I did not need water to wash the dishes. My tears were enough.

I am ashamed of myself. I am a professed baker. Glucose chemist. Cocoa wizard. Cookie bedazzler. And I failed. Again. What is in Wichita's water? Ok, so I'm blaming this fiasco on the roller coaster that is the holiday season. My sister in law, Andrea, who is a Pampered Chef consultant (Ang, can I say that on here?), let my momma host a catalog party and even though there were a million things I wanted, I wasn't going to order. But I stumbled across the Festive Holiday Desserts cookbook and had to have it.

For one reason, and one reason only:

Candy Cane Brownie Lollipops!!!!

OMG!! (and I hate acronyms) Aren't they adorable? I had visions of bringing these treats to Shawn's extended family Christmas. Everyone would ooh and ahh at my talents--I would be in confectioner's heaven. So on a lucky day, when Wilder slept more than usual, I gathered the ingredients together, lifted an excited "thank you for this opportunity" prayer to heaven, and made these:



My hopes of tucking these delightful yummies into foil muffin cups, wrapping them with cellophane, and tying them with a sparkly red ribbon were DASHED. STOMPED. RIDICULED. DEMEANED.Where did it all go wrong?

Several things. I used a deep 9X13 pan when it called for the Medium Sheet Pan, which is shallow. And you'd think I'd know how to successfully crush a bunch of candycanes in a Ziploc bag...I think it was location (of me and the bag). The first time I tried I was outside in sub-zero temperatures, whacking the bag on the pack patio (didn't want to wake Wild). The bag got a hole in it. It didn't get much better when I carried on in my lack of judgment by taking a new bag down to the basement...and pounding it against the concrete floor...this bag broke and pieces went flying ...such foibles led to an extreme depletion in my patience.

From the brownies not rounding right to the candy canes not sticking in to the brownies, to the chocolate not setting (photo #3), it was an all-around disaster. I actually cried. I called Shawn and cried. And I was mad. Really mad.

You bet your damndest I'll conquer this recipe. One day there will be a showdown. But I'm going to let myself heal first, simmer a little, before I regain the excitement. The passion. The wonder of a new recipe.

I hereby warn you to clothe yourselves with armor--get a little thick skin before entering the kitchen.

Heart of the home? We'll see.

Note: I couldn't find the recipe on the Pampered Chef's website, and really didn't feel like typing it out. Visit this blog for the recipe (no, I don't know the author of the blog, but thank God for Google). If you decide to make these and are successful (I have every faith in you), test out my mood prior to telling me, as I am a delicate flower.