We made it through Thanksgiving, and let me tell you this: I suffered a severe carbohydrate overload. We ate Thanksgiving dinner with my family at noon; we ate Thanksgiving dinner with Hubs’ family at 4:00. At 8:00 Thursday night, we both flopped onto the bed in front of that big screen TV, feeling like a couple of blue whales that had been washed up onto the beach. We were miserable, and we wondered when the whale activists were going to show up to attempt to drag us back into the water before we drowned.
(Is that what a whale does on land, amidst all the oxygen? Drown? Because I don’t know.)
(Let’s pretend that’s what it is.)
(I’d Google it, but that would require more work than I’m willing to put into this blog post tonight.)
I did indeed take some pictures over the extended holiday weekend, because of SO MUCH FUN, but what with all the snowglobe snow that’s been happening here today, Hubs and I put on our lazy pants, and we didn’t do much of anything beyond church.
Except that I baked cookies this morning before church. It was like I didn’t even know the girl in my kitchen because WHOA, BETTY! That was a lot of pastry-chef-type effort to extend before the sermon even got itself started.
They were chocolate cookies, stuffed with Rolo candies. The Rolos melted inside the cookies, and yes… they were delicious. I found the recipe on Pinterest, and I’ll stamp it as a PINNING SUCCESS. Except… and this is where y’all might want to take out your spiral-bound notebook and make a little notation… the dough was so sticky at first, it was exactly like working with a pile of Elmer’s Glue, stirred into a bowl of quicksand, with a helping of chewed bubblegum tossed in there. Clearly, these were not the type of cookies that you would want to bake at home alone, because if the phone rang, you would be helpless to answer it. Your hands would be thick with the dough slop, and you’d need a power-washer to remove the goop before you could even move the baby who had grabbed hold of your pantleg and stood up beside you. It was a two-person cookie endeavor, because Hubs had to rescue Thing 2 from my leg, before I knocked him over, lest I touch him with the stuck-to-me-for-life mess on my fingers.
And then I had the brilliant idea of LET’S TRY SOME PAM SPRAY. After spraying my fingertips with that, I’m happy to report that the cookie dough IMMEDIATELY and POSTHASTE became something that one person could easily tackle alone. Let the doorbell ring; it wouldn’t even be a chore to answer it, because LOOK, MA! NO CHOCOLATE DOUGH ON MY FINGERS!
So that’s my advice to everyone: Bake these cookies. They’re easy. (Because let’s face it: If I made them, of course they’re easy.) Just use the Pam spray like an offensive player in the NHL uses the spray deodorant between hockey periods.
And also? Well, I had every belief that these cookies were going to become my new, all-time MOST FAVORITES, surpassing my STANDBY FAVORITE FOR YEARS, which were Missi’s chocolate cookies with white chips. Oh, yes. I was prepared to phone Missi and say, “Well. I’m throwing you beneath the bus’ tires, because your special batch of cookies has been replaced in my heart.” And then I ate two of these cookies that I made, and I nearly suffered a diabetic coma from all the richness. I wanted to curl up and simply die, because my blood sugar had apparently shot all of my major arteries plum out.
And that is the long-winded version of how these cookies became dead to me, and how I still love Missi’s chocolate cookies with the white chips the best.
So tomorrow I’ll toss some pictures onto the blog that I took over the long holiday weekend, because, what with all the cookie baking and the perfect snowfall and laying on the sofa watching TV and chasing, chasing, CHASE-ING, the crawling baby everywhere, I realized that the day is done, and I’m ready for my bedtime.
MeMaw doesn’t like to be late for her bedtime.
Oh! And before I go, did y’all hear that Larry Hagman died? Well. He was an icon of my youth. When I was a 4th grader, I had the worst bike wreck in the history of bike wrecks. I flipped myself over my banana bike’s handlebars while I was riding downhill at top speed, and skidded, face first, down the pavement. This removed half of the flesh from my face and shoulder and chest, and made me ask my dad to just put a bullet in my bike and be done with it. I missed three entire days of school, because I was a bloody mess. When I came back, my friend Monique was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt that said, “I SHOT JR.” I had no idea what her shirt meant, and I thought I’d missed something, after having been in bed with a giant tube of the Neosporin for three days, and not sitting in my 4th grade classroom. Monique, of course, was shocked that I had no idea who JR was, but I was a product of the old times. We lived out of town, beyond the reaches of cable TV. Al Gore hadn’t invented the Internet yet, so there was no Hulu Plus to catch up on all the shows you missed during the week. Our one channel at home wasn’t the one that Dallas aired on. (Thank heavens it WAS the channel that had The Facts Of Life and Family Ties, though. Long live Blair Warner and Alex P. Keaton.) And that’s when Monique and Robyn sat me down at recess and filled me in on the nighttime soap opera’s plot. I was ready to rent a motel room for a month, just so I could see this hypnotic CABLE TV show myself.
And THAT, people, is going to do it for tonight. Welcome back to Jedi Mama, Inc., and we’ll see you tomorrow night with a Thanksgiving wrap-up.