Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Karma Anyone?

Have you ever had a moment where all those scoldings your mother gave you sank in at the same time and made sense? I had one of those in the last couple weeks. All I have to say is, "dammit, my mother was right."

I remember growing up and having to make my own lunch every day. Don't worry, no whining about having to make my own lunch (though I distinctly remember Mom making my sister's lunch in high school and college far more than she ever made mine). I had help when I was really small, but by second or third grade, I pretty much made my lunch myself and took it every day. I never had hot lunch. Ever.

Mom would buy things for us to pack easily in our lunches like pretzels or Handi-Snacks. We had a sandwich or bagel every day. Sometimes we would get pudding cups or string cheese. She usually had chips and crackers around for us. Mom and Dad always had fruit for us to eat--as if they were hinting at us to take some in our lunches, haha! Grapes made an appearance in my little red Mickey Mouse lunchbox more than once without my having added it. And there were always cookies... until about Wednesday each week.

I can hear my mother now, "What happened to the Oreos I bought!?"
The usual reply, "We took them in our lunches."
Mom's appalled response, "What, ten cookies per lunch?"

She tried to slow down the cookie destruction by doling them out like treasured gems. We could take a Little Debbie brownie half or a single Swiss Cake Roll (that's a Ho-Ho to you east coasters) instead of a 2-pack. The so-incredibly-rare Pop Tart pack got divided between us. She tried to make the sweets last all week, but I have to say it was a losing battle.

Fast-forward to 2010: I'm married to the cookie-inhalation expert and manage to have time to bake cookies nearly every week. I prefer homemade to store-made, and the cost is about the same, so why not make them myself? Oh, yeah, because I only get to eat about 1/10th of them.

There was once an incident with my first-ever batch of snickerdoodles as a married woman. Either The Man had never had warm, super-soft snickerdoodles before... or mine were particularly tasty (they are!)... but he had eight--count them, eight--fresh cookies on a plate before I could even turn around to scold him. So much for a 3-dozen batch.

Certain cookies seem to last longer than others. The oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, while delicious, are our standard so they tend to not be as exciting to devour. I made some chocolate crinkles last night and only have about half of them remaining tonight. Toll House cookies? Forget about it. I have learned to save the time and leavening agents and just feed The Man dough.

I hear myself asking the question in my head, "What happened to the cookies I just made!? Dammit, my mother was right!"

2 comments:

MissKris said...

LOL...LOVED this one, Mrs. Jaggy!

cm0978 said...

There goes The Man's trim waistline. You should remind him that his mother never let him get away with that many cookies! Two cookies are enough or you'll get sick! Or is this because I rationed him when he was small and now, as an adult, he doesn't have to? By the way, the Rice Krispies treats are all gone here and nearly all the cake.