Conquistador of Cookies

Assured that I really meant it when I announced that I would be baking 30 dozen cookies for my students, T dubbed me the Conquistador of Cookies.   I like it and shall henceforth demand that everyone call me by that name.

Baking cookies for my classes has been an annual holiday tradition for me.  This year, with 85 students in my orbit, it's a rather complicated culinary affair.  The rule of thumb is that I provide 3 cookies for each student.  I like to make a variety of treats to satisfy all palates.

Each class's cookie platter featured:
    - rocky road fudge
    - peanut butter cookies
    - snickerdoodles
    - peppermint chocolate chip cookies
    - tollhouse bars
    - Molasses spice cookies
    - iced sugar cookies
    - sugar cookies
    - thumbprint cookies

Cookie day is now a two-day event in my classroom; three classes got their treats today.  The remaining classes and my homeroom will be feasting tomorrow.  It makes me happy how pleased they are with this simple, homemade pleasure.  It's yet one more reason to love what I do.

Pretty Packages

It's Secret Santa time again and, as usual, I've enjoyed the process of wrapping packages to leave someone a little surprise each day.

 That's happy!  What else?

Iron Kibble Bowl

The other day it came time to open a new bag of kitty kibble.  This is an exciting development in the hard life of Tiger and Lucy; one that requires close supervision as my competency is in question.

Once I filled their bowl (and let me assure you that despite the anxious cats you see, the bowl was never empty), they ate with a a vigor that implied they'd never eat again.  Lucy tossed kibble on the floor, which is her favorite way to torture me.

It's a rough life for a pet in Sassafras House.

Christmas Tree 2011

There is something extraordinarily magical about a Christmas tree.  Each year's tree manages to be the most beautiful tree ever, a yuletide sleight of hand that reflects the joy of the simple treats of the season.

Or maybe its just the pretty packages underneath?

The Nominees

On Sunday, with temps just north of 60 degrees, we headed to a local farm to select our Christmas tree.  There were many candidates.

  

Several trees received a cursory review of their application for the job.

This tree earned an interview.

As did this one.

I was determined to avoid the 2010 error: selecting a tree that was larger than our house.  So this otherwise lovely tree was rejected.

The winner was finally selected and then cut down by the handy T, who wielded a saw without cutting off her hand, a task I was unlikely to manage. 

Then we all took a ride on the back of the tractor.

The tree was trussed up and tied to the car for a trip to Sassafras House. 

We decorated it on Sunday night.  Tiger and Lucy continue to be most thrilled with the new inmate.  Pictures of the final product will be posted in the next few days.  Spoiler alert: it's lovely!

Harry Potter and the Big Stack of Books

Just before Thanksgiving, JT finally agreed to read the first book in the Harry Potter series.  I'd been urging this idea on him for years and he resisted, explaining to me, "I've already seen the movies."  But once he got started on the series, he was like a junkie, eagerly turning page after page, recapping the most exciting elements of the books, announcing that the movies weren't nearly as good, and negotiating for a just a few more minutes of reading at every bedtime.  He was a pretty good reader before, but this development has been remarkable for the passion and excitement it's engendered.  I know that I'm hardly the first parent to remark on the power of the Harry Potter books but, wow, I really had no idea.  It's truly remarkable.  He's reading book five right now and expects to finish before the night is over.  Book six is at the ready on his nightstand, prepared to absorb him with the magic of it all.

Modern Conveniences

Last Thursday night, we arrived home to find a bright orange notice on the doorknob.  It would seem that PSE&G, my local gas and electric utility, needed my attention.

I called the number at once and was told that my gas line needed to be replaced.  I'd need to be home for the job, they reported.  So I took a look at my calendar and said "I'll be home on winter break the week of December 19.  How about then?"  There was a pause and then B, the friendly utility worker on the line asked, "how about tomorrow?"

