Aug28

So this is what it means to be a hot mess

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So this is what it means to be a hot mess

My daughter had a high school retreat. I signed the permission slip and paid the fee. She packed her backpack and grabbed her sleeping bag from the closet.

An hour before we left, I felt very proud of myself for suggesting we double check her items with the packing list–well in advance of leaving, mind you. (Seriously, I was like, Go me!)

Pajamas–check

Shower shoes–check

Socks and hiking shoes–check check

Everything was going great. Then I got to the bottom of the list:

“One dozen cookies: homemade.”

I read it three times, just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

“Are you kidding me? And they have to be homemade?”

But of course this wasn’t a joke. Of course I needed to bake something last minute. Because this is me.

If you’re new here, I could link to the many posts involving last minute baking, but finding them all would take too long. Just trust me on this. The story of my life could be titled Last Minute Frantic Baking (and some other stuff happened too).

“Okay. What do we have on hand? Ooooh, we could do those no-bake chocolate peanut butter oatmeal cookies. Those are fast,” I suggested.

Daughter: “Eh. I don’t really like those. Could we make orange crispies instead?” She checked the recipe. “They only bake for 20 minutes.”

I checked the clock. The place we needed to go was 15 minutes away. Counting backward, we should be able to make it, just barely. “Fine. If we rush.”

As though that last part needed to be said. It’s a given. It’s aaaalllllwaaaaayysss a given.

Look at these beautiful cookies in a lovely tranquil scene. Yeah. Not my house. (Thanks, Pexels.com.)

We had ALL the ingredients on hand–practically a miracle.

Except…

I opened the Crisco. Sniff. Sniff.

Me: “Does this smell okay to you? And it looks sort of… rubbery.”

Daughter took a look and whiff and shrugged.

“It hasn’t technically expired, but I don’t know,” I said.

I weighed the pros and cons. Pro: Time saved + Ingredient = Done faster. Con: The cookies could turn out gross. This was for a contest. I did not want to embarrass my daughter, nor make her classmates sick.

The Crisco went in the trash. A quick Google search said I could substitute Crisco with butter, loooooootttttssss of butter.

Mmmm…. butter…. But, seriously, why is it in a mug? People are weird. Still looking at you, Pexels.com.

The cookies ran all over the place on the tray as they baked, so I sort of cut them out in basically round form before tossing them placing them gently onto two paper plates. They stuck to each other. And the saran wrap would not stick to them, or to the plate.

Whatever. We dashed to the car and I put the pedal to the metal.

In other words, I drove like I normally do, but the cortisol in my brain was coursing. I tried taking deep calming breaths. We were okay, I kept reminding myself. We’re going to get there on time. We didn’t forget the backpack or sleeping bag in the hullabaloo of getting the cookies made.

We arrived when others were still checking in. Phew. Daughter greeted friends, and I carried the cookies, one plate in each hand, constantly trying to push the saran wrap down with the back of my other hand. It was a losing battle. Only much later, when I was calm and able to think clearly, did it occur to me that I could have taped the saran wrap to the bottom of the plates.

I handed them to the appropriate adult. “These look delicious,” she said, obligatorily. Then she took a few moments to situate them in her car with the others, also trying and failing to keep the saran wrap down. I cringed when she stacked one plate on top of the other. These were not so much “orange crispies” as “orange crumblies.” I blame the mug of butter.

I signed the form acknowledging that I had dropped my daughter off and confirmed that she did not have a cell phone with her. I then hugged my daughter goodbye and headed to the van in relief.

On the way out, I spotted a couple, friends of mine, who lived close. They had walked their daughter to the retreat center and were walking home again. Naturally, I offered them a ride.

Not my van. Wouldn’t it be fun, though? Again, thanks to Pexels, etc, etc.

The wife hopped up front, and the husband got in back. My adrenaline, and a bit of stress hormones, were still pumping despite the mayhem being behind me. And so, I was too keyed up to notice the side van door hadn’t fully shut behind the husband when I put the vehicle in gear and started driving.

As a result, the censor beeped. I stopped. He tried to shut the door, but it refused to close completely, apparently frozen in place. I put the van in park, and he tried again.

