When we headed over to my parents’ house yesterday for Super Bowl Sunday, we were all in high spirits — Tad and me because we had visions of deli trays and Ukrop’s "Thalhimers cake" dancing in our heads, and The Boy because he had missed two weeks of Baboo visits on account of his extended illness. So he was really excited to get some Baboo time in.
Baboo did not disappoint. She hauled out the ancient high chair that was used by all her siblings and much later by The Boy and his cousins. It is now retired for high-chair purposes, since all of the grandchildren are past the high-chair stage, but as Baboo demonstrated to an enthralled audience yesterday, it can be flipped and folded to become a chair with an attached table! And the seat even lifts up to reveal a potty inside! It’s three things in one!
“I never knew it was a Transformer,” The Boy said with breathless awe.
He ate his dinner sitting in the Transformer chair. Then he drew pictures and wrote “love notes” while sitting in it. Then Baboo suggested they have a tea party, which he was all about. They went upstairs to get some guests for the party while I hauled in a little rocking chair from the living room and the step-stool from the downstairs bathroom.
They were back down in short order, The Boy carrying Optimus Prime and a Lego robot, and Baboo with a sock monkey in each hand.
“He said I would have to carry the sock monkeys,” she reported, giving me a suspicious look. “He said he didn’t want to carry them because they were too much like dolls.” I’m not sure if the look was insinuating that I was responsible for his preschool chauvinism. Said the woman who bought him the pink rhinestone top.
Mister No Dolls arranged the sock monkeys at the table and gave them each a princess teacup and saucer. “Here you go,” he said graciously, holding the cups to their sock mouths so they could drink.
My brother poked his head in from the other room and handed The Boy a bag of cat treats. “If you put a couple of treats on a plate, Amanda will come to your party,” he advised.
The Boy scooped out three tuna treats and put them on a saucer by the table. Sure enough, Amanda arrived in short order to partake of the treats.
“I didn’t invite that guest to my party,” The Boy said, glaring at Amanda.
“What are you talking about?” I sputtered. “You just put a plate of cat treats out for her!”
“Well, if somebody shows up at your party, you have to offer them some food,” The Boy grumbled, looking miffed, “But I didn’t invite her to begin with.”
Wow. Is it like that? I’m starting to wonder if I was really welcome at all of those holiday parties that seemed so hospitable. Next time I will wait for my engraved invitation.
The Boy’s preschool actually had the nerve to be open today. Which meant that Tad and I got up at our regular too-early time and poured ourselves two strong cups of black coffee while we played the “I-dunno-it’s-up-to-you” game. I won that game, since he is the one who drives to and from preschool. We obsessively refreshed all of the local news channels and Weather Underground before finally deciding to believe Gene Cox’s unauthorized Twitter prediction and keep The Boy at home. When the snow started an hour later, instead of the “early afternoon” that the authorized predictors were forecasting, we knew we had made the right call. Thanks, Gene!
But that doesn’t make me any happier about the fact that The Boy has missed seven out of the last 10 school days. And one of the three days he did make was a delayed opening. The poor guy misses his friends and is probably forgetting everything he’s learned. And he is so bored with this house and everything in it.
Right now there are three things keeping me going. One, The Boy is well this time, so he can go out and do some good old-fashioned snow frolicking. Two, we stocked up on groceries yesterday and have plenty of snacks and staples, including the makings for a big pot of dal. Three, towards the end of The Boy’s most recent convalescence, I picked up a bag of toys that my mom had culled from the playroom at her house, including some fun rubber dinosaurs and a set of Eeboo lacing cards that The Boy had never seen, so he does have a couple of new-to-him things to play with if we are firmly snowed in this weekend. Remember lacing cards? Digging them! Tune in Monday to see if my optimism was warranted. Wish us luck.
He came back looking guilty.
“What took you so long in the kitchen?” I asked casually. He got that look on his face. Anyone who’s been around kids at all knows that look. The “what are my chances of coming up with a believable lie off the cuff” look.
“I wasn’t even in the room when we were shaking it,” was the niece’s response. Uh huh.
So anyway. I asked The Boy what the delay was about, and he stood there for a few seconds with that look and then hung his head guiltily and said, “Well, I did eat a couple of cookies while I was in the kitchen.”These were the cookies that were made to pass time during the snowed-in weekend. Some people call them preacher cookies, others fudgies, and the less imaginative among us, “no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies.” * My friend Sonya told me that some people call them cow patties, but she is in the preacher-cookie camp, and hers are famous. Whatever you call them, they’re delicious, and The Boy loves pouring in the dry ingredients and stirring them up almost as much as he loves eating them.
Almost. He held up his hands apologetically and said, almost as if it were a mystery to him too, "I just like them so much I forgot I wasn't authorized to take them."How can I be mad at that? Besides, I couldn’t go in the kitchen without eating one myself. Why do you think I sent him for the paper towel? They’re good cookies. Make some if it snows this weekend. Then just try not to eat them. I dare you.
* I have to note one exception, since a Google search for "no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies" led me to the wonderfully titled food blog Ezra Pound Cake. The men don't know, but the English majors understand. Rebecca, who writes the blog, also calls the cookies "PMS Wranglers." Her creativity is obviously intact.
Seriously, last time it snowed, we had fun. Last time it snowed, everybody went outside and played, and we enjoyed the novelty of being snowed in and generally made the most of it. Yeah, we got stir-crazy after a while, but still, snow! Wheee! Fun!
This time, we started out stir-crazy, because The Boy had been out sick a week already when it snowed. And I was swamped at work, so even though we were snowed in, I was calling and e-mailing and faxing like a madwoman. Oh, and Tad caught what The Boy had, so that means I’m the only borderline healthy person in this house.
We’re trying to grin and bear it, but it’s harder this time. We made pizzas, and oatmeal cookies, and we played Sorry and read and drew and made Play-Doh dragons. The housework has gone to hell in the proverbial handbasket (more like a laundry basket in our case), and everyone is just a little punchy. But we have food, and toilet paper, and so far the electricity has stayed on (knock wood) so we’re doing all right in spite of the weather.
Let me tell you one thing, though. If it snows again on Friday, all bets are off. Don’t mess, nature. I’ve had about all I can take.
Today's blog is called on account of illness. Bronchitis and a burgeoning double ear infection, to be exact.
The Star Wars-themed examining room made up for a lot.
