We have been over this before.
There was the time I got invited to make quiche with Tanner's classmates and forgot to add the flour and quadrupled the milk. And the guests were arriving for the dinner they HAD PAID FOR in 20 minutes and what I had to serve them was some floating grated cheese in soggy pie shells.
There are the various Christmas baking fiascos and knowing that what doesn't burn the dogs will eat.
But I am sure - or at least ALMOST absolutely positive, that I have never before almost killed someone with my baking.
My intentions were pure and good. I was trying to be nice. Sort of.
Mostly I was trying to be domestic. I was trying to IMPRESS.
I really, really am a slow learner aren't I?
A blog reader, a recent adoptive parent, a friend of a friend was coming by to meet me and my gloriously well behaved children in my beautiful home.
Ok, not really, but that is how I imagined things.
What she got was a slightly frazzled me, 2 miserable babies, 1 adventurous toddler, a 9 year old that was hiding in the tree fort crying because his brother teased him, a pretty friendly 12 year old, a grouchy argumentative 14 year old and a silent 15 year old.
I tried to buffer that reality by whipping up a batch of home made cookies. FROM SCRATCH. Not even the "from scratch" I tell the boys is home made - really, really from scratch and no boxes involved home made!
And they turned out. No burning, no fires, no mixer accidents and no spilled ingredients.
Gooey, glorious, perfect peanut butter chocolate chip cookes to feed her EIGHT children.
It's now that I mention that her son has a serious, life threatening, potentially fatal allergy to peanuts. Even the air born peanut oils that occur when you bake with peanut butter.
I tried to kill a blog reader's child.
Sorry Justine. I promise to never, ever bake again.
At least for you.