I decided to try to be Mommy of the Year this morning and come home from the elementary school to make a batch of cinnamon rolls. (Not from scratch, from Immaculate Baking. Who wants to make ’em from scratch when their’s tastes SO DANG GOOD? Also because I hadn’t had coffee yet and I was staaaaaaarving!)
I popped ’em in the toaster oven (heh, I mistakenly typed “pooped” there for a second) and attempted to mask the growls from my stomach with a little coffee and ice water while taming the costumed kids around the house (because it’s Halloween soon which means we’re costumed ALL THE DAYS right now).
Once finished, and iced beautifully, I plated them up, sat us down, and eagerly devoured mine while blowing on the baby’s. She wasn’t having it, she wanted the icing RIGHT NOW right now. She mounted Baby Dude’s chair, tried pushing him off it, doing her best to steal his even though she had her own (because she’s a bully like that).
Uh, no, sweetie peanut. C’mere!
I plopped her in front of her plate, knowing it was finally cooled, and peeled her off just a piece, handing it her. She’d had a bite or two and decided, screw this, I just want the frosting!
She proceeded to place her hand, flattened, right into the icing, smearing it all over her face, her shirt, the chair. And when she didn’t get enough icing in one shot, she proceeded to decimate the cinnamon roll by peeling it apart in one long coil. By the end, it looked like this:
It also made me think about how some people eat cinnamon rolls – do you bite into it, or peel it off, one layer at a time, and eat it that way? Do you eat it? Dunk it like a doughnut?
