|A and I at Target buying ingredients to make cookies.|
I have this dream of being a super mom. The mom who always looks nice, always has a clean house, and always makes the best treats for the bake sale. Unfortunately real life has shown me to not really be any of those things. I generally look alright, but my house is usually a wreck. (My knack for starting projects then moving on certainly does not help.) And as my third baking incident has shown me, I will never be "fun baking m
Fall of 2005. J and I were not married yet, but we were engaged. He was turning 23 and I had the brilliant idea to bake his birthday cake. Right off the bat I managed to drop a few eggshells into the batter. I was able to scoop most of the out, but a few small shards were lost forever. Then when I poured the cake, I did not pour it evenly. One side was very very thick, the other very very thin. I baked the cake until the thin side was burnt, assuming that meant the thick side was done as well. To conceal the ugliness of my monster cake, I iced it really thick, making it all appear to be level. J being the nice guy that he is, feigned joy at my having made him a cake and took a large slice. He chose from the the thick side. About two hours after eating the cake, he got sick. It hasn't ever been proven that my cake made him sick, but most signs point that way.
Sometime last year. I tried my hand at another cake. Long story short, at some point in my mixing, a piece of the spatula fell off into the batter without me noticing. J chose the one piece that had the spatula piece baked into it.
Last Monday. I decided to make cookies for A's Thanksgiving feast at her school. I wanted to make roll-out (or shape) cookies, so the dough had to be made. I knew I was taking a risk, but I want to be a good mom. (I wish I had been a smart mom and just bought the damn things at the store.) I was using the hand mixer to blend the dough. This hand mixer is very old, I don't know where it came from or how long we have had it. At one point the egg beater fell out of the end and the mixer stopped. So I turned it off and tried to put the beater back into place. I tried pushing it in from the top, but I couldn't get it to click. So I noticed there was a small flat disk inside the beater, a perfect place to put a thumb and push. I was still holding the mixer (which was still plugged in) against my chest. Some how (seriously, these things only happen to me and Lucy) after my thumb was literally inside the egg beater, I managed to push it into place and turn it on. The mixer sprang to life, my poor thumb was twisted and twerked. I dropped the mixer and probably said a few choice words.
|A and I after the mixer attack.|
Today as I write this (very slowly might I add) my hand is still swollen and it still hurts. I know this is 100% my own fault. I have not been to the doctor. I keep using my hand. I put my thumb into the mixer in the first place...but all I have really learned is that my dream of being a master mom is probably never going to happen.