Gingerbread disaster

It's about this time of year I write a post about the gingerbread house (see tales of triumph from 2013, 2012 and 2011).

This year's story is sadly still a bit too raw and painful for me to tell in full. I'll just share some of the documentary evidence - pictures and verbatim comments - and you can piece it together for yourselves.

Friday:
Me: 'Look at the windows! I made them from Jolly Ranchers. And I remembered the bake the almond roof tiles in. This is going to be the best one ever!'.
TLOML: 'It's straight, and it's true, and it looks fantastic. I can't wait to decorate it.'

Saturday morning:
Me: 'Look what mummy and daddy made - it's a gingerbread house. Isn't it nice?'
Lady P: 'Eat it?'

Saturday night:

Basic construction completed, we begin decorating in earnest

TLOML made a little log pile to go by the front door

And I made tiny marshmallow hearts for the shutters

Sunday morning:

Me: 'Oh no!'
TLOML: 'I know! I thought we'd been burgled! But I've checked and the only thing that's damaged is the gingerbread house'.
Lady P: 'Mummy say 'oh no', Mummy sad. Gingerbread broken. Eat it?'

Scenes from the wreckage: note my tiny door number

TLOML's icicles survived, but the actual roof did not

And so it transpires that bad things do happen here after all. After a wide ranging investigation within the Sugar Cube and on the world wide web, we have decided it's the humidity. According to one smartarse gingerbread forum comment: 'There is a foolproof way to make a humidity-proof house: move to Nevada.' Sigh. Is this the end of my favourite holiday tradition (More on this in December 2015, I suspect).

Meanwhile, looking on the bright side, at least we don't have to wait till Christmas Day to eat the stuff. Every time I pass through the kitchen I scoff a handful of those shattered dreams. Yum.

The graveyard of dreams