The cards are stacked against me in a certain irritating fashion. I cleaned the house up the other day. I got it smelling good, AND I even looked okay. I had showered, done my hair and my make up… what’s more: dinner was cooking. I was so excited for my husband to come home and see what was going on! I was like June Cleaver -a rare occasion that isn’t likely to repeat itself until the planets align!
Minutes before he was “supposed” to get home, I got THE text. I guess I knew it was coming. I could sorta feel it in the part of my gut that hangs over my pants, childbearing leftovers.
He would be late.
This time, “late” meant 10 pm. By then, dinner was cold, my make up had been washed off and -let’s face it -I was asleep. He had Arby’s for dinner, by the way.
Yesterday, I was crazy enough to spend more than several hours preparing a dish that is now baking in my oven. A breakfast dish. It’s special. Want to know why? It’s one of those “soak overnight” egg dishes and I’ve been dying to try it for months! It calls for hearty bread, and I wanted to bake some fresh bread to make it with. I finally made bread yesterday and as I started piecing the recipe together, I noticed something. I didn’t have enough eggs. Or milk. That always happens to me. I seriously plan my menu two weeks at a time, and I still end up frantically driving to my mother’s house in my apron and stealing her soy sauce. Or her A-1. And then, to salve my guilt, I leave a note on a napkin, promising to bring them some of whatever food I’m making.
Yesterday, I couldn’t bear to steal anymore. Not from my mother. Not this time. So when my dear Aunt called, I begged two eggs from her. Of course she obliged because that’s what aunties do. She told me she would probably be gone when I came to get them but that I could let myself in.
I did. And guess what? Next to her fridge is her stove. On her stove were some STILL ON THE PAN cookies. And next to her cookies were
cookie dough.
These cookies, it must be mentioned, are of a special sort. They are the same recipe that my mother uses. I’ve had a hankering for those cookies for a week now, but I’ve sworn off buying chocolate chips on account of my bank account and health (in that order). I tried to put on blinders.
I tried with most all of my might.
Then I took a cookie and a pinch of cookie dough.
Correction: I STOLE a cookie and pinch of cookie dough. And as I bit into them, OH what JOY filled my SOUL! I took her eggs and her cookie and I went out the door. As I stepped into the crisp evening air, I was hit with a very vivid memory -one I didn’t even know I had.
I remembered racing out of my mother’s kitchen into the crisp autumn evening air, carrying my flute on my shoulder (compliments of the carrying case dad bought for me which I still have and use and love) and stuffing my face with my mother’s freshly baked cookies. I was on my way to a home football game. I got into every single one free -I was with the band.
And just like that, the memory was gone. But for one split second, I felt the wonderful feeling of what it was like to be 15 and have energy and eat my mother’s cookies to my heart’s content with no consequences to my 28″ waist. That blasted waist line was beautiful! Even when I fed it snickers and Dr. Pepper for lunch, it was beautiful! I wish I would have known that then…
Funny what one cookie can do to a girl.
My mother’s effect on me is far-reaching.
Don’t blame yourself, Ma, for my thievin’ ways. That’s the devil’s doing.
Anyway, I came home and finished putting my breakfast dish together.
Three loaves of freshly baked bread. Eight eggs (two borrowed). One pound of bacon, cooked. One pound of sausage, cooked. This is no ordinary recipe! This is a special occasion recipe! I was thinking of having it for Easter breakfast, but I wanted to try it out first.
My kitchen counter looked a wreck when I had finished preparing the dish, but I knew it would all be worth it in the morning. The thought of serving it to my husband was making me giddy. He’s always so good at making all of the appropriate appreciative yummy noises.
Aside from coming home late, he informed me that he had to go in early. The dish has to cook for nearly 2 hours, and in order for me to get him this (what I’m sure is going to be) delicious breakfast dish, I would have had to get up at 3.
AM.
Little did I know that I would be up at 3 AM anyway cleaning up something rather less-than-wonderful from my son.
It took an hour to clean up, after which hour I was in no mood to cook anything. Since I had only rested about three hours, I went back to bed. Two hours later, my phone’s alarm went off.
I tried to dismiss it, only to find that my track ball won’t scroll down. I’ve tried everything to fix it. Everything short of taking the bloody thing apart and running it over with my Jeep Grand Cherokee. The stupid smart phone won’t let me dismiss my alarm. It’s been going off faithfully every five minutes since 6:30. I tried rebooting it, but the stupid smart phone REMEMBERS that it needs to keep waking me up!
So I yanked the battery out, and now I’m up, I’m up.
The egg dish is cooking.
My husband is gone.
My smart phone is stupid.
My kitchen is a wreck.
And I am a thief.
(Recipe for the brilliant egg dish is coming up just as soon as it pops out of the oven. May I suggest you BUY hearty bread instead of making it?)
