I take cash and all major cookie flavors.

Sleep is beautiful. You really realize that when you don't get enough of it.

In Germany, I was always out like a light switch and I couldn't get enough of that wonderful little thing called a nap. The riddles begin as to why I got home, in my rightful fresh washed bed, and cannot get a winkful of sleep.
Maybe it's because our washmaschine begins running at five thirty in the morning so I have to unload it at six. Maybe it's because I'm wondering about money--When did college get so expensive?!-- Maybe I've secretly become nocturnal. Opossume-becca activate! That seems to be the best of all the options. Sure thing is that I saved all of my tired for my vacation time. Isn't life just tricky like that.

 Then people tell you that you look tired. Which basically translates into, "You look like crap. Go take a nap, ugly." And I can only smile and say, "But look what I've accomplished." It's no wonder little kids hate naps. They're smart enough to realize all the time they waste. Look what I did today.

That's right. Christmas towel. Because at my house, we're always festive.

Easy like apple pie, they say. Well they lie. Because apple pie is hard to make. It downright sucks. Easy like blueberry pie, maybe. I don't really know. But who honestly can make a pie crust? Mission Impossible 4 (For Pete's sake, they're making a fourth one?) will just be two hours of Tom Cruise making an apple pie.

Muffins, on the other hand, are awesome. Love them, they love me. The problem is that I'm never able to snitch one for myself. You see, baking in my household is an odd occurance. We associate it with tragedy.

Cookies could be coma.

Funnel cake could be a funeral.

Cinnamon roles are the plague. Hey, who's keeping track?

It's this weird guilt/pleasure thing. Like, Mom's making homemade bread. Whooot! ...Oh,... who died? 
 And then she gives it all away. This rolls over to my cooking too. No trademarking or copywriting on my work. No sir-ee.
For example, I made muffins two days ago. Suddenly they're gone. (Hence the new batch in the picture.) She gave two to one worker, then thought it unfair and gave two more away, and poof! no more.

Because they're just that good.

For my housekeeping skills, of which are legendary--think barbeque spare ribs for lunch and then turn around to eat pork roast at dinner--, she offered to pay me. But I'm not into that. I love my family and more importantly we were raised with the, "Under my roof, you work for your food, clothing, and shelter or you can just get out!" motto, so I appreciate it when she tosses a box of Mint Oreo cookies my way. Trust me, the irony of earning cookies for baking has not been lost on me.