Blessed brownies

Once again I can only ask, "Does this sort of thing happen to anyone else?"

It started with a simple phone call Friday night. "Hi Dana, this is Cheryl from the church work group. There's a ______ (she told me the event, but I can't recall what it is - probably a funeral) on Monday and we need to provide treats. Can you bring a pan of bars?"

"Sure, no problem," I said. "I'll just drop them off Sunday morning."

"Great," Cheryl said, "Just make sure you label them that they're for the _______."

Yeah... no problem. Until I forgot all about it until 6:45 Sunday night. You'd think watching my children snarf two cookies each during Sunday school earlier in the day would have reminded me, but no. Luckily, I found a box of brownie mix in the cupboard, and I by 7:30 p.m. I had a pan of freshly baked brownies.

Of course the kids wanted some. I told them sorry, but these were for church and we needed to hurry to drop them off. To placate them, I let Sydney lick the spatula while AJ got the bowl. I wrapped the pan in tinfoil and then realized I couldn't label what they're for because I can't remember what they're for. I finally wrote on a Post-it note, "For Monday, 10/10.

As quickly as I could, I locked Gus in his kennel and loaded the kids and brownies into the minivan. I needed oven mitts to carry the still hot pan. We made it to church only to discover - oh yes, because nothing can be easy - the door was locked. I could have sworn there was at least a youth group activity going on. Apparently not.

So back to the house we drove. Sydney nearly stepped in the brownie pan, which I'd set on the floor of the van, on her way out. Walking into the house, which smells wonderful thanks to my recent baking venture, she declared, "For a bedtime treat, I want a brownie."

"No, you still can't have these. Daddy's going to have to drop them off in the morning."

The church won't be unlocked yet when I leave for work, which means Jeff's going to have to deliver them after dropping Sydney at daycare. Right. After working all night and then wrangling two kids out the door to school and daycare, he's going to remember to drive to church with a pan of brownies. This is the same man who – the last time I had to bake bars for church – ate a good chunk of them before I noticed what he'd done.

Anyone want to place bets on the odds I'll come home from work tomorrow and find a pan of day-old brownies sitting on the counter?