It all starts out innocent and fun.
The box is colorful and touts promises of ease, tugging at your heartstrings to give it one more chance for creative fun and delightful family memories.Spirits are high as the icing tube is first snipped and begins to flow.
You (and I really mean me) don't even get rankled when sweet daughter announces that Daddy is a much better froster (technical term) than Mama.
The gingerbread houses, they hate me.
We squeezed icing, we carefully built the frame, we artfully arranged the colorful candy. We smiled, we laughed, we nibbled. All was well.
For approximately 37 seconds.
We spent the next 20+ minutes trying to keep the roof from doing what gingerbread houses are evilly designed to do, which I am thoroughly convinced is slide down to the counter 8,264 times.
Daddy, the engineer type, tried to tell us what to do, but Annelise and I, the more free-spirited types kept trying to add candy and make it all cute and homey.
We soon realized we were doomed.
And we were all kind of over the whole thing.
I quickly snapped a picture of Annelise proudly (?) showing off our festive efforts...
I can't wait.
(Of course we read the instructions after the disaster and saw where they clearly said to assemble the walls and let it sit for 15 minutes before decorating with candy. Oops.)