Nope. The door remained open about a foot, all the while, the censor alarm beeped shrilly.

After a couple more attempts, “That’s okay,” he said. “We live close by.”

Fortunately, it was only about a minute of enduring the incessant beeping before I dropped them off. He got the door shut upon exiting, but the censor was still not registering the fact that the door was now, indeed, fully closed.

I U-turned on their street, parking a little ways down, hoping they wouldn’t see me, but later realized I was still in full view, as I got out and tried the door again.

Open. Beep beep beep. Close. Beep, beep, beep.

There was nothing for it. I drove the rest of the way through my friends’ neighborhood, on the freeway, through my neighborhood, along my street, to my house, in a van that utterly refused to stop beeping.

Somewhere along that drive, I thought to myself, “So this is what it means to be a hot mess.”

Once home, with the van off and quiet, out of curiosity, I turned it back on. Yep. Beeping again. Not until the next morning had it calmed down and finally gotten over its hissy fit.

I have no cookie pictures for you. There was no time to stop and take them. I can report, however, that regardless of their flattened, artificially carved into circle-like shapes that crumbled around the edges into whateverness, they ranked among the top three.

Somehow, despite all the rush and the mess, the lack of ingredients and questionable appearance of the final product, our baking miraculously comes together in the end.

Even the purple churros. (Fine. I’ll link that one for you.)

Looks good, right?
How about now?

They tasted better than they looked. Honest!

Since I have your attention, I want to thank those of you who said you’re still enjoying my blog. Long-timers came for the funny parenting stories but stuck around despite the shift to martial arts. Though most of you don’t care for the stuff personally, it means a lot that you read my antics anyway. So. You know. Thanks for that. [Picture me kicking the toe of my shoe in the dirt saying, “Shuckies.”]

Okay, okay! Here we go:

What word these three things have in common—Question 1: Cheese, Bikini, Theory = String. Question 2: Penalty, Red, Car = Box, though honorable mentions for Flag and Card. (Sorry, M. No candy apple.) Question 3: Six, Thought, Throat = Deep.

Now, here’s a fun one, from an entire page of trivia devoted to Back to the Future:

In an early draft of the script, the time machine was supposed to be not a DeLorean but this appliance; it was changed because of its risk to children.

If you’re totally stumped, read this little side note on the same page: Apparently, the writers of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull didn’t have the same regard for child welfare. In that film, Indy uses the appliance in question to shield himself from a nuclear blast.

So there’s something for anyone reading this who is a fan of both movie franchises. You’re welcome. 😉

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102 responses »

  1. Haha, I just have to laugh about the homemade, Betsy. During the pandemic, parents couldn’t send any homemade stuff to school. They must be sealed with the manufacturer’s labels.
    Good for you to do the last minute checking.

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  6. Okay, I blame the list maker for not putting HOMEMADE COOKIES in large print and bold at the top of that list! I mean, COME ON!

    My baking talent has decreased as I’ve tried to increase my baked goods’ healthiness. Hence, my zucchini bread made with olive oil did not raise whatsoever. I feel your pain with the butter vs Crisco.

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  9. You’ve made me glad my kids are grown-ups and on their own. 😀 I don’t know what kind of van you drive, but it’s good the erroneous beeping finally stopped. The 1974 VW van I owned didn’t have any beepers for driver mistakes. It was good for transporting all the kids’ stuff when we traveled. John is right about the refrigerator, according to Wikipedia.

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  10. Screw the trivia, I’m still a “hot mess” about the cookies and the beeping. I had to get up and reapply my deodorant. I might need therapy, okay, I already needed therapy, but you are not helping. Kudos to you both. Well done. Hugs, C

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  11. Ha ha that was a stressful day. I have to say that the requirement to bring homemade cookies was a bit strange. Our schools (the kids are done with school now) would never have asked that. It was great that you got it done swiftly but I would have stopped at the grocery store, bought cookies and pretended I made them. I am normally honest, but I would be so mad over a requirement like that.

