Bake Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

He's good at baking. I'm good at eating. This is what they mean when they say, "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Except I'm the man. 

Although we planned to bake mountains of cookies for our friends and family, I could die happily by eating them all by myself. Alas, giving away those baked goods is our theme this Christmas (yes, we're that couple). 

It's our way to avoid the materialistic mallrat race...to return to a time when gifts were unique, sugary works of art, made by hand. 

And, not having a job right now reminds me that I'm an anti-consumerism Scrooge anyway.

Luckily, I married a man who can bake. It was Alex's idea to make cookies and it was my idea to nod emphatically in agreement.

Because baking is hard. 

As a general rule, I don't do it. There is chemistry in cooking. You must follow rules, not dance around the kitchen tossing things here and there, like it's your own private karaoke cooking show.

Which, coincidentally, is my favorite way to cook (and a great idea for a reality show). 

Thus, it should come as no surprise that last night - the ordained night of cookie baking marathon - was wholly a husbandly affair.

And this is how, in hindsight, I could tell for sure:

Alex: I think we should bake tonight. Then we can mail some gifts out tomorrow.
Me: Okay, good idea!
Alex: Want to pick a movie to watch meanwhile?
Me: Another good idea!
[Alex exits scene, enters kitchen. Staci transfixes herself onto the TV.]

Two hours later, the movie is rolling to an end, and he has created this:

Blossoms, Doodles, Douba-chocos.

Distracted by the electronic babysitter, I have done nothing. Naturally, I quickly create this: 

Because, as Shia LeBeouf says, sometimes copying other people work is it's own creation. 

Alex had singlehandedly baked 10 dozen cookies. 

My theory is that he was extra efficient because I wasn't fluttering around him shoving my camera into his personal space and spilling my cooking questions all over the counter. 

See? I helped.

When you miss the main show, you resort to photographing leftovers.

Usually, he swats me away like the nuisance I am. And by not distracting him last night, he made a record amount of treats in record time. 

We will never know for sure, but it probably looked something like this:

      

           

He makes things. I make sure the world knows how fascinating this is. 

Unlike last night, I usually watch him march through the steps of a simple (according to the baker-savant) recipe with shy amusement (and camera in hand). It's one of my favorite things to do together even though he does all the work. Marriage is like that. 

But when he's done, he encourages me to eat as many cookies as I want, as if he baked them all for me. 

It's a recipe for diabetes but I eat it up! 

Then, when we hand out these goodies in charming, homespun wrapping, I get to brag about how skilled my husband is, how he made each cookie with love; don't you feel special for getting three?! Damn right, you're feeling the holiday spirit.

It's truly a selfish way to go about gifting. It's very Christmassy. 

So...happy holiday, ya'll! If you want your own taste of these happy little cookies, do tell. I'd love the opportunity to harass Alex like a paparazzo over another few batches. And...I think he enjoys the actual baking as much as I enjoy documenting it.