This weekend was a cookie weekend. The Man We Call Dad bought two whole bags of Oreo cookies. Two bags, not one. Two, because he knows from long experience that Oreos are a particular weakness of mine and I tend to eat them four at a time. And because he knows the kids have learned from my fine example and see nothing wrong with devouring pairs of Oreos multiple times a day.
Usually, he buys a single bag and stashes it away in the pantry, trusting that when he comes back a few hours later, there will be cookies in there. A reasonable assumption, no?
And then he assumes, having had a single cookie, or maybe two, that when he puts the bag back in the pantry, there will be cookies in there tomorrow, too.
Which there totally would be, if the pantry had a lock on it.
Which it doesn’t.
And if I didn’t adore Oreos as much as I do.
And if I didn’t say “Sure, and get me some too!” every time a child said “May I please have an Oreo?”
But they do, and I do, and no, the pantry does not have a lock on it, and yet The Man We Call Dad still finds himself puzzled by the empty bag of Oreos on day two.
So this weekend, he bought not one but two bags of Oreos in the hopes of getting more than just a few for himself. To help with this plan, I baked a few cookies, too. Two dozen chocolate chip, two dozen peanut butter (from the best recipe ever), and a dozen mint chocolate chip for good measure.
Yes, you read that right. We now have five dozen homemade cookies and 2 bags of Oreos in the house.
Or rather, on Sunday we did. But right at this moment… Well, there are rather fewer, shall we say, and let’s leave it at that.