Day 8 of 30

These pretty little cookies are the spoils of a monthly dinner my husband attends. When the children were young, they would run to meet him at the door, hoping he'd remembered to squirrel a few macaroons into his pocket for them. Nowadays it's our dogs who crash the front door hoping for treats.
Let's be honest here: the dogs get the steak bits, I get the macaroons. And in the spirit of truthfulness, this is the first time I've painted them. 
*Note to C and H (who are home during Christmas break):
don't bother looking for these in the morning. 
The last of the milk is gone, too. 

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