My oldest daughter helped my son, who is only 4, bake some sugar cookies. When the cookies were done, we stacked them on a plate.

A while later, while I was working at the computer in one room, my son started a long explanation from the kitchen of how he wanted to surprise a friend tomorrow with those cookies. He told each step of the plan in great detail: "First, we'll decorate them with icing and sprinkles. Then we'll put them in a plastic bag that we'll get from this drawer over here. Then we'll take them out to the car and make sure we have them when we leave, and we'll drive to Noblesville and then when "Joe" gets in the car we'll let him get his seatbelt on and then we'll say, 'We've got cookies!' (ha-ha-ha!) 'Surprise!' (ha-ha) And then he'll say, 'Cookies! I love cookies!' and we'll hand them back to him and share them and it will be fun! (extra big laugh: ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!)"

It took a lot longer for him to say all of that, with embellishments that I have left out, than it did for you to read it. I think I responded, "Mm hm, sounds like fun. We'll take them with us tomorrow."

Still later that afternoon, young son wanted to reiterate part of the Grand Cookie Surprise Scheme. Seeing the uncovered plate on the counter reminded him, so he picked it up to illustrate some point, began speaking, whirled around and--whoosh! Faster than you can say "centrifugal force," the cookies spun off the plate, flew halfway across the room and dropped to the floor, breaking to pieces upon impact.

Three of us were in the room at that moment of impact. We didn't move. We didn't say anything right away, it was so sudden and unexpected. We just stared at the cookie chunks and crumbs.

Could they be salvaged? Simultaneously to this, another child was letting in the dog--the dog! "Quick! Sweep up the cookies!" Then the shrieking began, "My cookies! No! The cookies! We can't just throw them away!" The dog came galumphing in straight to the scene of the accident and began his own cleanup plan, we pulled him away, young boy is crying great droplet tears, two others are still staring, the fourth is pulling back the dog.

I swept up the remains and dropped them in the trash. As the lid flipped shut, the shrieking volume went up a notch. The oldest who helped make the cookies shook her head and shuffled out of the room muttering, "Great. I helped him make those, and now they're ruined." The dog was freed to lick up the remaining crumbs. The boy sat dejected. I offered to make more tomorrow, before we drove to pick up Joe. We had a little leftover dough in the fridge. A little dough, a little hope.