For the record, and just so everyone's perfectly clear on this point, I don't bake. To me, baking means opening a cake mix box, pouring it in a bowl, adding whatever it is you're supposed to add, and throwing it in the oven. I do make my icing from scratch though, so that counts for something I guess. But I'll really only make a cake if I have to -- such as on Ryan's birthday, and in the future, on Austin's birthday.
Why don't I bake? Because I don't really enjoy it -- and, when I have tried it, I'm better at burning cookies, than making edible cookies. I'll put the blame on my mother for that one (sorry mom), she taught me to cook, but since baking to her also usually means opening a cake mix box, she wasn't much of a teacher in that department.
That being said, the next time you're eating baked goods in my house, you now know not to assume I made it, but don't assume it's from the grocery store either. Ryan's the baker in our family -- and let me tell you, if you've ever had cheesecake at my house, you'd know why he's the baker and I stay far from the kitchen when he's at work.
All week, Ryan's been baking up a storm for Christmas and the house smells wonderful. You can probably guess that holiday baking has never been a tradition for me -- but I definitely think I could get used to it. Especially if my only part is helping to clean up afterwards.