The Little Gingerbread House that Couldn't

The big boys and I put together a gingerbread house the other night, or as Max likes to call it, a "Bread House".  I wonder if that's confusing to his little 2 year old mind...  Why isn't it made of bread?

I have these visions in my mind of the memories I will make with my children.  We all snuggle, laugh, make happy meaningful gingerbread houses together...  Ella Fitzgerald and Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols in the background...  soft lighting...  somehow I'm thinner and the house is clean...  

But.

That's not how it goes down.

Ever.

No homemade gingerbread.  No homemade icing.

I bought a kit at Target.

The boys don't seem to mind.

In my fantasy, nobody is wearing the Sheriff Woody pajamas that they changed into right after school.  Or has green frosting on their face.

ah well.

Lucas is so intense about all of this...

SQUEEEEZE IT!!!

This part doesn't happen in my fantasy either...

I don't know if there was too much icing on the roof, or if the copious amounts of icing encouraged an overabundance of candy...  but whatever the reason, the roof would not stay on.

Nothing I did would make that stinking roof stay on our little bread house.

I tried more icing.

No.

I tried more icing again.

No.

More icing again.

No.

Hot glue.

Seriously.  I tried to hot glue a gingerbread house together.

Still no.

My wonderful friend Valerie sent me a recipe for gingerbread house icing, but I have to be honest.  I just don't care anymore.  The Mariah in my fantasy would have whipped up the icing whilst wearing pearls, heels, and a clean apron.  But I am pretty sure I had spit up on my shirt.

The boys don't seem to mind.  The gingerbread excuse me, Bread House, is on the shelf, in it's cheap, unattractive plastic tray, broken.  Two pieces of roof, just propped up beside the walls.

Ah well... 

The Christmas Elf that doesn't try very hard