Yes, it's that time of year again.
Time when I break out the sugar, flour, eggs and butter and decide that I should provide cookies for every single person I have ever met in my life, and a few I don't even know.
Holding our annual holiday party this Saturday night and if you haven't received an invitation yet, it means you don't live near us, we don't know you, or perhaps I like you so much I want to protect you from the 23 screaming children who are bound to invade my 1,000 square-foot apartment and hopped up on sugar attempt to pulverize its bones.
Actually, this year we sort of banned kids after the situation last year where we found our single friends hovered for protection in the kitchen around the gin and ginger cookies trying to numb themselves from the horror.
This year The Rabbit knows she is actually going to her great aunt's for a sleepover at bedtime. Yes, she's aware that really it means she's banned and as retaliation has dissed every batch of cookies I have made so far. "These aren't BAD Mama. They're just not good." she declared over today's chocolate charms. (Which to be fair tasted like gummy balls of warm choco-meal (does anyone remember this?))
But that's fine. Because this year the party is for Mama. And 80 friends. And about 5,000 cookies. And so I actually have to run so I can rub the dried dough off my arm hair, and get back to creaming sugar. And if you're thinking of something dirty now, you're probably having way more fun than me.