I responded by asking, "why the rush?"  B's answer, "There's a gas leak in front of your house."  Assured that we wouldn't blow to Kingdom Come in the next few minutes, I said I'd take a day early next week.  B hung up to check the utility's calendar then called me back and asked, "how about Saturday?"

Internet, when the public utility volunteers that they want to replace your gas line on the weekend, you don't say no.  So much for my exciting Saturday morning plans (lying around in my own filth, going to the gym, scoring a Christmas tree, and re-stocking the fridge).  I stayed home to get a new gas line.

At 8:30 am on Saturday, as I was still working through my third cup of coffee, a giant truck equipped with a front-loader and a jack hammer pulled up in front of my house and 5 guys piled out.  The day had begun.

I will confess that I derived a certain satisfaction at the noise created by all this equipment.  Some of my neighbors are of the leaf-blower-in-the-morning dawn variety and I spend far too many early weekend hours awakened by the hum of their leaf-blowing efficiency.  Revenge came in the form of a loud jack hammer and front loader.  It was richly deserved.

For a few hours, while a new gas line was placed underground,  we didn't have any gas service.

Then, with the new line complete, the holes were filled, grass seed was thrown around, the pilot lights on all the gas appliances in the house were re-lit and bingo! we're once again cooking with gas.  That we didn't explode in the process is just gravy.

Clutch-Worthy

I drive a standard transmission car.  I prefer a stick shift for lots of reasons (snow, rain, gas mileage, control of the vehicle among crazy NJ drivers) but in heavy traffic, it can be a nuisance because I am a girl protective of her clutch.  In my lifetime, I've only replaced one clutch, and that at 90,000 miles.  I've driven more than one car to 140,00 miles and still been on the original clutch.  So it would be fair to say that I am very careful of the clutch.

In traffic, this makes me that annoying driver who won't inch up when traffic is at a standstill and there is space between me and the next car.  I won't inch up as that would require depressing the clutch.  And I want that clutch to last, so I engage it as little as possible.  Yesterday, stuck in traffic, I had some time to consider this practice and realized that my entire driving philosophy is summed up by whether or not I consider an action clutch-worthy.  Yesterday, the driver behind me in his giant hulk of SUV could see that I wasn't moved up within a breath of the bumper ahead of me and it caused him great angst.  I took my foot off the brake and let the car roll s-l-o-w-l-y forward down the slight incline - my compromise policy - and it like to kill him.  But I didn't care, having deemed those extra inches not to be clutch-worthy.

Oh, my God, Internet: I'm a jerk.

Glittery Goodness

Pictured below are my toes wearing my newest toenail polish: glitter purple.

I love it and think it's quite charming.  But let's be honest: it's entirely possible that it just gives me a creepy wicked witch of the west with glitter vibe. 

The (Ironic) Happy Homemaker

When I first became a single parent, I quickly realized that saving all the household chores for the weekend was not going to be a successful strategy.  So I divided up my weekly chores and planned to get a little done every day.  Most days, I come home from work, start a load of clothes, hit the gym, make supper, complete some chore, and then get some school work done.  But Wednesday is different in that I take a break from the gym and have a little more afternoon time on my hands.  So most Wednesday afternoons find me washing a load of clothes (see: mother of a boy), collecting the trash (so that the boy can carry it outside for the Thursday morning pick up) and cleaning the bathrooms.   I follow up this festival of cleanliness by making supper.  Though I fear it makes me sound like some sort of throwback to the 1950s, I really do find the entire routine of cleaning followed by cooking to be satisfying.  I listen to NPR and let my thoughts drift.  I enjoy the combination of starting and completing a task in one afternoon.

It could also be that I'm peculiar. 

In any case, this afternoon's cleaning festival featured the smell of carrot soup simmering on my stove as I got things spic-and-span.  The recipe was from Pioneer Woman and it's worth your time.

I served it with homemade biscuits.

After supper I sat down to draft a lesson on women's liberation for a class I'll be teaching soon.  Sometimes life's little ironies are just a little unbelievable, huh?