Thursday, December 3, 2009

What's the exchange rate?

I was invited to a cookie exchange tonight. Since I don’t bake, I’m sure you understand the heart palpitations caused by the mere mention of something as scary as this. I am being asked not only to bake a holiday treat that can be packaged in quantities of twelve, but I must do this with the understanding that several people will bring my packages of baked goodness home, where their loved ones will actually attempt to eat them. This can not end good, people.

I found a recipe that looked easy enough called Almond Shortbread. I’m a big fan of Walker’s Shortbread and an even bigger fan of almond paste. Call me crazy, but I think this is a winning combination. Although I was tempted to simply spread the paste straight on to an existing Walker, in the spirit of Christmas I figured I’d at least try the recipe. It seemed easy enough: throw a bunch of ingredients together, mix it up and toss it in the oven. After the “light golden brown” was adequately acquired I removed the pan from the oven to let cool on little wire racks. (Are you impressed I actually own little wire racks? I know I was.)

But before I get too comfortable in my accomplishments I realize there is a lot more to do… and many more options in the “what could go horribly wrong” category. I need to cut up these little guys, package them, deliver them, and wait to see if I get charged with attempted murder.

I’m sure the experienced exchangers will have cutesy little packages filled with gourmet flavored seasonal goodness and tied with a festive bow a la Martha Stewart; I’m just tossing mine in Ziploc baggies with my attorney’s business card tucked in.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Oi Vay!

Oy Vay! (Oy Vey!)

1: Used when frustrated.
2: Used when anoyed by other people fighting or arguing and it becomes a big mess.

I organized a surprise 30th birthday party for Big V this past Wednesday. Like an uber-insecure psycho girlfriend I ganked his phone while he was in the shower and wrote down as many names and numbers as I could. (This took several times, since he has 300 contacts but only takes five minute showers.) Awkwardly, I called each one of his friends and invited them to the big shindig. I thought maybe, just maybe, if we were lucky, we'd have close to twenty people in attendance. We had over forty! Trust me when I say it was AWESOME to see V's expression when he saw so many of his friends there to help him celebrate. He's one of those guys who has friends of all types and in all different circles, so it was an excellent, if not eclectic, mix of personalities.

Later, V's mom would find out he had a wonderful surprise party with his friends. To this she would say, and, yes, I am quoting: "Why didn't you invite me?" To which he replied, "How could I invite you to something I didn't know was happening? It was a surprise party. I wasn't in charge of the guest list." You might think that this is true... but, alas, as she explained, he really was in charge of the guest list: "Well, when you saw I wasn't there you should've called me."

[Note to Self: If my son finds himself thirty years old, surrounded by his friends at a bar on his birthday and he immediately thinks, "My mom isn't here! I need to call her right now!" then I have failed as a mother.]

Thanksgiving was a busy day, as it usually is with most families. Luckily, V's family celebrates the holiday months in advance... ok, weeks... my point is it's done and over with by the time the real holiday arrives. We managed to eat our way through the day and rest accordingly. V's mom would see him the next day and describe how upset she was that he didn't text message her Happy Thanksgiving. (There would be tears involved.)

So, this holiday season I am thankful for a mother who lets me be an adult. For a mother who enjoys my company - but never demands it. For a mother who isn't steps away from being instituionalized.

(If it wasn't so gosh darn irritating I'd tell you about how V's mom is attempting to impose a "minimum every two week visit." Like that one is going over well with V.... he hasn't, uh, stopped talking about it...)