There’s a video – probably covered with dust in a closet or a drawer or even a box – at my parents house featuring my sister and I as children (probably around 6 years old) building a gingerbread house. It’s my most vivid home video memory. You can only imagine how proud two little girls were to have built a gingerbread house from what seemed to be “scratch.” I think we did a pretty good job, minus the frosting that found its way to the kitchen floor and all over the table. Let’s not forget us licking the frosting off our fingers in between explaining to the camera (aka future us) what we had accomplished.

This year, in our adult life, we decided to recreate the fun with our two younger brothers (both of which are in high school). It was much more fun when we were youngsters. But the outcome was much less messy. And did I mention that my brother took over the whole project and tried to build it himself? I guess that’s what you get when you get other siblings involved – namely the sibling that’s convinced he’ll be a civil engineer and thinks that building a gingerbread house is a test of his ability to become said engineer.

We’re obviously not very artistic.

The gaping hole is a “garage.”