I Don't Get Carded Anymore and That's Great!

I don't get get carded anymore. Even though I'm told I have a baby-face (mostly by my biased parents) I haven't gotten carded in a long time. It used to bother me, the same way it used to bother me when someone called me "Ma'am" instead of "Miss".

I work on a college campus and it's been about 5 years since anyone has confused me for a student or intern and, even then, it didn't happen often.

I used to wish it did. I don't anymore, just like I don't hope to get carded anymore. At age 40.75, I think I've finally figured something out.

The reason I don't get carded or mistaken for a student, isn't because I look old. At least, I don't think I look old. Not as though 40 is old, anyway. I look good for my age.

I dress my age. By that, I don't mean I wear elastic waist pants, matching twinsets and penny loafers. I consider myself extremely stylish, but not trendy. I take pride in my appearance, because I want to, not because I'm trying to be something I'm not. Today, as I rock my blue color block dress and t-strap heels, I know that "stylishness" isn't just for the twenty-somethings.

I know how to wear makeup. Just the right amount. I've had decades of practice by now.

I don't have "mom" hair. As a matter of fact, I love color and change my color often. Currently, my hair is auburn and purple. It's not purple in a way that says "I'm trying to find myself." It's purple in a way that says "I know exactly who I am and who I am likes having purple hair."

So with my purple hair and stylish clothes, why don't I get carded?

About six-years ago on the college campus where I work, I was talking with two female students and a male colleague, a few years my junior. He had frequently been mistaken for a student where I was rarely, even at the tender age of 34. He argued that I could easily be confused with a student. Flattery will get you everywhere! During this conversation, the two female students mistook him for a classmate. I eyed him wryly and said "You see." and he asked the girls if they thought I was a student as well. They promptly replied "No." then added, because she doesn't seem like a student. She just seems more mature." Well said, ladies.

This is why I don't get carded.

• Because I order a drink with confidence no twenty-something can fake.
• Because I make myself known in the workplace in a way that took me a decade to be able to do.
• Because I don't know everything. When I was in my twenties I thought I did. Now, I know I don't but WHAT I DO KNOW, I know well.
• Because I know what I'm good at and what I'm not.
• Because I'm mature enough to know that I need to learn and grow.
• Because I know growth is a good thing.
• Because I know what I want and I'm not afraid to go for it.

So, don't card me. Call me ma'am. I don't care anymore! Because 40-something is a state of mind. A state of being. A unique confidence that was elusive to me in my twenties.

My forties. I'm finally starting to see what all the fuss is about.

Bring it on.

One Sweet Leads To Another

Before I begin, I should let you know that there are no recipes in this post. There will be pictures and descriptions of lovely treats and a lot of talk about why I make 'em but if you are looking for recipes... read no further.  Not that I don't want to share - just not what this one is about.

I love to bake.  I love to make cookies, cupcakes, candy, etc. I don't go in for all the fancy schmancy details that make for the beautiful pastries you see on the Food Network.  I lack the patience and fine motor skills for that.  When I try it, I usually end up with a barely passable, but still exceedingly delicious version of what the pros deliver.

However, that doesn't keep me from making all manner of sweets.  I'm not one for false modesty and they are usually pretty fantastic. I am also the first to criticize if they are not.  But usually, if I'm making a cupcake, I want it to be epic. For example, my latest endeavor was a cookie dough cupcake that had a chocolate chip cookie base, chocolate ganache filling, buttery chocolate chip cake, a thin layer of ganache icing and a PILE of cookie dough frosting made with Biscoff spread. Yeah.  There was a LOT going on there and it was all good!

I have found, particularly this time of year, my treat making gets out of control. It's a bit because it's winter time.  It's a bit because of the holidays. It's a bit because we do a lot of entertaining  It's a bit because I have a crazy sweet tooth but it's a lot because one thing leads to another.

