Wednesday, December 19, 2007Oh Yeah, One More Thing
It happens every year, but this year has been exceptional. Just as the holiday lights begin to twinkle, Santa prepares for his voyage, and the eggnog gets poured into the mugs, I lose the ability to remember why I am in a store. Inevitably, I will return to Target no less than 17,240 times to get the same gift I have been meaning to pick up for a month. It's always that simple little gift that is so easily obtained, i.e. a gift card. They're sitting right in front of me, at the checkout, but yet I will leave without it over and over and over.
Have I ever mentioned that I cannot walk into Target without spending at least $100? It's physically impossible. This is a problem.
The bigger problem, however, lies with the ridiculous amounts of cookie-baking that I do this time of year. I cannot manage to have everything I need in the kitchen at one time. It doesn't seem to matter how many lists I make, how many recipe cards I take with me shopping, or how many times I swear that I will remember everything I need, I'm always missing something. It's enough to make me wonder why I do all this baking in the first place.
I try to convince the world that I'm doing it for them by doling out tins of sugary goodness to pretty much everybody, but really it's for my husband. I'm pretty sure that when we got married, he added the line "But if you ever try to make me live through a holiday without massive amounts of peanut butter, I reserve the right to leave your butt" at the end of his vows. He can handle sickness, poorer, and all of that business, but do not deprive the man of his peanut butter. And guess what I have been out of for days, have gone to the grocery store to buy no less than 6 times, and yet still do not possess?
So, off I go for the 7th time. I vow to return with peanut butter because otherwise, there will be no Puppy Chow. Man cannot survive Christmas without Puppy Chow, I swear to it.
The recipe, in case you are interested, goes a little something like this:
Puppy Chow
8 cups Crispix
1/2 cup butter
1 cup peanut butter
12 oz. package chocolate chips
2 cups powdered sugar
Pour the Crispix into a large non-stick pot or large mixing bowl. In a separate pot (or bowl if microwaving) melt the peanut butter, butter, and chocolate chips. Pour the peanut butter concoction over the cereal and stir until well-coated. Carefully pour the powdered sugar into a large brown paper bag. Add the cereal mixture. Fold over the top of the bag and shake the contents until mixed. Scoop yourself out a portion and hide it where noone will ever find it (I find inside the dishwasher works well) because otherwise you will not get to eat a single piece of it.
The One in Which We Discover Who IS the Boss
I have made no big secret of what Alexis is getting for Christmas. In fact, if she hasn't figured it out by now, she's just not paying attention. Not only have I shopped right in front of her, I have wrapped all of her gifts with her full assistance. All of her gifts except the Signing Time videos, that is. I'm no fool, I knew if she saw them that there would be no waiting until Christmas.
(While we're on the subject, I should probably admit that they arrived on a day when I came home from lunch. It took every ounce of energy I had to go back to work and not spend the afternoon lounging on the couch watching her videos. Do you know the last time I watched the TV without 18 million other things going on? Me thinks it's been a long time.)
So I kept the videos discreetly stashed in nearly plain view and finally brought them out to wrap them yesterday. I would have wrapped them when Alexis was nowhere to be found, but since she doesn't seem to have a life of her own, I decided to do it while she happily played in her kitchen. I don't know what caught her attention, but of course she came running just as I had a DVD in my hands. She stole it. Then she proceeded to proclaim, "Signing Time!" Then she started to make out with the box. She was hugging and kissing Rachel as if it had been months since they had seen one another. They really ought to get a room.
I figured at that point I was screwed and would be opening the DVD for her to watch it. But she didn't ask me to. Nope. Instead, she started looking for Daddy and saying, "Daddy, help watch Signing Time." Except he was outside and out of hearing range. Wouldn't you know it, she never did ask me. I was able to wrangle the box out of her hand, wrap it, and carry on with my business.
Apparently somebody has figured out that I don't condone TV watching. But she knows who does. Sucker.
