Joy the Baker

It’s Friday.  I know you weren’t expecting this, but it’s time for a Pop Quiz.  

Don’t worry.  If you’ve done the reading this should be easy… (I hated when teachers would say that to me). 

Pop Quiz

1) True or False:  The joining of chocolate and coffee is like a cosmic combination of all that is good, just, and rock and roll in the universe. 

2) Fill in the Blank:  Breakfast is the most _________________ . 

3)  Multiple Choice:  The best choice for this weekend’s breakfast treat is:

a) stale Cheerios.  

b) Gerard Butler and hot fudge sauce. 

c) breakfast sandwiches made on Cheddar Black Pepper Biscuits.  

Now… here are the answers: 

1)  True….. duh!  2) Breakfast is the most important meal that ever was.  3) c… if and only if b is unavailable.  

Perfect score?  We’re best friends.  Take note. 

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These eggs aren’t the only thing that’s scrambled.  

My brains…. also pretty scrambled right now.  

As far as I see it, there are two solutions to the scrambled brain mess that I’ve got going on inside my head right now: a whole weekend worth of sleep or a bag of fun size Snickers bars.  

Aaaand Snickers it is… but first, let me show you what I eat morning, noon and night:  scrambled eggs.  

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I’m not sure exactly how to say this, so I’m just going to go ahead and put it out there.

For the first time in…. ever… I had fun at a baby shower.   Real time, legitimate good times at a baby shower.  I wasn’t even faking it, not even a little bit.

I’m going to stand by what may be an unpopular position.  In the past I’ve found most baby showers I’ve had to attend, a troubling combination of boring and humiliating.  Between standing around listening to various labor horror stories and playing disgusting baby games that involve Tootsie Rolls and diapers, I typically just barely manage a fake smile.

This weekend’s baby shower was different.  My friends Mitch and Lara got together, got married, and made another human that Lara is currently growing in her belly.  These people are filled with hilarity, and an uncommon and humble goodness.  Watching them open their baby gifts with grace and a downright speedy efficiency (thanks!), I couldn’t help but imagine their little girl filling the onesies, hats and socks they received.  While it may sound silly, the reality of this impending life became more lovely and amazing as each gift was opened.

That I may or may not have been able to cheat at one of the baby team relay games has very little to do with me having a great time at the shower.  Don’t press me on this.  Please.

Now, without a well-crafted transition, I bring you Crustless But Still Dang Good Quiche.

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My Mom used to crawl in the bed at night, after a long day of being a mail carrier, a wife and mother and exclaim “Best part of the day!” just before she drifted off to sleep.  To her,  it seemed like there was no greater reward that peaceful rest at the end of the day.

As a kid, I had a hard time relating to my Mom’s Ode to Bedtime.  I was sure that I could have, at the very least, squeezed one more episode of The Cosby Show into my night.  Nope.  Bedtime was bedtime, not because there were overly strict bedtime rules, but because my Mom was just dog tired.

Nowadays I feel like I have a better understanding of my Mom’s nighttime sentiments.  My head hits the pillow after a long day and I’m asleep before I can even turn the bedside lamp off… and I don’t even have little kids yet!

You were right Momma.  Sometimes crawling under the covers is the best part of the day.

Other times, quiche is the best part of the day.  True.

In exciting, not sleepy or quiche related news:  my Mom, after over 30 years of delivering mail, retires from the Post Office… today!  Holy heck Mom!  Way to go!  Thanks for working hard for the family all those years.   I couldn’t be happier for you.  I hope you find a new “best part of the day”.  For reals, I love you Mom!

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This list of things that I’ve stolen in my life is pretty small.

There was that piece of candy that I stole from Fedco when I was 7. My Dad caught me chomping on it in the back seat of the car and I got the big morality talk. Lesson: never steal anything too chewy.

There were the Girl Scout cookies I stole from my big sister’s room when she was out on a secret date. I was the natural suspect. I got a good talking to for that one. When I pulled the same cookie thievery the next week, well…. my parents made sure I learned my lesson that time.

Then there were all the times I would sneak into my Mom’s secret chocolate stashes. My Mom’s hiding places were no match for my ability to find a stool and wiggle my way around cabinets looking for sweets.

Thinking back on it, my thievery always involved something delicious that I wanted to put in my tummy. I was pathetically predictable in that sense.

I was once again tempted by the thievery gods this weekend while walking around my neighborhood. There’s citrus EVERYWHERE. Just about every other yard has a blooming orange or lemon tree just begging to be plucked. Isn’t sneaking into someones yard to yank their produce considered theft? I thought back to all of the stern reprimands and spankings I got from stealing yummies as a kid and thought better of sneaking into my neighbor’s yard.

Instead, I forked over some cash at the farmer’s market and felt just fine about making this Honey- Lime Curd.

Does this sort of concession mean my bad girl days are long gone? Sigh….

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