Welcome to Hell, here's your heart shaped cookie cutter. Or "Half Baked: A lesson in cookies."

Want to know the last thing I said to my husband as we got ready for bed on February 13th?

"You know, I kind of hate Valentine's Day."

I know, I KNOW.  I'm such a cynic.  Why would I not enjoy celebrating a made up holiday that doesn't celebrate freedom, or religion, or freedom of religion for that matter, but merely supports materialism, retail, the flower industry, and the Oligarchy of Hallmark, without the backdrop of something serious and actually worth celebrating, of which we've all forgotten the details.

Actually, if you want to know, my husband laughed and said, "Yeah, I don't blame you."  He understood my annoyance.  He came home to me having tarred and feathered myself and the entire kitchen in cookie dough and flour, and we had already discussed that we weren't planning to get each other anything, not even cards.   Because we both kind of think its bullshit.  And ten years of marriage, two careers and two kids later, neither of us have the time or the patience for bullshit.  Trust me, he and I both know the value of a well-timed visit to Victoria's Secret, and we don't need a national holiday which doesn't even net A VACATION DAY to remind us, thank you very much.

See, here's what happened.  I had signed up to make cookies for both boys classes for the Valentine's Day parties.  Will's teacher was just happy to have some help, apparently there is a dearth of parent volunteers at the preschool, I guess everybody figures they pay so much damn money to go there, they might can afford to go buy their own damn party supplies.  But anyway, she was very sweet and whatever I could do was great.  So I said I'd make sugar cookies (I was thinking slice and bake, at this point) and bring some frosting so the three year olds could smear their clothes and bodies with red food coloring, and maybe eat enough to get a good buzz.  Since I had already agreed to this, when I saw the sign up sheet at Drew's kindergarten room, I went ahead and signed up for cookies, thinking It would be easier to stick with one subject.  Plus, the sign up sheet had been around for a while and cookies were all that was left open.  Again, slice and bake is easy and kicks out lots of cookies in a very short amount if time.  How bad could this be?

So, as I was getting ready to dig into my baking Monday afternoon, Drew's teacher calls.  She's very sweet, an excellent kindergarten teacher.  But I don't think she likes me much.  I've switched my volunteering schedule a few times, which I know is a pain for her, and I tend to forget to send things to school with Drew that he's supposed to have, like, oh, homework, sharing, and even, once, lunch on a day he was not inclined to enjoy an offering from the cafeteria.  Thankfully, she seems to recognize this is my fault not his, and doesn't punish him.

People, let me take a moment here to point out that its KINDERGARTEN.  We're not writing essays for college placement exams, ok?  And I'm not supermommy, I think we've established that. 

Anyway, she calls to tell me that she has realized that the reminder note that went home about what we signed up for (which I didn't get until about 30 minutes before she called because Drew was sick on Friday with strep throat, so I didn't get his Friday packet of crap that mostly goes into the recycle bin), wasn't very clear, and that she really needs us to make various SIZES of HEART SHAPED COOKIES.  Oh, I say, they're supposed to be heart shaped?  I can hear her trying to control the panic in her voice, and she gets even more singsong-y than normal.  Oh yes, they must be heartshaped!  And she need some to be various sizes, if I can manage that, If not its okay, but if at all possible, really, could I please just not sign up for anything else because I cause her unneccesary stress, and she's got enough stress, what with this rabid, infectious anti-ritalin movement that is really a thorn in her side, because the children hang mostly from the ceiling tiles without it, but primarily because its making it harder for her to get her own stash.  (Ok, so she didn't say that last part, but I am good at reading people's thoughts on the phone.  I'm like a witch or something.)

So.  I now have to wait a couple of hours to go to the store before I can get started, because Drew has a playdate over.  So finally, Drew and I head out to karate, and I go running around frantically while he's at karate class trying to find a cookie cutter, and lots more cookie dough than I originally purchased.  These are tricky things to find on the afternoon before Valentine's Day, because most mommies have their shit together, apparently, having purchased these things earlier, and stores are all sold out.  So about the time I decide I might have to cut out heart shaped cookies by hand, I find a cookie cutter. 

I realize that up to this point you think I'm just whining, but its all just backstory, people.  Stay with me.

Here's where everything went terribly wrong. 

The cookies that I so meticulously rolled and cut and baked with the fucking heart shaped cookie cutter?  Came out of the oven looking more like round blobs, with a little inset at the top.  They are not heart shaped.  They are kind of more the shape of actual hearts, come to notice.  The Cardiology, Run Your Body, Next Time You Come Up Behind Dick Cheney You Should Probably Duck You Stupid Asshole, kind of heart.  I'm thinking this is not what little Miss Singsong had in mind.

Thankfully my husband, (ever the calmer, solution oriented presence) upon returning to the relative sanctity of our home after another rough day at the office, discovered that if you lay the stupid cookie cutter over the cookie blob right when it comes out of the oven, you can just recut them into heart shapes, while they are still soft.  It worked.  And I figured out I could use my little WilliamSonoma cookie gun thing to make small hearts, although they too are a little blobby once baked, but YOU GET WHAT YOU GET AND YOU DON'T THROW A FIT has been my mantra since Drew first came home from preschool singing it.

So everybody got heart shaped cookies.  And next time, I will go back to signing up for the really easy things, like plates and napkins, which I usually totally snag, but as I mentioned, Drew didn't go to school on Friday, which is apparently when the sign up sheet went up. 

And it has taken me three days to type this entry, because I AM BUSY, people, though Lord knows doing what.  But there you go.  Be happy.  Raid the kids Valentine's goody bags for the chocolate - maybe the day is good for something after all.  Drink wine.  All is good.