So how does a cranky, don’t-mess-with-me military wife cheer herself up? I mean, besides guzzling boxed wine, swaddled in her husband’s oversized fatigues while watching Officer and a Gentleman in slo-mo?
She bakes cookies. That’s what I did. I donned one of my many homemade aprons and I baked cookies. Cookies for me and June! Mommy and me cookies. And this is how they turned out:
The cookies didn’t rise. When I pulled them from the oven, and saw their battered state, I made a loud, deeply annoyed groaning noise and June, who played nearby, piped in with her own baby version of mommy’s agitated mouth fart: “Aaaurruuugaaa!”
What bugs me the most (aside from hearing certain habits of mine emerge so soon in my daughter) is that I followed the recipe TO THE LETTER. TO THE LETTER!!!! I used the precise amount of flour, the precise amount of baking soda and baking powder. I used my fanciest flour! And chocolate chips! And precious dried blueberries I had to drive all the way to Costco to get. And the cookies still looked like couch coasters.
But I can’t seem to throw them out. They’re pretty good. Even if every time I open the container they’re kept in both June and I groan with dissatisfaction.