Before I start my hilariously terrible gingerbread house story, I just want to share a few quick updates about the marketing process for my brand new, debut book! I have been busy emailing people who work in the Catholic marriage realm, as well as Catholic bookstores nationwide and local media sources to try to get the book into more stores and hands. I got a copy into my church’s library, and even (gasp!) my public library! A very generous friend is hosting a book launch party for me this weekend, and I am really looking forward to that. I got to see my book “in the wild” at The Paschal Lamb bookstore in Fairfax, VA a couple weeks ago, too. I will share more updates soon!
*Note: The following is cross-posted from CatholicMom.Com, where I contribute monthly articles. Hop over there to read everything I have written for them, and check out some other great Catholic mama authors, too!
“Perfect” Christmas Memories
This one is for all the mamas out there trying to make Christmas perfect for the kid. Give yourself some grace! You are doing a great job! And what’s more, on your worst days, you can remember this story, laugh at my hot-mess-mom life, and feel better about yourself in comparison. I am more than happy to help.
So, without further ado, the tragic misadventure of …
The Bennett Family Gingerbread House
Step 1:
On a rainy day near Christmas, pull out the gingerbread house kit that’s been at the bottom of your pantry for (at least) a year. Though they won’t eat what you make for dinner, your kids will literally lick up the crumbs of this year-old, heavily preserved gingerbread while you despair over how many pieces key to structural integrity are broken and how much more complicated the directions are than you expected.
Step 2:
Step aside, icing: This is a job for the glue gun. Your husband cuts a few replacements for the non-salvageable pieces out of one of many Amazon boxes piled in the garage since they stopped picking up recycling just in time for holiday shopping.
Step 3:
A false sense of hope and security begins to dawn. You start taking pictures so you can share on social media the story of how you took this house from condemned to cute, and all the jolly memories your family made in the process.
Step 4:
Nothing fits. What even is this piece? Your hand slips and you knock loose the only wall that seemed right. The entire thing collapses. OK, maybe only part of it collapses, and you karate chop the rest of it in anger.
Step 5:
In your rush to throw the whole thing in the trash before your kids try to eat more ancient gingerbread now laced with hot glue, your husband will burn his hand on the glue gun. Many four-letter words are whispered (ok, not always whispered) at the house’s funeral.
The end.
Merry Christmas to all. Please do not gift my family a gingerbread house kit again.
