Do NOT Think I Won't Make a Crazy Gingerbread House Soon, Because You Will Be Wrong

This year is going to mark the first year in a family tradition. The tradition will officially be named: Oh Hell, Mom is Going Crazy Again With The Gingerbread BS.

I hope to uphold this one singular tradition, which hurts no one, in place of the more psychotic, commercially driven Christmas madness often played out by the mothers of small children. And then my daughter will get bigger and want to change all of that and I will cave and we will be found lying comatose under a Christmas tree surrounded by popcorn balls, our faces plasticized by candy cane residue. The sound of Dora's Christmas Special will be eerily floating through house courtesy of six different televisions.

While I still maintain my fantasy, I think this year we''ll start with a simple modern piece, such as this one on inhabitat.com:

I have to start practicing. It's harder than it looks.


  1. Okay, so I've already been thinking that you (or we, should you desire some help that I would be so, so happy to give) could perhaps begin with Corbusier's Chapel in Ronchamp or perhaps FLW's Moore-Dugal residence in Oak Park? Aim high, girl. Aim high.

  2. Well, we were thinking Robie House, so we are all on the same page. As long as Julie gets to use a Hershey bar for a door.