My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's sitting in the Happy Chair with a cool cloth on her head muttering something about hell and good intentions.
Yesterday dawned bright and early and Mom and Aunt Chrissy decided to have some festive holiday cookie baking activity over here in the kitchen. Well, there was baking, and I'm pretty sure they ended up with a few cookies, but not one bit of festivity was to be found.
It's the same thing every year. Mom hauls out the recipe basket and pulls about a dozen or so different recipes for treats that she thinks will make the holiday better, and she writes lists upon lists upon lists of the stuff that she needs and then she heads to the grocery store. (She does this, mind you, after unsuccessfully trying to guilt my Aunt Chrissy into doing all of the shopping for her.)
The bags come home and sit on the kitchen table for two days while my stupid mo-ther checks and re-checks the lists, only to discover that she now has nine bottles of Karo corn syrup and not one ounce of flour. (Now I know that I'm just a simple pup, but methinks flour is a rather important item in the baking of things.)
They start out well enough...they clear off all of the counter tops and then set up these very sophisticated "zones". I hear my mo-ther bossing Aunt Chrissy around with the "put the sugar in the dry ingredient zone" and then "I think our spice zone should be categorized alphabetically" and then I hear Aunt Chrissy saying something under her breath about not being a freakin' Keebler elf and how next year she's going to hide the damn recipe basket after Mom passes out from eating too much Thanksgiving.
They started with fudge and white chocolate bark and then progressed to chocolate peanut butter cup cookies and fat girl crispie treats. These last little items are officially called "Oooey Gooey Karo Krispies", but Mom re-named them once she realized that if you turned her loose on improving rice krispie treats, this is what she would have come up with. (I can't eat them, of course because of the chocolate, but I can tell you that they must be pretty good. When Mom and Aunt Chrissy decided to taste test them there wasn't any talking or swearing or noise coming out of that kitchen for a full fifteen minutes. I think they might have lapsed into some kind of sugar rapture or something.)
The last things that came out of the oven were butterscotch oatmeal raisin cookies, but I don't think Mom was very happy with them. I saw her frowning a lot as she was trying to mix the dough, and I have to say that once the things were baked they looked a LOT like something I would have up-chucked on the living room rug.
They stopped all of the banging around to have dinner and clean up the kitchen, but Mom wouldn't shut up about wanting to make the Italian cookies that her dad liked so much. If she said "those Italian cookies that Dad liked so much" one more time, I think Aunt Chrissy would have smashed her in the face with a cookie sheet. I myself would have liked to see this, especially since I think my mom gets rather obnoxious and incredibly bossy when it comes time for the two of them to do stuff together. (I'm starting to think that Aunt Chrissy might actually medicate herself heavily before she and my little twerp cousin Bosco come over, because she never loses her cool and almost always does whatever my mom tells her to do.) (Silly Aunt Chrissy.)
As for me, I peed on the ottoman about twelve times and got worried when Bosco decided to snarf down an apricot that had dropped on the floor. Neither Mom nor Aunt Chrissy knew if apricots were poisonous to little dogs, so I kept a good watch on him to make sure he was OK, and then caught some shut-eye on my perch.
That's the report for today. The brisket is almost done, the snow is flying, and Mom looks like she's ready to pick up Frank for a little Sunday afternoon stitching. As for me, I'm going to go tuck into my new book....I decided to read along with Oprah and enjoy some Dickens.
I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be, and that if you're here in the mid-western U.S. you stay warm and safe and dry.
With love from your pal,