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    • I hear you. I suppose the cookie contest was meant to be a fun, I don’t know, bonding? exercise? Someone’s grandmother’s recipe for something won, of course. The important thing was we survived. I lost a year off my life, but at least it’s one fewer year of last-minute baking!

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  12. you’re a much better person than me, i would have bought cookies, taken them out of the box and put them on a plate. ) sounds like yours were highly rated though! and he beeping door would have made me crazy. but not much you could do about it at that time. good thing you are martial arts tough! no idea about the appliance – maybe a toaster oven?)

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  15. Oh, oh, oh – I know the trivia. Just because of the Indiana Jones reference though – a refrigerator!

    I love that the cookies turned out. I never thought of Crisco going bad. I think you just saved me from some sort of future where I bake cookies for a high school retreat and it makes all the kids sick.

    [That’s supposed to be a time travel joke where I combine the trivia thread with the baking thead… :)]

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  17. I was picturing your cookies as the hot mess (instead of you) because I figured they’d still be cooling under the Saran Wrap, fogging up the plastic and all. But look at you, stepping onto the cookie podium anyway! Maybe your secret ingredient should always be butter in a mug instead of Crisco. Also, you might be “censored” from your neighborhood from all that beeping from your door “sensor” (tomAYto, tomAHto). Man though, if that doesn’t make me think of my own vehicle. When I drive with the tailgate door up (because I have something oversized) there’s no way to stop the relentless “your tailgate’s open” beeper. Final observation: I need to keep a list of your weird words. “Hullabaloo?” I consider every one of these a peek into the wild/crazy/unpredictable mind of Betsy.

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    • The wild/crazy/unpredictable mind of Betsy is now in the running for my autobiography title.

      YES! The cookies totally could have been the hot mess! Good observation, Dave. They were sticking to each other. I don’t know how much trouble the lady in charge must have had separating them from each other to distribute to the kids. Huh. Whoops! So crumbling and sticking to each other. Awesome. Thank goodness they still tasted good. I think the fact that they were unique helped them overall. There were probably a ton of chocolate chip cookie variations. Hooray for orange crispy crumbly stickies!

      Bummer about your tailgate! :/ And I’m surprised no one on my street said anything about the beeping. Phew.

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  19. Yep, I knew it was a refrigerator even without the Indiana Jones hint, but alas, I am WAY too late for that to matter.

    Maybe I should set an alert or something…

    I’d have brought “knock-off Oreos.” Which, of course, would be Oreos from the store. Maybe I’d throw them into a paper bag and give that a few good shakes first to ensure they didn’t look perfect. Otherwise, who would ever know?

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  20. So I read a whole post about your cookies and I get no pictures of the cookies!?! That makes me sad. I promise if I make cookies, I’ll post a picture. Okay, I get it, rushing, kid not telling you about the cookies… I’m sure that the car door beeping was just its way of saying, “Take a picture of the cookies.” Which is why the next morning it had stopped — it knew that by this time there would be no cookie pictures and there was no more point to beeping.

    and yes, refrigerator. Sadly, hundreds of people, mostly children, die each year in refrigerator related accidents (entrapment, falling over). I once worked in a hospital kitchen that had walkin refrigerators and freezers. In each was a fire ax attached to the wall just incase someone became trapped so they could hack their way out. Hospital inspectors always check the door latches to make sure they could be opened from the inside and they always checked that there was an ax. Don’t know if that’s for all walkin freezers or just the place I worked at.

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  24. Oh jeez, Betsy! That sounded so stressful. I would’ve caved under that pressure and just bought store bought cookies and called it day! Congrats on ranking amongst the Top 3! 🥰

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  25. Saran….my old nemesis. Many a battle have been lost with this “sticky” plastic. It has foiled my plans at keeping many a food safe from excessive oxidation. (Which is ironic since I thought my plans would be foiled by aluminum.) I see right through you Saran; made to stick to nothing I try to place you on…and YET….you cling to yourself like a barnacle to a ship! And YET, YET, when my wife uses you….you are as obedient as a well trained capybara.

    I know your mind vile plastic. My disdain for you is as thinly veiled as, well, saran itself.

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