Dear Kid,

Today is the Winter Solstice, otherwise known as the shortest day of the year.

IMHO, that is good news.

“What?” you say. “You hate when it gets dark early. This is the worst of all possible times for you!”

Exactly.

Starting tomorrow, the days start—ever so slowly—getting longer.

We get more sunlight and we have more to look forward to the next day. And the next. And before you know it, it’s light at 5pm.

Other people can whine about how short and dark and cold today is. I am going to grin and think “Yippee! Tomorrow begins the upswing.”

And then I will snuggle down into my scarf and mittens and hope tomorrow comes quickly.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I am not a techno-geek. In fact, I have the superpower of being able to stop all technology within a five mile radius just by waking up in the morning. Eyes flutter open and all computers instantly slow down, wondering if I will turn my death-ray eyes in their direction. Those spared go back to work. Others give up their ones and zeros until I leave the state.

Not only am I the DeathStar of technology, I’m a little excessive when it comes to using my laptop. Which is to say I generally have about 43 files and 287 internet tabs open at any given time.

I get that I set myself up for problems. I get it. Really, I do.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop me from losing my mind every time my computer decides to restart (this instant! No warning! Just “Don’t close your computer or the world will implode” messages.).

I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. I should take it in stride. But I don’t. I should wait patiently. Instead, I spend my time explaining to the laptop that it would be fine with me if it would just hurry things along and update the minimums—I’ll pass on the premium offer.

Doesn’t matter. I am ignored (as I knew I would be).

I thank my computer for still working hard, and assure it that if it would just update during the day while I’m at work I won’t feel left out. My computer says it likes having me around as it goes through its routine. I give a long explanation about the opportunity to grow and advance. My computer says that’s the definition of restarting and it’s happier when I’m around.

I point out that I’m less productive when it won’t let me work. It points out that it is ones and zeros and I can talk until I’m blue in the face and ain’t nuthin’ gonna change.

I scratch the Puppy’s head while I wait. Silently.

But in my head, I’m hoping it will just hurry up and restart.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Yesterday was Bake Cookies Day. So I did. (I’m so obedient.)

Since we have a gluten-free guest, I searched for a gluten-free recipe. This is easier than it sounds because the internet is loaded with gluten-free options. Finding one that sounds good and isn’t made from obscure ingredients is harder than it sounds.

But I did it. And our gluten-free guest declared them fantastic! 

Since I’m sure you want to know what I ended up baking, here you go!

Flourless Chocolate Almond Cookies

Makes a whole lot. By which I mean about 3 dozen. Give or take depending on how much raw dough you eat.

• 1 ½ cups almonds, ground up really fine (I should have ground them up even more than I did)
• 3 cups powdered sugar (allow extra time to clean up the mess)
• 1/2 cup plus 3 tablespoons Dutch processed cocoa powder
• 1/2 teaspoon sea salt (I didn’t)
• 1 cup mini semi-sweet chocolate chips (I used a cup and a half. And don’t forget the extra for noshing)
• 4 egg whites
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
2. In a medium bowl, combine the chopped almonds, powdered sugar, cocoa, salt, and mini chocolate chips. Stir to combine. Set aside. Don’t worry about the amount you spilled—you can clean it up later.
3. In the bowl of a stand mixer, use the whisk attachment to beat egg whites until they are white and foamy, but are not stiff peaks. It takes a little longer than you’d think. Fold in the vanilla extract.
4. Add the dry ingredients to the egg whites and gently stir with a spatula until combined. The batter will be thick, like brownie batter.
5. Use a 2 tablespoon sized cookie scoop* to form cookie dough balls. Place the dough balls about two-inches apart on prepared baking sheet. Depending on 16 or 17 variables, these cookies spread a fair amount.
6. Bake cookies for 12-13 minutes, until the cookies are puffed, shiny, and cracked. Remove cookies from oven and allow cookies to cool on the baking sheet for 3-5 minutes. Use a spatula to remove cookies from the baking sheet and place on a wire cooling rack to cool completely. Try to save some for the guests.

*This is one of my favorite baking tools.

Enjoy!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Happy Bake Cookies Day!

Yes, it is the cookie baking time of year and someone decided to celebrate by creating a Day for The Baking of Cookies.

I read somewhere that there is no Eat Cookies Day and the author couldn’t figure out why there was a Bake Cookies Day and not an Eat Cookies Day. I immediately thought “Duh” and “Implied” and “What do you mean there are cookies left over for another day?”

Since we have a gluten-free guest arriving today, I thought it would be good to make gluten-free cookies. So I consulted My Friend the Internet for some ideas about gluten-free cookies.

The conversation went something like this.

