Lennon was Optimistic

I've been having One Of Those Days.
I decided to get my baking done, as much as possible. At the moment I'm taking five (or ten) to let my raisin filling (and myself) cool off a bit.

The first batch of peanut butter cookies overbaked, due to me getting distracted by my husband, who chose that time to explain to me how a lock tumbler from a vehicle (in this case, our Bronco) worked, or again in this case, wasn't working. I like stuff like that, and naturally had to examine the tumbler mechanism, in the process getting graphite all over my hands and letting the cookies burn. We're out of peanut butter so unless I make a third trip to the store today, I'm not making any more.

I pulled out the dough for the sand tarts. Too hard to roll, set aside to thaw a little. Made dough for raisin cookies, chilled, made raisin filling. Rolled out some raisin cookie dough, banged elbow on stand mixer. Didn't have a round cookie cutter, improvised with the top of a martini shaker. Filled one sheet of cookie bottoms, set aside. Told hubby there's not enough room to roll on the bake cupboard; he decides to remove everything from kitchen table for me. I help and knock his iced-tea glass over. He steps in the spilled tea while I'm searching for a dishcloth. I wipe up tea, he knocks over the entire pan of cookie bottoms. They go in the trash. Meanwhile he's lost his keys, which are attached to the lock tumbler; I find them on the dryer. He asks if I need any more help. I send him outside to put the Bronco door back together. Realize the sand tart dough is too dry and the raisin cookie dough is too soft. Back in fridge. See some spilled vanilla on the counter, start to clean it, discover it isn't vanilla. My beloved KitchenAid mixer is leaking oil. Finally able to make raisin filled cookies. Have much more filling than dough, thanks to earlier incident. Discover why nobody else likes making them, too time-consuming. Vow to purchase cookies from the Amish like everyone else.

Made bourbon balls with no problems, of course... I hate bourbon.

Update: raisin cookies are done, and delicious. I might tackle a batch of biscotti yet tonight. Hubby came in and told me I had flour handprints on my butt. He looked at the kitchen, decided not to ask what was for dinner, heated up leftovers and retreated to the other room. Now I have to clean up the aftermath, wash dishes, clothes, and myself, and limit biscotti-making to one surface if possible.

Nobody told me there'd be days like these... strange days, indeed.