The Finest Things…

Did no work at all on Tuesday. No blog, no thoughts of writing or moneymaking of any kind. Those with OCD brain understand that most days this is not a good idea. My thoughts can go from success to bag lady faster than Hillary cries out, “vast right wing conspiracy.”
I did it anyway. Guilt consumes me for most of the day but not during the time I gather with the girls, Middle and Baby Chicken along with Baby Pea, to decorate Christmas cookies. Thoughts of intricately fashioned gingerbread men with little shorts and perfect button downs ended earlier in the week when I found my gingerbread boy was, in fact, missing. Three stores later and no replacement found, I settle for a cat and a minion. I know then these cookies will be different. The girls do not disappoint.

Conversation ranges from the perfect age to have babies to working overtime to Supreme Court Justice appointees. Cookie decoration is not nearly as cerebral.

There is Santa the Cyclops, emojis, a guy barfing and a cat zombie.

“Why is this guy barfing?” I question Baby Pea.

“I don’t know. It just came to me.” The girl’s cat zombie features stitches about the head and neck and one of her minions lost an arm in the apocalypse. Blood gushes from the amputation.
Baby Chicken scrawls her best boy’s name on one. We laugh at its lack of beauty. When she sends a photo of it to said boy, he very seriously says, “Oh, it looks so good.”

We realize that’s why we keep some boys around. They say the right thing at the right time and will never tell us our butts do, in fact, look fat in these jeans.
Baby Chicken also crafts a near perfect replica of our little white cat, Peeka, while Middle Chicken wins the award for Best Snowman. She also creates an ode to her alma mater, a view of the world from space and various holiday trees.
I can generally decorate the hell out of anything. Cookies are the exception. My ragtag bunch includes plain rounds with frosting and sugar, a couple of trees and a minion missing an arm. If I turn him upside down, he becomes a mitten with an unusually small thumb. I’d put my creations up against a five-year-olds any day of the week.

The girls also take the chance to make fun of their brother and boyfriend with a snow globe featuring a guy with a man bun inside. A debate ensues on the merits and demerits of the man bun and whether the hair must remain “bunned” at all times, since it does not have the same effect when it’s blowing in the wind.

Much of the world’s problems are solved this afternoon. Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it’s that everyone took the afternoon off. Perhaps it’s the holiday spirit.

But, perhaps it is actually that the finest things atop the Regular Girls Holiday List are the ones that don’t come with any price tag at all.


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