Christmas in July

Way back in the dark ages of December, when I knew that a baby brother and the turmoil that would be sure to follow was imminent, I bought a Gingerbread House and Gingerbread Tree kit to make with Ali – one last hurrah of uninterrupted Mommy/Daughter QT.

We made the house four days before Noah’s arrival, Ali using her parentally-inherited anal-retentiveness in pattern-making and decor.


She was, rightfully, proud of her delicious creation…which ended up taking a trip with her in the middle of the night to Gramamma and Pop’s house so that we could go to the hospital.


The tree never got made, so it sat in our pantry, lonely and dejected for seven months.

Every now and then, Ali would see the box and ask to make it.  I, with my hands full of baby and dreading the stale gingerbread disgust, would put her off.

Finally, last week, she asked at the right time – during Noah’s morning nap.  Plus, I knew that Chris and I were going to be leaving a week later (today!!) to go to San Diego, and so I again found myself wanting to get in some quality time with her.

And so, we pulled out that now-antiquated box.


I mixed the icings and prepared our work area…surely we could make a tree that looked something like the ones on the box, right?

I started out with the icing first, and quickly realized that our tree would look NOTHING like the box.

Naturally, I let Ali take over so that it looked like her bad ice job and not mine.


But she was proud of our Wicked-Witch-Of-The-West-Melting-Tree, and that’s all that mattered.

(I swear we do wear other things than pajamas at our house…or at least we do right before we leave the house and right after we get back.)

She added the ornaments, eating as many of those stale, decayed candies as she added to our creation.

Hopefully old candy isn’t known to be a Botulism carrier or anything.

When all was finished, she let me take a few pictures of our impressive creation,



…and then immediately began to eat the awful thing.

Of course, she wanted me to join her in our hard-earned dessert.  And I, being the good Mom that I am, braved up and bit into one of those nastified ancient cookies.

It was about as tasty as eating a piece of petrified dog poo remoistened by stagnant rainwater.

Luckily for her, it will be a few more years before her palette gets that discerning.