The cake is a lie...

...but at least the brownies were okay.

I suppose that many of you have read my mom's unfortunate case that has left her prisoner in bed. I've spent a nice bit of the day running up and down stairs getting things like the ice pack, her purse, pain killers, etc.

She made an odd request this afternoon: "You know, brownies would really make my ankle feel better :)"

Many of us know that brownies do NOT possess the magical powers to heal sprains. I couldn't say no, but was still rather nervous. She was asking me, who can't even cook a can of microwavable soup without ruining it, to work the oven and make brownies by myself. I think those painkillers must have had some sort of if-you-feel-high-you-feel-great kick to them.

I didn't kill myself, burn down the house, or, worse, the brownies. I couldn't cut them after spending a nice hour or so making them, though. They were like rubbery little bricks. Eventually, I gave up and told everyone (meaning Mike, who was getting Mom's stuff on a plate so she wouldn't have to get out of bed) to grab a hunk of brownie, because cutting them into was NOT going to happen.

Several more trips downstairs to do things such as microwave the brownies, retrieve forks, and box up pizza, we began eating brownies at about 9:40. Everyone else really liked them, but after wasting spending all that time on them, they just weren't as good as I thought they could be.