Me: I’d like some recipes for gluten-free cookies.
MFtI: No, you wouldn’t.
Me: What? I’m pretty sure I would.
MFtI: You eat regular cookies. You’ll be much happier with those.
Me: We have a gluten-free guest coming. I like to make sure I don’t poison my guests.
MFtI: You’ll regret this.
Me: Show the recipes.
MFtI: Fine. I’m just sayin’. You won’t be happy.
Me (looking at the recipes): Well of course I won’t be happy. These call for all sorts of weird and expensive ingredients.
MFtI: I warned you.
Me: How about some recipes that don’t call for gluten-free flour or coconut sugar?
MFtI: You’re asking a lot this early in the morning.
Me: Show the recipes!
MFtI: Yeah, yeah. What do you think about these?
Me: I’m not sure recipes that talk about how to bake without an aftertaste is an improvement…
MFtI: You should really go old school.
Me: What do you mean?
MFtI: Cookies that never called for flour in the first place.
Me: Like meringues?
MFtI: Exactly. Now can I go back to sleep?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

There’s no use crying over spilled milk. One, because you can’t un-spill it and Two, because it’s milk.

There’s no use crying over spilled coffee either, but One, it’s COFFEE and Two, it stains.

When you spill it on the rug. Which you would never do.

I mean which I would never do. Ever.

Not only is the coffee busy staining your rug, it is busy not waking you up. Which means cranky person attempting to clean up spilled coffee.

Not that this would ever happen. Ever.

In other news, did I tell you we’re thinking about putting chocolate brown carpeting in the family room?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Have you heard about this trend? Personally, I’m horrified, but apparently reindeer boob is an accepted thing.

In case you’re not as hip as I am, Allure Magazine says

…reindeer boob entails cutting a hole in your sweater to allow for the flaunting of a boob of your choice and then putting googly eyes, antlers, and a red nose on said boob so it resembles a reindeer. 

Here’s the link if you need more info: https://www.allure.com/story/reindeer-boob

I really couldn’t believe women were really decorating their exposed boobs and going out in public, but sadly I was wrong.

There is absolutely nothing good about this fad. Nothing. Possibly even less than nothing.

Here we are in an era where women are reporting real issues and struggling to be taken seriously, and somehow someone decided it’s acceptable to walk around with a boob hanging out? Imo, it’s tacky and kind of slutty. Just because you’ve added a pasty nose and probably can’t get arrested for indecent exposure doesn’t make it OK.

Not only is it generally not acceptable, it’s even worse when the aforementioned fad participants post photos on social media. Seriously, women, once it’s on the internet, it’s ALWAYS on the internet.

Stick with ugly sweaters and writing letters to Santa.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Rather unexpectedly, I found myself in the middle of a discussion about meat. (For clarity’s sake, by “in the middle of” I mean I was listening to.)

Turns out some people take meat very seriously. Especially in some of its less-well-known forms.

The conversation was rolling around on some very shaky skates.

For example, did you know there’s such a thing as trail bologna? ‘Tis true. There was a long discussion (during which I was absolutely silent) about trail bologna and what made trail bologna, well, trail bologna. I (of course) looked this up when I got home and found that none of my friends were correct about the origin of the name. Pay attention:

Trail Bologna is called Trail Bologna because it’s made by Troyer’s Genuine Trail Bologna in the tiny hamlet of Trail in Ohio’s Amish country. (It’s an all-beef ring bologna.)

The conversation then slid sideways, spun the wheel, and landed the topic “meat sweats.” The first time I’d ever heard of the meat sweats was in a Progressive Insurance commercial (you know the one where Flo and all her relatives are sitting around chatting?). I thought it was a made up term. It’s not, although it should be.

“Meat sweats” is the mysterious condition whereby, after ingesting a generous helping of meat, you begin to sweat like a fat man in a cake shop. First identified by competitive eaters, for whom the malady is an occupational hazard, the meat sweats are thought to be caused by the combination of adrenaline and protein.

Speaking of things you don’t know about, have you heard of pudgy pies? Of course not because I am a terrible mother and never told you about them. This is because I had never heard of them until this weird food conversation.

Pudgy pies are not pies. They are grilled sandwiches one makes over a campfire in a special little contraption that is sort of but not exactly unlike a waffle iron.

After almost climbing out of the Pit of Doom in which the conversation found itself, the unthinkable happened and we plunged backward into a discussion of loaves of meat. Like ham loaf. There was a detour while we tried to determine exactly where on an animal one might find the “loaf.” The group decided that not even Jeb the Cowhand would know about that particular part of the anatomy.

With that, the conversation gave up and ordered dessert.

Love, Mom