For example. We had a party in early December for which I made shots of Cherry Mousse in Chocolate Cups. To make cherry mousse I needed confectioners sugar and unflavored gelatin among other things.  Weeks passed, holiday baking/candy making ensued and a lot of cookies, fudge and other assorted tasties were churned out. Festive containers filled the kitchen. There was nothing else I needed to do in preparation for the holidays. NOTHING!

Well, except, I had that pesky unflavored gelatin and confectioner's sugar in the house just sitting in the cabinet doing nothing. Seemed an awful waste. Those ingredients were calling my name.

"JT!  We are confectioner's sugar and gelatin!  Alone, we are two simple ingredients but TOGETHER, we can be so much more! A little of this and a little of that and you've got MARSHMALLOWS!  C'mon!  Give us a try! You KNOW you've always wanted to make marshmallows. You'd could have us in the pan in no time!"

And then there were Marshmallows.  And they were awesome!

Side bar:  If you want to amaze and astound your family and friends, make marshmallows. As long as you know how to read a candy thermometer, they are a cinch.  A sticky messy cinch but a cinch nonetheless and I had dozens of people say "I didn't know you could MAKE marshmallows!" and "These are just like marshmallows but BETTER."

A week or so later, I was poking around on the evil time-sucker known as Pinterest and I was reminded that I had wanted to try 3 ingredient Nutella cookies. Again, the holidays had yet to happen.  There was no shortage of goodies in the house. There was NOTHING I needed to do. But again, those three ingredients were in the cupboard whispering to me.

"So simple.  Nutella, flour and egg.  A quick whizz in the mixer and 8 short minutes in the oven.  Couldn't be easier!"

A half hour later, there were Nutella cookies. They were super easy too. (No pic of the Nutella cookies at this point because this was not their final destiny.. read on for the rest of their story.)

As I mentioned earlier, I'm not good with the fine details of cookies and cakes that are supposed to make them look extra pretty. I prefer adjectives like "rustic" and "hand-crafted". But I decided to try my hand at these cutie-pie peanut butter reindeer cookies.

They tasted great but the assembly sucked. I had to work so quickly while they were hot and the antlers didn't stay on for sh*t.  Also, I underestimated how many chocolate covered pretzels I needed and ended up making "Max" (from the Grinch) cookies.  I'm often asked why I don't do this professionally.  This is one of the reasons why. I don't do well planning this type of stuff out and nobody would be pleased to pay for my improvisations.

Max (The Grinch) Cookies.  The result of my poor ingredient estimations.

If you are familiar with the expression "You eat with your eyes." you may be able to guess that these weren't the most popular item on the dessert table. By the time Christmas rolled around most of these guys had one or less antlers and little smudges of chocolate all over them.  They looked like they'd been rolled down a muddy hill.  I had a lot of delicious but mutilated peanut butter reindeer left after Christmas so I heard the call of ingredients again.

"Here we are in the cupboard.  Just a handy dandy bag of peanut butter chips.  Just melt us up, rip off their eyes, nose and whatever antlers remain and drop those little deer in a scalding hot pool of delicious peanut butter coating!"

Reading this over, I am growing concerned for my mental well-being. Apparently, food talks to me and tells me to hurt innocent cookies.

A normal person would've just thrown out the leftover reindeer-fail. Christmas was over. I didn't need to make more cookies.  But I am far from normal.  Half hour later, I had these.

Yes.  These were very delicious.

My husband is the first person to yell at me for making him fat.  He can walk away from the candies but has no will-power for cookies or cupcakes. They are usually in the house for a day or two before he says "Get these the hell out of here!". Then I bring them to work to the delight/chagrin of my co-workers.  Alas, at this time we were on holiday break so these babies weren't going anywhere.  My husband ate them and said, "Those peanut butter cookies are awesome. You should coat the Nutella cookies in Nutella coating."

"What?!?!   Is that a challenge!??!  Are you insulting the existing cookies?!?! How dare you, sir!  I'll show you!"

Ta-da!  Nutella Dipped Cookies!

