Eric makes the world's best cookies. Like crack on a cookie sheet. To make up for the fact that he left me alone with the kids for three days while he was hanging out with famous people and having his portrait done, he made cookies tonight, after replacing the van's battery (yes, he's SuperHusband and all that - you can't have him. You really wouldn't want him anyway, especially when he's in WriterMan mode).
A few weeks ago, our neighbors across the street brought us over a plate of cookies, a new recipe the wife had just tried. Being the neighborly type, we realized that since we had freshly made cookies, we should reciprocate. We had also borrowed their jumper cables, and needed to return those, so Eric took the plate of cookies over with the cables.
The confession? I asked him *not* to admit that he made the cookies.
(Where's a blushing emoticon would you need it?)
I don't know how the whole exchange went, but Eric assured me they think I'm a wonderful cookie maker.
Okay, really, we live on the Texas/Mexico border. The culture is a *little* different down here. Eric has repeatedly said he thinks I'm the whitest person in The Valley (which is not true - with his blue eyes, Guthrie definitely is). I don't think a working class Mexican family would get it that my husband comes home from his hard (3 hour) work day and makes cookies. So, they can think I make great cookies.
Because I did make some great cookies with Guthrie this weekend. With the help of this guy: