #55 Francois LaRue, and developing an attraction to goalies.) At that point, I was cleaning off my computer area in a last ditch desperate search for my fave meatloaf recipe. I put all the papers I no longer need (like I ever did need them), in the trash. When I got up to start the meatloaf (hoping I remembered enough of the recipe to make it not nasty), I went ahead and dumped The Biscuits in the trash on top of the papers, walked to the fridge, and heard Sweetpea from the other room saying, "Mommy, can you hand me a Biscuit?" You can fill in the rest of the story on your own. I'll leave it at I am officially a bad mommy. And if you should happen to show up unexpectedly in my house tonight, take my advice and don't eat a Biscuit from the ziploc on my counter.
The Biscuits sat on the cookie tray all day. The Daddy got home and said, "Maybe we should throw away The Biscuits." I pointed out that they would make excellent hockey pucks, and he reminded me that we have no immediate plans to actually play any hockey. (Hockey pucks, by the way, are actually made of vulcanized rubber, and the ice on a hockey rink is 3/4 inch thick. Figure skating ice is much thicker, but the thicker the ice, the slower it is, and hockey players want fast ice. This useless knowledge is what is embedded in my brain after two seasons of being avid minor league hockey fans, sitting in section M, row 12, seats 1 & 2 for almost every single home game, having as my pretend boyfriend, #55 Francois LaRue, and developing an attraction to goalies.) At that point, I was cleaning off my computer area in a last ditch desperate search for my fave meatloaf recipe. I put all the papers I no longer need (like I ever did need them), in the trash. When I got up to start the meatloaf (hoping I remembered enough of the recipe to make it not nasty), I went ahead and dumped The Biscuits in the trash on top of the papers, walked to the fridge, and heard Sweetpea from the other room saying, "Mommy, can you hand me a Biscuit?" You can fill in the rest of the story on your own. I'll leave it at I am officially a bad mommy. And if you should happen to show up unexpectedly in my house tonight, take my advice and don't eat a Biscuit from the ziploc on my counter.
