Miracle on Wazze Street
These sugar cookies almost didn’t happen.
In the past three days I have…
– Gone through four batches of cookie dough.
– Made icing without without almond extract.
– Meditated goodwill towards men.
– Made icing with almond extract.
– Burnt, two of the four batches of cookie dough.
– Doused myself in powder sugar.
– Tried to microwave butter, in hope, that it would soften the butter quicker.
– Put earmuffs on my caroler’s.
– Stained my hands with red and green food coloring.
– Been to the grocery store twice.
– Clogged our kitchen drain with white flour.
So, last night, I threw in the towel. I figured there was no way these sugar cookies were ever going to turn out right. Every batch was either burnt, had to much flour, or was to airy.
Darn you high altitude!
I crawled into bed defeated. I laid there in my fuzzy Christmas elves pajamas not dreaming of sugar plums, but pondering if I could ever bake again. So, I began to pray for a Christmas cookie miracle. I prayed to God, Santa, The Pioneer Woman, and Betty Crocker. Someone would surely be listening, right?
When I arrived home from work tonight, I dove head first into the cookie abyss. I began rolling out dough, cutting out shapes, baking, and decorating. I was a machine.
After three hours of sweat and tears, the sugar cookie factory came to a halt. The cookies were finished.
With a fearful eye, I took a bite. As the cookie sat in my mouth for what seemed like eternity, I began to chew. The vanilla frosting took over my palate. The golden crisp dough sank into my molars unleashing childhood memories.
They were simply, marvelous.
I guess miracles really do happen.