Nutella Dipped Cookies

As if that weren't enough, I found myself with some leftover coating.  I certainly couldn't let that go to waste.  Could I?

I glanced at the counter that was still laden with Peanut Butter Pretzel Fudge, Chocolate Caramel Pretzel Rods, Oreo Bark, Chocolate Truffles, Chocolate Crackle Cookies, Pistachio Brittle, Hand-Cut Marshmallows, Peanut Butter Coated Cookies and now, Nutella Dipped Cookies.  I believe the counter may have been buckling under the weight, much like the floor beneath my families' feet will be if we keep eating like this. Yes, I glanced at that abundance, then glanced at the garbage pail that I could so easily scrape the leftover coating into... and proceeded to make Nutella Fudge.

Nutella Fudge

This madness has to end. Seriously!  Is there a 12-step program for this? Over-bakers Anonymous?

Anyone who visits us or gets a visit from us in the next two weeks is going to be going to get a care package. January 1st and resolutions are looming. So, if this post made you hungry, and before the diet starts, invite me over!

Mortality

"Mortality".  Wow.  Funny title, right?  Not really.  I'm going to try to make light of a semi-serious subject but I'm feeling somber and am moderately inebriated so this post may end up in the trash.

I am having surgery next week. It's not elective or anything.  If it was, at least I'd have a flat tummy or perky boobs to look forward to.  It is totally minor and not a big deal but I'm still kind of freaking out.  It's weird for me because I'm a "tough cookie", as they say.  Who the hell came up with that anyway?   I've never had a tough cookie in my life. Stale, maybe, but tough, never.

As I was saying, it's weird for me to feel scared about this. It is so NOT a big deal. Many people have been through so much worse that it is not even funny. But, the thing is, I've never been in the hospital to do more than have my kids and going in for that is wonderful, despite the bloodbath and agony, that is. When you are going in for that, you have many things to look forward too, such as 1.) not being pregnant any more  2.) cute little pink babies  3.)  not being a ginormous bloated whale anymore, etc. It's like going in for new boobs.  There's a light at the end of the tunnel.

I guess there's a light this time too. I get to not have something wrong with me anymore.  Yippee!  Some how it is not as much of a motivator as perky boobs or pink babies but it's something and, regardless, it's necessary.

I've never been under anestesia before. I hear good things and, frankly, I could use the rest.  However, there's that little nagging voice in the back of my stupid head saying "you know some people die, right?"  Shut up! Logically, I know that the statistics are teeny tiny and that most of those people have other health issues causing complications but, still, the voice remains. I don't think I'd care so much about not waking up if I didn't have two little people who are expecting me to come home from the hospital. When I think about that,  I realize that moms are a twisted breed. Do we really think so little of ourselves that our only reason for living is those little snot factories that can't put their underwear on properly without our assistance? Yes. Yes we do.

The other thing bugging me is that my ability to carry a child will be affected. That shouldn't bother me. I'm done having babies. My husband is very much in agreement that we are done having babies.  When I told him my concerns, he immediately asked if I planned to remarry. I told him I wanted to keep my options open.  That didn't go over too well. Of course, I'm kidding but I always thought that my ability to have kids would go the natural way of things.  Again, I am well aware that I am dually blessed with two beautiful children and that there are so many people that aren't as lucky as I am but there's that nagging voice again.  I hate that voice.  That voice is really annoying.

My point, if I even have one, is that this little stupid surgery has caused me to confront my own mortality and it sucks.  I much prefer living in la la land where everything is good and I think I'm going to live forever.  I still plan to live forever.  I am going to silence that stupid little voice or die trying.  Ha!   But, if by some million to one chance, I don't wake up from the anestesia, please take pity on my husband and offer to babysit or something.  He'll need all the help he can get.

I'm sure, in a week, I'll be wondering what I was worried about.  I'm sure the anestesia will nothing more than a really good nap and I'll be feeling right as rain in no time.  Hey, maybe I'll check back in for new boobs one of these days after all.

