Normally I would be waxing poetic about food here today.

But I am going to offer a different sort of Takeout.

Because:  I am at the library with my two boys.  The boys are playing trains and all is quiet, and I am filing some pictures and setting up my blog post for the day.  Should be able to rock something out in about 30 minutes.  If all goes well.

If all goes well.

Red approaches, eyes full of tears.  “Mah, mah train!  It’s WOST.”  I help him look, and settle back down to the post. Oatmeal cookies.  Yumminess and cinnamon.

Blonde approaches.  He wants assistance with the bathroom.  I help, of course, what mother would say no?  But I add a bit of a sigh for punctuation at the end of my assistance.  Still just on an ingredient listing.

Red is back.  He needs help with a block situation that seems to be working up to an EPIC tragedy.  I stop typing and verbalize some assistance.  He works through it.  I have lost my place.  How much cinnamon?  It’s paramount.  My sigh repeats.

Blonde approaches.  I sigh before he speaks.  I am on paragraph two.  He is on bathroom trip two, evidently.  I smile again, and will my eyes to mean it.  He can always tell if the eyes don’t mean it.  I have doubled the cinnamon.  Cookies are gonna be very very flavorful, I guess.

Red sidles up and hands me a book.  “Will you read to me?”  My first instinct is to sigh, AGAIN.  The audacity.  Read a book?  In the library?  Right NOW?  But… the cinnamon?  How will they ever know how much cinnamon?

And so it goes.  You know how it goes.

Post will be short.  I have boys who want me to read to them in the library.  Go here if you want a cookie recipe.  It’s better than mine anyhow.  Cinnamon issues.

Thank you,  Ree Drummond at The Pioneer Woman for your lovely recipe.  My toddlers thank you too.