My grandmother always did an elaborate homemade gingerbread house every Christmas. I remember as a kid always being in awe over it. It looked something along the lines of this one...
Seriously. It was at least that good.
At least I think so?
Know how you sometimes hold onto a childhood memory...like how big your childhood home backyard was...and then you go back as an adult and visit and suddenly it wasn't like you remembered.
Anyways, I am pretty sure her gingerbread houses would be awesome, even in my adult status.
We did our own gingerbread house together last week. Except ours was decidedly not home made. Nor was it elaborate. And come to find out, it really wasn't all that fun for a certain child of mine who struggles with OCD (not going to name names here...) because "Mommy didn't put the icing on straight enough and oh my goodness the world is ending the candies aren't staying in place."
And who would have thought I would have had some OCD issues myself with the dag gum thing. I think I suddenly understood why my grandmother never invited us to help her with the creation of her gingerbread house.
I finally just had to step away and take a couple deep breaths and things became clear again.
And we did have fun.
And made some memories in the process.
And I may or may not have decided (after being begged day in and day out) that I would just allow my children to pick off and eat all the candy on it.
And I may or may not have thrown away the empty icing skeleton of a gingerbread house after my swarm of locust children had their way with it because I was tired of sweeping up the icing shavings all over my house.
And I may or may not have not done a thorough enough job of hiding the evidence whenceforth there was great weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth upon discovery by aforementioned locust children.
But I did mention that we had fun, didn't I?
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