We've reached that time of year: when all the good intentions and will power of the entire year give way to the plethora of holiday goodies in our home. To make matters worse, I was out-of-town all of last week, which seemed to compound Heather's baking desires, leading to a slew of fresh treats. If anything, our dentist will be having a merry January, as the season's indulgence catches up to me.
One of the better treats, though, is our annual Gingerbread House. As a child, building the house with my five siblings was a hallmark of the season. Mom would make the House, and we'd spend an evening decorating it with a wide variety of goodies, while clandestinely nicking candy from either other's allotments. Each side of the House had a unique style, and over the next few weeks, eaves, shutters, decorations and people would vanish from the House. The season finally culminated in a scene any epidemiologist would find horrific: a group "bashing session" during which my siblings and I would each get sick on stale candy and even staler gingerbread—not to mention whatever germs landed on the sticky exterior of the House during the intervening weeks.
This year, our family did our own Gingerbread House. Hannah is started to get old enough to get into the spirit of the season, and she's always game for any activity which involves a copious amount of treats. The finished product didn't turn out too bad:
Now, if Hannah can go three weeks without picking at it, I'll be seriously impressed.
2 days ago