Peanut butter cookies

The broken one is mine, because I would hate for anyone to have to eat a broken cookie.

I seldom make cookies these days.  If I made them, Cliff and I would eat them, so I don't.  But this morning I felt like making peanut butter cookies; the divine smell fills the house and makes me wax nostalgic:  When my children were living at home, there were almost always some kind of home-made cookies around.  Peanut butter cookies, sugar cookies, and oatmeal cookies were the most common varieties, because those recipes used ingredients that were always in my kitchen.  To this day, I hesitate to try a recipe if it's going to force me to buy something I don't ordinarily have on hand, although the holidays are an exception.  
I miss being able to eat a dozen cookies without gaining weight.  
When Cliff first had his heart surgery, and for at least two years afterward, I was very careful to cook the healthful kinds of meals that would, I hoped, grant him a longer life.  Somewhere along the line I let some wrong foods creep back in.  I don't know if I did wrong or right, but at least we get to eat the foods we love best sometimes.  We both gained weight once I relaxed the controls, which is not good.  On the plus side, I stopped getting mad every time I cooked a low-calorie meal at home, only to see Cliff eating all the cookies and cake and pie that anybody at work or elsewhere offered him.     
I still have some control over things.  I have a rule to never fix more than one unhealthy meal a day.  This morning I was really craving pancakes and those little link sausages that we don't usually have in the house (they were on sale for $1).  But knowing we were going to have a tenderloin sandwich for dinner, I shoved the sinful thoughts out of my mind and sliced a banana over our pathetic little bowl of Cheerios.  We'll have the pancakes and sausage on a day when we're having lentil stew or stir-fry or some other good-for-us thing for lunch.  
Better a little control than none at all, right?