11.20.2014

turkey handprint cookies because i didn't totally skip thanksgiving

Every year, I got Ethan a custom cookie cutter made from his handprint through Chinaberry. It appears that they have stopped making it this year, so all I had was Ethan's last year cookie cutter. I decided that was okay because the cookies grew as they baked anyway and, well, it's the thought that counts. Not that it will be your child's true handprint, but you can find other hand shaped cookie cutters elsewhere online. I've admittedly been eager to skip to Hanukkah and Christmas (and Kwanzaa, which Ethan insists we should celebrate) and, truthfully, Thanksgiving is pretty much my least favorite holiday ever. Still, I knew we had to do something for Thanksgiving and the only thing that I know about Thanksgiving crafting is the handprint turkey. Using Ethan's cookie cutter, I brought the handprint turkey to a fun new level.

I used a simple rolled sugar cookie cough recipe that I found online. It probably speaks volumes about my lack of skill as a baker, but Ethan couldn't understand how the dough made cookies (we're a slice and bake family, sadly enough). I wound up tediously cutting all of the handprints myself. Ethan totally wasn't feeling it.

Once the cookies were baked and cooled, things got a lot more fun. I made up a little muffin tin with icing in "Thanksgiving colors" (that's a thing, right?) -- brown, red, orange and yellow. I used a simple confectioner's sugar and milk recipe for the glaze. Ethan got to work painting the "feathers" onto the turkey which he actually really enjoyed. It was probably the longest cookie decorating session in the history of, oh, ever.

Once the glaze dried, I began bagging up some of the turkey cookies that were taking over the dining room table. Ethan painted some of them more subtly and others way more...vibrant. We'll go with vibrant. Either way, they looked awesome.

Ethan spent the next three days handing them out wherever he went: Publix, Starbucks, his pals at MyGym. And that's as Thanksgiving-y as we get, folks.

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