I came home last night after a meeting to discover the kitchen turned upside down. My fifteen-year-old son stood there, frowning, oven mitts on his hands, holding a cookie sheet of…well, I couldn’t quite tell what it was.

Turns out that he had to bring in cookies for a bake sale for his leadership class and decided to bake them himself.

“Did you use a full cup of flour?” I asked, peering at the gloppy mess.

“Yes! A cup PLUS two tablespoons, just like the recipe said,” answered my CHEMISTRY HONORS STRAIGHT A STUDENT.

“Uh, sure you used a full cup as a measuring device?” I asked, trying to scrape off the layer of greasy baked substance.

“Oh.” He held up a half-cup stainless steel measuring cup. “So there’s the problem.”

My husband took pity on him. Steve has tried to make cookies, too, and ended up accidentally doubling the butter (an accountant!). Afterwards, he decided he prefers those kinds of cookies–soaked with butter, flat as a pancake. I think he secretly wanted to save those shapeless cookies for himself.

Not that there was any cause for alarm. They weren’t destined to be a big hit at the bake sale.

So off the two zoomed to Safeway to get cookies that looked like…cookies.
In the meantime, I was getting ready for bed when I heard cookie sheets clattering in the kitchen. I was home alone, so I knew there were only two options:

1) A burglar was washing dishes for me.

Or… 2) A big yellow dog had his paws on the counter, trying to eat those sort-of cookies.

Guess which one it was?

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