The object of my affection

For a couple years running I have asked Phil for a cookie dropper for Christmas.  He swears he and the girls looked everywhere and they couldn’t find one.  He claims that all our respective grandmothers are rolling over in their graves at the thought that two teaspoons and a finger weren’t good enough for me to make cookies with. 

It is a request that is somewhat out of character for me, a girl who became domestic relatively late in life.  I didn’t know how to cook anything besides tacos until Andra was born, and now I do ok in the kitchen, thanks to the influence of Jacki – my college roommate turned Martha. I never cared about housekeeping, or decorating or any such thing until we moved into this house.  In fact after we moved in to this house and I feverishly painted and decorated, Phil made many a comment about my changed behavior – he wasn’t sure where the slovenly housekeeper he married had gone.  Lately, I have been noticing that old Jenine has been hanging around our house. I am hoping she is only here for a quick visit, since it took me 35 years to get rid of her the first time.

Back to the cookie dropper. At the end of the season last year, just to prove it existed, I found it.  The Magic Chef cookie dropper.  I just wanted consistently sized cookies. So today, in an attempt to get the old Jenine to leave, I got it out and made cookies.


They are perfect.  And beautiful. They taste delicious.  I think I just heard the door slam – I hope she’s gone for good this time.

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