There are many things I love about the season of Christmas. The food, the company and all the sparkly decorations strewn about. I can over look the massive consumerism and commercialization of a holy event and even the hordes of cranky shoppers, because I see the magic of this time of year.

What I hate about Christmas is the fact my children expect me to have a personality transplant and morph into Ms. Molly Homemaker. A woman who suddenly wears an apron and pulls freshly baked edible goodies out of the oven while wearing a smile.

Apparently it isn’t quite as festive if you are cursing about not watching the time while the smoke detector is screaming and a haze of acrid smoke wafts through the air.

But I love my kids, and I wanted them to have some sort of home-making type of memory with me. (This way when they are deciding to whether to place me in the fancy, licensed seniors home or the shady, back alley discount one, I can play the home making mother card.) So I bought a gingerbread house package. It may not be actually baking, but I’m in the kitchen and food products are involved. Good enough.

It started off well enough. We were all having fun, listening to some carols and munching on the candy. Then disaster struck.

The facking roof fell in. All by itself. I swear, I wasn’t touching it. I wasn’t even looking at it. I was too busy shoving licorice up my nose and pretending to be a walrus. Yet in it went. And it couldn’t just collapse. No, it had to break. Into three pieces.

Why the manufacturers don’t send replacement parts in those damn kits, is a freaking mystery.

Just when I was ready to cry and call it quits, my darling husband stepped in and put on his hard hat.

A hero was born that moment. At least in my eyes. There was still a chance I could pull this off and have one Martha Stewart-y type memory to wave in front of my children when they’re older.

A little bit of sugary goodness, some cleverness from a cute man, a lot of cheerleading from Fric and Frac and me in the back ground still stuffing candy into my nose while keeping a safe distance from the highly breakable cookie house, and viola! Problem solved.

Turned out pretty nice, if I say so myself.

It was a Christmas miracle.

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas everyone!