You know your life has changed in some profound way when your friends catch you in the most awkward moments of your life and, instead of asking what they can do to help, they say, "This is going on the blog, isn't it?". Indeed, friends. It's all going on the blog.

I know it's completely awkward to be posting Christmas themed photos this late into the new year, but my resolution (yes, I only made one) is to post a little more frequently. So, here you go. I'm only a week behind.
Most of December can be summed up in pictures. I took quite a few and hope to post them before... Easter.
Highlights of my post-Christmas week include walking through the pouring rain to catch the bus and being told by an exceptionally chipper homeless man, "Keep warm, little girl!". God bless the hard of sight, for they shall compliment the soggy and wretched.

I made quite a few cookies for the clients this year. I even introduced a new one: the Linzer Tart! Yay! (And there was much rejoicing.)

Throwing Stars.... or Linzer Tart cutouts?

These double as throwing stars. You know. For the ninjas in the ninjabread house. (Thanks to my cousin Sue for that one).

My Fav.  Snowballs

Snowballs might be my favorite.

Linzer Tart Cookies

Ladies and gentlemen, the Linzer Tart Cookies.


Wait. I changed my mind. Thumbprints are my favorite.

A closeup of what love looks like

And here they are, all nestled in their tins. Ready for a long winter's snacking.

Santa's promise

This is why I am the best bookkeeper. Ever.

Butter Down!

And THIS is what I found on the floor while I was cleaning the kitchen after baking. It was underneath our kitchen stool. I wasn't quite sure what it was at first. I mean, I'd started out the night with a perfectly clean kitchen, so it must have arrived (erupted? metastasized? been rolled in by prankster mice?) fairly recently. So, I reviewed the events of the past several hours in my head. Let's see... I'd mixed up the dough in the KitchenAid, baked a few hundred cookies... and now there was this brown mushy blob on the floor. Wait. The KichenAid. There was that mysterious thump after I'd loaded in the metric ton of sugar onto the metric ton of butter and turned my back. Ah, yes. It was all making sense now. I'd put so much butter and sugar in the mixer, it had spun it right out of the bowl. And onto the floor. Where it had sat, somehow, unmolested, for a few hours, while everything baked. It was a pretty decent sized lump, too: almost a half stick of butter. It was all making sense now that the batch had not yielded its intended number of cookies.

I'm sorry for cursing you and your recipe, Betty Crocker. It wasn't your fault. It was all centripetal force's fault. And maybe my inability to judge when a bowl is too full. But mostly it was centripetal force's fault. Yeah. That guy's a real jerk.