LIST...SCHMIST.

Clean the apartment to within an inch of its life...nope

Change the big girl sleigh bed...nope

Wash, dry, fold, and put all of the laundry away...nope

Read the papers cover to cover...nope

Menu plan and grocery list...nope

Kit up new stitchy project...nope

Buy Christmas cards...nope

Drive around and look at Christmas lights...nope

Organize baking supplies...does stacking it all up on the counter count?

Bake several different kinds of treats and cookies...I don't want to talk about it.

Deep condition hair...maybe. I got butter in it by mistake.

Can anybody tell me why I do this to myself every year? Poor Magoo was subject to me bashing about and cursing a blue streak as I tried to do a forced-festive day of making my mom's damn Greek cookies. 

Every year I tell myself that it's going to be different, and every year I inevitably feel very much like Charlie Brown missing the bloody football and ending up flat on my back with stars swirling around my poor round head.

Now before you tell me that there are literally thousands of recipes out there for  these damn Greek cookies, not a single one of them will be written on the back of Lazarus department store receipt in my mom's beautiful handwriting, and not one of them will call for "a whole box of Swan's Down cake flour" or "get the dough so it isn't sticky".

I'm going to master these some day, I swear to you. I might be 107 and completely unable to stand upright, but as God is my witness (she says while shaking her dough-ladden fists to the sky), I will have Greek cookies for Christmas and they will be good!