Spa Fail

On a lovely spring day, four ladies set out for a Spa Day at the beautiful Mohonk Mountain House in the Shawgunk Mountains of New Paltz, NY. All checked in to the spa, they decided to explore. They didn't think to take their phones, they didn’t pack water, they kept on their flip-flops and set out with no plan and tissues, lip gloss and a thermos of Mimosas in their arsenal. They intended to take a quick walk around the grounds. They were wrong.

Yes.  I was one of these four knuckleheads and lived to tell the tale.  Our intended stroll turned into three hours of wandering somewhat aimlessly through the greater Mohonk preserve without the first clue of how to get back where we started from.  There was panic.  There was hunger.  There was thirst.  There was talk of who would get eaten first if it came down to it.  It wasn't pretty.

Once we found our way back from the brink of death, we picked up a map. Of course now we are aware that a map would've been useful BEFORE getting lost in the woods for three hours but clearly that thought never crossed our pretty little minds as we stepped out into the world.  What do you want?  We are cute. Do we have to be smart too?!  Geez.  You want everything!

Anyway, having examined the map, I was able to suss out exactly where we went wrong (over and over again) and I made a poster out of it to commemorate this horrific event with some of my dearest friends.

You can click this image for the full map but I'm going to break it down for you right here in the blog.  By the way, you are welcome, in advance, for how smart you are going to feel after you read this.

First is our intended path.  This is what we set out to do.

But that is not what we did.  No.  As it turns out, we set out on the wrong path almost from the get go.  Unaware that we were already on "leg 1" of the walk of fail, we stopped to toast our awesome girl's day out with the mimosas I was toting along.  Also, blissfully unaware that it is against the rules to have alcohol on the hiking trails.  That's another tidbit I learned from the map I picked up afterward.

After walking a bit further, my friend Tami thought we should turn around.   We all still thought we were on a path that would loop back toward the main house.  We ventured on.

We had set out on our walk at 11:00.  It was probably about 11:45 when Nancy's stomach growling began startling small forrest creatures.  She tried to bribe Tami for the cheese she had packed but, sadly, Tami left it in her spa locker along with anything else that might have been useful.

We were starting to feel lost when we came upon a map of sorts at Rhododendron Bridge.  It didn't say anything about the Mountain House but it mentioned a Trapps Visitor's Center.   We had never heard of it but figured a visitor's center meant people who could potentially help us.  My friend Jean thought that would take us away from where we needed to go.

This is the actual sign at Rhododendron Bridge.

Now on "leg 2" of the walk of fail, I tried to break the mounting tension as I offered to allow everyone to eat me if I died first.  The didn't object much at all.

Before my friends could take me up on my generous offer, a jogger appeared wearing a Mohonk Preserve tag.  She shook her head at us guessing that we came from the mountain house and were way lost based solely on our lack of appropriate foot wear or gear of any type.  Who does she think she is?!?! Nancy thought the jogger "saved us".  Looking at the map, I think she might have said "Hey, why don't you walk another 400 yards to the Visitor's center and see if someone can give you a ride back?" Or even "Come with me, I will help you!"  Not exactly the heroine of the day in my opinion.

Following the joggers instructions, we headed wearily back to Rhododendron Bridge which I have dubbed "leg 3" of our walk of fail.  We reached the bridge and headed in the direction she indicated.  Her vague instructions said that the road would be "uphill" so when we came to yet another fork, we took the uphill fork.  Wrong again.

On "leg 4" of the walk of fail, which is by far my LEAST favorite part of this journey, we were on some unnamed service road in the blazing heat.  It was at this point that we began yelling for any nearby help. Tami employed her super loud whistling skills and got a bird to respond but nobody else.   Nancy declared that we were turning back!

Little did we know that we weren't far from a more direct path back to the mountain house but with the decisions we'd been making so far, we probably wouldn't have taken that turn anyway.

Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  We could actually SEE the resort!  We had been avoiding drinking any more mimosas for fear of dehydration.  We were so relieved we took a much deserved break to quench our thirst.  It tasted like heaven.

We finally reached the dining room for our complimentary spa lunch at just about 2:00.   We burst in like the desperate lunatics we are begging for water and a phone so we could postpone our spa appointments to 3:30.

At last!  With our thirsts were quenched, our appointments were moved and our food on the way we were able to laugh about our excursion... well, a little bit anyway.    We realized that nobody would really feel bad for four dummies who set out unprepared and didn't even miss a meal.

It is true. We are dumb - dumb -dumb but would it kill someone to put an arrow on the bridge sign saying “HEY LOST KNUCKLEHEADS - MOHONK MOUNTAIN HOUSE IS BACK THAT WAY!” and signs on the trails saying “YOU ARE NOW LEAVING MOHONK RESORT PROPERTY AND ENTERING THE MOHONK PRESERVE WHICH IS VERY LARGE AND YOU PROBABLY DON’T WANT TO DO IF YOU ARE WEARING FLIP-FLOPS AND ONLY EQUIPPED WITH LIP GLOSS, TISSUES AND MIMOSAS!”

Sidebar:
More useful things we found on the map when we got back.

The Juggling Act

As a parent, I spend most waking moments attempting anticipate and meet all the needs of my tiny overlords. Typically, I pride myself on being a exceptional toadie; breakfast ready before their highnesses awake, clothes laid out in the morning, each meal served with a generous helping of ketchup. But, as it turns out, I am human. I have quite a lot of balls in the air. Some are rubber, some are glass. It's inevitable that I'm going to drop one and I only hope, that when I do, it's not a breakable one.

I dropped one earlier this week and I didn't even know it until the next morning when my daughter told me that I forgot to pack her a snack for a library visit with Grandma. Mom FAIL. Technically, I just didn't pack a drink because there was still a box of cheese crackers in the bag. When my daughter told me about it, it seemed innocuous enough. She said "Yesterday, you forgot to pack my snack for the library so Grandma took me to A&P and got me a juice box and fruit snacks!" The way she relayed it, it sounded like it was an adventure. Seemed like a rubber ball. Phew.

The rest of the day was fun-filled. We put up some Christmas decorations, I did some baking, we went to the diner for dinner and the kids sampled the treats I made. About 10 minutes after they were snug in their beds, I heard my daughter calling me. I went in her room and she was sitting up looking like she was about to cry. When I asked what was wrong she said, in the most heart-breaking voice imaginable:

"Will you give me anything AT ALL to eat tomorrow?!"


Freeze. Isolate this moment. If anyone saw or heard just this phrase and how it was delivered, they would think that I had her locked in her room all day with some stale bread and water. This is a kid fresh off a huge dinner of diner grilled cheese, fries and juice followed by handmade chocolates from mom's kitchen! Not some orphan from a Dickens story!!!!

She began to cry and it took me about 15 minutes to calm her down. The impetus for her crying fit was the fact that I forgot her snack the day before. I think, in her busy little brain, she started thinking that maybe it wasn't an accident, after all. Maybe I didn't give it to her on purpose and she was heart-broken at the thought that her evil-witch-of-a-mother withheld her snack in some kind of punishment attempt.

So much for a rubber ball. Hopefully this glass one is only cracked. However, I have a feeling that won't be the last I hear about "the forgotten snack heard 'round the world". About a year from now, we'll go to a library and she'll say, "Hey! Remember the time you forgot my snack and I cried and cried and cried."

It just goes to show how fragile their tiny little psyches can be and makes me fearful for the times that I'm NOT on my best mom behavior and say things like "Why would you do something that dumb?!" and "If you don't listen to me right now you're going to be in time-out forever!".

I must say, the crying fit was a brilliant move on her part. I can almost guarantee I won't forget her snack again. EVER! Way to whip mom into shape!

Tiny Overlord "1" --- Toadie Mom "0".