I seem to be on an F kick lately. I cannot imagine why. I’m sure it has nothing to do with a barely-even-subliminal desire to say a DIFFERENT word that starts with F, repeatedly. No no, of course not. It’s not as though I’d like to stick my head out the window right now and bellow…
… um, Frankenstein. Ahem.
After yesterday’s fudge incident (and yes, there are recipes that use evaporated rather than sweetened condensed, but then they call for things like marshmallow fluff, which I also didn’t have) I instead opted to make a giant batch of cookies and say “Screw fudge! Fudge is stupid!” I’m pleased to report the cookies came out just fine. I mean, I think they did. It’s not like I can actually eat them. Motherfrankenstein.
It’s all part of Operation Thank The Teachers For Narrowly Saving My Sanity.
I really thought that when Chickadee started middle school this year, I’d be off the hook for teacher gifts. Or maybe she’d have ONE favorite teacher. But no. She wants gifts for the teachers, all of them. Actually, that’s a lie. She wants gifts for all of the teachers EXCEPT one, and then we had to have a little talk about NOT BEING A JERK. That went over like a lead balloon, probably because—near as I can tell—being in middle school is kind of all about being a jerk.
So she has, I don’t know, eight different teachers or something, and that’s a lot of gifts if you’re BUYING, which is why instead I’m doing a lot of BAKING. Of course that meant that Chickadee stomped her way through the kitchen last night and upon questioning spat out that it’s NO FAIR because SHE AND MONKEY used to be the taste testers for cookies and now I’m always baking at BEDTIME and then they go to bed and OTTO gets to have a cookie and THEY DON’T.
I asked if she was seriously pouting because Otto gets to have a cookie and she said that YES SHE WAS. Mind you, this is the same child who begs me to flat iron her hair and then screams at me that I’m doing it wrong (simple solution: I have procured the darling her VERY OWN FLAT IRON for Christmas, and on that blessed morn I plan to BEAT HER TO DEATH with it), so I figured maybe it was the alignment of the planets or something that was TRULY bothering her, but she was unwavering in her assertion. Finally I was forced to agree that YES, it was a major tragedy, and clearly I never should’ve married him, what with the severe COOKIE IMPINGING he was committing.
I apologized for my error, and she stomped off to bed. (Who says mothers and daughters don’t share tender moments?)
This morning all was forgiven, at least until she started screaming at me that I should pick her up from school because she doesn’t want to ride the bus with her science fair stuff, and it would only be “a few minutes out of my day.” I then proceeded to swallow my own fist while attempting not to explain at length exactly how many minutes “out of my day” a certain screamy tweeny has lately been causing me to reach for the Excedrin. So.
You can see that her teachers deserve thanking.
On the other hand, we have Monkey, he of Up And Down, and right now we are Down. Right now he is so far Down I’m pretty sure his teachers all deserve shiny new BMWs, but I have yet to run across a recipe for those. Monkey does not scream at me (most of the time). Monkey is currently stuck in a repeating loop that pretty much goes like this: I am different, different is bad, I don’t want to be different, I try not to be different and I just end up more different, everyone is mean, and I would like to curl up in the corner and be invisible. Repeat a hundred times an hour, and you’re getting the gist. Did it cause your heart to splinter and crack? Because that’s more or less what it’s doing to me right now.
My participation in making things better for him seems woefully inadequate. I’m going to go hang out in his classroom for the holiday party; maybe I can pass out hot chocolate along with friendly little warnings like “Stop picking on my baby!” I’m sure THAT would improve his school experience lots. No? Okay, I’ll continue just being helpless and tortured, then. And also being grateful for the teachers who are keeping school from being a COMPLETE disaster for him right now. (See, it’s only a partial disaster. So much better.)
In summary, we have a girlchild who believes I’m the source of everything wrong, but her life is basically fine. And we have a boychild who believes I’m the source of everything good, but his life is kind of a mess regardless of what I do. And me, well, I’m baking a whole lot of cookies.
And maybe muttering “Frankenstein” a lot.