Me Made A Spooky

Oh yes, and ate quite a lot of it too.  Channing was in tears the other day after leaving Michael's without his much desired haunted gingerbread house.  To the tune of $20 bucks, I loudly said no.  He was crushed.  Seriously.


When we passed a similar kit on a recent trip to Target, I made a beeline for the shelf and snatched up the last one, hoping that the slightly crushed box would not reveal a pile of crumbs.  $10 bucks.  Now that was do-able.

Channing told me again this morning.  Me make a spooky with Daddy.  Not you.  You take pictures.  True.  That's exactly how it went down.  I pulled the box of goodies out of the car after our evening visit with the neighbors, grabbed the camera and let the guys at it.

Michael did the assembly.  I read the directions as I shot the pictures.  Channing ate the candy, licked the icing off his fingers and did a little decorating here and there.  I about died with delight when he globbed all kinds of frosting between the peaks of the roof and poured nearly all the sprinkles on top.  

This guy was very protective of HIS candy decorations.  I repeat:  HIS!

Love how you can see the sprinkles cascading off the roof in this one.  Priceless!

In the end, our haunted house looks nothing like the one on the box.  I'll bet the food stylist who created it didn't have nearly as much fun either.  Ours came out one ooey, gooey, sticky spooky mess.  Does it matter that it isn't perfect?

Channing sums it up perfectly here:

Who cares?